“The set’s ending. One more song.”

Chris nodded at the bartender, then turned on the stool and gave Justin a sad smile.

“You know the rules. They’re not allowed to give out their numbers. And even if he was willing to take a chance . . . I can’t believe we’re even talking about this. C’mon, we’re gonna miss the last ferry.”

He tapped the ice from the glass into his mouth and started for the door. Justin took one more look at the bandstand, then followed Chris across the dance floor. He didn’t get far.

“Where y’all goin’ in such a rush?”

Justin turned toward the smell of sweet perfume and a drawl that reminded him of home. The voice smiled up at him.

“It's called ‘Jungle Gardenia’. You like it?”

The petite blonde angled her chin so that a carefully drawn beauty mark appeared in the dim light. Then she lifted her chin again as if she expected him to lean closer. Justin smiled politely, but looked instead in the direction of the band. The young girl glanced over her shoulder.

“You want to dance? The band’s real good.”

The low hum of conversation around them had died away. Couples were swaying to the music. Silent, intimate shadows. Justin would have sworn that he knew every Glenn Miller song by heart, but at that moment he couldn't remember a word. All he could do was stare.

The singer was cradling the microphone again, his lips so close that Justin could feel the heat of them. A lover willing to wait until just the right moment. His hair was dark and thick and Justin's fingers moved, wanting to touch it. The singer leaned away and for a moment, his white dinner jacket caught at the shoulder and Justin saw the muscle beneath it move and settle again. The voice that had been pure and clear turned suddenly sultry, crushed velvet that sent a shiver down Justin's spine. Justin felt his breath catch in his throat and he forced himself to turn away.

The young girl was swaying now, her eyes closed now as if the music was coming up through the floor, holding her there. Justin took a long, deep breath and tried to steady his voice.

“Are they here again tomorrow?” He glanced at her badge and then back at her face. “Britney Jean?”

She opened her eyes at the sound of her name and for the first time Justin really looked at her. She was pretty. And about his age. And she was smiling her very best smile. Justin felt a little guilty until he remembered that that was her job. To smile that smile and make the servicemen feel at home. To be ‘good company’ as his great aunt used to say.

She tossed her head suddenly, letting the hair fall over her eyes. She'd looked a bit like Betty Grable when she did it, but the effort had been wasted. Justin had already looked away again. He was watching Chris chat up one of the hostesses on the other side of the glass divider. The girl was probably from his home town. Chris had a way of running into people he knew or who knew someone who knew someone who knew him. He was always good for an introduction. But even Chris couldn't help Justin tonight. This was something he had to do on his own.

“What time should I come back?”

Britney had run a hand through her hair, pushing it back out of her eyes. Lauren Bacall was gone now and the young girl with too much perfume and the familiar drawl was back. She covered the badge on her blouse with her hand.

“I come on at eight, so any time after that is good. But don’t ask for me by name. It’s not allowed. We’re supposed to have an open dance card.”

She started to leave, but Justin touched her arm. “Before you go. The singer, do you know his name?”

Britney glanced casually toward the bandstand, then shook her head. “No, I don’t know that one.”

Justin felt his stomach knot. “I thought you said they were here every night?”

She cuffed his arm, pretending to scold him.. “ The band, silly. They're here every night, but the singers come and go. It's volunteer, you know, for the war.”

Justin felt the air go out of his lungs. Of course he knew. All the big names from Broadway had been there at one time or another, pouring coffee and clearing tables. Just last week Ethel Merman had sung a few songs, then fixed sandwiches in the kitchen. Everyone did their part.

A pair of MP's elbowed past, separating Justin from Britney, and Justin looked toward the door. He couldn't see Chris anymore. It was late. He knew that much. Patrols sweeping the clubs meant it was a lot later than even Chris had thought it was. He had to go.

Justin patted his back pocket for his coat check, then stepped toward Britney touching her arm. They were jostled again as couples started leaving the floor, so Justin pulled her close. He had to know something about the singer with the soft blue eyes or he might lose track of him forever. He leaned in close again, but Britney pushed him away, not letting him speak.

“I know what you're going to say. I can’t do it. It's against the rules to give you my number.” When Justin tried again, she shook her head and placed two fingers on his lips. “I can’t meet you at Roseland either. But I’ll be here tomorrow night. And I’ll wait for you.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and hurried across the floor. As he turned, Justin felt a hand touch his arm and he squared his shoulders, ready to be a soldier again. He was on leave, but he would still have to show his tags and his papers if Shore Patrol wanted to see them. He was reaching for the chain around his neck when he heard Chris's voice.

“Let me guess. She can’t give you her number, but she’ll be your girl all night the next time you come in." He rolled his eyes, then started pushing Justin toward the door. “It's a lousy excuse for a date, but it still beats jerking off to Teahouse of the August Moon.”

A blast of cold air sliced through them as they stepped out onto 44th Street. It was dark and the soft hum of strangers sharing secrets was gone. Justin turned the collar of his peacoat up and stole one last look at the club as they stepped off the curb and headed for the Port Authority Terminal.


The cabbies were good to servicemen at this time of night.

The drivers knew that most of them had probably stayed too long, trying to feel alive for just a few hours more and not so damned afraid of what tomorrow would bring. There were 3,000 of them there on any given night. Some waiting to be shipped out, some on their way back. Either way, they were broke and a long way from home. They could have a ride back to the ship for free. All they had to do was walk backwards down the street. There wasn’t a hack in New York who wouldn’t stop.

This cab had the windows rolled down and the radio turned up. As he slid across the back seat, Justin picked up the lyric, something smooth and slow by Billie Holiday.

The driver caught his eye and smiled. “You got a voice, kid.”

Justin smiled back, then looked out the window. Chris nudged his arm, his own voice low.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you got to let it go. There’s no use startin’ something you can’t finish. We got forty-eight hours, sailor. That girl in there, that’s what you’re looking for. Something soft and willing." He hesitated, then tapped on the window, letting the driver know they were close to home. "I’m not sayin’ it can’t happen. It’s just, I don’t know. He didn’t look much like the weekend pass kind of thing, if you know what I mean.”

Justin nodded, then let his head drop against the window and dozed until the cab reached the entrance to the Holland Tunnel and pulled to the curb. Chris tossed a pack of cigarettes to the driver, then got out. Justin was sliding across the seat when he caught the cabbie watching him in the mirror. The driver nodded at him slowly, then he reached up and brushed the dome light with his hand and the inside of the cab went dark.

As Justin stepped out, the music swelled again. He knew this one too.

There's a somebody I'm longing to see
I hope that he turns out to be

The cab pulled away and Justin filled in the last of the lyric just as Chris called his name. The fog had already swallowed everything but the street light. Justin hesitated for a moment, then jogged toward the sound of Chris's voice, leaving Billie Holiday and the crooner with the bottomless blue eyes behind in the darkness.