Gillian immediately hunched over into the hulking pose of a gorilla, her arms trailing, her jaw protruding. She began shuffling around the room, alternately scratching her head and her chest. When she turned to face Amanda, her eyes carried the blank stare of a subspecies animal.
“Uh...” she said. “Uh... he’s about... uh... six feet two inches in his socks, Gillian... uh... and he has this black hair, yeah, and these brown eyes and... uh... oh yeah... a black mustache and—”
“A black mustache!” Amanda shrieked.
“I’m only quoting Brian,” Gillian said, straightening up and walking directly to Amanda’s closet. “He’s also a captain in the Judge Advocate’s office and doing work someplace in Arizona. He has a great suntan, Brian said.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-six,” Gillian said, opening the closet door.
“Twenty-six!”
“Well now, just what’s wrong with twenty-six?” Gillian asked, turning, her hands on her hips.
“Twenty-six!”
“Yes, twenty-six, twenty-six. What shall we do, bury him?”
“Twenty-six with a black mustache,” Amanda said, and she pulled a face, her eyes flaring with new determination. “No. Absolutely not.” She took her robe from the bed and pulled it on over her bra and panties. “No, Gillian. I’m sorry. No.”
“Which dress do you want to wear?” Gillian said from the closet.
“I’m not going.”
“Wear the yellow. It’s a good color for you.”
“I’m not going. You can call Brian and tell him...”
Gillian threw the yellow taffeta onto Amanda’s bed and went to her dresser. She opened the top drawer, rummaged about in it for a moment, and then said, “Haven’t you got a pair without a run?”
“Gillian, I have no intention of—”
“Amanda, put on your stockings and your dress and your shoes and stop behaving like a silly little—”
“Gilly, he is twenty-six years old, and—”
“Yes, and he has a black mustache, and he forecloses mortgages on widows’ homes, and you are going to that stupid Falling Roses Ball with him if I have to carry you there unconscious. Yes!”
The green eyes flashed for an instant, and then the impish grin claimed Gillian’s face.
“Come on, Amanda,” she said gently. “Have a heart. I promised Brian.”
Now, sweeping about the floor in the arms of Matthew Anson Bridges, Amanda was forced to admit that he didn’t seem terribly old after all. And he did have a marvelous suntan, and a very soft way of speaking, she supposed that was because he came from Virginia. She had never known a Southerner before, and somehow Matthew Anson Bridges — it was strange, she couldn’t think of him as just a first name, she had to link all three names together, the way she had first heard them — Matthew Anson Bridges reminded her of all the stories she’d read about the Old South. She could almost visualize him astride a horse, assuring a plantation widow that his troops were only in pursuit of the Yankees, Ma’am, and would not loot or pillage. And yet he didn’t have a real Southern accent, it was simply a soft way of speaking. Well, she supposed all educated Southerners spoke that way. He danced very well, with a firm guiding hand in the small of her back, and a very light grip on her free hand. It didn’t seem at all like dancing. Their feet seemed to be slightly above the floor of the gym, not touching anything really. There was almost a feeling of flying, weightless, in the arms of Matthew Anson Bridges, sweeping about the floor now.
“When I hear that serenade in blue,
“I’m somewhere in another—”
“Do you like Glenn Miller?” Amanda asked.
“—world alone with you
“Sharing all the joys...”
“Yes,” Matthew said.
“He’s in the army, too, isn’t he?”
“Yes. The air corps.”
“Do you like our parachute?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“He’s a captain, too, isn’t he? Glenn Miller?”
“Yes.”
“And as we dance the night away
“I hear you say...”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“You seem angry.”
“I don’t like to talk when I’m dancing,” Matthew said.
“Oh. Well, excuse me.”
“You’re excused.”
Around and around, barely touching the gym floor, he doesn’t like to talk when he dances, well, well, well, the strong silent type, Mr. Matthew Anson Bridges, but he does dance well. He’s probably counting the steps. Talking probably confuses him, throws him off count. And she burst out laughing.
“Something?” he said.
“No. No.”
“I don’t like secret laughter,” he told her.
“What do you like, Mr. Bridges?”
“Call me Matthew. Everyone else does.”
“What do you like, Matthew?”
“I like honey blondes who look as if they just fell off a peach tree.”
She stared up at him suddenly.
“The song’s over,” he said. “I do like Glenn Miller, and I think your freshman band and your teen-age vocalist just slaughtered one of the prettiest songs he ever recorded.”
“Me?” Amanda said.
“Huh?”
“The... the peach tree?”
“Oh. Yes. Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t know if I’m flattered.”
“Why not?”
Amanda laughed. “Peaches are yellow and red and fuzzy.”
“They are also ripe and soft,” Matthew said. “Come on.”
“Where are you going? The punch bowl’s—”
“I think Brian has a pint in the car.”
“Well...”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’d like to dance some more,” Amanda said.
“The band’s taking an intermission.”
“Yes, I know. When they come back, I mean. Oh, there’s Gillian! Gilly! Over here!”
Gillian, wearing a vibrantly electric blue silk, took Brian’s hand and walked to where Matthew and Amanda were standing.
“Hi,” she said. “How are you two getting along?”
“We’re discussing fruit,” Matthew said, and he smiled at Amanda.
“I think we ought to get out of here,” Brian said.
“Why?” Gillian asked.
“I don’t like gymnasiums. They always smell sweaty.”
“I want to dance some more,” Amanda said.
“Isn’t there someplace else we can go to dance?” Matthew asked Brian.
“Sure. There’re a hundred places in Talmadge alone. If we—”
“I want to stay here,” Amanda said. “I think it’s lovely.”
“I thought we might find a place where we could sit at a table.”
“No, I like it here.”
“Defense rests,” Matthew said, shrugging.
“You’re a lawyer, Brian tells me,” Gillian said. She smiled slightly, her green eyes catching Matthew’s, holding them in an intense gaze.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“It must be fascinating. The law.”
“It is. I only wish I were practicing it.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m something slightly higher than a clerk,” Matthew said, smiling.
“Isn’t that Virginia?”
“Isn’t what Virginia?”
“The accent.”
“I didn’t think it was that obvious.”
“I’m an expert,” Gillian said. “I’ll bet I can pinpoint the town.”
“Go ahead.”
“Say something else. Say ‘I think we should take the ferry to Newport News.’”
“I think we should take the ferry to Newport News.”
“I think we should take the car to New Haven,” Brian said.
“Richmond,” Gillian said.