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There sure are a lot of uniforms in this watering hole, but not one of them looks quite like the one clinging to the woman who's hustled her way over to the window to press her hands against what glass she can and peer out at the speckled vastness around them. That skirt's short enough it'd probably cause a traffic accident if she bent over to pick up a penny on the street, but its pleats are razor sharp and her jacket is pressed and neat and her boots and the brim of her hat are both shiny enough to see your reflection in. The whole thing's sharp enough she looks like she'd been lifted straight from a Memorial Day parade -- except for that drink in her hand, the one that's violently blue and garnished with what's either an alien flower or an especially accommodating insect.
Zinda Blake never was one to pass up the chance to try something new.
But it's not new that's on the docket tonight, when she's over by the jukebox in the corner (the one everyone warned her off of, and she doesn't have the faintest clue why), searching through the backlit titles with one gloved finger until she pauses, lifts her head just enough so one glossy curl slips off her shoulder and brushes her cheek. "So that's where you been hidin', y'little devil ––"
Baby, here's a five and dime
She'd already been flying with the Blackhawks for months when it hit number one on the hit parade, but that old Glenn Miller sound brings her back past that, past the smoked-out shotglass haze of the war, and back to happy times before. Of laughing, and dancing. Sending her swaying to a jazzy beat, a bright smile curving lips painted victory red.
Come to think of it, when was the last time she saw a Woolworth's?
Zinda Blake never was one to pass up the chance to try something new.
But it's not new that's on the docket tonight, when she's over by the jukebox in the corner (the one everyone warned her off of, and she doesn't have the faintest clue why), searching through the backlit titles with one gloved finger until she pauses, lifts her head just enough so one glossy curl slips off her shoulder and brushes her cheek. "So that's where you been hidin', y'little devil ––"
Baby, here's a five and dime
Baby, now's a 'bout the time
She'd already been flying with the Blackhawks for months when it hit number one on the hit parade, but that old Glenn Miller sound brings her back past that, past the smoked-out shotglass haze of the war, and back to happy times before. Of laughing, and dancing. Sending her swaying to a jazzy beat, a bright smile curving lips painted victory red.
For a string of pearls a-la Woolworth's
Every pearl's a star above
Wrapped in dreams, and filled with love
That old string of pearls a-la Woolworth's
Come to think of it, when was the last time she saw a Woolworth's?
