Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [99]
Delicate fingers are smoothing the hair off her forehead.
“Hey, sweetie,” Vivian says.
Honora struggles to sit up. “What time is it?”
“It’s eight-thirty.”
“Really? I slept that long? You’ve all eaten?”
“We’ve all eaten. Ross cooked.”
Honora rubs her eyes. “You’re kidding,” she says.
“I kid you not. And it was good, if you can believe it.”
“What was it?”
“Some kind of lamb stew. Irish, he says. But listen.” Vivian sits at the edge of the bed. “Sadie’s downstairs. She arrived before dinner. Ross says he knows of a dance hall in Rye, and Louis says we all deserve a night off. So how about it?”
“Now?” Honora asks.
“We’ll wait for you,” Vivian says.
“He doesn’t look old enough. They won’t let him into the dance hall,” Ross is saying. He has combed his hair and has on red suspenders for the special occasion.
“Bet they will,” Tsomides answers.
* * *
“If he can’t get in, someone will have to come back with him,” Ross says, a bit of a grumble in his voice.
“I’ll wait outside,” Alphonse says quietly, looking as though he wishes he could disappear through the floor.
“For crying out loud, he’s taller than I am,” Sadie Vassos says, and this is, of course, perfectly true. Sadie, barely five feet, stands next to Alphonse in her denim overalls and a white blouse. Often she wears a worker’s cap, but not tonight. Tonight she is going dancing. She hooks an arm through Alphonse’s. “You’ll be my date,” she says.
“Okay, that’s settled,” Sexton says, patting his oiled curls in place. He glances over at Honora and then away. “Let’s head out, gang.”
Ross, Alphonse, Sadie, Sexton, and Tsomides, who still wears a bandage on his head, ride in Mahon’s bread truck, while Honora and Louis and McDermott slide into Vivian’s wagon. McDermott has a bottle, and Louis, who is wedged between Honora and McDermott, takes a swig and wipes his mouth. He passes the bottle to Honora, who has a drink as well, at once realizing that this is probably a very bad idea; she hasn’t eaten since lunch. “Gin?” she asks.
“Mahon’s best,” McDermott says.
“Good to blow off some steam,” Louis says. The gin spreads slowly inside Honora and makes the idea of a dance hall in another town seem immensely appealing.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she says.
“Need a break once in a while,” Louis says.
It is more roadhouse than dance hall, and no one looks askance at Alphonse. Next to the band, an area has been roped off, and at this early hour there are only three couples moving to the music. Ross and McDermott slide two round tables together, stealing chairs from other parts of the room. Alphonse, in his best white shirt, looks thoroughly pleased with himself. He orders a Coca-Cola, and Ross, while McDermott has his head turned, pours a dollop of rum from a bottle badly hidden in a paper bag into Alphonse’s drink. The paper bags are everywhere, Honora notes, their necks twisted at the top, fooling no one. She thinks that the Rye police must have a generously blind eye; all the patrons seem relaxed, not expecting a raid anytime soon.
Theoretically one can get food at a roadhouse, though Honora has not seen a waitress pass by their table. She is hungry and shouldn’t be drinking until she has eaten, and, well, she is just not a very good drinker anyway. But Alphonse is clearly so happy and Vivian is just hooting away and Sexton is locked in conversation with Sadie and McDermott has returned with two glasses and a bottle of tonic water and seems to be making drinks for both of them.
“ ‘Embraceable yoooou . . .’ “ Ross sings to the music.
“Somebody shut the mick up,” Tsomides says from the end of the table.
“Hey, Tsomides, I think a little brains spilled out when you got hit,” Ross says.
“Marriage is bondage,” Sadie Vassos is saying, holding a glass filled mostly with ice to her cheek. “The sexual act should not be subject to the state.”
Honora glances quickly at Alphonse and notes that he is even more bug-eyed than usual. She is going to have to tell Ross to cut it out with the rum. “I’m sorry we missed our swimming lesson today,