Page 15 of When We Were Enemies

“Yes. And you’re Vivian Snow.”

I should correct him, explain it’s a stage name, but I kind of like being Vivian Snow to this handsome young corporal.

“I ... I am.”

He moves to the opposite end of the kitchen island. I should mention the rules to him. We’re not allowed to be alone with the men. I should ask him to leave the kitchen and dance with me where the chaperones can see us.

And I will.

But not yet.

“You were pretty fantastic out there.” He places his hat on the counter and then picks it up again like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Well, thanks.” I put the cookie bits on a napkin next to the half-empty bottle of pop. “But I don’t think I saw you dancing.”

IknowI didn’t see him dancing; he was glued to that back wall, watching my every move, but I’m not about to let on that I was looking.

“I wasn’t.” He moves closer to me, and my breathing begins to grow shallow. My pulse thumps behind my eyes and in my ears.

“Well, why not? Plenty of girls out there would be happy to dance with such an interesting fella.” He must’ve had plenty of offers.

“The girl I wanted to dance with was taken.”

Must be Barbara. All the men moon after Barbara. Probably helps that she keeps her hem two inches shorter than regulation, and rumor has it she doesn’t follow the rules about dating and drinking as closely as the rest of us.

Feeling the sting of rejection, I sweep the crumbs off the counter and into my hand and then take the last sip of my drink in one big gulp, forgetting my manners.

“You might be able to catch her now. The song’s almost over, and if I remember the lineup, there should be a slow dance next.” I point to the closed double doors and toss the crumpled paper and cookie crumbs into the garbage.

Tom takes his hat, folds it in half, and shoves it into his back pocket.

“I was talking about you. I wanted to dance with you,” he says, placing one of his hot, rough hands over mine.

My body responds with a subtle but delicious tingle between my shoulder blades and down my spine.

“I ... I’d love to.” I’ve said these words hundreds of times to other GIs at the USO dances, but with this guy it feels different. Iwantto dance with him. His fingers close around mine, and he tugs ever so slightly.

“Let’s get out there, then.”

I’m blushing. Vivian Snow disappears, and once again I’m Viviana Santini, the shy daughter of immigrants. But he seems to like this shy girl as much as my stage persona.

“Excuse me; you can’t be in here!” Carly calls out. I retrieve my hand and peek around Tom to see the petite brunette wrestling her way through the kitchen doors.

“Vivian! Is that you? You should know better, hun.”

“No, it’s not Vivian’s fault, ma’am. I got lost looking for the latrine.”

Carly raises an eyebrow and looks at me to make sure his story checks out. I shrug and nod like I both agree with the soldier and have no idea what’s going on.

Carly stares up at Tom, resting her hands on her hips after putting down the empty tray.

“It’s on the other side of the hall, dear.” The tiny thirty-two-year-old says it like she’s the mother of this grown man.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says like a little boy caught shooting spitballs at the ceiling.

He walks toward the doors without another word but stops once he’s past Carly. Over her head, he mouths, “I’ll wait for you,” and winks as he finishes his exit from the kitchen.

I want to wink back, but I don’t want Carly to see, so instead I wipe the counter again. I’d like to claim I’m a terrible liar, but I’m shockingly proficient at the art of deceit. I have to be with a father at home who forbids his daughters to do anything or wear anything or go anywhere that might threaten his ideal of what it looks like to be a “good girl.”