Full Summary: Vernetta Holbrook was just a rich girl in Brooklyn looking to live the regular life. After meeting a cocky charmer and timid sweetheart, life was as exciting as it would get. Then Pearl Harbor happened and the country, along with her two best friends, mobilized for war. Vernetta herself was unjustly thrown into the war, facing cruelty and hardship all around. What will happen to Vernetta and her friends? What will become of them after the war? If they survive…
Book One: Antebellum
Chapter One: 1936
Summer was soon to come yet the heat nestled in the brick and concrete of Brooklyn. The entire borough simmered under the sun, loud neighborhoods yelling curses to the sky and quiet ones remaining indoors to avoid the heat. Either way, everyone suffered. Vernetta and Amelia had fans roaring inside the shop causing the racks of dresses and dress shirts to sway back and forth. It still wasn't enough.
"I swear my lipstick is running." Vernetta mumbled into a nearby mirror.
She ignored Amelia's snort and subsequent eyeroll in favor of lightly patting the scarlet staining her lips. It was an addiction of her's, to have bright lips even when wiping the lipstick off. It didn't seem to droop past the border between lip and skin, yet Vernetta fretted.
"Well lucky me I don't cake it on." Amelia fired.
Hand on hip and brow high, Vernetta turned to her friend. Her eyes were like daggers, face twisting into disbelief.
"Cake? I look stunning as usual. You are just a mannequin at my side." She smirked as did Amelia.
Friends. Co-workers. Roommates. Insults to them were a way of communication, a basis of friendship all partnerships share. These two mouthy girls kicked it up a notch and Amelia had a glimmer in her eye.
"You stun everyone like Medusa, hon."
"Ooh, how cold."
They silently laughed, air shooting out of nostrils rapidly before composing themselves. They always worried a customer would enter to only see them goof off, as if the day wasn't slow. It was practically a wasteland in there.
Vernetta and Amelia waltzed around, tugging shirts and straightening skirts to the soft tune of Glenn Miller's beautiful orchestra. Yet, they were definitely not in the mood. Five hours gone, three more to come. The radio, somehow knowing the woes of those who listened, changed from classic to modern. Ella Fitzgerald's lovely voice rang throughout the shop, light drums and sultry trumpets. Amelia threw her hands up dramatically pointing nose to ceiling.
"Preach Ella!" She cried. "It's too darn hot!"
"Hot enough to fry a damn egg on the sidewalk, I tell you."
Then Benny Goodman and his famous clarinet came on air with the song that everyone sees Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance to without flaw. With the first beat of the drum, Vernetta's face lit up with excitement. Cherry red lips formed a tight "O" before transforming into a crescent. It was her song, after all.
"Amelia! Dance with me!" She wasted no time in grabbing her hands.
They quickly stepped in front of the counter where their horde of customers should be. The emptiness created the most perfect dancing space, even with the racks hugging the edge.
"Alright, I'm Ginger, you're Fred."
"Awe, c'mon!" Amelia protested. "How come you're always Ginger?"
"Because I obviously have the Rogers' charm." Vernetta flipped her hair, tugging her friend's hand tightly onto her waist.
The brass instruments roared above the drums and Vernetta launched the pair in the air. Intricate steps, patterns, and moves were spot on. Even Amelia, who didn't even like the song, was perfect. Their tight skirts flopped in the air like wings with each bounce and twirl to the beat along with their hair. They spun with such speed that everything was a great blur. Vernetta had five spins to realize that customers were entering, quickly pulling out with one final, and violent, swoosh of skirt and hair. A cringe and smile melded.
Two young men and two older women were standing at the door, simply watching them. Two were dark-haired and eyed, and the other the opposite. Both were incredibly handsome but the dark-haired one was more confident about it. The small blonde kept moving his eyes from floor to woman without interference. Vernetta smirked, cocking her head.
"Welcome to No.19." She stepped towards the group. "I'm Vernetta, that's Amelia. How may we help you today?"
With her words, she shook each of their hands. The women, obviously the young men's mothers, had a light squeeze and shake. The same could be said with the tall one. Yet when Vernetta slid her hand into the smaller one's, his grip was firm and his shake was firm. Startling given his appearance, but it only intrigued her even more.
"Boy, you two are great dancers." The tall one smiled.
"Why thank you."
"Which one of you were Astaire and Rogers?"
"Why, she was Rogers." Amelia joined them, saving the group from Vernetta's own gloating. "She's blonde and blue-eyed and gorgeous. Not to mention a wonderful dancer."
The tall one had a mischievous grin with her words. He slapped a hand on the short one's shoulder.
"That's funny because Steve here is a Rogers in the flesh."
That certainly piqued Vernetta's interest. She arched a brow looking into the friend's eyes.
"Oh really?"
"Well not like that, but yeah." Steve as he was called awkwardly replied.
His cheeks had a tint of red coloring flesh.
"Well you're still quite good looking." His cheeks burned bright pink.
