Free The Wind Is Not a River by Brian Payton

war, neither paper offers news of the territory. On page four of the Times, she sees a large photo of a troopship currently docked in port, with an inset photo of Olivia de Havilland. At the bottom of the column is a smaller photo of four women who, the caption reveals, will also be onboard to entertain the troops. Helen’s focus drifts to the right-hand corner of the photo, to another face instantly familiar. If her eyes are to be believed, Ruth Simmons is back in town.
     
    *   *   *
     
    THEY HUG ON THE SIDEWALK outside Woolworth’s department store. Ruth’s perfume is overly sweet and abundant. Inside, they order ice cream floats at the counter. As Ruth enthuses about the wonders of New York, Helen guesses the cost of her ensemble: green satin dress, fur stole, pillbox hat, silk stockings, gorgeous new pumps. Seventy-five dollars, at least. Helen discreetly straightens her own sweater and smoothes the wrinkles from her skirt.
    Helen and Ruth were close childhood friends until Ruth drifted into another crowd. While Helen won a few roles in high school productions, Ruth showed no interest in theater or pageants. And yet, after graduation, Ruth up and moved to Manhattan and had an acting career in no time.
    In place of envy, which burned itself out long ago, Helen now finds herself filled with a kind of awe. She never expected to see Ruth again, except perhaps in a magazine, or a small role in the movies. Whenever Helen turns on the radio, a part of her is listening for Ruth’s voice in radio plays. Ruth did manage to make her way onto the New York stage, but now finds herself working for Uncle Sam. Aboard troopships, across the Pacific, right up to the front. Helen feels hope rise unexpectedly.
    Ruth’s individual physical features range from beautiful (hazel eyes and high cheekbones) to ordinary (crowded lower teeth), yet she has always been more than the sum of her parts. Her expression conveys mischievousness, amusement, delight. While she will never be a leading lady, her attractiveness is undeniable. Ruth slurps up the last of her float. She produces a slim silver case, and offers a cigarette. Helen politely declines.
    Two young airmen stumble inside. It has begun to rain and their shoulders are splattered dark. They come to an abrupt halt on seeing them but are unable to meet Ruth’s gaze. They scan Helen as an afterthought, then slink down one of the aisles like schoolboys caught in a prank.
    “Tell me you haven’t fallen in with gangsters,” Helen says, “or left New York to escape your boyfriend’s wife.”
    “Would it were true. Nothing quite so exciting. But I was getting regular work, until Herr Hitler rained on my parade.”
    Helen is pleased to see that, despite Ruth’s budding success, she still refuses to take herself too seriously.
    “How long are you in town?” she asks.
    “Not so fast. What about you? Got yourself a man?”
    Only now does Helen remember removing her wedding band before scrubbing the pots last night. She had placed it carefully in the tiny bowl on the windowsill. While she feels the urge to relay her astonishing good fortune in meeting John Easley, she is unprepared to recount the necessary and agonizing stories that follow.
    “Not at the moment,” Helen replies. Instead she offers up her work at Maxine’s, the success of her brothers out east, her father’s stroke.
    When the time is right, she will tell her that, after a string of schoolgirl crushes and two short affairs, she finally met and fell in love with John Easley. At first, there was the physical attraction that made her head spin. She found him kind, attentive, and instinctively honest no matter what the cost. In time she came to realize that he carries within a kind of peace that comes from knowing his own soul. He made her believe such a peace was possible for herself. Once, long before she’d met John, she had asked her father what to look for in a mate. “Find someone better than you,” he said.