The Pieces We Keep(61)

“For a while.”

Vivian caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror, lipstick faded and cheeks flushed. After a day on the rides, her tangled hair and disheveled clothes could spell out more than a kiss.

She retreated to the closet. “So, how did it go? Did you have a good weekend?” She slipped off her crimson sweater, a hue matching her face.

“I did.”

“Really? That’s marvelous.”

“Evidently you enjoyed yours too.”

Vivian fumbled with a hanger. She felt the bashfulness of a little girl, her fingers slicked in oil. “It was all right, I suppose.”

How foolish of her not to consider Luanne in all of this. Vivian needed to collect herself before making things worse. “I think I’ll take a bath. Did you see anyone using the tub?”

“It’s okay, Viv.”

“You mean, it’s available?”

“I mean about Gene. That is, you and Gene.”

Reluctantly Vivian turned to face her.

“As a matter of fact, it’s beyond okay.” Luanne broke into a grin. “It’s magnificent.”

“Honest?”

Luanne nodded heartily and said, “He’s been so afraid to date anyone since Helen. After all, it didn’t end well and-oh, never mind that.” She waved it off. “I do have to admit, I’ve suspected for some time now that Gene was secretly mooning over you. I just didn’t feel it was my place, especially if you weren’t looking for a relationship-”

Relationship. Hearing the word caused Vivian to bristle. This was to be the adventurous phase of her life.

“Luanne, please,” she interrupted, “keep in mind, we’ve only just started dating.” Her mind had scarcely processed even that much. “Besides, there’s no guarantee it will work out. We’re just . . . enjoying each other’s company.”

“Yes, yes, of course! I completely understand.” Although her voice conveyed sincerity, her eyes glinted with a scrapbook of wishes: throwing rice outside a chapel, hosting Sunday family barbecues, nieces and nephews playing games in the yard.

Could it be that Gene shared the same vision, that casual courting wasn’t part of his makeup?

“I’m going to whip up some hot cocoa,” Luanne said, as if a celebration were in order. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

For Vivian, it was a superfluous directive. Wherever would she go?

Yet from this thought she recalled her special savings. Her tin of distant dreams.

Not for the first time, she longed to grab those funds and run.





As it was, the urge for extremes lasted only until Tuesday. For that’s when Gene returned for their next date. He had an aura about him that always salved Vivian’s worries, a presence that made her feel safe.

At no time was this more apparent than during the circus at Madison Square Garden.

To amuse the crowd, a prankster of a dwarf sprayed a tramp clown with a bottle of fizzy water. The clown in turn chased him helter-skelter with a huge sloshing bucket. Just as the clown flung the contents in revenge, the dwarf hit the ground, leaving the audience to take the soaking.

Vivian had barely ducked when Gene, on instinct, launched his arms over her in a protective dome. Soon everyone realized the clown had swapped his bucket of water for one of white confetti.

“Sorry,” Gene said afterward, referencing his overreaction.

“Don’t be,” she insisted, and kissed him on the cheek.

Even during the trapeze numbers, in which scantily clad ladies stretched their bodies in impressive shapes, he appeared conscious of Vivian alone. And not just at the circus, but at movie palaces and restaurant booths, during strolls on the Brooklyn Bridge. She felt it when he touched her elbow or the small of her back, guiding her through a doorway or down a set of steps.

And so it went, week after week, one outing following the next. After three months together, it could have been three years.

Her mother was delighted even prior to meeting Gene. “How’s that dashing officer of yours?” she would ask Vivian during visits to the city. Her approval was so ardent, in fact, Vivian regretted not keeping him a secret. She needed to be cautious to avoid another mistake.

To reduce the pressure early on, Gene, too, agreed they ought to date freely. And yet Vivian knew he had no desire to do so. Nor, in truth, did she. Like a ride on the Parachute Jump, she was falling and floating and secure all at once.

So immersed had she become in this idyllic foray she had forgotten all about Cafe Labrec until she spotted it from the bus during her morning commute. Already the first Friday of June and her bill remained unpaid.

“Criminy.” She cringed at what Mr. Bisset must think. Her father had instilled in her the value of keeping her word.