The Beginning

          The coffee house clamored with conversation. I would have thought it would be quieter, knowing it was a coffee shop, but it was also a Friday night. The air outside was thick and humid, and each time the little dangling bell above the door would chime, anxiety would rise in me like a thermometer in July. Each time the feeling would come, but each time it was never her.
          Don’t let the demons get you, I would hear my mother tell me after a Sunday church service. Mother had always been faithful to the Church, but she would never know my secrets, and I’m sure I would never truly learn hers. Every week she told me this with a disappointed look on her face as if the demons had already come to me. I’m not sure she was completely wrong; my secrets and my problems were never ones I could fix. They had already settled way down deep within me, and I suppose this first taste of darkness I was about to receive would taste like the cocoa I was stirring in this coffee shop.
          Another jingle of the bell startled me; I had been lost in thought. I shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t be caught unaware. This problem I faced could not be fixed, and if I was caught in the midst of this, I would face even more unfixable problems. There were a lot of crazy things taking place in this small town. A lot of men were going off to fight the Japs, them crazy Japs with their kamikaze pilots and all. A couple of gals said they were going to join up to be nurses. My mother called them all “patriotic.”
          This left the rest of the country to us low folk. The hookers, the liars, the obsessive drinkers were all left here to “scum up the earth” as my mother would put it. It also left the churchgoers like Mother and me. Father Patrick said we all had to be strong in this desperate hour. Mother wants me to talk to him more in confession, but I know he would tell her my secrets.
          This time when the bell jingled, it felt like slow motion. She stepped inside. She wore a black, silk faille dress. The neckline plunged and her sultry skin flowed underneath it with her strides. My yearning started. Everything about her seemed to radiate. Her chestnut hair was clipped under her pillbox hat. She licked her cherry lips as she slid into the seat in front of me. My heart raced.
         “You know,” she said as she took a cigarette from her snap purse and lit it with a match, “you should keep your mouth closed when you have nothing to say.”
         I bit my lip and realized she was right. So easily could I have given myself away. I smiled appreciatively.
         “You look like Ava Gardner,” I muttered and took a sip of my cocoa.
         “Yes? Well, thank you,” she formed her lip into a circle and blew a smoke ring to the side. Her right arm crossed over her breast as if the help to support the left hand cradling the cigarette. “Most of the time they just call me ‘loose.’ My name is Francis, but I go by Frankie. You can call me whatever you’d like to call me. Joe calls me Frankie, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”
         I looked down sheepishly. She was so forward.
         “You don’t look loose to me,” I mumbled. “You look beautiful.”
         “Well, thank you again,” she chuckled, “you don’t look so bad yourself.” She put her hand on my knee, and against the profound attraction I felt towards her, I batted it away.
         “It’s just that if anyone from my neighborhood or my church found out, it’d be the end of me. I couldn’t have that. Not now that I’m working in the factory. Mother would be so ashamed.”
         “Darling, this is America,” she said. “land of opportunity. Home of democracy. People are so caught up in this war anyhow, they will not notice the happenings of you nor me.”
         I smiled again, and pulled a nickel out to pay for the coffee. “Ah applesauce! I just wish we could be alone.”
         “Well, do you want to leave this place?” she grinned and put her cigarette out.
          Don’t do this, I heard my mother say in my head. The devil is in you, you know. It’s the devil’s work. You can fix it if you walk away and take faith in the Lord. You can fix it.
         “I’m not sure,” I said and wrung my handkerchief in my hands. “I’ve never done this before.”
         “Well, sugar, there’s always a first time for everything,” she smiled seductively and stood up.
          She clutched her purse in front of her waist with one hand and reached for mine in the other. Reluctantly, I looked around before standing. As we approached the door, I looked down to watch her hips sway, but to others it would have looked normal. I frequently look at my shoes as I walk. Mother says obedience shows appreciation to God.
          We passed the corner of the coffee shop and both glanced at the cobblestone alley behind the Italian restaurant. She winked at me, and I followed the tap-tapping of her shoes. Her laughter was like a little girl, and it made me laugh to know how much fun she was having, but as soon as we passed the dumpster she stopped.
          “What is it?” I asked, and she pressed my shoulders against the wall of the restaurant.
          “You didn’t tell me your name,” she said breathlessly.
          “I don’t like my name, Frankie,” I mumbled.
          “Tell me, and I’ll kiss you. It’ll be swell,” she giggled. Her hot lips came closer and closer to mine, and I closed my eyes in anticipation.
          “My name is Hilda, but you can call me by my middle name. That’s Ann.”
          “Ann’s a pretty name,” she said just before her lips met mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, hot and wet, and I dropped my arms around her shoulders. She had me pinned against the restaurant for minutes before she stopped to breathe, and afterwards, I saw her lipstick had smeared. I took my handkerchief out and handed it to her.
          “Let’s get out of here,” I said and flattened my dress with my hands. She nodded.
          You’ll never fix this now, I heard my mother’s voice. I didn’t want to.