The House of Eve (10)
“I work at Greenwald’s candy store.” He offered a boyish grin. “Come by tomorrow for a malt?”
“We’ll see.”
Shimmy hesitated in the hall. “If you come, it’ll be on me.”
“I can pay for myself.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean—”
“Thanks for looking at the sink,” I said quickly before closing the door.
Dinah Washington stopped crooning, and I replaced her album with Billie Holiday. “Lover Man” filled the room as I stood over the sink. Shimmy’s mug was the only dish in the basin. I picked it up, and without thinking, rested the rim against my bottom lip.
CHAPTER FOUR BLACK MECCA
Eleanor
Eleanor ran a tube of coral lipstick across her lips, and then dabbed her wrists and neck with a lilac-scented eau de toilette. She fixed her hair with two rolls pinned on top and left the back down in drop curls. When she stood back from the hanging mirror in her dorm room, she was unable to believe what she saw. The dress Nadine had laid out for her clung to her curves like a second skin. The low neckline accentuated her graceful shoulders, and the satiny blush material seemed to illuminate her face, giving her a healthy glow. Eleanor hadn’t felt beautiful in a long time, and she stared at herself in awe.
“What did I tell you, Ohio? Don’t you feel better already?” Nadine reached over and buttoned the tiny clasp at the back of Eleanor’s neck.
“We’d better get going before I change my mind,” Eleanor teased. Glancing around their room. “Why do you have to make such a mess, girly. You know things out of order wrecks my nerves.”
Nadine had gone through several frocks, nylons, heels, gloves, and they were all scattered about her bed, and some covered the floor.
“I have a hard time making decisions.” Nadine picked up her purse.
“I should probably stay back and tidy up. Your clutter is a perfect excuse not to go.”
“Please, not after all my hard work.” Nadine put her finger on Eleanor’s back and playfully shoved her out the door.
The hallway was filled with fragrances of fruity perfumes, talcum powders and hair pomade, as many girls buzzed about. Some had on their good trench coats, silk stockings and scarlet lipstick, prancing down the hall on their way out. A few sat in the lounge by the roaring fire, waiting for gentleman callers to drop by. Then there were the ones that were nowhere to be found, tucked in their rooms with snacks smuggled from the cafeteria, the radio turned low with a book opened. If it hadn’t been for Nadine and her relentless harassment, Eleanor would have been one of the latter.
As the pair signed out at the front desk, their dorm matron, a thick woman with gray streaks in her hair, pushed back her glasses and spoke through clenched teeth: “Please remember to conduct yourself like ladies at all times. Your future husband could be anywhere, and I wouldn’t want you to taint your reputation with bad behavior.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied in unison, scribbling their names on the night ledger.
The Coedikette, their handbook of rules, made it very clear: students were only permitted two off-campus passes per month, and requests needed to be made in writing at least one week in advance. When Eleanor asked Nadine how she could have possibly secured one for her so quickly, Nadine replied with a mischievous grin, “If I told you, I’d have to shoot you.”
The girls walked to the edge of campus arm in arm. Nadine insisted on paying for a taxicab, because her parents would be cross if they found out she was on the bus after dark. The cracked leather seats in the cab smelled like coconuts. When the driver turned onto U Street, Eleanor gazed out the window at all the well-dressed people in hats and long coats strolling up and down the brightly lit street. They passed the Murray Casino, the Ford, the Dabney Movie Theater and then pulled to a stop in front of the Club Bali at 14th Street.
“Have a good evening, ladies.” The driver stood on the street and held the car door.
The flashing red-and-yellow sign above the club, coupled with the song “Caravan” by Duke Ellington floating from inside, gave Eleanor a surprise jolt of excitement at the base of her spine. She had not spent much time off campus at all.
Eleanor followed Nadine down the skinny stairs into a dance hall lit dimly with Gothic wall sconces. There were square tables in a U-shape hugging the dance floor. The band played “It Don’t Mean a Thing,” and couples were shaking their hips, snapping their fingers and patting their feet to the rhythm. Groups of girls stood in safe clusters with their eyes darting about, hoping a boy would ask them to dance.
All the tables were nearly full, but Nadine spotted a fellow from high school at a table near the center.
“Showtime,” she said, smiling at Eleanor, and then sauntered across the room.
“What you know good, Clarence?” Nadine placed her long fingers on her hips and spilled her cleavage forward.
“Nadine Sher-rr-wood,” the brawny man stuttered, gazing at Nadine like she was an answer to his prayers.
“Are you going to just stare at me or invite us to sit down?” she purred.
“So-so-rry. Please.” He scrambled up and offered them both seats. Eleanor squeezed in next to Nadine as she made quick introductions.
“How-www have you been?”