In My Heart Page 2

  “Leave my baby niece alone, Frank. You need to beat it. You’re going to get us both into trouble and not the kind of trouble you want. Shoo,” May said, flapping her hand at him.

  Frank cackled, slapping his knee. “You’re just jealous I’m not asking you out, May. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m always saying the pair of you could be sisters.”

  “Well, I’m only ten years older than Alice you know!”

  It was something people always said about us. May and I had matching hazel eyes and reddish-brown hair, and we were both on the short side. She was fond of telling me how lucky I was to share her heart-shaped face and small frame. There was a greater likeness between us than the one I shared with my real sister, Francine.

  “All right then,” Frank said. “I’ll get out of here, I guess. But I’m ready whenever you are, Alice.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said, as soon as he was out of earshot.

  May shoved me with her elbow. “I can’t keep rescuing you, honey. One of these days you’re going to have to go out with him or one of the other fellas. Just go out on a date or two. You don’t have the marry the guy.”

  “I don’t want to date Frank or anyone else who works here. Is there a rule in the company handbook that says I have to?”

  “I don’t know how any niece of mine got to be such a prude!”

  A line lit up and I leapt to answer it. “Alice speaking, how may I direct your call?”

  When I was done May was on a call herself. I waited for her to finish, knowing that by the time she was done the subject of men would be forgotten.

  “Hey, I was thinking. Maybe we could go out soon? Have some fun?”

  May’s face brightened, a loose line clutched between her fingertips. “You want to go out?”

  “Sure. I was thinking about going to Merle’s.”

  “The honky-tonk?”

  “That’s right. I heard there’s a good singer playing out there in a couple of weeks.”

  “Maybe,” she said doubtfully. It was hard to pry her away from home sometimes, where she could have her radio and mix her own drinks.

  “I was thinking you could bring Henry and see if he has a friend he might like to bring, too?”

  “I thought you didn’t like his friends?”

  “Maybe he has one I haven’t met yet.”

  “That sounds like a good time to me! I’ll talk to him about it when I see him tomorrow night.”

  “That’d be swell. You go on and do that.”

  I faced the switchboard, trying to ignore the way she smiled proudly at me from my peripheral vision.

  On the night of Dorothy Long’s show, I waited for my date to come and get me. When Mama answered the door, his deep voice was followed by Mama’s laughter.

  I took one last look in the mirror and wondered if I should do something different with my hair, but it was too late for that. I hadn’t been to the salon for a long time; it was long and hung in a simple style around my face. I’d always hated having red hair, because I had the light freckles dusted over my nose to match. I checked my lipstick, then straightened the hem of my only good dress. It was soft blue, gathering in at the waist with a full skirt. Mama sewed it for me for a dance a few years back, and I’d hardly worn it since.

  In the living room, my date was sitting on the sofa between my folks. It was strange seeing how young he looked next to them, like just a boy. Daddy’s beard was salt-and-pepper; I doubted my date would even be able to grow one.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” the boy said, hat in his hands as he stood up. “I’m Tommy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Alice.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, with a shrewd scan up and down my figure.

  I would try very hard to like him. Perhaps May was right when she said I never gave anyone a fighting chance. At least Tommy was close to my age, when Henry had introduced me to much older friends in the past.

  Tommy walked me out to Henry’s red Pontiac, idling in the driveway. Henry and May sat in front, and Henry capped his flask when we walked up to the car. Tommy held the door open for me so that I could get into the backseat, then ran around to the other side to slide in next to me.

  “Good evening, young Alice, and may I say you are looking lovely this evening. As I told Tommy he is the luckiest man in town,” Henry said, looking over the back of the seat at me.

  “Not as lucky as you. Stop that smooth talk and get to driving,” May said. “We’ve got a show to catch. You didn’t tell Shirley I was in the car, did you, Alice? She’ll be mad at me for not saying hello.”

  “Of course, I told her!”