Their mothers, tired of the young generation and their loose morals, explained the situation concerning a high school graduation. New suits for the occasion that can be recycled for others down the road. No.19 was, after all, advertised to be Upper East Side with Windsor Terrace prices. The women lounged in the waiting area as both consultants and young men delved deeper in the store. Vernetta chose to stay with Steve, to poke at him for the duration of this visit. There was something about him the radiated interest. Looks aside, Vernetta knew that this was just a thin surface. That, and he smelled much better than the others who came to shop.
She grabbed appropriate pieces from all over the shop. Raiding the racks, drawers and walls was indeed her job, and she was careful to get Steve's input. He was a fan of tan and blue, clearly avoiding anything that would draw attention. Plaid also won him over.
"What, no solids or stripes? Pinstripes?" Her confusion was a shared sentiment.
"No?" Steve hesitated. "I'll look like a scrawny gangster."
"Oh."
She had to turn away to stifle her laughs. A snort slipped out but Vernetta shoved Steve into one of the dressing rooms before he could react.
"Try on everything and tell me what you think!" She yelled through the curtain while handing over the hangers. "If you need help, you better be fully dressed!"
Steve grabbed them silently, mumbling his reply.
Vernetta only heard the soft clinking of metal and constant shuffling. The fabric crinkled and bent with his movement. She could only guess the sudden pause was his inspection, yet it was always rushed for the noise began to stir once more.
"How is it in there?" Vernetta called.
"Just fine."
Simultaneously, she wanted to be pushy and courteous. Only the voice of Ethel Waters filled the awkward space between them.
"Well you haven't said a word!"
"I'm trying on things…"
Obviously. Steve wasn't sewing himself a brand new suit in there. Vernetta tucked some stray hairs behind her ear, huffing out a great sigh. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall waiting for some of positive something.
The rings screeched against the bar. Steve emerged from the dark curtains, dressed albeit disheveled. The consultant's face twisted into a sour expression.
"You're in your own clothes?"
"I didn't like what you picked." He shrugged.
"That you picked."
A red nail pointed at the small young man. In a heartbeat, Vernetta made sure to correct him with the help of tone and look. She went on to inquire about his silent, yet the answer was the same. She rolled her eyes.
"Your mother expects to walk out of here with clothes fit for a graduate. You need a suit or a nice-" Vernetta paused.
She studied Steve. He appeared to be on the same page but was...sad? His shoulders were slumped and he wouldn't even dare look into her eyes. She was scolding him like a mother would to a young child. It seemed he wasn't used to being dressed up, pampered if Vernetta was broad enough.
"Look," she calmed her voice, "my job is to listen to people and get them what they want. Clearly, you have no idea what you want."
Steve nodded.
"If I pick something out, will you try it on and let me see it?"
She didn't want to humiliate the poor man, talking down to him as if he were a child. The heat had boiled down her patience and an unresponsive customer only lowered that limit.
"Yeah, I guess." Defeated, he shrugged his compliance.
Steve waited in the dressing room as Vernetta reemerged. It had been minutes, more so than she thought when Mrs. Rogers approached her with worry upon her aged face.
"Is everything alright?" She asked. "I know my son can be difficult."
"Your concern is misplaced. I am picking something out and he will try it on."
"Well if he likes it, then you my dear are a godsend."
Damn. His own mother was against him. Vernetta reminded herself to pick something extra special or else her time was wasted along with Mrs. Rogers'.
"Alright, sweetie, please please please let me see this on you."
Vernetta handed each piece in one-by-one, handing off a matching tie before retracting and waiting. She left him alone this time, careful not to be that stereotypical pushy consultant. He seemed to be the quiet and introverted kind of guy. Awkward, mostly, and not talking only made the air more stale.
"So, where're you graduating?"
"George Washington."
"I've heard it's a good school."
"It's decent."
Several moments passed filled only with muffled movement and impatient huffs. It wasn't until the screech of metal on metal that annoyance evolved into astonishment. Both long brows arched north instead of just one, a gasp turning lips into a bright beam.
"By god, you look absolutely stunning."
Steve didn't know what to do with his hands. Vernetta put her own to work, directing his eyes to the wall mirror and adjusting the suit wherever needed.
"Pinstripes are the way to go." She smirked.
"Well, if I look good…"
Vernetta straightened her back wrapping her arms around Steve only a hover away from resting on his small shoulders. Her nimble fingers toyed with the tie until it was perfect. The closeness between the two also allowed the consultant to speak more intimately.
"A man should know every aspect of his best suit, should he not?"
The curious glint in his eye was an acceptable answer and she continued.
It was a three-piece suit consisting of a double breasted coat, trousers and the matching vest. It was a navy blue material with teal pinstripes, complimenting features Steve didn't even know he possessed. It fitted him quite nicely; like a glove, even. Also to note was the great waist suppression on the jacket. The lapels, styled in the Peaked make, were fairly wide but not yet as wide as some bolder lapels in fashion were. Very little shoulder padding allowed for his natural shoulder shape to show, yet there was enough to make them broader to the eye. Here he was, a fashionable young man. Vernetta couldn't help combing his hair as she continued, suddenly fixated on the figure before her.
"You just comb your hair nicely and make sure your tie is perfect. Then you're ready."
