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Nix dragged his feet through dirty slush, leaving a trail of scuff marks in his wake. He happened to look up and catch a glimpse of Lise sitting alone, drinking her coffee. He decided to get out of the cold and join her. She gladly accepted both the offer of his company and a tip from his flask into her cup, even though it was hardly past noon. Nix liked her for this and for her puckered smile, and he enjoys their friendly causerie. Lise maneuvered the topic around to Valentine’s Day, no ulterior motive on her part, no.
She and Rissy are going to a sort of party for the enlisted men, she told him, along with almost every girl they know. It’s their patriotic duty--morale and all--but a pleasant one. Lise persuaded Rissy into going by saying that she needed her friend, who she loves, on St. Valentine’s Day, since her James was so far away. And those boys deserve a night without any concerns beyond who to dance with, non? It’s all in fun, the lights won’t be too low and the evening is scheduled to end relatively early. What anyone should choose to do afterwards was their own business, and if Rissy wants to read her book in the bath, she can do that once she’s back home.
“Was that what she was going to do?” Nix studied the way his fingers held his cigarette.
Lise shrugged and giggled. Rissy will be safe from Cupid’s bow, she explained, because Lise will be her date. No indiscretions for Rissy just because of the holiday. She will dance and smile and chat, even though she hates small talk, and that is all.
“Well, one never knows.”
Lise waved Nix’s remark away. “Rissy says she does not want any of the men there for her Valentine, if anyone asks.” Her eyes flick to Nix’s face to see if he noticed her small caveat. Subtlety was never her strong suit, so Nix caught her sharp, bird-like glance as well.
What Lise did not say was when Rissy said she didn’t want to date anyone, that really meant anyone who wasn’t Nix, even if Rissy didn’t admit it to herself. She didn’t tell him that Rissy was sure Nix would be somewhere dark and romantic with someone beautiful and sophisticated, and the thought left Rissy prickling with jealousy. Lise chattered away lightly, leaving out exactly how she got Rissy to agree to attend a party she had no interest in. Rissy found her crying over her James--she worries about him all the time, every minute--and Lise asked her best friend in all the world, the person she loves the most next to her James, to be her Valentine. She scrubbed at her tearstains with her hanky and offered up a shaky smile, and Rissy couldn’t bring herself to refuse after that shameless manipulation—which was only manipulation impart. “We’ll whisper about everyone else, keep each other out of trouble,’ Lise said, as if there’s any risk that either of them will do anything more scandalous than harmless and meaningless flirting. Rissy heaved a sigh and said yes, and here we are.
For his part, Nix does not ask if Rissy is swearing off men entirely or just for Valentine’s Day or only men at the party. These are all very different things. He also wonders if he’s a terrible friend for being glad (relieved?) that Rissy’s plans include a roomful of men and not one in particular.
Lise and Nix drank whiskey-laced coffee until everything was funny and the waitress looked at them with frank disapproval although she didn’t say a word.
“I saw your Lewis today.” Lise pulled Rissy’s brush through her hair, pleased at the way her curls sprung back after each stroke.
“He’s not my Lewis.”
“I told him you read in the bathtub.”
“You did not.” Blood flowed into Rissy’s cheeks. “He’ll think of me in the bath.”
Lise said nothing but her mouth quirked in a one-sided, very French smile. Rissy swore and smacked her, and Lise retaliated, pinching her. This continued until their laughter got the better of them.
“You’re impossible.”
“I know.” Lise went back to serenely brushing her hair, as though she hadn’t just been playing like little girl.
February 14th dawns cold and grey, and the weather does not improve at all throughout the day. In fact, it gets worse. The heavy clouds start spitting rain almost as soon as Nix walks outdoors. Cold water drips down his neck. He knows he isn’t strictly allowed to be where he’s going, but he also knows no one will tell him to leave. Tonight is for the benefit of the enlisted men, not him. They deserve that much and he really should leave it to them, but he’s not going to.