  “Christ,” May said.

  “Do you go to this place much?” Tommy asked.

  “When there’s someone good playing. I haven’t been down there for a while,” I said.

  Tommy nodded politely, then hunched forward to talk to Henry. I listened to them, thinking about Dorothy Long. I couldn’t wait to hear her sing or to finally see what she looked like. My Stellar Sisters record had been on constant rotation during the past few weeks.

  When we arrived at Merle’s, Tommy helped me out of the car with a clammy palm. I discreetly wiped my hand on my dress, May and I following behind our dates as we walked toward the entrance of the honky-tonk.

  It was heaving with people, who pushed up against one another while they danced. The dusty wooden floorboards shook with movement, the air thick with smoke around us. I raised myself onto my tiptoes to peer over all the heads in the crowd. There was a small stage in the corner, raised slightly over the room.

  There wasn’t a girl up there though, not yet.

  “What can we get you ladies to drink?” Henry asked, yelling over the music.

  “I’ll have a soda, thanks. Lemonade,” I said.

  “Gin and tonic for me. Let’s get ourselves a seat,” May said, pointing over to the tables in the corner.

  We fought our way over to them and I sat next to her. May shook her head and gestured across to the other side of the table. “What are you doing, girl? Get over there so Tommy can sit next to you.”

  “Excuse me, I wasn’t thinking.”

  My new position was better, because now I was facing the stage. I drummed my fingers against the checked tablecloth along to the music. May leaned across the table. “So, what do you think of him?”

  “Who? Oh, Tommy? He’s really…nice?”

  May nodded enthusiastically as the men came back. Tommy pushed a frosted glass of lemonade across to me.

  “So, how do you fellas know each other? Henry here, he likes to keep everything a mystery. He’s under the impression that it makes him charming,” May said.

  “Well, I’ll solve that mystery for you at last,” Henry said.

  “What is it, are you two joining the space race together or something? You’d think it was something top secret, from the way you carry on,” May said.

  “Work,” Henry said, tipping his head across to Tommy. “This guy comes into the store all the time and we got to talking one day.”

  “And you ladies work together, don’t you?” Tommy asked.

  I let May answer for me while I looked past her toward the stage. The music died out, and the room filled with chattering voices. A double bass and a guitar were being carried out. Three men in suits stood there, one of them lifting the guitar and adjusting the strap over his shoulder. Another perched on a stool behind the drum kit, smirking at the others as he twirled a stick in his fingers.

  Where was she? I craned my neck and checked around, wondering if there was still another band to come before her.

  Finally, a woman in a red dress walked across the stage.

  This was the woman with the golden vocal cords. Even from back here in the dark I could see that there was a spark about her, a specialness that she vibrated with.

  When Dorothy opened her mouth to sing, the conversation at our table stopped. Henry and May twisted toward her, and I leaned forward. Dorothy’s v
oice was rich velvet, like smoke curling around us.

  When the song ended Henry stuck his fingers into his mouth to whistle. The sound, long and low, pierced through the crowd.

  “What a singer, dang!” Henry said. “Glad you dragged us all down here tonight, Alice.”

  “I’m pleased you’re enjoying it. Excuse me, I’m going the powder room,” I said, not meeting May’s eye. I didn’t want her to offer to come with me.

  The area right in front of the stage was impossible to see from our table, obscured by the audience. The next song was another ballad, and most of the people on the dance floor were coupled up to waltz. I watched them for a while before I turned to the stage.

  Dorothy’s eyes were closed, displaying her long thick lashes. Her head was inclined toward the silver ball of the microphone, a hand curled around it. Coral pink lipstick painted her full lips and the lights caught her shoulder-length hair, making her waves shine underneath them.

  No matter how high the notes were, and regardless of how much she was belting them out, it appeared to not cost her any effort. For her, singing seemed to be as natural as talking. I could write something special for that voice. Even if she never knew about it, there would be a song from my pen that was just for her.

