Nightingale
Jean Copeland
Sid smoothed the sides of her greased back hair as she paced in front of her Uncle Ray’s desk. She was buckling under the pressure to find a replacement singer for The High Notes, an all-girl band she managed and had booked at her uncle’s supper club every Saturday night through the summer tourist season.
She sighed. “How many more of these damned auditions, anyway?”
“One more,” Ray said, chewing an unlit cigar as he sifted through a pile of invoices. “Florence something. She could be the one.”
“Ahhh.” Sid waved off Ray’s optimism and stuffed her hands in her trouser pockets. “Amateurs. They don’t have what Marjory has. Nobody does. This is all her fault. What difference would a few more months have made?”
“Listen, kid, Marjory is out. Her fiancé is back from his tour in the South Pacific, and they’re getting hitched. That’s that. Now we gotta get The High Notes a replacement so we can start packing ‘em in again. We’ve lost a lot of lettuce these last two weekends. We need our Saturday night draw back.”
Sid grunted. “Fine, Ray, whatever you say. Let’s just pick this Florence dame and be done with it.”
Ray pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker from the desk drawer. “She’ll be here at six. In the meantime, see if this won’t get Marjory off your mind.” He poured a shot into a filmy glass and handed it to Sid.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said taking the glass. “She’s off all right. She was off the minute she ditched the other girls.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ray smirked. “The other girls.”
“Ah shut up,” Sid said and clicked her glass against Ray’s.
“Excuse me.” A husky voice harmonized with a soft rap on the open office door. “Sorry to interrupt, but it looked like the place was closed.” She took out a cigarette from a tin case and packed the butt against it.
“You must be Florence,” Sid said, regarding her with a begrudging glare. “You’re early.”
Ray jumped out of his chair to light Florence’s cigarette. “Where’s your manners,” he said to Sid and nudged her out of the way.
“Thanks,” Florence said, exhaling a stream of smoke.
“Why don’t you have a seat right out there, dear, and we’ll be with you in a minute,” Ray said, a boyish charm brightening his leathery face.
“Put your eyes back in your head,” Sid said. “She ain’t your type.”
“How do you know she ain’t?”
“She’s clean and smells sophisticated, that’s how I know.”
Ray leaned against the edge of the desk, folded his arms, and studied his niece carefully. “All right, Sid, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll leave her alone if you do. I can tell this one’s a keeper, and I haven’t even heard her sing.”
“I’m not bothering anyone anymore. Trust me. Who needs the aggravation?”
“You knew Marjory was rationed sugar, but you fell for her anyway.”
Sid’s cheeks flushed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. C’mon. Let’s go see if this Florence is some kind of a nightingale or what.”
Ray chuckled and then downed his last sip of whiskey. “Florence Nightingale. That’s a good one.”
After Florence’s audition, Sid sat at the piano waiting for Ray to stop clapping—and clapping and clapping. She stared into the ceiling rafters wishing Florence hadn’t just sent them to the moon. She wasn’t ready to forgive Marjory for abandoning them and turning their whole operation upside down. But Ray was right. She knew Marjory was taken. If only the heart cared about such details. Florence sure had it all, though, beauty, killer charisma, and a set of lungs that could the blow the brass off a sax.
“Uh, thank you, Miss Greer,” Sid shouted above the smacking of Ray’s palms.
“We’ll call you,” Sid said and “You’re hired,” Ray said simultaneously. They glared at each other.
“Well, which is it?” Florence asked.
“Uh, since I own this place…”
“Till you die,” Sid chimed in.
“Since I’m the owner, I say you’re hired. Be here Monday night for rehearsal, six-thirty sharp.”
“Will do,” Florence said with a lazy two-finger salute. She grabbed her wrap and her purse and sauntered off.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sid mumbled to Ray.
Moments later, Sid elbowed open the door to the ladies’ room and was startled to see Florence washing her hands. Florence flinched when she saw her.
“Say, what’s the big idea? This is the ladies’ room.”
“Relax, toots. I’m just a lady who don’t like dresses,” Sid said and made her way to a stall.
Florence smirked. “Oh, I get it. The Marlene Dietrich look. Smart. I should try that sometime. Maybe the wolves will keep their hands to themselves.”