He doesn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day drinking with Harry and listening to him go on about Kitty or drinking in front of Dick. He’d rather be with Rissy tonight, and if that means interloping, he doesn’t give a damn. Nix’s clammy shirt collar sticks to his skin, sending unpleasant chills down his back. He sidles through the door and within a minute or so, he’s over-warm, except for the nape of his neck. Nix tries to ignore it. He shrugs out of his coat--how his scarf stayed dry and his shirt collar got wet he doesn’t know--and consigns it to the coat-check girl without even looking at her.
Nix observes the evening’s festivities from the periphery, unnoticed for the time being. The women make bright spots of color in a sea of dull browns and greens. They are also considerably outnumbered. He starts to wonder if Rissy’s there; she could have decided to stay in at the last minute. She might be soaking in hot water, reading her novel, in a steamy bathroom, with all that magnificent hair floating around her… He doubts she would do that to Lise, who is very much present, telling a story with great animation to the amusement of everyone listening to her. Rissy isn’t one of them.
Oh, look, there she is. Once he finds her, she’s all he can see. Rissy’s complexion, rich as cream, glows against her white dress. She has a red enamel heart at her throat and red heels on her feet for the occasion. A few tendrils have escaped from her pinned-up curls, framing the curve of her neck. Nix knows her skin radiates warmth, and, if you get close enough, she’ll smell like a caramel sundae under her perfume.
The man twirling her around won’t be privy to this bit of information; she’s keeping a respectable distance between them. When the song ends, she steps back and smiles up at him. He puts his hand on her arm, but she doesn’t touch him. He asks a question, she answers, and they make their way to the refreshments. Rissy accepts the glass and sips at it, nodding at whatever he’s saying, and then she laughs. Another man joins them, and then another. She shifts her feet, uncomfortable being the center of attention. She looks like a rabbit on the verge of bounding away.
--Come to think of it, she could be shy with strangers, or with men, but not all of them. She treats Lise’s James like a brother, and Dick is so wholesome he wouldn’t make any girl nervous. She’s friendly at the hospital, but her work fosters a sense of camaraderie; they have to trust each other to be effective.
She’d never been uneasy around Nix though. If anything, his presence reassured her. She visibly relaxed if she could stand closer or if he put a hand on her back.
New Year’s Eve was the single time Nix saw her with a man in a situation that even approached romantic. The guy was kind of pompous, but he hadn’t said or done anything unforgivable. Rissy had nothing but thinly-veiled contempt for him from the beginning of the night. She just didn’t like him, and if there was a reason, Nix couldn’t see what it was.
Rissy spent more time whispering with Nix than she did with her date. Nix wasn’t complaining about that at all--
Rissy nods and smiles politely, her fingers go to the heart at the hollow of her throat again and again. She looks from man to man, dividing her attention between the three of them. She responds to a question with a yes. Her new partner swings her out and brings her back; Rissy swivels and kicks until she’s flushed with exertion. She’s at her ease again, at least until the music slows. Rissy lets him hold her closer but not by much. When the music comes to a stop, Nix watches her shake her head and cross the floor with her partner in tow.
Nix follows them. He doesn’t like it when the guy puts his arm around Rissy’s waist. He doesn’t think she likes it either. She takes a neat half-step to the side, so there is just enough space between them to make touching awkward.
The lace from Rissy’s slip is faintly visible through her dress. Nix can almost make out the roses and scallops, but her perfume eludes him even though he’s right behind her. Nix reaches out to trace the curve of her shoulder blade. Rissy’s back stiffens; she thinks her dance partner’s getting too familiar. The look Rissy shoots sideways turns from irritated to puzzled when she sees his hands swinging at his sides. This elicits a silent chuckle and a smirk from Nix.
He pitches his voice low so she won’t recognize it right away. “Excuse me, miss?”
Rissy spins on her heel. Weary annoyance blooms into a wide smile as soon as she sees him. Her dimple appears and the corners of her eyes crinkle.