  Dorothy opened her eyes. They were a missing puzzle piece, bringing her face together. Her eyes were large and brown, sweeping over the crowd with a curious hint of sadness.

  For a song and the next, I watched the guitarist’s fingers. When I got home, I would play the parts I could remember.

  Between songs, the drummer put down his sticks to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and wipe sweat from his forehead. Dorothy leaned down and picked up a glass of water that stood by her feet. All around me the crowd buzzed, returning to talking and laughing, the band forgotten for now.

  Dorothy set the glass down and conferred with the double bass player. When she turned back to the crowd, her gaze came to rest on me. I looked away as soon as our eyes met. The band launched into a faster-paced tune, the drums and the double bass chugging along like a train.

  I started at a tap on my shoulder, spinning around to see May standing behind me. “Where have you been all this time? We were looking for you, the boys want to get up and dance. I thought you said you were going to the ladies’ room?”

  “I did go. I was just passing back this way and I wanted to hear the music better.”

  “Well, come on now. They’re waiting for us at the table. Hurry,” she said, tugging at my wrist.

  Tommy led me out to the dance floor, while Henry did the same with May. I positioned my hand on Tommy’s shoulder, looking past him toward the stage as often as I could. When the show was over we broke apart. Tommy’s cheeks were flushed, dark patches showing on his shirt from sweat.

  I sought out Dorothy one last time, catching a glimpse of her back as she exited the stage to the crowd’s applause.

  The night air was cool on my skin when we walked outside. People milled around, soaking up the music spilling from the open windows.

  Henry took a pull from his flask and winced before offering it to Tommy.

  “Well, what do you say we all go out to May’s place, have a few more drinks?” Henry said.

  “I told my mother I’d be home by eleven,” I replied.

  May slapped my arm. “You fool. Why didn’t you tell her you were staying at my place tonight?”

  “Sorry. That’s why I was only drinking soda.”

  “You’re a good girl, not like your aunt, huh, Alice?” Henry said. “Come on, we’ll run you on home.”

  When we arrived, Tommy walked me up to the door. I turned around, stepping back from him. “Thank you for this evening. I had a lovely night.”

  “Me too,” he said, leaning toward me.

  “My mom is probably watching from over there,” I said, pointing to a window.

  He laughed and put his hat on. “Well then, I’d best be on my way. Don’t want your father coming out here with a shotgun or anything. You enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for this evening, I had a nice time.”

  I waved goodbye to Henry and May, who stuck their hands out of the open windows of the car to wave back. Stepping inside, I smiled to myself.

  I’d done it. I’d seen her, and she was extraordinary.

  Chapter Two

  No matter how special a night is, life goes on just as it did before you had it. After I found Dorothy I returned to my routine of working and helping Mama out around the house.

  Yet inside, I was different. I’d never exchanged more than a look with Dorothy Long, but I was altered by hearing her sing. Inexplicably, it made me sure of myself and of what I might do.

  The first thing I did with that feeling was take another look at the song I’d written after I’d first heard the Stellar Sisters. I worked on “Do You Miss Me?”, crossing out lines and scribbling new ones until I’d worn down the jagged edges. I copied it neatly into a notebook, writing lyrics with chords notated above. That was all I knew how to do, and I remembered melodies by heart.

  Soon afterward, a fresh idea sprang into my mind. It developed into a song about a woman losing her husband in wartime, and I called it “He Won’t Come Home.” I was thinking about a friend of my brother’s who’d died in Korea. The story had always haunted me. At work I jotted down an idea for a song about hearing tragic news on the telephone. I rhymed lines to myself in lulls between calls, and the song was halfway done by the time I got home. I wrote feverishly, composing during every spare moment I could snatch for myself. I discarded as many ideas as I kept, ruthless about what was good and what wasn’t good enough.

  A week after the night at Merle’s, on a bright Saturday morning, I returned to the record store.

