“No, but I have to show you something.” Mia crawled over to her bed, reached underneath, and found the paper-wrapped package. She carried it over to Juliana.
“What is that?”
“Burgundy!” Mia whispered, unwrapping the bottle.
“You have wine?” Juliana sat up now, brushing long hairs from her face. “How?”
“I sweet-talked a kitchen steward. He swiped it from the officers’ wine cellar for me! Can you believe it?”
“Good job!” Juliana said.
“I’ve been saving it for tonight. You’ve been so sad ever since the...poor goats...” Mia bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t said it, but the thought had slipped out.
“The poor goats.” Juliana frowned and looked at the floor.
“So, I think we must drink. Let’s go the common room. We can play music there.”
“We’ll wake everyone up.”
“Not if we play it softly.” Mia took her gloved hand. “Please. It’s so boring here.”
Juliana laughed.
They crept down the hall in bare feet, Mia in her nightgown, Juliana wearing the baggy cotton nightshirt that she’d originally bought for Sebastian, but he’d only worn it a few nights on the ship before she stole it. Juliana had blushed as she told Mia about it.
They eased through the double doors to the common area, and they tiptoed past the bathroom door to the lounge area with the bookshelves and phonograph. Mia played a jazz record, Duke Ellington, and uncorked the bottle. She took a long sip and passed it to Juliana, then watched uneasily as Juliana drank from the bottle’s mouth.
“I won’t get sick if I drink after you, will I?” Mia asked, and Juliana gave her a sad, hurt look.
“No, you’re fine,” Juliana whispered as she passed the bottle back.
“So what do you hate most about this place?” Mia asked.
“You don’t sound happy to be here.”
“I know you’re not, either,” Mia said. “I can see it in your face.”
“I just don’t like killing the animals. I hope they don’t do that again, I don’t think I can handle it. And I miss Sebastian.” Juliana took the bottle back and drank more.
“You see him at meals,” Mia said.
“Only at meals. I used to see him all the time. On the ship, we were together all day and night, dancing, or reading stories, or secretly making fun of the other people onboard...” Juliana and Mia both laughed. “What I really miss is the kissing, so much kissing.”
“Was it just kissing? Or more?”
Juliana bit her lip, then giggled. “More.”
“A little more, or a lot more?”
“A lot,” Juliana said, and they laughed again. “I miss him so much.”
“You must. He’s so handsome.”
“Do you have anyone? Back at home, maybe?”
“No one who’s going to wait for me,” Mia said. “I don’t even know how long I have to stay here.”
“Can’t you leave whenever you want?”
“I wish.” Mia explained how she’d accepted money to be a lab rat for the Nazis, and how her family had pushed her to do it. “There was a boy I liked, during the time when I ran away to Rome...but I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. He’ll be with someone else. He was never with me, anyway.” She drank more, then put the bottle down on the table and hopped to her feet, holding out her hand. “We can dance. We don’t need boys for that.”
“Don’t get too close to me,” Juliana warned, but she let Mia pull her to her feet.
They danced to the fast, heady music, and soon they were trying to outdo each other with silly moves. Mia couldn’t stop laughing. It was the first good time she’d had since leaving Sicily.
They jumped up on the couch, and Juliana showed off some of her American flapper moves, lifting the hem of her long shirt and kicking to show a lot of bare leg. Mia imitated her, and soon they were trying to out-sexy each other instead. Juliana laughed so hard she lost her balance, and the couch cushion slid out from beneath her. Mia thought nothing of catching her, then holding her hands and dancing with her. She knew Juliana’s touch was death, but she was filled with the combined confidence of wine and youth. Dancing with death made her feel alive.
A female voice shouted, and the needle was ripped from the record, scratching it terribly.
“I said, what is happening here?” the voice demanded in German. Mia and Juliana were both learning the language while they were here, but between themselves, they spoke in English, the language of Hollywood movies.
Alise had entered the room, flanked by her two blond cohorts, Roza and Vilja. They were wrapped in robes or blankets and glared indignantly at the two girls cavorting to jazz in their night clothes.