"They're not gonna let you finish at that school, Mercedes Ann. They just gonna dangle that mess over your head like a rat after cheese. You'll be doin' all the things them white girls do but they'll say, 'Sorry Mercedes Jones. It looks like you do not meet the qualifications to be in our Navy."
Bite your tongue, Mercedes. Bite your tongue, was what she had to force herself to say as she guided a hot iron across her navy blue blazer. Her mother fussed onward with this week's rant regarding Mercedes' pursuit in joining the Navy. Her grip on the iron's handle was unnecessarily tight like her jaw, but once she had the jacket entirely wrinkle-free, whirled around to face her yammering mother.
"…and you'll have wasted all this time. Time you coulda spent gettin' yourself a job that guarantees rewarding. Like getting' in one of the factories. Ms. Nancy downstairs says the button factory's lookin' for a couple more folks to monitor the belts. And Patty Jo's been needin' some help gettin' her dress shop goin'—you know you're real good with a needle and threa—"
"Mama!"
Mrs. Jones, who had been busying herself kneading dough on the small kitchen table, stopped and snapped her gaze at her incensed daughter. Her own full lips formed a hard line as she geared up to reprimand her daughter for her tone, but Mercedes spoke up first.
"I understand you're lookin' out for me, but I'm already finished with the training. The ceremony's tomorrow and then I'm goin' wherever they send me. I'm sorry if you don't believe in me, but…I'm gonna do this."
Mrs. Jones appraised her daughter's stanch expression with her equally certain tone. It was like staring at a younger version of herself; heart-like lips, dark, doe eyes, ovular face with cherub cheeks. She had even inherited her pear-shaped figure. More than physical likenesses, both Jones women had generally level heads, but strong opinions that were difficult to waver. Often times that stubbornness served them well, but it also tended to produce arguments between the two women. Sighing, Mrs. Jones turned away, "It's not you I don't believe in, Mercedes. It's them. How they treat you."
"I knew what I was gettin' myself into, Mama. I'm not the only one in the program though. I'm just about to be the first negro woman to complete the academy and serve. They know we're not blind. America's in this war now and they're not leaving us outta it—man or woman. You heard about the Tuskegee airmen? How they—"
"I know, I know," her mother insisted, waving off her daughter's persistence. She took to wringing her flour-powdered hands onto her apron while staring at the ceiling, and then took her time to look in her daughter's eyes again. "I just don't want you gettin' hurt."
At that, Mercedes softened her gaze and even allowed herself to smile. She pulled her mother into a hug and promised, "I've been workin' hard on this, Mama. And it's gonna pay off. Tomorrow."
The music was pouring out of every window of Chester's Hideaway. The bells of shiny brass saxophones, trumpets and trombones toddled in near unison; their players' feet gave lively taps on the soft-wooded floors of the bandstand. Each of them wore uniform white smoking jackets with black pocket squares and black slacks. Hot lights burned high above, adding sweat beads to the hardworking musicians and their equally fervent guests. Few men and women were on the outskirts of the dance floor, as most were twirling and teetering about to the swing music. Some women had taken to hiking up their loose gingham dress skirts to swish about while their ankles twisted to and fro. Several men—some of who were clad in white sailor suits and brown soldier suits—clapped and whooped for the ladies flashing some thigh.
Mercedes loved coming to Chester's Hideaway when she wanted somewhere to let her hair down. It hadn't happened often during the past year as she spent most of her time studying and disciplining herself from distractions, but the Hideaway was her favorite place to be. She considered coming in uniform herself, but decided against it after she finished pressing her skirt for the next day. Tonight, she was celebrating.
Instead of her navy attire, Mercedes came dressed in a cotton gingham dress, goldenrod with small white buttons from the center of the square neckline to the middle of her stomach. Her thick bangs were fanned over her forehead in a front victory roll while the rest of her hair was pinned down, out of her face in small curls at the ends. The knobs of her chubby red-brown cheeks rose while she watched the several familiar faces and a few new ones paired up, bobbing and rocking their hips to the music. A couple of friends waved to her from the dance floor, and one had scooped his hand in the air, encouraging her to join them. Her grin grew and she prepared to step in their direction, but found herself startled to a halt by the voice just above her head.