“May I?” Nix cocks his head towards the dancer-floor and extends his hand in an overly formal gesture. She drops the slightest of curtsies and presents her own hand to be kissed. That’s an unequivocal yes. He doesn’t let go; he closes his fingers around hers instead. Rissy’s face shows more color than it did when she was dancing, even though she’s doing nothing but standing still. It’s only then that Nix asks the unfortunate private if he can steal Rissy for a dance. And what can the answer be but ‘yes, of course.’ Nix outranks him, and the way the girl’s face lights up tells him anything he needs to know. He’ll find one who isn’t hung up on a gate-crashing officer.
Nix doesn’t give him a second thought. If he knew the guy thought he was an ass, he wouldn’t care. He is being an ass and he doesn’t have any pangs of conscience about it, either.
Rissy fits in his arms like she belongs there. He can imagine they’d also fit together well in other ways. Violets and muguet fill his nose; Rissy isn’t so careful about keeping her distance from him. She murmurs something he can’t quite hear. It makes a good excuse to pull her in, so her cheek rests on his chest. Their fingers lace together; Rissy turns her face inward. With music so soft and slow, he’d hold almost any partner the same way without thinking--well, maybe not quite this way, but the posture would be similar. He’s only so conscious of it because it’s her. Nix bows his head and Rissy repeats herself. The chill that travels down his spine when her lips nearly graze his ear is much more than pleasant.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Dancing with you, silly girl.”
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“When has that ever stopped me? Besides, I couldn’t leave you to the wolves.” Those boys were hardly wolf-like and Nix knows it. Eager maybe, but harmless.
Rissy’s teeth dimple her lower lip. “I was in such danger. Thank you for saving me.”
“You are quite welcome. The pleasure is mine.” He rolls his eyes but he also means it.
After three songs, they’re both ready to sit down and cool off, as well as some libations. Rissy doesn’t like beer, and that’s all there is besides frothy pink punch that Nix has no appetite for at all.
“Shall we?” She nods, so they collect their coats. Nix helps Rissy into hers. She giggles at his side as he hurries her out the door. He cranes his neck to see if anyone’s watching, as if they would care if they were.
--No one tells him to let Rissy alone anymore. It’s just fun to play at sneaking off.
It’s true that way back in the fall, more than one person told Nix to leave Rissy be. Maybe Mattie--or more likely, her girlfriends--spread a rumor or two. He wishes to God he’d never started anything with her. (He sometimes wonders what Rissy thinks about that ugly little affair, or his wife and kid back home.) Everyone knows everyone in Aldbourne, and God, they like to talk. No one need have worried on Rissy’s behalf; Nix has always behaved himself with her--off-color teasing being the only exception, and that doesn’t count. On occasion, she comes to his arms as a friend, but that’s about compassion, not passion. Any sexual thoughts he has about those stolen moments leave him feeling guilty.
Nix doesn’t know how anyone got the idea he’s some kind of inveterate skirt-chaser. He can’t really be that bad. He’s good on paper; he’s amusing, intelligent, charming, more than reasonably attractive, he has money and connections. Oh, he appreciates pretty girls and there were more than a few of them before he was married and just a couple after, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of love, does it? Plenty of women have liked him--even if his wife isn’t one of them anymore, if she ever was--and some of them liked him a lot, but none of them loved him. And has he ever loved any of them in a real way? What if he’s fundamentally devoid of whatever makes love possible?--
Nix pulls Rissy along by the hand until they’re out of view. Once around the corner, they stop. She laughs, he chuckles along, their breath plumes upward and dissipates. She leans back on the red brick, and Nix grins down at her. The building is the hall for some fraternal organization; Nix has never bothered to notice which one. (It makes a good place for occasions like tonight. Should you require a more upscale setting, you’ll have to drive a bit.) No one turned on the light at the service entrance, leaving the steps that lead to it in deep shadow, giving Nix and Rissy a place to sit and hide. He gently pushes her toward them with a hand at the small of her back. Pinprick stars twinkle in the night sky, beautiful, and for the moment, clear. Cold seeps through Nix’s coat as soon as his bottom meets the concrete. Rissy settles beside him, tucking her coat under her to protect her dress.
Nix’s throat is dry, but that’s a problem he’s equipped to solve.
