Work Text:
Two Moments In Time
In 1945, Ivy wraps her shawl tighter about herself. Although the summer sun is high in the sky, she shivers. The priest is praying over the coffin. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“At least, he survived long enough to see us beat the Germans,” A familiar voice says.
Ivy’s head shoots up and she see him, decked out in his Army uniform. And then her arms are around him and she presses her face into his shoulder. Alive and home, and thank God.
She fights to keep her voice steady, “He always ha-ha-hated the Germans.”
“I know. Ever since the first war.”
“I was with him, we were listening to the radio and when they announced it was over, that the Japs had finally surrendered, he looked at me and smiled and said, ‘finally, now I can rest.’” Then he closed his eyes. Tears crawl down Ivy’s checks and she brushes them away.
He takes her hand and she leans against his side as they lower the body.
After the service, they walk hand in hand, out of the cemetery and down the street.
“Do you know about your cousin?”
“No.”
“He died at Normandy, they shipped back his body. They acted like we were lucky they had identified him, because so many had no identification, and at least we knew for a fact, what had happened to him.”
A beat of silence.
“I was the reason he went to war.”
“Ivy, don’t blame yourself.”
“Two cousins were in love with me, and I choose one. The next thing I knew he had enlisted.”
“He joined the army because his father fought in the first war, it was sense of honor and duty for him. He was a hero.”
“So are you.”
“I was drafted.”
“Doesn’t make a lick of difference.”
He opened his mouth and she covered it with her hand, “It doesn’t.”
They turn down the street, hands still clasp.
“So much death, do you ever wish to go back, before everything, the war, the end of prohibition.”
He looks at her, “Some days, we had quite the adventures, but there was death back then as well.”
“But it didn’t mean anything,” she pauses, “that sounds so horrible, you must think me cruel.”
“Ivy, I would never think that.”
“What I meant is that it didn’t mean anything to me, because it wasn’t the people I loved and cared for.”
He nods and squeezes her hand.
“Viktor was like a father to me.”
“I know.”
“Actually, he was more of a father to me, than my own. I should be happy he lasted as long as he did, after Mitzi died he became so depressed.”
“He loved her, and she couldn’t see it.”
“I think she did see it, but he wasn’t the sort of man she would allow herself to be with.”
“We can’t dwell on death, Ivy, but we can always remember. We should name our son after Viktor.”
She looks at him, and his eyes flicker to his hand, and there in his palm is a ring. “I told you, I didn’t want to make a widower out of you. But now that I’m back…”
“Yes,” she breathes and then she’s kissing him and the sun is bright and warm.
In 1985, Ivy once again walks down the stairs that lead to Lackadaisy. She’s wearing one of her old dresses, and a fur wrap left to her by Mitzi, and band with a feather in it on top of her head. Her husband on one side and her son, Viktor, on the other.
They get to the front doors and her husband smiles at her, and with his free hand opens the lapel of his jacket, where a Club Pin winks in the fluorescent light. Ivy smiles at her husband who presses a kiss to the side of her face.
The doorman nods at the pin and with a flourish, announces, “Welcome to Lackadaisy, St. Louis’ oldest and most famous speakeasy.”
The door opens and Ivy feels like once again she back in college the room is warm and a band plays in the back. And there are people, such she hadn’t seen since the glory days, when her Godfather had run the business.
“Oh, Viktor,” she breathes, slipping her arm out of her husband’s grasp to embrace her son. “It looks so beautiful. Just like I remember.”
“Happy Birthday, Mama.” He kisses her check.
“There’s one more thing I want to show you.”
He led her to the bar, and there hanging above were portraits. One in the middle was all of them, Victor, Mitzi, Calvin, Rocky, herself, a lifetime ago, and then in each direction individual ones.
“I took the photographs you had and enlarged then.”
“Oh, Viktor,”
“Trying to take all the credit? Just like a man.”
“Nina,” Ivy wraps her arms about her daughter.
“Happy Birthday, Mama.”
“Of course, it was your idea.”
“Fine," Viktor rolled his eyes, "WE took the photograph and enlarged them.”
“Much better.”
Ivy turns make to the photograph and feels tears stinging as her eyes fall on Calvin’s portrait, the last photo ever taken of him, he’s wearing his Army uniform. Underneath is a framed purple heart.
Her husband wraps his arms about her. “Our children did good, don’t you think?”
She nods and rests her head on his shoulder.
“Mama,” another voice says and Ivy looks up in to her younger son’s eyes. She hugs him. “There you are Calvin, just like your namesake, your Uncle Calvin was never on time for anything.”
“It wasn’t my fault this time, I swear. Your granddaughters take so long to get ready.”
“Just like a man, always blaming women,” Ivy teases, winking at her three granddaughters. They smile and in turn hug her, each wishing her a happy birthday. “You three look gorgeous, now you must go find some handsome gentlemen to dance with you. Go on.” They giggle, and disburse. “Only dancing,” their father called after them.
“Rocky,” Ivy turned to her husband, “will you please dance with me? I love this song.”
“Yes dear.” He pulls her close. She closes her eyes and the music takes her away, she can almost hear Viktor muttering about working the bar, and Mitzi chatting up with fat cats, while Rocky plays in the band.