Page 25 of Return to the Waratah Inn

The dance hall was a short walk from the bus station. Mima ducked and wove through the crowds to the Palais Royale. As she passed them, the pubs were closing. It was six pm and young men tumbled out of the bars, hooting, hollering and striding in clumps towards the dance hall. They smelled of beer and cigarette smoke. Some still had clouds of smoke wafting around them as they strolled along, hands pushed deep into their pockets. Some slapped each other on the back and stumbled about as they made their way.

Mima fell into step with them, self conscious at being a little too visible walking alone. There were whistles and a few bumps from the men as they eyed her with interest. What was she doing out by herself? The question registered in the men’s eyes. But she tipped her chin up to walk with as much feigned confidence as she could muster.

When the Palais came into view, Mima grinned to herself. It had a large, sweeping, curved entrance with the name painted in large letters across it. She stepped inside and was immediately transported into a paradise. The darkening and dirty streets of industrial Newcastle were left behind, and instead, she found herself standing on polished terrazzo flooring, with vibrant Art Deco-styled plaster curving around the outside of the room and over the ceiling. She was pushed along by the crowd through the foyer to the box office and stood in line, her heart in her throat.

What would she do when she entered the main ballroom? Stand by herself against the wall? Hope someone would invite her to join them? Beg for a dance partner? Would she find Luca? There were so many people. Her pulse raced, and sweat trickled down her spine.

She studied the full satin skirt of her navy cocktail dress, then brushed the capped sleeves carefully with each hand. She’d thought she looked nice when standing in front of the mirror of the shared bathroom at the hospital dormitory. But now, seeing all of the young ladies gabbing in clusters around her, she was drab in comparison. They wore the latest fashions, glossy hair in waves about their faces and down their backs just so, with pearls and diamonds glinting and shining about their necks, in their ears and on their fingers.

Six shillings taken from her purse for the ticket left her feeling empty. She’d worked hard for those six shillings. She only hoped it wouldn’t be wasted and that she’d spot Luca before the night was over. He was in the band—she knew that much. But could she get to him? She had no idea, and the more she worried about it, the faster the people poured into the foyer and lined up behind her.

Mima took her ticket and showed it to the usher before tucking it back into her purse and hurrying into the ballroom. The room filled up quickly. Couples found their places on the dance floor. Men and women flitted around the edges in groups, talking and tittering together. Mima scanned the stage, looking for Luca. He was there, holding his saxophone and grinning at a bandmate with a trumpet. Then the music started, and the crowd sent up a cheer. Goosebumps prickled pleasantly along Mima’s arms and down her back. The mood was electric.

She scurried around the side of the room, looking for space to duck between people, hoping to get closer to the stage. But it was no use. The crowds closed in front of her as people took to the dance floor. Men and women paired up. His arms around her. Hers holding on to him. The band launched into a rendition of “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window” by Patti Page. The crowd roared with approval, and soon began yapping along to the chorus as they danced the waltz. Some guffawed uproariously. Others took their dancing seriously. Mima was pushed back against the wall as everyone with a partner rushed to find a space.

The next song was more upbeat and couples launched into the jitterbug, legs swinging and arms held high. The older crowd moved to the sides, arms crossed and with looks of disapproval on dour faces. Mima was giddy with excitement. If only she had someone to dance with. She dipped and swayed from side to side, smiling widely at the throng of dancers who worked up a sweat. Men threw their partners this way and that, thrashing in time to the music. One young man came up to Mima and asked her to dance, and with a swift glance at Luca, she gave him a nod. She couldn’t resist the offer. Not with music like this that seemed to reach into her very soul and squeeze it.

She danced the foxtrot and the quickstep, followed by the Pride of Erin, with its elegant waltzing and steady beat. The band was impressive, keeping the energy levels of the crowd high while launching into impossibly complicated solos that trilled onto high notes and dove down to deep notes. She watched Luca play from where she danced, with occasional glances and pride in her heart. He was so much better at his craft than she’d realised he would be, and she couldn’t help feeling even more attracted to him than ever.

After the night was over, Mima thanked her latest dance partner and filtered towards the front of the room while everyone else made their way out the back through the foyer and onto the cool streets of Newcastle.

The band was packing up when she reached the stage. She held her hands behind her, coy at the final moment before he looked up. When he saw her, he grinned and immediately jumped down off the stage to stand before her.

“When did you get here?” He kissed her on the cheek before taking her hand in his.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ve been here the whole time. You were amazing. The music… It was so inspiring. I couldn’t stop dancing.”

He squeezed her hand. “Wait here. I’ve gotta pack up and say bye to the guys, but let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

She waited for him, and within fifteen minutes, he was back with his saxophone case strapped around his torso.

“Let’s go!” he said, taking her hand and leading her to a side door.

She ran after him, doing her best to keep up with his long strides, her heels clacking on the hard floor.

They got a table at the Astoria Café and ate a mixed grill. The lamb chop, steak, sausage, liver, fried eggs, grilled tomato and mountain of thick-cut chips filled them both up, especially when paired with tall glasses of ice-cold lemonade. Mima was ravenous and her entire mouth felt dry after hours of dancing, so she gulped it all down quickly and then cradled her overly full stomach as she and Luca talked over the events of the evening.

They talked about her family and his. He told her he’d been part of Italy’s 132nd Armoured Division in the war, he called it "Ariete”. Said they’d fought alongside the German Africa Korps in the Western Desert Campaign. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it much. His eyes darkened and his smile faded. She knew how it went. Boys her age had been through so much—they’d seen things, done things, and it’d changed them. They kept it to themselves. If they opened up, it might all come pouring out, and then where would they be? She understood. She didn’t want to talk much about the war herself, and she hadn’t deployed. But it’d still impacted her life in so many ways.

“When I tell people where I am from, who I fought for, it makes them angry.” His dark eyes sought hers.

Mima inhaled a quick breath. “The war wasn’t your fault anymore than it was mine.”

He smiled then. “How right you are. It was a terrible time to put behind us forever. We would say to one another, “s’ha da aspettà che passi 'a nuttata”. It means, we just have to wait for the night to pass. Now it is done and we can finally feel the sun on our faces again.”

So, they forgot about the past and spoke of their goals and plans for the future. He wanted to be a famous musician, and she dreamed of one day seeing Hollywood. They rolled out of there around midnight, still full, sniggering and holding on to one another as though they might tip over otherwise.

“You were so amazing up there on the stage,” Mima gushed as Luca boldly took her hand in his. “I can definitely imagine you on the hit parade! You’ll be a radio star.”

Tingles ran up her arm, and she wanted to pull away from his grasp. She knew she should. She was there with him alone, late at night. She shouldn’t let him take liberties, but she couldn’t help being caught up in the moment. No one had challenged or condemned her. She’d received a few concerned and judgemental looks from women and some lascivious looks from men throughout the evening, but having made it through the entire event, she felt empowered and free. Why had she worried so much what others would think of her? Who cared? They had no control over her now.

“Thanks,” he replied, looking at her with hungry eyes that made her blush.

“I’ve never seen anyone play the saxophone like that before.”

He shrugged as they walked hand in hand. “It takes practice. There wasn’t much else for me to do as a kid. Mamma was sick all the time.”

“Really? I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”