“No need to worry here, Miss Greer—it is Miss, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s Miss. What’s it to you? Writing a book?”
Sid couldn’t help chuckling at her spunk. “Just making sure you’re not planning to take a powder on us the minute your boyfriend, or fiancé, or husband gets his discharge papers.”
She looked directly at Sid, giving her the once-over. “Look, I’m here because I want to sing. I may spend all day at the plant drilling rivets into Corsair fighters, but I’m a singer at heart, see? That’s what makes me tick.”
“Okay, I got it,” Sid said, warming to a smile. “Something tells me, dress or slacks, you don’t need help keeping the wolves away.”
“I guess I do all right,” Florence said, easing her defensiveness. She headed for the door and stopped. “See you Monday at six-thirty sharp, if that’s okay with you? Your boss kind of strong-armed you into agreeing.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes the son of a gun is right.” Sid closed the stall door still smiling.
The first night of rehearsal, Sid strode into the hall, checking her watch, quietly doing a head count on the girls.
“Hey, big shot,” Mary the piano player called out. “So you decided to hire a singer on your own without even running it by us?”
“Mary, don’t you trust me, doll?” Sid asked. “I can tell who’s got the goods.”
“She may have the goods, but does she have a clock?”
“It’s six-thirty-one. She’ll be here,” Sid said, loosening her suddenly constricting tie.
“Well, I hope for your sake we all like her.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Florence shouted as she trotted into the hall. “The traffic on East Broadway was murder.” She blotted sweat from her face with a lace hanky and introduced herself to the girls in the band, saving the scowling Mary for last. “How do you do?” she said, offering Mary her hand.
“Swell.” Mary squeezed her fingers like a vice before heading behind the piano.
“You got quite a grip there,” Florence drawled as she walked to the microphone stand center stage. “You could crack walnuts,” she added in a fully audible mumble.
“I operate a machine press at Sargent. It’s tough on the hands,” Mary said. “What do you do, bake pies?”
Florence wheeled around on her heels. “I make fighter planes.” She arched an eyebrow to mark a first-round victory.
Sid’s eyes darted between them. “You two are gonna be real pals,” she said wringing her hands. “I can tell. You both take your music very serious.”
“Hey, can we get going here?” Louise asked from behind the drums. “My mother’s already threatened that if I don’t start getting home at a decent hour, I’ll have to find a new babysitter.”
“Let’s start with ‘What’ll I Do’,” Mary said. “You know that one, cookie?”
“Sure, cookie,” Florence said. “Who doesn’t?”
Sid leaned against the wall watching carefully, praying the girls would click. Summer in Walnut Beach was the one season businesses made any real money. Tourists came in droves and only stayed and spent until September. The band had to start playing again. She had no doubt Florence had what it took to front the group. Her only concern, as usual, was Mary.
She closed her eyes as Florence’s voice carried her off with its dulcet falsettos and dipped her down into a husky lower register. Let Mary grouse all she wanted—the crowd this weekend wasn’t going to know what hit them.
After rehearsal ended, Sid found Florence’s handkerchief on her music stand. She looked up and saw her last in the line of departing girls.
“Hey, Florence, hang on,” she called out. “Your handkerchief.”
Florence stopped as the rest of the girls filed out, with the exception of Mary who lingered, rifling through her purse.
“Thanks.” Florence grabbed the hanky and turned to leave.
“Wait a minute,” Sid said, grasping for something to say.
“Yeah?” Florence said expectantly.
“You sounded great kid, really great. This is gonna work out fine.” Sid bestowed a cool wink of approval.
“Thanks,” Florence said. “The girls are really keen. Sweet sound.”
“You’ve got the sweet sound,” Sid said shyly.
An awkward silence swayed between them.
“Say, how long does it take Mary to defrost?” Florence whispered.
Sid shoved her hands in her pockets and avoided Florence’s eyes. “Aw, don’t mind her. She’s always got a bee in her bonnet.”
“What happened? Her old man leave her for some share crop?”
Sid blushed. “Something like that.”
“Listen, I have to get going. Uncle Sam wants me reporting for factory duty bright and early.”