"This joint really comes alive at night, huh?"
Leaning against the door frame was a tall man with his arms folded across his chest. From his shoulders to his ankles, he donned a clean white sailor's uniform—its wide collar lined with dark blue borders. He flicked an ankle out, only to cross it in front of the other with the toe of his shoe bent to the hard wood. His hands shifted from his biceps to fiddle with the dark, loose tie around his neck as he noted, "I never seen you here before."
"Must mean you're new," she casually retorted, keeping her eyes on the dancing couples.
He chuckled at her indifference, "So that's what gave me away?"
When Mercedes looked up to his face, his eyes were pointedly scanning the room and his hands were lifting his cap from his lightly gelled, blond locks but he still had a crooked smile fixed to his face. Her eyes rolled exceptionally slow from his question, "You're not the first white boy to come through here and I doubt you'll be the last. Anyone regular around here'll tell you they ain't gonna care what color your skin look like. That's one of the best things about this place. So long as you're here to have a good time like the rest of us, you could be checker-faced."
As if to prove her point, an Asian couple spun into the center of the dance floor. The male stopped his turning first, but kept his hand in his lady's as she twirled away and recoiled into his side like a yo-yo. Her canary yellow skirt flared up with more of rapid spins and lifts, and the last time he hoisted her up, her rear was in front of his face, and her legs shot out in a "V" shape. When her feet touched the ground again, she spun once more and danced side-by-side with him, never missing a beat to the music.
Cheers grew louder for the couple's impressive swing moves, and the applause continued on once the song came to a conclusion. Mercedes was still clapping while looking back up to the sailor, "That's Mike and Tina. One of the greatest pair to watch on the dance floor." While she went on to tell him how the Hideaway used to be a speakeasy not fifteen years ago, the band brought the tempo and energy down within the place. Trumpets whined with clarinets and French horns crooning low in accompaniment. A few people scattered from the dance floor for a break while others sidled up to a potential dance partner.
Mercedes recognized the song and fell silent; it was new but quickly became an easygoing favorite of hers after getting a hold of a record copy just weeks ago. No one was singing along up on the bandstand, but she mouthed the lyrics while she watched the floor.
"Candy, why I call my sugar candy…Mmm, I'm sweet on candy and candy, he's sweet on me…"
She took a breath to start singing aloud, low and to herself but the breath hitched in her breath as a newcomer cut across.
"Hiya, Mercy!"
She snapped her gaze to her left and grinned, "Ev'nin', Mike! You and Tina were lookin' mighty fine out there."
Her smooth-footed friend grinned as well and ducked his head, ever the modest one. "Well thanks! I actually came over to see if you'd like to get away from the wall and join me for this one. Tina wanted to take a break and you and I haven't danced in a while." He extended a hand while taking a step back, opening his body to the dance floor.
With a slight cock of her head and her heart-shaped lips maintaining a smile, Mercedes placed her hand in his waiting one, "Well I'd love to," and stepped away from the door frame. Before getting too far, she tossed a gaze over her shoulder and quickly said, "Nice meeting you…"
The sailor righted his lax stance and quickly blurted out, "Sam!" He nodded and repeated his name with a little more composure, earning himself his own smile from her before she and Mike swayed right into the crowd. Sam watched them for a bit, ignoring the sudden hike in temperature until he couldn't anymore. He adjusted the loose tie, dropped his gaze for a few seconds, and then about-faced back through the door to steal some cool night air.
Please leave reviews! As always, the reviews and feedback mean a lot to me, and I absolutely like to hear your thoughts, speculations, questions, etc. I promise appearances and features from other canon characters, but I'm really excited to work on this story some more. While I have a loose outline of where this story's headed, I'm not entirely sure about how long each chapter will be yet. Undoubtedly it will vary from chapter to chapter. More is coming soon!
Song lyrics from "Candy" by Big Maybelle