"We will," Shawn promised. He looked at me. "Okay, let's go burn up the town. huh?"
I started for the elevator and he took my hand. He grabbed it so quickly and firmly, he startled me for a moment. Then he pushed the button for the elevator.
"You grow up here?" he asked as the door opened. I nodded.
"Me too. I didn't finish high school, though. I decided to take that program the army has where you finish your diploma while you're in the service. I got started late in school," he explained. '"My mother traveled around a lot with us before she settled in Philly. When I was fourteen, she took off with some computer salesman and left Louella and me. Louella had already gotten a good job so we were able to take care of ourselves," he continued.
As the elevator descended, he seemed determined not to let a moment of silence occur.
"I asked my sister how come your mother named you Ice and she said it was because you're a cool cat. Is that true?" he asked.
"No." I said and stepped into the lobby.
"Well. why'd she call you that then?"
I shrugged and he opened the front door. It was colder than I had expected. I closed the coat and held the collar tightly shut, waiting for him to direct me to his car. All I saw at the curb was a pickup truck with a cab over the back. I turned to him.
"I borrowed my friend Chipper's truck. My sister doesn't have a car and I haven't gotten around to getting2 one of my own vet."
We walked to the truck and he opened the door for me. When I got in. I smelled what I was sure was whiskey. The seat was torn in the middle and looked very ratty. I hoped there was nothing on it that would stain my new outfit. I saw a wrench on the floor and had to push it out of my way with my feet. He got in and started the engine.
"Here we go," he said. When he pulled from the curb, an empty beer can came rolling out from under the seat.
"Chipper ain't much of a housekeeper," he told me. "So, you ever hear of the Kit-Kat?"
I shook my head.
"They'll be checking IDs at the door." he said. "I'm only seventeen."
"That's all right. Don't worry. We know the guy doing it. He's a friend of miners brother. Besides, you look at least twenty. There's cigarettes in the glove compartment if you want one," he added nodding at it.
I shook my head.
"You don't smoke? That's good, I only smoke once in a while. Cigarettes, that is," he added laughing. "So. I bet you go out a lot. huh?"
I didn't know whether to tell him the truth or not. If I did, he would probably assume he was important and I knew instinctively that I didn't want him thinking that.
"A girl like you has to be popular. Not only are you good-looking but, from what Lauda tells me, you're a singer, too. Where did you do your singing so far?"
"Chorus," I said.
"Chorus? That's it?" He laughed. "Hell. I was in chorus, too. but I'd never call me a singer."
He kept talking, describing his experiences at boot camp, the new friends he had made, the drill instructor he hated, and where he hoped he would be stationed someday.
Finally, he turned to me and smiled.
"My sister warned me you don't talk much. Why is that, if you have such a nice voice?"
"I talk when I have something to say." I told him. He laughed.
"You'd fit right in at boot camp. My instructor is always shouting. 'Keep your hole closed unless I tell you to open it.' He gave Dickie Stieglitz KP for a week because he was mumbling complaints under his breath when we were in formation. The guy has radar for ears or something. He don't even have to be nearby to hear you.
"Hey, I'm going to get hoarse in the throat doing all the talking. Can't you tell me anything about yourself?"
"I like jazz," I offered.
"Great. Great. We're going to have a good old time of it. What's your drink?" he asked when we parked in a lot across from the nightclub. "Vodka? Gin? Beer?"