“Sure,” Sid said. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“You’re talking to the girl who can fight off wolves on her own, remember?” Florence threaded her arm under Sid’s, and they headed for the door. “Gee, I hope I’m not being escorted by a wolf in Marlene Dietrich’s clothing.”
Sid laughed. “You’re something else.”
After the band’s final rehearsal before their public debut, Sid hovered by Mary as she stood at the piano organizing her sheet music.
“Great rehearsal, Mar,” Sid finally said, realizing Mary had no plan to acknowledge her. “You gals are gonna bring down the house on Saturday. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better than with Marjory,” she said, her thoughts drifting off.
Mary looked up. “You’re some piece of work, Sid.”
“What?” she asked innocently.
“Things couldn’t get any better than with Marjory? Did you mean for the band or yourself?”
“For the band. I’m the manager, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you’re our manager, all right, and always helping yourself to the merchandise.”
Sid looked over her shoulder to make sure everyone else had gone. “Look, you can’t still be sore over us. It’s been almost a year.” She paused, but Mary wasn’t budging. “We weren’t right for each other, Mary. You know that. We had a good run, but we weren’t happy.”
“We were until Marjory came into the picture.”
“That’s not true. You and I were fire and ice, fighting all the time even before Marjory came along. You made her the patsy so you could be angry at something besides me.”
Mary grinned like a fat cat. “The joke was on you in the end. Shot down by her handsome ball turret gunner fiancé.”
Sid shrugged even though that one smarted. “You got it all wrong. I knew there’d never be anything between us. She was a swell kid and quite the songbird. My interest in her was strictly professional.”
Mary scoffed. “You don’t just dress like a man, you lie like one, too.” She gathered her purse and threw a light sweater over her shoulders before heading out. “Suit yourself, Sid. I’m through looking out for you.”
“Mary, come on. At least let me walk you home.”
“Thanks, but I learned I can get along without you.” Mary walked briskly to the door then stopped. “You wanna know something?”
“What?” Sid asked.
“I’m almost gonna feel sorry for you when this one blows up in your face.” She walked out as Sid tried to shake off the rant.
Mary was just chewing on sour grapes. Sure, Florence was a sight—flowing auburn hair, fire engine red lips and a set of gams that Mussolini would’ve surrendered for—but Sid wasn’t interested in her. Besides, she couldn’t even peg whether Florence vacationed on the island of Sapphos or not. And that’s one kind of doll she wasn’t playing with anymore.
A few nights later, Sid defied all reason and asked Florence if she hadn’t wanted to take a stroll along Walnut Beach’s boardwalk.
“This was a nice idea,” Florence said as the moon trailed them like a chaperone.
“Ah, it was a safe bet,” Sid said. “Who doesn’t like ice cream and summer nights at the shore?”
“Not me. It’s lovely here. After winters in Burlington, this is heaven.”
“What brought you down here?”
“My cousin from Stratford. When she wrote me that Vought Aircraft was hiring girls for factory work, I jumped on the first Greyhound out of there.”
“And how about a boyfriend? Got one of those?”
“No, I don’t got one of those,” Florence said teasingly. “You make it sound like a French poodle or something.”
“Just making conversation.”
“That’s right, making sure I won’t leave you high and dry.”
Sid shrugged as she licked her ice cream cone. “You don’t want to talk about your love life, fine with me. What do you want to talk about, your dear old mom? Your job making fighter planes?”
“Either one would be more interesting than my love life—mainly because I don’t have one.”
“You’re kidding, a dish like you? You must be combing them out of your hair.”
Florence frowned. “Yeah, like lice. Say, what’s your real name, anyway?”
“If you must know, it’s Sylvia, Sylvia Grace McGinty.
“Sylvia?” Florence guffawed.
“Yeah, and if you spread it around, I’ll slug you one.” Sid nudged her playfully in the arm.
“Boy, you sure don’t look like a Sylvia. Why do you call yourself Sid?”
“I’m a businesswoman, and guys don’t care much for doing business with broads. When I’m making phone calls and talking to suppliers, they hear the name Sid, hear me talk over the phone and we got no problems, understand? When new business is done in person, my uncle Ray handles it.”
“What happens when your uncle isn’t there anymore?”
Sid stopped at a garbage can to throw out the napkins from her cone. “What do you think, I got a crystal ball?”
