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Aqua Follies of 1955 read the handbills plastered to every smooth surface. Olympic Champions. Stage & Pool Stars.
Celebrate Seafair!
Russell rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up, trying to find the silver lining under the sodden gray sky.
Trying to remember why he let his aunt talk him into taking this job anyway.
The twenty-four Aqua Dears paddled in place, their white swim caps bobbing like a line of water lilies in the indigo water. The swimmers were better off, since the lake water was warmer than the chilly damp air. Damn. Seattle in July was colder than Minneapolis in April or even March. Russell glared at the overcast, washed-out sunset. Of course, if he’d stayed home in Red Wing, he’d still be withering under the chill of his parents’ melancholy.
Reason enough to come west.
Bleachers fanned out tall and white along the edge of the lake. Russell grabbed a seat on one end and pulled a small, spiral-bound notebook from his pocket. In the last routine, Phyllis had drifted too far to the left during the cadence action, dragging half the line with her. He made a note to talk to her, then sketched the pool, a segment of the lake separated by the half-moon curve of the stage. His best guess put the stage at forty feet long, and given the layout, the girls would need to watch for the diving towers on either end to stay oriented.
The girls’ Aqua Tropicana number began with deck work. He was sketching a diagram of the pool side, marking their positions, when someone called his name.
“Ssst, Russ.”
The whisper came from the far end of the line, the end with the short girls. Susie Bradford was the shortest, and the most likely to complain. She had many good qualities. Patience didn’t make the list.
He kept his eyes on his notebook because he didn’t want to encourage her. She’d get them both in trouble, and as the team’s coach, Aunt Maude would have another reason to be disappointed in him. As the assistant coach, he tried to lead by example. As his girlfriend, Susie tried to take advantage of his position.
Across the pool, the show’s director cornered Aunt Maude. She stood like a bulwark of decorum in the face of an impressive amount of arm waving. Figuring the guy might be more likely to stand aside if she had a man behind her, Russell rose and strolled across the deck in her general direction.
She didn’t need his help. Her swimmers had been in the water for almost two hours, and she would get them finished on time, no matter how showy the director’s tantrum.
Keeping his head high and shoulders broad, Russell retraced his steps. His pride was salvaged some when Susie hissed at him again. She sculled down low in the water, a steady line of bubbles popping to the surface from the direction of her mouth. He shrugged and held his hands out, palms up. She raised her chin out of the water. Cold, she mouthed.
He glanced over at his aunt, then back at Susie. “Sorry.” All the girls had to be pretty soggy.
“I got first dibs on the shower,” Susie said, raising her voice high enough for the others to hear.
“Race you,” someone whispered back.
“You’re on.” Susie flicked water in the direction of the voice.
Russell made a fierce karate chop with his hand, trying to quiet her, but the other swimmer egged her on. “My legs are longer.”
“But I’m sneakier.” Susie giggled loud enough to earn a hard stare from his aunt. She lowered herself in the water, and Russell reached for his whistle. He could always keep the girls occupied with practicing some basic figures to get a feel for the pool.
Aunt Maude patted the director’s shoulder and strode downstage, mistress of all she saw. “Hop out, girls.” She clapped her hands briskly. “Grab towels if you need them. We’ll go through the last few numbers and go home.”
Right away, Susie scuttled over to Russell. “After all this, I’ll need a shot of whiskey to take the chill off.”
“Me too.” Russell smirked to temper the truth in his words. “Go get your robe.”
“Nah, you’ll keep me warm enough.”
He took pity on her shivering and draped an arm over her shoulders. She tucked herself in close, ensuring he’d be left with soggy spots on his sports shirt and khaki slacks, but he didn’t push her away.
He and Susie made a good team, and for the seven thousandth time, he wished the press of her curves put more heat in his veins.
No such luck.
“Thanks, lamb chop.” Her rubber nose clip gave her voice a nasal hum, and she trembled in the cool summer air. “Can we sneak out later?”
“Sure, but if Aunt Maude catches us, we’ll both be on the train back home.”
She faked kicking him in the shin. “I didn’t come all this way to worry about going home. You and me are going to have fun.”
He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Yes, dear.”
Their last hurrah. They had two weeks in Seattle, then another run in Detroit. At some point, Russell would give Susie the diamond ring he had tucked in the bottom of his suitcase. He snugged her closer to his side. He’d start his new job, they’d get hitched, he’d buy the house, and she’d give him babies. More importantly, the wedding would give his parents something to be happy about.
The feeling of dread wedged under his sternum had more to do with nerves than anything else.
The director called for the Night at Club Aqua number and counted off a fast tempo. His baton flashed in the floodlights blazing from the edge of the stage. From the orchestra pit, the band hit the opening bars of “In the Mood.” Susie took off, diving into action with the other Aqua Dears. They spun through the water in a synchronized display, while the dancing half of their traveling troupe, the Aqua Darlings, took the stage dressed in sparkling blue skirts, white blouses, and low-heeled black shoes.
The big band, a dozen musicians playing brass and strings and percussion, romped through the verses twice, their heads silhouetted in the stage lights. Then a lone musician stood, rising into the glare like Gary Cooper on the screen at a drive-in movie. He was tall and lean and handsome, with a curled pompadour and a five-o’clock shadow. Curiosity pinned Russell in place. Then the young man put a trumpet to his lips, and Russell had to close his eyes.
The music rang out over the lake and bounced off the rooftops in the surrounding neighborhood. The tone was cool, but the solo was hot, hitting Russell with the force of a pickax. The horn’s voice turned his insides to jelly, but the man—from the swoop of his hair to the curve of his bicep—swapped that jelly for lava.
