Past the Midway by Sarah Hanley

Author:Sarah Hanley [Hanley, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Edward Wayne Publishing via Indie Author Project
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

September, 1927

Charlie bobs up and down beside me in the restaurant’s curved banquette. We may as well be going around and around on a carousel, with all of his see-sawing and back-and-forth-ing, talking to no one but himself.

“I see them.”

He stands.

“No, I guess that’s not them.”

Sits again.

“Oh yes! Julian!”

Raises his hand in a wave.

“Ah, maybe not.”

Drops his arm.

I try to get a word in. “Charlie, I—”

He cuts me off, standing again. He cranes his neck toward the entrance. “The maître d’hotel doesn’t even see us. I should go wait up front.

“Ach.” He sits. “Maybe that would look too eager.”

Every time he plops back down, I’m pushed up, ejected with a poof of air under the leatherette seat. Up. Down. Rises, falls. Always moving. I stay stationary, aside from the bump I get when he drops.

I’d like a sip of my seltzer, but I’m afraid with all of his ricocheting up and down, I’d time it just right so I’d only get a paper straw up my nose.

“Any minute,” he says. “Oh, there they—ah, shit.” He looks at me as if he’d forgotten I was even there. “Oh, crabapples. Sorry for my language, Ducky.”

I wave away his apology. No need. Instead of sipping my seltzer, I stab the straw into the ice and watch my beau’s reflection in the sparkling mirrors that line the walls of the restaurant. Just like a carousel. Up and down, round and round. Bad music and too-bright lighting.

A carousel. Like our first date a year ago. Charlie had grabbed a golden ring on only the third time around on those shiny black carousel horses. He presented it to me on one knee like a proposal. It was a cute act, at the time. We had a ball together all summer, drinking root beer, riding the Spinning Disk, and hamming it up for the midway photographer. We both loved Coney Island back then. Jiminy, that seems like a lifetime ago. So much has changed.

“Charlie,” I lean over to him. “He’ll see you when he gets here. You told the maître d’ to bring them over, and he will. You have to trust him; that’s his job.” I touch his arm, try for a little flirting. “We can take a minute, you know? Just us. Come on over here and chin with me.” He’s not looking at me. I don’t think he heard a word.

God damn. I sink my cheek further into my fist.

“They must be quite late,” he mutters. “Wait, he sees us. Over here! Julian!” Charlie stands once more and waves his arm like a little boy at a parade. A couple is slicing through the diners like a hot knife: a man in a smart suit and dark mustache follows a woman in an elegant green silk gown with an actual train. They appear to be in their middle twenties, but their sophistication adds potency to their years.

I feel suddenly underdressed in my little blue frock—as sexy as I dared without upsetting Charlie. I glance down at my open décolletage; I was hoping it would be enough without being too much.

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