Chapter 1 #2
Jesse stared at his uniform where it hung on the door of his wardrobe, a little limp around the shoulders.
Perhaps he would sell it to one of his friends at the post office.
Bill was always saying he could use a new one.
Of course, this set was hardly new, and it would be at least a couple of inches too short at the wrists and ankles.
He’d had everything hemmed to fit his barely five-foot-six frame, just as he’d done with the pair of navy slacks he’d changed into.
He pulled his suspenders up over a white button down shirt and reached to brush his hand along the sleeve of the uniform jacket, pausing at the cuff. There was a heart-squeezing pang of disappointment in his chest as he studied the spot where his black star would’ve gone. Should’ve gone.
There was no use dwelling on the loss. He would wake up early the next morning as he always did and start searching for work.
He’d made connections all across town over the years.
There had to be someone who was willing to take him on again, even if it was only part-time.
But he wasn’t going to worry about it tonight. Tonight, he needed to clear his mind.
Maxine’s letter had invited him to telephone her. A quick glance at the one narrow window in his room told him it was too late in the evening for that. The sun was already close to setting and Maxine seemed like the type of gal who wanted plenty of time to get ready for a night out.
Instead, Jesse found himself outside the back door of Nelson’s Shoes on Cornelia Avenue.
He’d been coming here for years. It started when Mr. Nelson was still alive and needed someone to make deliveries for him.
Now it was only Mrs. Nelson running the place.
She did a fine job of it, too. The showroom was always spotless with shiny floors and plenty of comfortable chairs to sit on while you were fitted.
It was where Jesse bought both pairs of shoes he owned; Mr. Nelson had kindly let him pay them off over time.
With his bicycle propped against his hip, Jesse glanced over one shoulder, then slowly turned his head to do the same over the other.
Satisfied that nobody was watching, he stepped closer and put his palm flat against one of the bricks to the left of the door.
He no longer had to count up from the ground to make sure it was the right one.
With his other hand, he gripped the knob of the door and waited patiently.
The soft click when the lock turned brought a flutter of relief every time, even though Mrs. Nelson had never denied him entry.
Jesse hauled his bicycle inside and leaned it against the wall of the back room in the same place he always did, safely out of the way.
In the dim light, he made his way to the stairs along the far wall and started down them, anticipation putting a little bounce in his step.
At the bottom was another door, this one unlocked, and as he pushed it open, he was met with a rush of familiarity that made him smile.
The space was longer than it was wide, same as the store above.
The stools along the bar were mostly empty, but the rest of the chairs and low sofas scattered about the space were all occupied.
Sequins and shimmery fabric caught the light where several couples were dancing close along to the slow song humming out of the radio.
The stale air was made entirely of sweat, smoke, and alcohol.
Jesse took a deep breath of it and made his way to a barstool.
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Nelson warbled from behind the bar, her deep voice an instant salve.
“You look like a man who needs a drink.” Jesse thought it was probably a good thing that someone who could read emotions as well as Mrs. Nelson was running a speakeasy.
She never had to worry about the wrong sort of people making their way into her basement.
She referred to everyone as “good eggs” or “bad eggs” and bad eggs were strictly prohibited. “What’s got you down?”
“Rough day at work,” he fibbed, crossing his arms on the bartop and tapping his fingers in a four-beat rhythm. “I’ll just have my usual.” Water was the only thing Mrs. Nelson served that he didn’t have to go a day without eating to pay for.
“This ain’t no time for dog soup,” Mrs. Nelson argued, bending at the waist to reach a low shelf.
When she popped back up, there was a glass Mason jar in her hand.
“I’ve just had a special delivery, fresh from Dawsonville on a run to Florida.
It’s on the house tonight.” The clear liquid inside sloshed as she set it down between them.
Jesse felt his stomach turn at the sight.
He’d tried moonshine once before at her insistence and he was certain his insides were still healing from it.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I’d really better not.”
“You name it and it’s yours, then.” Mrs. Nelson gestured vaguely to the countless other bottles behind her as she returned the bootleg shine to its hiding place beneath the bar.
Jesse grimaced. He hadn’t come for her charity. After struggling to make up his mind, he said, “Could I bother you for a ginger ale?”
Mrs. Nelson chuckled. “You couldn’t bother me if you tried, honey.”
She moved away to fix his drink and Jesse turned on his stool to study the couples on the dance floor again.
One pair in particular caught his eye. Even in the hazy light, he could see that both of them were exceedingly attractive.
The way they moved together so effortlessly made him wonder if they had magic like his own.
When the man’s hand slid to the sway of his partner’s back, she responded by melting even more into his touch, and Jesse looked away.
He decided it was for the best that he hadn’t brought Maxine along.
They’d been on three dates, and the closest they’d come to being intimate was sharing one strawberry milkshake with two straws at the soda fountain a week ago.
He really liked spending time with her, but he didn’t feel ready for what came beyond their easy conversations yet.
Inviting her to a place like this had implications beyond lighthearted chatter. All he wanted to do was dance.
Mrs. Nelson clanked the glass of sweet bubbles on the bar behind him just as the song on the radio changed to something brighter and jazzier.
He turned and took one hurried sip. “I’ll be back for the rest,” he promised her as he slipped off the stool and moved toward the floor for what he’d really come to do.
With a little hop, he stepped directly into moving with the music.
His toes lit with excitement, the heat of his magic rushing up his legs and reaching his hips just as he swayed them.
Within a few kicks he was lost to the tempo.
The couple he’d been watching before finally let go of each other and joined in, shoulders shimmying and fingers fluttering.
Halfway through the song, Jesse felt the shine of sweat forming on his forehead.
After exchanging a grin, he took the lady’s hand and spun her, watching her red dress twirl around her knees. They came together and parted again, mirroring one another as their feet moved across the scuffed floor.
It was his turn to be spun now, made easier by the way her low heels gave her at least a couple inches advantage over him.
In the middle of the turn he felt the grip on his hand change, and at the end of his rotation he found himself in the arms of the man his partner had been dancing with before.
Jesse laughed brightly. He’d never danced with such a talented couple before.
The three of them never broke stride as the radio continued to sing, all quick kicks and high arms, though Jesse noticed the man never loosened the grip on his hand.
When the song finally ended, Jesse’s face was sore from smiling so hard.
He breathlessly thanked the couple with a nod and turned to go and finish the drink he desperately needed now.
It was gone in a few swallows, but there was no relief from the heat of the room.
Fresh air was the only answer. He climbed the steps and escaped to the street.