It’s a busy night. The Stage Door Canteen is packed with sailors, soldiers, Marines and airmen from nearby training bases. And in a big city like New York, there are an ample supply of young women, called junior hostesses, who are there to talk to and dance with the servicemen.
The USO service offered young women an opportunity to do their part for the war effort and volunteer to spend time with the men in uniform at the canteen, so they can forget about the war for a few hours and stay out of trouble. Between the free food, entertainment and the girls to dance with, the Canteen always had a long line right from the 5pm opening.
But my friends Janie, Kate and I are singers in the USO show. We have a trio and sing onstage.
Janie likes the boys in uniform and loves to dance, so when we’re not on stage, she dances the night away with the best in the room.
People often part the crowd to see Janie and her better partners cut a rug on the dance floor. After our set, Kate and I are happy to dance with the men too.
But tonight for the first time, the band gave me a solo. Standing backstage, I nervously wring my handkerchief in my hands. I’m terrified. My mouth is dry, I can’t remember any of the words to the song and I think I’m going to throw up.
“I know you’re nervous, but don’t worry about it. Just find a guy at a table and sing to him,” our manager Eddie says, putting his hand on my shoulders to reassure me.
The music begins and the spotlight shines on the microphone. It’s time to sing. As I walk to the mic, I scan the tables up and down to find someone, anyone looking up at me.
In an instant I lock eyes with a sailor in the middle of the room. He was looking at me, really looking. So I shoot him a quick smile and taking Eddie’s advice, I sing my song directly to the sailor. It starts.. “You’ll Never Know…”
The song fades into the back of my mind as I sing to him. It’s working. My nervous energy dispells and I keep singing without thinking, as if I’m on autopilot.
I find myself staring at him too. He had a wave of bright auburn red hair and a cute almost sideways grin. I’m so intrigued by him, I don’t even realize I finished the song until the uproarious audience applause instantly snaps me back to reality.
I take my bow, and everyone backstage congratulates me. I’m happy the song was good, but I can’t take my mind off the red-headed sailor. Why was he staring at me so intently? Did I remind him of someone, maybe a girlfriend? Maybe he just liked the way I sang?
I have to know why, so I step down onto the dance floor but it was so crowded, I can’t find him.
My eyes quickly wander around the room darting back and forth several times, trying to find him through the wall of dancing couples, but he’s no longer there.
I start to wonder if he was real or just in my imagination. Maybe I dreamed the whole encounter?
Suddenly, there’s an opening in the dancers and see him slowing walking to me. His emerald eyes sparkle. They’re the kind of eyes that mesmerize you and in an instant I’m lost, adrift in their endless fields of green.
I can’t avert his gaze, but truthfully, I don’t think I want to.
Everything seems to stop around us. The dancers, musicians, everyone disappears from consciousness. It’s as if we’re all alone.
“Excuse me,” he says. “I really liked your song. It felt like you were singing only to me. But I guess that’s the idea.”
Suddenly the band plays a slow song and the dance floor is so packed; we’re pushed together.
“Guess this means we should dance.”
He laughs and puts his hand out for me to take. And I did.
The moment he put his hand around my waist, I feel a rush of warmth engulf me. It’s like a warm fire, a cup of hot cocoa and a cozy blanket, all at the same time.
One song turned into three, then four, then eight. As the band plays, we’re frozen in each other’s arms, linked in a rhythmic pattern, neither able to let go.
As the room began to slowly empty, we’re oblivious to the time and our surroundings until the band stops playing and we realize we really are nearly alone.
We both stand there not knowing what to say. I can’t stand the silence; I have to say something.
“Thank you for the dances,” I say earnestly.
“No, thank you, pretty lady,” he says and gently kisses my hand. “My name is Red.”
And then he’s ushered out the door with the rest of the men. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. You never know.
(c) Suzanne Rudd Hamilton 2021,2024
Author’s Note: Sometimes the prompts in my writer’s club remind me of things I wrote before. Coincidentally, the prompt was You’ll Never Know, a popular song from the 1940s and the original title for this book. So I had to take my favorite excerpt from this book and make it into a short story for this prompt. Does she ever see him again? Spoiler alert… yes. But to see what happens to them, read the first chapter of this book by clicking the above cover image.
SUZANNE RUDD HAMILTON 