All She Ever Wanted (19 page)

That wouldn’t be easy to do. Cynthia was very eager. Her heart was thumping, her palms sweating. She nodded her head at Eleanor and smiled, trying to remember that it was all an act.

“Care to share the joke, girls?” The handsome GI grabbed a chair and swung it around to straddle it, as if they’d saved that place at their table just for him.

“It’s too involved to explain,” Eleanor said, waving his question away. “And besides, we’re
women,
not girls.” She was always so composed. Cynthia envied her.

“My name’s Rick. Which one of you gorgeous dolls would like to dance with me first?”

“Cynthia will. I don’t know how to dance,” Eleanor said. Cynthia’s mouth fell open at her lie. Then she caught herself and quickly tried to hide her surprise.

“Really?” the GI asked Eleanor with a bemused grin. “A classy-looking doll like you can’t dance? Not even one step?”

“Nope. I was born with two left feet.”

“I could teach you.” He stood and held out his arms. His million-dollar smile displayed perfect teeth. Cynthia could almost hear Eleanor saying “That’s another way you can tell a rich boy—perfect teeth.”

“No thanks,” Eleanor said with a yawn. “Go ahead and dance with Cynthia.” She gestured to her, then turned away as if she had better things to do than talk to the handsomest GI in the room. Cynthia was so stunned by Eleanor’s rebuff that she couldn’t move a muscle. Eleanor kicked her beneath the table.

“Ouch! What…? ”

Rick turned to her and grabbed her hand. “All right—your loss is Cynthia’s gain. Besides, I’ll take a blonde over a brunette any day. Come on, gorgeous.” He pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor as if she were a new car he’d just purchased and had every right to drive. He was too confident, too possessive. Cynthia knew she was still a farm girl at heart, too new at this acting business. Rick scared her to death.

She tried making small talk and learned that he was twenty-two years old and a city boy from Albany. He smelled every bit as good as he looked: spicy and masculine, good enough to eat. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, laughing at all his jokes, agreeing with everything he said—behaving much too eagerly, as Eleanor would say. When he pulled her close for a slow song—closer than she’d ever been to any man—she couldn’t seem to think straight.

From time to time she caught Rick glancing over at Eleanor. The mirror told Cynthia that she was the prettier of the two, but she couldn’t deny that Eleanor’s cool confidence made her very desirable, especially to a man like Rick who was used to getting whatever he wanted. Cynthia danced with him to the next three tunes, drank some lemonade, then danced a few more times. His cockiness began to grate on her. Rick held her too closely. He moved her around the dance floor as if she were a piece on a chessboard and he were the grand master. She didn’t like that. And Eleanor had been right about another thing: His hands were as soft as her own.

“Let’s you and me step outside for a while,” he said when they’d been together about an hour. “My friends and I have something a little stronger than lemonade out in the jeep.” He was moving much too fast for her. She knew he was way out of her league.

“No thanks,” she said. “I really should go see if my friend—” She gestured to their table but Eleanor was gone. Cynthia spotted her a moment later, tearing up the dance floor with an awkward, big-eared guy who was even homelier than Eleanor’s brother was. The GI couldn’t dance to save his life, but Eleanor was swinging and moving as if she’d been born to it. Rick’s face showed surprise, then anger.

“Hey, what gives? I thought your left-footed friend couldn’t dance?” He dropped Cynthia’s hand and strode over to where the pair was dancing, then stood with his hands on his hips, watching her. Eleanor was so dynamic on the dance floor that other people stopped to watch her, as well. Before long, everyone in the hall had gathered around Eleanor and her partner as if they were the last two contestants in a dance marathon. When the gangly soldier saw everyone watching, he began to blush and seemed to become even clumsier. Eleanor took her audience in stride. She bowed to the cheers and applause when the song ended, then whirled into her partner’s arms for a brief hug.

“Thanks, Harry. That was great fun,” she said, laughing. His face turned a fierce shade of red, and he slunk back to his corner to recover. Eleanor returned to their table and fell into her chair, then picked up a napkin to fan herself. Rick ignored Cynthia completely as he sank down beside Eleanor.

“What was that all about? I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

“Harry was a
great
teacher, wasn’t he?”

