Swing!

Wednesday night rolls around again! My boyfriend’s taking me to the Savoy and we are dancing ‘til our feet bleed! Whoa baby watch out! This is how it is: If you want to swing you go to the Savoy.

My boy is hep. If he were candy I would eat him all up. Oh sure, I don’t tell him so. I know how to hold on, but he is gone!

My mother says, “You can’t even tell that boy is white.” and I say, “Just because you tell me that I have to go out with ‘businessmen’ doesn’t mean I can’t go dancing from time to time. Those yucks you make me go with are all dead hoofers.” She says, “Hrummph”.

He looks gammin’ in his threads: bow tie, vest, shirt crisp-pressed and spats on his shoes. I like the split in his teeth just like Cab Calloway and his is hair parted in the center, all smooth and shiny. When we get there he throws his jacket over a chair. He grabs my hand and pulls me out on to the dance floor and I am butter, no, I am water. I follow his flow like a yo-yo. He lifts me up on his thigh and then swings me on to his side and around his middle and over his head and my skirts are flying and the crowd is DYING.

I am telling you: I am DYING and it never felt so good. We can hear the applause. The dance floor fills up around us like a beast in its final throes, pulsing with one heartbeat.

The band is going crazy. The horns section is standing up and the light is bouncing off their brass.

Swirls of color surround us. Billowing dresses and skirts fly. Boys in suits and spats bend like bows. The girls are the arrows. The mark is somewhere
O U T I N S P A C E!

I have never been so alive.

The number comes to an end and we fall into our seats. Oscar is slumped back waving for a waiter. He is smiling a smile as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge. I am laughing and huffing trying to catch my breath.

“I need a cup of mud, how about you?” he says. He drinks coffee. I like that.

“Soda”.

When the drinks come he slides his chair around closer to me.

“You’re cool for a Moll.” he says.

“I’m not a Moll.” I say, haughtily. I wonder what Lefty has been saying about me.

“Well that’s good ‘cause I don’t want to get bumped off for taking you dancing.”

“Don’t be all wet! I do what I like!”

“Do you like me?” Oscar says, leaning closer and smiling shyly.

“Sure.” I say, hoping he thinks the colour rising in my cheeks is still from the dancing.

“You want to do me?”

I throw my soda in his face, which is a shame because I am thirsty. I can hear him calling my name, “Opal!” as I make a b-line for the door. “Opal, wait, I didn’t mean anything!”

I let him catch up to me outside. He is leaning over me. I have my back against the wall. There’s a cab but he is so much bigger than me the driver doesn’t see my hail.

“I’m sorry Opal. I didn’t mean anything. Come on back inside. Opal … Opal ... ” He says my name like it’s a kiss he is blowing in my ear.

I am trying not to look at him. I am trying to leave, but he sounds so sad and sorry and I turn my face towards his and he kisses me full on the mouth.

Now I am definitely butter.

The doorman stops us trying to get back in. Oscar is trying to explain but I am laughing. He finally shrugs it off and gives him another 60 cents for us both. I can’t stop laughing. It serves him right after all!

"Swing" prompt, Brigits Flame 680 words, gp content

Swing!