He tried to tell himself his damp clothes caused the shivers chasing over his skin, but didn’t come close to believing it. He dug his fingertips into the bands of muscle running up the back of his own neck and dragged his gaze back to the swimmers, breathing slow and deep to force the flush out of his face. He’d just been surprised by the man, and exhausted from travel. He’d be fine. Everything was okay.
After an age and a half, the Aqua Dears hopped out of the water, clearing the pool for the divers, whose acrobatic shenanigans marked the end of the number. All four of the divers had competed in the Olympics, but for the Aqua Follies, they splashed the crowd with goofy tricks. Everyone knew they were the highlight of the show. The Dears could swim and the Darlings could dance, but the divers in clown suits were what people talked about walking out to their cars.
Russell needed the break, because he didn’t quite have a grip on himself when the music ended. Fortunately, Susie stayed with the other swimmers. There were limits to how far he could push his charade.
It’s not a charade. Fooling around with the trumpet player would be the fantasy. A farce, even. He’d known Susie since they were kids. He liked her smile and he liked her spunk. They were good for each other. Still, he had to bow his head to drive the sound of the horn out of his mind.
Susie and the other Dears took their positions along the edge of the pool, and the show’s headliner came out to sing “Papa Loves Mambo.” Now wearing floral sarong skirts, the Darlings shimmied onto the stage. Almost all of them made it through the dance with their towering fake fruit headdresses in place.
Russell shook out his slacks, pulling away the damp patch Susie left on his thigh. The Dears dove back into the pool, their sherbet-colored swimsuits making splashes of paint against the iron-gray evening. Russell glanced over at the band, picked out the trumpet player’s profile. The swimmers’ pale arms moved in perfect rhythm for their crawl-stroke line, wrists cocked and elbows sharp, and when they reached the other side, the group executed a synchronized roll into back layouts. Each girl raised one leg in a ballet kick, their pointed toes making graceful sweeps through the air.
Russell pulled out his spiral notebook, his nubbin of a pencil ready. A hot horn lick drew his eyes away from the pool. His aunt relied on him to monitor the show from the stands, because a lifetime spent on the deck when his older sisters performed in the Aqua Dears taught him what to look for. When his aunt asked, he’d have to be able to describe details from the performance. He wouldn’t be able to satisfy her unless he calmed down enough to pay attention. With every ounce of his will, he shut out the music and watched the girls swim.
The rehearsal lasted almost longer than he could stand. Afterwards, he stood with his back to a low brick building separating the amphitheater from the parking lot. He let the soft shurr of waves on the stony shore settle his nerves and waited for Susie to come out of the locker room.
His aunt found him there. “Your girlfriend needs to pay more attention.”
“She did fine, Aunt Maude.” Maude Ogilvie knew more about synchronized swimming than just about anyone else in Minneapolis, but she had a blind spot a mile wide when it came to Susie. If she had her way, she’d cut his friend from the team in a minute, but a committee made the selections, and Susie’s talent and charisma secured her spot.
“Fine?” Her curled topknot and flowered housedress were at odds with the toughness in her expression. “She barely made her last entrance.”
“Constance struggled a bit with the split rocket combination,” he said, giving his aunt something else to chew on. He’d learned the hard way not to pick fights.
“I saw that one too.”
“And Phyllis mistimed her dives more than once.” A few guys shambled along the path. One carried a guitar case, the other a bulky box probably holding a saxophone. Not looking for him. Russell locked his attention on his aunt.
She scratched a note on her pad. “You’re right. I’ll sit the girls down and talk with them all tonight.”
Shoot. “What about in the morning? This has been a long day already.” The day had started with their train’s arrival in Seattle after a thirty-hour trip, so he had no problem sounding sincere.
His aunt squinted at him as if she hoped to find something suspicious. “I’ll consider it.” She gave the bus a sharp nod. “Coming?”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Several Dears came out of the locker room, their wet hair pulled back in ponytails or covered with bandanas. Most of the girls would wait till they got back to the hotel to set their hair. A few more musicians straggled in from the lake. Still no trumpet player.
Susie bounded out of the locker room, the hems of her dungarees rolled just so, a red cardigan tied by the sleeves around her shoulders, her charm bracelet rattling. Planting herself at Russell’s elbow, she let the tilt of her head claim him as her territory. Her grin flashed in the moonlight and her laughter buoyed him, and yes, there it was. The trickle of warmth that let him know he was doing the right thing.
“Is Mom already on the bus?” his cousin Annette asked, her tight pink blouse and Bettie Page bangs emphasizing her status as an Amazonian swimming goddess.
“Yeah, we should go.” Russell used his best assistant coach voice, though no one paid any attention.
More girls came out of the locker room and more musicians came up the path from the lake. The two groups meshed together in an escalating commotion. All the musicians wore identical black trousers and white button-down shirts, though some had loosened their ties. Russell would have hollered at the girls, directing them to the bus, but their blushing giggles entertained him. Besides, just then the trumpet player walked up with a short, slight young man whose black eyes reminded Russell of the river otters back home.
Susie nudged her head toward the fun. “Hold on.”
The dark-eyed young man approached them, his brash grin aimed right at Susie. Russell’s hackles rose, and he pushed through Annette and some of the other girls, ready to show them all he had dibs on the pretty one. So what if a certain trumpet player was watching? Aunt Maude would blow her whistle in about three minutes, and then he’d join the girls on the bus.
For a brief moment, the two groups mingled, the girls’ giggles pitching higher and higher. Expression stern, Russell kept a hand on Susie’s shoulder, daring the dark-eyed boy to come any closer. Aunt Maude poked her head out of the bus, whistle poised in her mouth. A couple of beats later, she blew it loud enough to startle people in China.
Couldn’t make his heart beat any faster, because right before the whistle sounded, the tall, lean trumpet player looked over at Russell, caught his eye, and smiled.