Barry glanced at the door, which gave her a chance to put down her drink. They would dance soon and she could “forget” the cup. There was a potted plant nearby, but that was too crude, pouring out the contents, and he might get her another one. She would just tuck it on the windowsill-
“Crashers,” he said. “They’ve got some nerve.”
There were three men in the door. One was handsome in a very conventional way, with broad shoulders and lots of dark hair, medium height. A boy from the neighborhood, Bert Gelman, a senior, but not a Sigma. One was enormous, a sphere of a man, and jolly-looking, with pink cheeks and a sheen of sweat despite the cold night.
The third was on the short side, with very dark skin, a biggish nose, and so much energy it seemed to be coming off him in waves. Older. Older than the kids at the dance, older than his companions. She put him at twenty-four, twenty-five. His gaze seemed to say, Kid stuff, although the Sigma dance was very sophisticated, as nice as the country club dances her parents attended.
Then the crasher’s eyes caught Bambi’s, and any flicker of amused condescension faded. He walked straight toward her as if-as if she were a landmark, something famous, something he had been waiting to see all his life. She was the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, the Grand Canyon.
“Felix Brewer,” he said. “And this is Bert Gelman and Tubby Schroeder.”
“Which is which?” she asked, and the three laughed. They probably would have laughed at anything she said, though.
“Actually, I know Bert,” she said, putting out her hand. “You were a year behind me at Forest Park.”
“This is a private dance,” Barry said.
“Yeah, I’d keep it private, too, a limp affair like this,” said the man who had introduced himself as Felix. Felix the cat, Bambi thought, but, no, he wasn’t catlike. Nor doglike. He was-what was smart and shrewd, a little dangerous, but not a predator? A fox? But a fox would eat chickens, given the chance.
“Limp affair? Do you see who’s on the bandstand?”
“Yeah, not bad, but couldn’t you get someone like Fats Domino? He’s great. We saw him last week on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“You go to Pennsylvania Avenue?” Bambi asked.
“Of course I do. All the best music is there. You scared of Negroes?”
“I’m not scared of anything,” Bambi said. “And the Orioles are Negroes, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Bert smiled at Bambi. Lord, this was the problem with dating Barry; now every high school senior thought her fair game. The age of the fat one was impossible to tell, but he was at least twenty or twenty-one. They seemed an unlikely trio, mismatched in every way.
Felix could read her mind. “This”-he jerked a thumb at Bert-“is my lawyer’s son, although I guess he’ll be my lawyer one day. And this”-thumb heading the other way, toward the round one-“is my bail bondsman.”
She laughed her best laugh, a delighted trill.
“No, seriously, he’s a bail bondsman. Not that anyone’s had to set bail on me yet, but you never know. So he’s not my bail bondsman, I guess, but he is one.”
“Someone has to be,” Tubby said cheerfully.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Barry said.
“Young man, have you served your country?”
“What?”
“Have you served? I mean, obviously you haven’t been over there, but what’s keeping you from signing up?”
“I’m not yet eighteen,” Barry said. “I’m going to Penn next year.”
“Well, I went to war when I was seventeen. But I guess Penn is something, yes, it is. Your parents must be very proud.”
Barry now appeared to be about six years old in Bambi’s eyes. Which, she realized, was Felix’s intent.
“Look, I must ask you-”
“Oh, as long as you’re asking. And as long as you must. But tell me something, couldn’t a serviceman, one who fought to keep this country safe, who skipped college and all it had to offer-would it be too much to let me have one dance with the young lady here? In recognition of my patriotism?”
“Look, this isn’t a dance hall; you don’t just come in here and ask to dance with girls.”
“Oh, Barry,” Bambi said. “What’s the harm?”
The Orioles began a new set. “ ‘Hold Me,’ ” Felix said, and she thought it was a request. Then he added: “They had a hit with this in 1953. They’re good. For local boys.” He led her onto the dance floor, not even bothering to wait for her date’s permission. He was not a smooth dancer, but he was a happy one, full of energy. They did not speak at all. He held her gaze, testing her. They were almost at eye level. She calculated the height of her heels, put him at maybe five-seven. She didn’t care. He sang along with the song-not in her ear, he wasn’t that obvious. He just seemed to like the song.
“ ‘The last you’ll know.’ ” He tried to harmonize on that line, but fell a little short.
“That’s not right,” she said. “It’s find. To rhyme with mind.”
“I’m the last you’ll know,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken.
She tried to tell herself that the light-headedness she was feeling was just the inevitable consequence of wearing a merry widow, which constricted her breathing. That would explain the light film of sweat-on Bambi, who never sweated. She concentrated on holding his gaze. It felt shameful, as if she were necking in front of an audience, as if everyone in the ballroom knew what she was feeling.
“What do you do?” she asked, realizing the song was coming to an end.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I do very well. I’ll be able to take good care of you.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“Oh, yes, you did. Look, your date, Little Lord Fauntleroy, is going to make a fuss.” Barry had gathered a group of Sigmas and they did look as if they were getting ready to bum-rush Felix. “I’m going to go. I’ll find you.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“That just makes it more interesting. Coke bet-I’ll find you within twenty-four hours. We’ll have a date tomorrow night, a proper one. I’ll come to your house and meet your parents and I will take you out for dinner. If I can’t do that, I’ll owe you a Coke.”
“But if you can’t do that, how will I find you to collect?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She didn’t. The next day, she told her parents that a new boy was coming to call. She said boy out of habit. The whole point of Felix Brewer was that he was a man. She put on a dress of polished blue cotton and waited, something she had never done for any date. He arrived at 6:00 P.M. with flowers for her mother and a firm handshake for her father. They seemed taken aback, as helpless in the tug of his charm as Bambi had been.
On the fieldstone path outside her home, Felix glanced back at the house where she had grown up, the house where she had been so lonely. For all her social success, Bambi had no real friends. And siblings weren’t to be. She had been her parents’ miracle baby, born quite late after multiple miscarriages.
“It’s nice,” he said. “I like this style. Understated. A man’s home is his castle, but it shouldn’t look like a castle. I want something classy and elegant. But not grand. I want a house where a kid can spill something and it won’t be the end of the world. A living room where people live. What do you want, Bambi?”