Florence smiled and handed Sid her bunched up napkins. “How about you win me a Kewpie doll or something?” She tilted her head toward a bustling wall of chance games lining the boardwalk.
“If I do, will you tell me about your love life?”
“Nothing much to tell,” she said with a shrug. “Let’s ride the merry-go-round later, and I’ll make something up.”
Sid grinned as she approached the hawker at the ring toss game. She threw down a few nickels and said, “Keep ’em coming until I get one of those Kewpie dolls up there.”
She took the rings and began tossing them toward the row of milk bottles, missing throw after throw. When Sid reached into her pocket for more change, Florence tapped her on the shoulder.
“Listen, I don’t want you going broke over a crummy doll. Let’s head over to the carousel. We can catch the last ride before it closes.”
“Hold on. Let me give it one more shot.” Sid measured the distance with an outstretched arm. “I don’t think I was releasing at the right time.” She swung her arm up and back a few times for practice. The first ring sailed to the bottle, just bouncing off the lip. Sid glanced at Florence from the corner of her eye. “That one was practice.”
“Like the first dozen?” Florence flashed a devilish grin.
“Wise guy,” Sid muttered.
She tossed the second, and it bounced off the opening just shy of making a ringer. On the third throw, the ring whirled around the top of the bottle, threatening to bounce off like the others, but landed dead on. Florence shrieked with delight and hugged Sid.
“Lady’s choice,” Sid said to the hawker, savoring the feel of Florence’s arms around her.
“Which one should I pick?” Florence asked, her twinkling eyes lingering on Sid’s.
“It’s your doll, but if it were me, I’d pick the red head—reminds me of you.”
“I’ll take the redhead,” Florence said to the hawker while still eyeing Sid.
As they continued down the boardwalk to the carousel, Sid checked her watch hoping it wasn’t time to leave. She couldn’t remember ever having a better time.
“Oh no,” Florence cried as they approached the carousel. “Looks like they’re shutting it down.”
“C’mon.” Sid grabbed her hand, and they trotted over to the young man who had just turned out a set of colorful lights around the carousel. “Hey, fella, how about letting us have one last spin before you close up?” Sid gave him a wink to seal the deal.
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s midnight. I have to shut it down.”
“Say, are you being funny or something?” Florence said over Sid’s shoulder.
The boy looked startled. “No ma’am.”
“Then what are you calling her ‘sir’ for? That’s an insult,” Florence went on dramatically. “Just look at those angelic blue eyes and soft, pouty lips. How do you think your boss like how you treat his customers?”
“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am,” the boy stammered. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. Here, go ahead, get on. I’ll send it around one more time.”
“Make it a few more times and we’ll forget the whole thing,” Sid said, following Florence’s lead.
They stifled giggles until they were across the platform and then giggled again as they climbed up and chose their fancifully adorned steel horses. Carnival music blared as they began moving. Sid stared at Florence’s auburn locks flowing behind her like a horse’s mane. The carousel made so many revolutions under the star-filled sky, they’d lost count.
Nearing one a.m., Sid pulled up in front of Florence’s apartment, threw the gearshift into park, and stared at her from the corner of her eye. Florence was examining her fingernails resting in her lap as though suddenly stricken shy. What a moment. By this time, she’d figured she knew which side Florence buttered her bread on and wanted so badly to lean over for a kiss. Until Uncle Ray’s voice suddenly taunted her. Will ya leave this one alone, it warned. She reminded herself of the last year of hell she went through, between Mary and Marjory and then having to scramble to find her replacement. Things had been working out beautifully the last few weeks. Then again, who ever said Uncle Ray had to find out?
“I sure had a swell time tonight, Flo.” She looked straight ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Me, too,” Florence said, still looking down. After a moment of unbearable silence, she said, “So was this a date?”
“Gee, I don’t know. It could be if you wanted it to,” Sid said. “Do you—want it to?”
Florence nodded shyly. “If it’s a date, then don’t we have to kiss goodnight?”
“We don’t have to, but it’s kinda customary, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” Florence said. “If you really like the person.”
“I like you all right.” Sid leaned over to kiss Florence on her cheek, but Florence turned her mouth toward Sid’s.