He takes a generous swallow from his flask before he tips it towards Rissy. Her first sip is delicate, the second one is less lady-like. Alcohol dribbles onto her chin. Nix wipes it away with bare fingers. He can feel her shivering. She only has on a short coat, very pretty but it can’t be doing much to keep her warm. If his ass is cold, hers must be freezing. What would happen if he said she could sit in his lap? He can’t do that, it would be crazy.
“Cold?”
She shakes her head, but it’s a noncommittal gesture, not a denial.
“We can go back in.”
“It’s too hot in there. And I like it better out here.”
Nix can agree with that. There’s a pleasant wistfulness in being outside looking in, when you’re with the right person. Music, laughter, and warmth fill the hall, and out here there are only dark, cold, and damp air, but the company makes up for that. Nix holds out his arm so Rissy can scoot under it.
“Damn! My stocking.”
A run ladders up from the crease behind her knee and disappears under her dress. He feels like he’s looking at a secret place even though less than two inches of her thigh are uncovered. Nix can’t stop himself, he drags his finger lightly along the rent, barely making contact with the ruined silk or the skin beneath it. Rissy looks like she’s made out of marble, but she’s soft and alive. She looks up from under his arm, mouth poised to speak but no words come. Her lashes lower and her lips part slightly, Nix exhales, swallows, his eyes shut. Kiss a girl for the first time on St. Valentine’s Day, schmaltzy, maybe, trite, definitely, but who cares.
--Oh, he could love her. Does he? Let’s not explore that just now, let’s just let it happen, see where it leads, and it’ll be okay and better than okay, and so much better than okay--
Nix tilts his head--and a peal of high female laughter shatters the quiet. A boisterous group of several soldiers and a few girls invades on what would have been a private moment, though they have no way of knowing that. They ramble past, the men bumping into each other and calling to one another in high spirits. One of the guys twirls a girl around, another stumbles and almost falls. He sits down hard on the lip of a concrete planter full of the remains of autumn’s geraniums. His friends find this hilarious. The women titter, all except for the one who kneels beside him to ask if he’s alright. The girl pulls him to his feet and almost goes over backwards herself. Nix is pretty sure he and Rissy aren’t the only ones drinking something a little stronger than beer or punch.
Rissy tugs her dress down to cover her knees. The illusion is broken, they’re no longer alone at the end of the world. They’re back to being friends hiding together, cold concrete under their asses, surrounded by empty crates, near a forgotten planter full of skeletal geraniums, the brown petals disintegrating into powder. (Nix wonders how the dead flowers stayed mostly intact this long. They’re supposed to be hardy, aren’t they, but still. They’re on their last legs now, they’ll be nothing but dust soon, even sheltered by an overhang and tucked into the corner.) At least the trash cans aren’t too close. Even so, there’s nowhere Nix’d rather be and no one he’d rather be with.
Nix had no special plans for Valentine’s Day--he hasn’t taken a woman out since New Year’s, the night he and Rissy both got set up on blind dates. Nix hadn’t liked the girl any more than Rissy liked the guy. In an extraordinary turn of events, her date left with his, and neither Nix nor Rissy cared at all. Instead they were happy in each other’s company. They drank champagne straight from the bottle and managed to get lost trying to get Rissy back to her hotel. When they finally found the right one, she gave him a New Year’s kiss on the cheek. He got a few more after the first one, and lipstick marks to boot. Rissy’s face stayed clean as Nix does not wear lipstick. She was either shivering or trembling, and Nix wondered, if maybe--and then she abruptly said good-night and rushed inside.
By a small miracle, he made it back to the room he was sharing with Dick without much difficulty. The first thing Nix did was relieve himself for what seemed like a very long time. Then he stared at himself in the mirror, contemplating the red smudges Rissy left on his skin. Especially the one at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head at his reflection and staggered out of the bathroom, ready to collapse on the nearest bed. Dick looked at him blandly and said nothing when Nix mumbled Rissy said good-night and Happy New Year’s. Then he promptly fell asleep face-down in the pillows. Dick was kind enough to remove his shoes at some point during the night.