“Well, I could teach you a few steps that old Harry probably never heard of. Come on.” He extended his hand.

“Not now—I’m bushed.”

“Why don’t you want to dance with me?”

Cynthia didn’t wait to hear Eleanor’s reply. Rick had forgotten she even existed. She hurried off to the ladies’room to take a powder, unwilling for either of them to see how hurt she was at being dumped like yesterday’s newspaper. She didn’t understand how she could feel angry that he’d rejected her and, at the same time, feel so relieved to be rid of him. Rick was too fast for her. She was too inexperienced. Hadn’t she just turned down his offer to step outside? But he was undoubtedly attracted to Eleanor, and Cynthia was jealous.

She stayed in the ladies’room awhile, freshening her lipstick, touching up her mascara and rouge. When she studied her reflection, she barely recognized the beautiful girl she’d become. The transformation had been amazing. Cynthia took a deep breath to gather her courage before exiting the ladies’room.
It’s all an act,
she told herself.

Rick still sat at the table beside Eleanor. Cynthia could tell by the animated way he talked, smiling and leaning close, that he was working very hard to impress her. Eleanor remained cool and unimpressed. Was that an act? Or did she truly dislike rich men that much?

Cynthia wasn’t ready to give up on men and go home, yet. But she knew that she needed to start her new life as a gorgeous blonde much more slowly than with a guy like Rick. She spotted a group of bumpkins, huddled together for safety on the fringes of the dance floor, and decided to practice her acting skills on them. She sauntered over to them, swaying her hips and flashing her best smile.

“Hi, fellas,” she said. “Where are you all from?”

She savored their appreciative “hubba-hubbas” and drew courage from their nervousness. Eventually they worked up enough gumption to take turns dancing with her. She began to relax and have a good time.

Much too soon, the time came to catch the last bus home to Riverside. Eleanor was still talking to Rick—or was it the other way around? Cynthia said good-night to her bumpkin friends and pasted on her best smile as she walked over to the table.

“Hey, Eleanor. We’d better get going. We don’t want to miss our bus.”

Eleanor looked at her watch, then pushed back her chair to stand up. “You’re right. See you around, Rick.”

He scrambled to his feet. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You ladies need a ride? I might be able to help you out.”

“No, thanks,” Eleanor said. “The bus is fine. See you.” She gave a lazy wave as if he’d been no one special, as if she hadn’t just spent the last two hours talking with him.

Cynthia still felt hurt that Rick had dropped her so quickly for Eleanor, but she didn’t say anything, determined not to let her know. After all, it hadn’t been Eleanor’s fault. They hurried to the bus station, barely making it in time to catch the last bus home. But when they were finally in their seats, the bus windows open and the warm night air streaming in, Cynthia could no longer remain quiet.

“For someone who hates rich boys as much as you do, you sure spent a lot of time talking to one tonight.”

“In case you didn’t notice, he was doing all the talking. I was trying to discourage him, but he was very persistent. For a while there, it looked like you two were hitting it off. What happened?”

“He moves too fast for me. He wanted me to go outside with him after a couple of dances. Said he had something stronger to drink than lemonade. I told him no.”

“Good for you, Cynthia. You did exactly the right thing. Guys like Rick are used to getting their own way. I’m glad you stood your ground.

You watch and see, he’ll pick a different girl every week from now until he finishes his training. Nine out of ten women will be too dumb or too dazzled to turn him down the way you did.”

“He sure was good-looking, though,” Cynthia said with a sigh. “Why can’t farm boys be as cute as he is?”

“Because God knows that handsome guys like Rick would never stay home and work on a farm—and then what would we all eat?”

Chapter
15

F
or the first time that Cynthia could recall, Eleanor was wrong. Rick Trent didn’t choose a different girl the following week. He headed straight for Eleanor like a cow racing to the barn at milking time. Eleanor had been dancing to a slow song with another GI when Rick tapped the fellow on the shoulder and cut in, forcing Eleanor to dance with him. He never left her side after that, and they talked and danced together all evening.

“I’ve never known you to be wrong before,” Cynthia told her on the bus ride home. “But you sure were wrong about Rick. He made a beeline for you the moment he stepped through the door tonight. Then he acted as if you were the only girl there.”

Eleanor smiled faintly. “I might have misjudged him.”