  “You’re here again! Good morning. I’m Bill, by the way,” the clerk said, sticking his hand out. It took a beat to figure out what he wanted from me; a man had never offered to shake my hand before.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Alice. I was wondering if my Dorothy Long record had arrived?”

  “Oh yes, I have it. Did you get on down to the honky-tonk to see her?” Bill asked, taking my record from a shelf behind him and handing it to me.

  “I did. It was wonderful,” I replied, surprised that he’d remembered the detail.

  That day I played my record several times, both for the pleasure of listening to it and to study Dorothy’s range. I wanted to mold my ideas to that voice.

  As I sought out inspiration for my writing, my obsession with music mushroomed, spreading toward different artists. I’d always loved country music, but now it became a subject for me to research and master. In the evenings I scrolled through the stations on my dad’s transistor radio, seeking out programs to find new acts when I was supposed to be sleeping. I had to sneak it out of its place in the living room. Its sole purpose was for Dad to listen to the nightly newscasts, muttering about the Communists all the while.

  I acquired more records, not caring for once that I was supposed to be saving money. Bill took an interest in helping me build my collection. Each time I went to the store, Bill showed me the new arrivals he’d kept aside for me, and we listened to them on the player he kept in the shop.

  “See, this is Don Gibson. Do you like this one?” he asked.

  “I do. I’ve never heard him before.”

  “He used to play in a band called Sons of the Soil.”

  “That sounds a little familiar… How do you know so much about music, Bill? Is it just from working here?”

  “Always had an interest. I’ve been playing music since I was a little kid. I took piano lessons. I have one at my house. I’m no Jerry Lee Lewis, but I do okay,” Bill said, putting his fingers on the counter to mime playing.

  “You like Jerry Lee Lewis?”

  “Sure! I like everything. Rock, rhythm and blues. Classical, too.”

  My new friend lived and breathed music, and I was rapidly discovering that I did, too.


  On Friday night I fell asleep on May’s sofa. I dragged myself home in the morning with my head pounding and cotton in my mouth. When I got there, I showered and dressed in my faded black pedal pushers. Mama and I beat the rugs and swept and mopped the floor, until every surface in the house was sparkling clean. Daddy mowed the lawn and trimmed the bushes, and soon the outside of our place looked just as neat as the inside.

  Mama and I prepared roast chicken with beans and scalloped potatoes. My specialty was fresh baked rolls, and together we made pecan pie for dessert. Mama had taught me to make a perfect crust when I was barely a teenager.

  While supper was warming in the oven, my brothers and sister arrived with their spouses. They swarmed into the house like ants, talking rowdily to one another as they came in. The kids stayed outside to play on the porch while the adults gathered in the kitchen and living room, prying open bottles of soda.

  “How are you doing at work, Alice?” my sister-in-law asked. Janice always dressed well, even for our regular Saturday night gatherings. Tonight, she wore a poodle skirt with a light pink blouse. My oldest brother stood sideways to us, but he was listening. I knew what he thought about women who worked.

  “It’s just fine, thanks,” I said.

  There was a thump from the hall. My nephew John had knocked over a lamp and he reached out a skinny arm to right it, then sprinted away.

  “Slow down! No running in the house!” Mama said.

  “That’s great. It’s so nice that you earn a little money to help out your folks,” Janice said. Her ponytail curled perfectly at the end. Once after she’d been at the salon she asked me to touch her hair, and it was as soft as it looked. I always wondered how Janice ended up with a man like my brother. Though he wasn’t yet forty he looked much older, potbellied and red-nosed.

  We gathered at the table to eat, everyone talking over one another to demand that plates be passed around. Now and then one of the kids came over to their parents to nag or tug at a leg, before being banished back to the card table set up for them nearby.

  Gus shoveled food onto his plate, almost emptying out the dish of scalloped potatoes as he scraped the spoon along the bottom.