Nix hasn’t been an angel since then--that thought is laughable--but he also hasn’t done anything to upset the tentative dance between himself and Rissy.
It’s just so goddamn confusing.
For example, he and Rissy went to the movies on an ugly afternoon a few weeks into the year. She sat next to him in the dark, and every now and again their hands would brush or his knee would bump into hers. He teased her for watching Cary Grant with saucer eyes and she laughed and smacked his arm. It was nearly dark when they left the theater even though it was only late afternoon. Clumps of muddy slush dotted the ground; the dirty water that trickled from them froze on the pavement . The sidewalk sparkled with ice and Nix thought it was pretty until Rissy nearly fell. There was a crushed poinsettia blossom smashed into the sidewalk, almost under her foot. That wasn’t what she slipped on, it was just there, something that used to be pretty and was now only trash. Suddenly, drooping Christmas greenery and faded decorations were everywhere. Strings of lights hung here and there, no longer cheerful with so many burned out bulbs. (Why do the blue ones always go first? They always do.) A wave of hollow melancholy hit him, and he was quiet until they got to the car. Rissy reached for him as soon as the doors were shut against the wind.
Hot air blew on their legs. His arms went around her waist and she held him, cooing and playing with his hair. Nix pressed his face to the front of her coat, she let him undo its buttons and she pulled him closer. He thought about nuzzling between her breasts and then he couldn’t not think about it. His trousers became uncomfortably tight. Had he known what she was thinking, it wouldn’t have helped that situation--or maybe it would have. He sat up; she slid towards her door.
“It’s so warm in here,” she said, fanning herself.
Nix helps Rissy to her feet. She rubs her bottom, warming herself. If Nix did that for her, he’d discover how far the tear in her stocking went, then he’d get to bare skin, and if she let him trail his fingers up farther--oh God, stop it, will you. He avoids looking at her, concentrating on finding his cigarettes instead. He takes one out and holds it in his mouth while he tries to remember which damn pocket his lighter is hiding in. The lighter strikes and the flame flares, and he can look at Rissy again. She peers up at him, the question plain on her face.
“I only have the one.” This is a lie, he’s got half a pack left.
She takes it when he offers. It’s smudged with red lipstick when she gives it back.
Now, you share cigarettes with friends without thinking, the same way you pass a flask around, but it’s different with her. Her mouth is where his was, his where hers was. It’s practically a kiss, and nowhere near a kiss, and the closest his lips are likely to get to hers. This is getting so maudlin it’s gaudy. He changes tracks.
“Oh, hey, I have something for you.” He raises one eyebrow and gives her a dirty half-grin.
“What is it?”
“Let’s get sauced, and I’ll give it to you later.”
Rissy decides he didn’t mean his comment the way it sounded. Nix doesn’t know what he meant either, but that’s fine. They’ll be inside somewhere with heat, together, and that’s what matters. He doesn’t like to think of her being cold. She skips way from him because she knows he’ll chase her. It only takes him a few steps, his legs are much longer than hers. Nix spins her around on the sidewalk, she laughs and takes his arm and they set off together.
He buys her a drink and then another. And then one more. She squints at her watch. “I have to go back.”
“Alright, I’ll take you.”
The walk feels longer than it is; the temperature has dropped considerably but at least it’s not raining. The clouds are back and it smells like snow. Nix loops his scarf around Rissy’s neck. They stop at the rambling house where he’s billeted on their way. Lord only knows what’s going on there. Nix opens the door to loud whoops and laughter, and a lot of creative swearing. Nix doesn’t want to get pulled into whatever is going on, nor does he want to endure a bunch of smart-ass insinuations and innuendo in front of Rissy or later on when he comes back alone. It’ll be easier to slip in and back out quickly without anyone knowing either he or Rissy were there.
Nix leaves Rissy waiting just inside the door while he runs upstairs. In less than two minutes, he descends the stairs to find her shaking her head in slightly horrified amusement.
“Boys,” she whispers.
Nix ushers her through the door. “We’re not all that bad.”
“You are.” She pokes his arm.