“So he’s not a spoiled rich guy, after all?”

“Oh, he’s loaded, all right. Very upper class. His father owns a couple of businesses or factories or something up in Albany. Rick could have gotten a deferment to help run them since they’re defense industries, but he ran off and enlisted instead. Made his father madder than a bag of wet cats. He likes to rile his father.”

Cynthia hadn’t learned any of this in the time she’d spent dancing with him.

“Evidently there’s some society girl back home that his parents wanted him to marry,” Eleanor continued. “Old family money and all that. She was another reason why he bolted.”

“So you’ve changed your opinion of him?”

“I have. He comes on like a dumb playboy, but he’s actually very welleducated. Prep school at Andover, college degree from Princeton. The girl he’s supposed to marry is a Dumb Dora—charm school alumnus, if you know what I mean. She’s a real-live debutante with one of those cutesy names like Trixie or Pinky or Binny. Rick wants a wife he can converse with. He’s one of the first guys I ever met who didn’t run the other way when I told him I wanted an education and a career.”

“Are you falling for him?”

“Of course not. I’m being very careful. It might be an act on his part. Time will tell. But for now, he’s not as bad as I thought he was.”

Cynthia noticed a change in both Rick and Eleanor as time passed.

Rick lost his cocky swagger and seemed much more pleasant to be around without his playboy veneer. But even more surprising was when Eleanor began to let down her guard, and Cynthia caught a glimpse of what the real Eleanor was like—softer, more vulnerable—as she opened up to Rick. They both seemed gloriously happy, laughing a good portion of the time that they spent together. And it looked like genuine happiness, too, not an act. Eleanor sizzled like a Fourth of July sparkler as she waltzed around the dance floor in Rick’s arms. They moved as one, not like a chess master manipulating a game piece. Cynthia hoped Eleanor wouldn’t get hurt.

Before long, Eleanor and Cynthia began to double date with Rick and a string of his friends. One GI named Steve seemed to like Cynthia a lot, but she was waiting for fireworks, and they didn’t happen. He was a nice guy and fun to be with, but she saw excitement and sparks between Eleanor and Rick, and she envied them. They looked into each other’s eyes as if the secrets of the universe were written there, and so much electricity passed between them it was a wonder their hair didn’t stand on end.

One wintry Friday night, Eleanor came down with a cold. “Go to the dance without me,” she insisted. “All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.” Cynthia didn’t want to go at first, but Doris and Lucille from across the hall were going, and she decided to go with them. It would give her a chance to observe Rick and see if he was really serious about Eleanor, or if he would two-time her behind her back.

Cynthia was sitting at their usual table, watching the door, when Rick came in. “I’m going to take a powder,” she told the other two girls. “If Rick asks where Eleanor is, tell him the truth—that she has a cold. Don’t let him know I’m here.”

But Rick sat at a table with a group of guys all night, ignoring the music and all the pretty women. He looked lost without Eleanor. When he spotted Cynthia later in the evening, he hurried over to talk to her.

“Doris said that Eleanor is sick. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a cold. She’ll probably go to work on Monday.”

“If I write her a note, will you take it to her?”

“Sure. As long as you get it to me before my bus leaves.”

Rick raced out of the door as if the building were on fire. Cynthia wondered where on earth he was going for writing paper. The USO provided it for free to servicemen who wanted to write letters home. She and the other girls had just put on their coats, preparing to leave for the bus station, when Rick came racing back—with a bouquet of flowers!

“I’ve been running all over town trying to buy these,” he said breathlessly. “And here’s the note to go with them.”

Eleanor was asleep when Cynthia returned home. She left the door to the hallway open a crack so she could find her way in the dark and sat down on her friend’s bed, shaking her gently.

“Eleanor…? Ellie, I’m sorry to wake you up, but you’ve got to see these. They’re from Rick.”

“What?” she asked sleepily, squinting in the thin beam of light. Cynthia laid the flowers on Eleanor’s lap as she slowly sat up.

“He spent all night running around town trying to buy them. And he sent you this note, too.” Cynthia crossed the room to turn on the desk light, then filled a pitcher with water for the flowers. When she looked back at her friend, Eleanor was wiping away a tear as she refolded the note.