“Lovely,” Florence purred. She licked her lips and got out of Sid’s car. After shutting the door, she poked her head in through the window. “I like you all right, too, Sylvia McGinty.”
For weeks Sid had enjoyed getting to know Florence better—skating at the boardwalk, going to the show, dinners and all-nighters spent at her apartment. She hadn’t realized how fast they were moving until she sauntered into the office at the club one night, whistling like a sparrow.
“I don’t get you,” Ray said the minute she walked in. “It’s like you go out of your way to foul things up.”
“What do you mean?” Sid said.
“Oh, so that’s how you want to play it? Fine. Why can’t you go for one of the strippers, instead? They’re a dime a dozen.”
“Let me guess—you’ve had a chat with Mary.”
Ray arched his eyebrow at Sid.
“Boy, it’s so easy for you to choose who you fall in love with,” Sid said. “Well, I can’t. I don’t know any girl who can.”
Ray shook his head. “You can throw a suit on a dame, slick back her hair like Bugsy Siegel, even give her a Cuban to chew on once in a while, but she’s still a dame through and through. Why couldn’t you have a brother?”
Sid shrank into herself. Uncle Ray had been like a father to her and her younger sister since their father passed away years earlier. Sid had idolized him—his carefree, exciting nightlife as a popular supper club owner. How she hated herself for disappointing him.
“I’m sorry,” Sid finally said. “Look, I’ll cool it with Florence. She’s a tough cookie, not like Mary. She’ll be fine.”
“If you ask me, Sid, you’re acting like a kid. Almost thirty now and still flipping your wig over puppy love. Didn’t anyone ever tell you don’t shit where you eat?”
Maybe Uncle Ray was right. She was being childish and unprofessional, allowing her emotions to complicate business. Regardless of how she felt about Florence, ending things before it went too far was the only thing to do.
She’d been doing a terrific job avoiding Florence in the week since she’d talked with Ray. She hadn’t called her or asked her to go out, and didn’t show up at the club Saturday until the girls’ set was nearly over. Despite the success of The High Notes’s new line up, Sid’s heart still ached for Florence. After the show, she entered the ladies’ room half in a fog.
“Well, well, well,” Florence said in disgust. “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places, heh?”
“Florence, hi,” Sid said, startled. “Great show tonight.”
“How would you know?”
“I was here. I caught most of it.”
“You know who I had an interesting conversation with over dinner?”
Sid swallowed a lump in her throat. “Who?”
“Mary. She sure had a lot to say about you. I kind of wished I had dinner with her a month ago. Would’ve spared me a lot of trouble.”
For a moment, Florence’s tough veneer almost cracked.
Sid was mortified. “I don’t know what she told you, but I’m sure most of it was an exaggeration.”
Florence stared into the mirror as she applied lipstick. “The details aren’t important,” she said, cold as ice. “The point is it made a lot of sense. I wish I’d known it all before I fell for you, but those are the breaks, right?”
“Flo, I can explain…”
“Save your breath,” she drawled. She blotted her lips, powdered her shiny nose, and headed for the door.
“Wait.” Sid gently grabbed her arm. “You fell for me?”
“Yeah, Sid,” she said, jerking her arm free. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? A little roll in the hay with the new girl in town and then back to business.”
“Flo, don’t listen to Mary. She’s got an ax to grind. I mean, I really like you, but it’s—well, my uncle says…”
“I got it. Bad for business.” She looked deep into Sid’s eyes. “Don’t look so glum. You won’t need to find a new singer again. I’m not leaving this plum set up, no matter how many game-playing jerks work their angles on me. You stay on your side of the road; I’ll stay on mine.”
She walked out of the bathroom, and Sid sank lower than she’d ever felt.
Honoring her uncle’s wishes and Florence’s request, Sid stayed on “her side of the road” for the rest of the summer. She traded Saturday nights for Fridays with Ray—he’d keep an eye on The High Notes while she kept the place calm enough to keep out the cops on burlesque Fridays. The club had never had a season like this one, but Sid had never been sadder.
Labor Day Weekend happened out of nowhere it seemed. Sid arrived at the club early Saturday night. She had to see the girls’ final show for the season and had to experience Florence in all her stunning glory one last time. She carried six long-stem red roses to the girls’ dressing room and tapped a knuckle on the door. “It’s me, Sid,” she announced through the crack. Someone yanked the door open and sat down before Sid noticed who.