“Just shut your eyes and hold out your hands.”
Rissy stops and turns to face him outside an empty window, standing in a square of light. The air is filled with a sugar storm of tiny snowflakes. Light reflects off each individual one, sparkling confetti.
He places a little china cow in her cupped palms. A miniature Holstein, a trinket that made him think of her when he saw it. He came across it a few weeks ago and it’s been sitting on his dresser until now. One day Dick picked it up and turned it over in his hands, but he put it back down when he saw the expression on Nix’s face. Nix shrugged and pushed it over an inch or so with his index finger, so the little black and white cow was back in the same place it was before Dick moved it. Now it’s where it belongs, with Rissy.
“Thank you.”
“It’s silly--”
“No, it’s lovely.” She’s obviously touched.
The glance holds a few beats too long. He imagines taking her upstairs, locking the door, and laying her down in his bed, or, better yet, kissing her right here on the sidewalk, in a pool of light in the last few minutes of St. Valentine’s Day. That’s the sweeter fantasy, and honestly the one he wants more at this moment. They’ve been here so many damn times though.
The moment passes for the second time in one night. It would have happened by now if it was going to at all, he’s sure. Back to playful lechery, that’s safer.
“Let’s get you back before you get locked out.” He leers at her. “Or I could keep you out so late you’d have to sleep with me.”
“It’s nice to have friends,” she says. She sticks out her tongue to catch a snowflake. Rissy tells herself he wouldn’t joke about sleeping with her if he really wanted to. He was clearly kidding. Someone like Lew wouldn’t want a plain, decent, ordinary girl. No, otherwise, he would’ve leaned down a few inches, that was all he had to do, and she would’ve finally found out what it was like to kiss him.
And now they’re at her gate. All that’s left is to say good-night. If anything was going to happen, it already would have, she thinks.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Rissy.”
“Happy Valentine’s, Lew. Sorry you had to spend it with me.” She checks to see if the windows are still lit up. They have a few minutes yet, but only a few. “You had a present for me and I didn’t give you anything.” Something flickers across his face and her heart beats a little faster. Calm down, she chides herself.
“Oh, you put up with me.”
“It’s more than that.” She reaches for him again and this time she doesn’t smack him, she grasps his hand, twining her fingers with his. The gloves make this difficult. “I like you.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment, then.” She likes him. That has to be enough. “I had a good time. I always do when I’m with you.”
Nix takes a half-step towards her and they exchange kisses, putting them safely on cheeks or temples, nowhere near lips. Instead of pulling away, she gives him a brief, warm hug. The porch lamp flashes off and on, prompting Rissy to hurry through the gate and up the walk. Nix listens to the muted taps of her heels on the rather flagstones. He can still feel her in his arms. The air is colder in her absence; Nix shivers. Damn, she still has his scarf--ah, it’ll give him a reason to see her again sooner rather than later. Nix waits until she’s inside with the door shut behind her before he leaves.
If he saw what she did next, he would have come right back. He would have come running, right up the walk and through the front door, anyone else be damned.
Rissy stands in the dark entryway alone--the lamps are all off in a gesture of silent disapproval--with his scarf in her hands. She buries her face in rough wool that smells like Nix. She doesn’t fold it or hang it on the coat tree, she takes it upstairs to her bedroom. Ashamed but unable to stop herself, she brings it right into bed and under the covers. She can indulge herself the one night since it’s Valentine’s Day. The last of her lipstick stains the wool. Rissy flushes red even though she’s by herself and the door is shut, she doesn’t want to think about how her lipstick got there, even in the privacy of her own mind. She’ll wash Nix’s scarf before she returns it him, and he’ll never know she was acting like a twelve-year-old girl with a movie-star crush. She’d die of embarrassment if he found out.
(On the topic of what-if’s, if Rissy had any idea how disappointed Nix was that he got his scarf back fresh from the laundry, she wouldn’t have felt so ridiculous. He did almost the same thing she did. He expected caramel and vanilla, violets and lily-of-the-valley, and his heart sunk a little when he found only detergent.)