Chapter 41

"I'm nervous."

Billie gazed into the mirror that hung on the wall in John's bedroom. She had already changed her outfit twice and done and undone her hair too many times to count. That night she was meeting the gang. Billie had surrendered her life to John; that included her family and friends. She no longer had any kind of circle or ring in which to call her own. If she wanted to have friends and fit in she now had to do so with John's. The man was undaunted if not excited for the evening. To him, there was nothing stressful about it.

Not only were there men to impress, but woman as well. The guys' girlfriends would also be present, and meeting gangsters girls was something Billie couldn't shake off easily. Weren't they called molls? They seemed like a whole other kind of breed of woman. That was, until Billie realized she was now one of them. She was just a girl who'd fallen for a guy and stayed because she couldn't imagine a life without him. Were they really all that different from herself?

"Don't sweat it," John chuckled, coming up behind Billie and bending down. He engulfed her in his arms, kissing her cheek and hanging his head against her neck. Billie looked in the mirror and saw themselves wrapped together, John's dark hair dangling over his face, and the smile he had put on hers. Her one hand raised to touch and run along his tan forearms. She liked his arms. They were big, but not too big, and strong, but not intimidating. When he wore his simple undershirt they extended from his body, toned and bare, along with the muscles of his chest.

From the mirror she watched him move from her, turning his back to the glass so Billie saw another arousing view of his shoulders and back. Her reflection returned to her own, contemplating the color of her lipstick and amount of eyeliner. Too much would look overdone, as if she were trying too hard. A light shade of her lips would be demure, possibly to the point of innocent, whereas too dark a color would look bold, but also suggestive. There was much more to appearances that John realized, or cared about at that moment.

He had pulled over a white dress shirt, buttoned and tucked into his pants, and flopped upon the bed as he reached for a catalog. Billie turned around in her seat.

"Do any of your friends disapprove of us?"

John smirked. "Disapprove? What does that matter?"

"Don't you want me to impress your friends?"

"Well, sure, sweetheart," he replied casually, barely looking up from his paper, as if it really didn't mean much to him.

Billie huffed lightly. Why was he taking things so lightly when he was excited about the whole thing? It obviously meant something to him, but of what Billie couldn't distinguish. "Don't you care at all what your friends think?"

He looked away from his paper then, pausing as though he were contemplating his answer. Then, he replied simply, "No."

She gave a small smile and stood. What they did was their business and their concern only. She took his comment to mean he was indifferent toward what others reactions might be. Nearing the bed she bent her head slightly toward his, dipping down to kiss the tip of his nose. Smiling, John reached out a hand to touch her but at the same time she slipped away. "I'm going to change," she told him to which he chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

He did understand Billie. She wanted to be liked and accepted by his friends and he wanted this too. She would be entering a room of criminals and seemed to be more worried about disapproving opinions than actual danger. There was nothing for her to worry about; she was pure and beautiful and honest, all those things already gave her a leg up on any of the men going to be present. The women, too. He himself was not nervous, though her understood her anxieties, for he knew she would impress even without trying. He felt proud. It was almost as though he wanted to show Billie off rather than allow everyone to get acquainted.

The door creaked open slowly and John looked up. Billie emerged in a small black dress, accentuating her thin frame with a dipped but modest neckline and sheer straps for a hint of femininity. Her long dark hair had been waved and she wore it tossed over one shoulder, like a siren on the silver screen. He admired her for a moment, smiling.

"That's pretty."

She knew he meant it due to his soft tone. The sincere compliment pleased her, eased her nerves and warmed her heart. A moment passed while his eyes stayed on her. He asked if they could finally leave and Billie agreed, the two shutting out lights in the apartment and heading for the door. Before they passed through Billie touched John's arm lightly, drawing him back, and she kissed him enough to hold her over until the evening passed.