She walked in and looked around at the ladies applying their face powder and lipstick, unrolling their hair curlers. “Sheesh, I think the Red Army gets a warmer welcome during an invasion,” she observed as she handed out the roses.
“Hiya, Sid,” Louise called out in a mocking tone.
“If the helmet fits…” Mary glared at Sid through the make-up mirror.
“Aw, now that ain’t polite, girls,” Florence said as she emerged from the bathroom. “Sid took time from her busy schedule to see our final performance of the summer. Let’s show her a little gratitude.”
“Here’s some gratitude for ya,” Charlene, the trumpet player, called out. “Where the hell ya been all summer?”
“You know,” Florence said. “She was handling the strippers every Friday night.”
The girls laughed in derision.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” Sid said sheepishly.
“No?” Florence was suddenly in her face. “Was it only one stripper?”
“Can I speak with you privately, please?” Sid whispered.
“Sorry, boss, we got ten minutes to curtain and I don’t even have my face on.” Florence grabbed the last rose from Sid’s hand, sat beside Mary to finish her make-up, and tossed the rose in the garbage.
Defeated, Sid skulked out. With a fresh high ball, she retreated to the back of the room to catch the show. It wasn’t long before she realized why she avoided them all summer. Florence’s stage presence and allure were irresistible. And when she sang, “I Got My Love to Keep Me Warm,” Sid was ready to surrender. How could she have let her go? To please her uncle? A guy who let his own marriage fail to become a big time nightclub owner. So she could follow in his footsteps and be a lonely big time club owner, too?
After the show, she trailed the girls to the dressing room.
“Not again,” one of them grumbled.
“All right, now listen to me,” Sid began, strong and resolute. “Look, I know you’re all sore at me for not being around and supporting you all summer. I had a problem, and I let it affect my work here and with the band. But I realize I was wrong, and unprofessional, and I let you down. I’m here to apologize to you, but not just with words—with an offer.”
Suddenly the girls weren’t faking interest. “We’re listening,” Mary said as Florence and the others looked on.
“I talked with Ray, and we decided, if you girls are interested, we’ll keep the band going throughout the year. Not every Saturday, but certainly a few weekend nights a month, with a raise of course.”
The girls broke into cheers, all except Florence who seemed to be studying Sid.
“Well, I’ll let you gals mull it over. I’ll be in my office doing some paperwork.” She left with a last, lingering glance at Florence.
Later, Sid looked up from the desk to see Florence posed against the office’s door frame, arms folded, eyes boring into her.
“There’s no plan to keep us together all year, is there?” Florence accused.
Sid reclined in her chair. “Not true. There’s a plan. I just haven’t run it by my uncle yet. But I’m as certain as the clap on shore leave he’s going to say yes. The crowds will be smaller, mostly beach trash, but just because summer’s over doesn’t mean this amazing ride has to shut down.”
She stood up and gazed at Florence in earnest. “Flo, this band has never sounded better or been more dazzling, and it’s because of you.”
“So this brainchild of yours is all about business?”
Sid shook her head. “That’s the part that’ll win Ray over. For me, it’s got nothing to do with business. I miss you like crazy, Flo.”
“Oh, Sid.” Florence sighed. “So you miss me, so what?”
Sid took Florence’s hands in hers. “I was crazy to listen to my uncle, to listen to anyone who’d talk me outta you. Whenever I’m with you, that’s the kind of happy I’ve been searching for. But everything was moving so fast.”
“I was never just a fling to you?”
“Look, I don’t know what Mary told you, but no, never. I fell hard for you, Flo.”
“I fell for you, too, Sid. Imagine how I felt when you started avoiding me.”
“I’m awful sorry for hurting you. For what it’s worth, I’ve had a lot of time to think over the summer. I know what I want now, and what I want is you.”
She lunged at Sid and clutched her.
After a moment, Sid gently pushed her back. “Are you crying?”
“Me? Cry over a wolf in Marlene Dietrich’s clothing?” Florence tried wiping away the evidence. “Never.”
Sid kissed her last tear. “C’mon. Let’s go take that last carousel ride of the season.”