Her eyes popped. He was definitely not ready. Something was still missing! Cocking her head, Vernetta pursed her cherry lips and squinted in thought. He has the jacket, the vest, trousers, tie, it seemed to be all Steve needed. Then it hit her like the heat.
"Oh! I know what I forgot!" She exclaimed.
Reaching into her skirt pocket, the consultant pulled out a starch white handkerchief. She folded it into the proper shape and tucked it softly into the breast pocket.
Vernetta fell in love with the image before her. Steve somehow looked grown up, perhaps even a bit professional. All by her lovely hand. She leaned forward, resting her hands and a chin on his shoulder without faltering her smile. Her fingers squeezed lightly.
"Well, this is about your opinion. Will you give it a voice?"
Steve studied himself in the mirror and Vernetta could only guess what ran through his mind.
"Any guy would envy you as would any girl would want to be with you."
He scoffed at the comment. An actual smile even if it was a forced one. He glanced down smiling for the wrong reasons. He looked back up and met Vernetta's eyes for the first time.
"No one wants to be me or with me." He smirked.
"There has to be a good reason."
He didn't seem like the type to be rude or bully. No, Steve looked like the guy who would receive such sentiment.
"You know what I look like."
"More like a person than a troll like you seem to believe."
He opened his mouth but Vernetta stopped him.
"You're quite handsome, believe it or not. And besides, it's what's on the inside that counts."
"That's what they say to ugly people."
Both of them smiled at his remark. Steve even chuckled a bit. He loosened the tie, tugging it away from him before slinking off the coat revealing vest and shirt. Vernetta had back away, so he turned to address her in person.
"I'll take the set." A corner of his mouth turned upward.
He didn't quite realize what he did. He still didn't after the fact, but Vernetta did. Head angled down, eyes looking up, the half smile, this young man had charm without the confidence. No, his friend stole most of that. But after beating himself up about his looks, it was those qualities that won Vernetta over.
"If a stranger tells you that you're handsome compared to bullies you've known for years, can you guess what's the truth?"
Rhetoric acted as an ally and Vernetta fetched boxes and wrapping paper with the upper hand of the conversation. With a man like that, she must've bitten her lip without even knowing it. She returned to the dressing room and packaged everything with special care after Steve was fully dressed. He went out to the front to discuss things with his mother. With this solitude, Vernetta faced the mirror and barred her teeth. His natural charm was confirmed with red staining the corners of several teeth.
"I just need fifteen from you."
"Fifteen?!" Steve looked over her shoulders. "You know you need much more than that."
"My suit my price. Besides," Vernetta leaned over the counter, "as there may be a price for beauty, there isn't one for confidence."
She took the money in his hand watching him reel from the shock. She rang the order, writing down each item on the receipt purposely mixing up her sevens with twos and so on. "Vernetta Holbrook" was written in the consultant line but paused when she jumped down to the customer line.
"Say, do I write your name or your mother's?"
"Mine." Steve instantly answered. "Write mine."
She did as she was told, writing his name in pretty font before turning it over to him.
"I need your signature then."
And Steve did as he was told, being gifted his suit and the white copy whereas Vernetta kept his money and the yellow copy after she separated the two slips. But Vernetta retracted, instead offering herself.
"You said George Washington, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You wouldn't mind if Amelia and I dropped by? Afterall, we would love to see our suits in action."
Her eyes were low, head tilted down, mouth puckered and only half smiling. Unlike Steve, Vernetta knew what she was doing. The young man himself shyly smiled, looking away to avoid such an intense look. But then he faced her, with confidence might she add.
"Anyone and everyone is welcome." His shyness blossomed into friendliness.
The consultant brought the receipt to her face, planting her lips onto the clean paper. She passed it off with a couple of fingers retaining her composure.
"Well, then I look forward to it."
"That broad seemed to be, uh, interested, amiright?" Bucky nudged Steve.
Both of them were several steps ahead of their mothers, allowing them the freedom to talk freely about No.19. They handed off their suits to them but Steve was careful to keep the receipt. He wasn't going to have a little chat about girls with his mother, that was for sure."
"She seemed a bit pushy."
"Well, what would you expect?" Bucky shrugged. "She wanted to make you look good and you refused the first time."
No one had really dressed him up before, save his mother. The consultant, Vernetta her name was, was meticulous about the look. She loved pinstripes and dark colors. Even more so when they were combined. She wanted that on him even if it would kill her. Then Steve thought some more.
"Do you think girls dress up guys in a way that makes them more attractive to them?"
"Certainly. Why'd you ask?"
"Well, she bit her lip the whole time-"
"Stop right there." Bucky held up a hand. "That's the biggest sign of a gal liking you."
Steve went on the explain the touchiness, the handkerchief, the school and the receipt. Every time he would explain each subject, Bucky's theory became more realistic.
"Ooh, a broad's very interested, my friend. How does it feel?"
Steve, honest to god, didn't know. No girl's ever been interested. If so, it was a cruel joke. This Vernetta could be playing with his mind and emotions. His hopes weren't high, but something within told him that this strange feeling burning inside felt good.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! This chapter is kind of cheesy, but everything has to start from something! Plus, the First Avenger was really cheesy, so it fits in a way! I hope you enjoyed it!