Afterward, Ruby drew her into the audience seated at the tables. Letty jumped several times as men pinched their buttocks. Ruby let one guy pull her onto his lap. Another gave Letty the eye, but she ducked away from him. Visions of Estelle, wrestling her into submission, shot through her head.

She'd spent a lot of years performing. Audiences had thrown her flowers and made love to her with words, but never had they assaulted her. Only her abusers had done that.

Her heart pounded faster than any of the music Pearl had played. Mere moments before Letty sobbed and ran from the room, Ruby pulled her aside.

"You're acting as cold and stiff as a corpse. Give the guys some love."

She folded her arms across her body. "I love only one man, and he isn't here."

The smaller woman gripped her shoulders. "Well, pretend he is, for each and every one of them. It's innocent flirting."

"I can't, Ruby. I'm so done with people groping me, giving me pain."

"Oyster Harbor needs you. Uncle Sam needs you." She sketched a wide gesture with her arms. “Think of the soldiers out there getting their faces blown off."

"Ruby!"

"Oh, sorry, but what's a sore, pinched ass compared to tragedy?"

Letty reminded herself entertainment was the best way she could help end the war sooner. She inhaled a long breath and stood ramrod straight. Marching like a soldier, she approached the men. As she passed each one, she made a point of touching them. A squeeze on the shoulder. A caress on the cheek.

When she saw how young some of them were and their grateful smiles from her affection, her muscles loosened. The pinching stopped because they no longer needed it to get her attention. She was showering them with love—all the love she'd been saving up for Jean-Luc.

She even did what Ruby suggested, imagining each lonely guy as her guy. When she stroked their hair, she felt his silky gold locks instead. When she kissed their cheeks, she felt his rounded cheekbones under her lips and smelled his scent.

And when the next one tugged her onto his lap, the shape of the muscles in his legs flung her back to the conjugal visit room. Although he wore undress whites like most of the others—white Dixie Cup cap, slacks, and jumper with a blue neck tie—something about him was different.

Maybe she needed to pinch herself. She was getting too lost in this game of make believe. If she kept it up any longer, she might end up lying naked on the stage.

When she moved to get off the man's lap, he gripped her waist hard enough to keep her planted there. The heat from his skin penetrated his uniform and her cotton dress. As she gazed into his face, she forced herself to see it as it really was. But, Jean-Luc's kept staring back at her, no matter how many times she blinked.

A little thinner, maybe, but unmistakably his.

Her heart throbbed as she tore her gaze from it and glanced at the others. Why didn't they resemble him too? She looked back at his face, stunned by the hurt and betrayal etched all over it.

"J-Jean-Luc?" she uttered, struggling for breath.

With one fluid motion, he dislodged her from his lap, swung his leg over the chair, and stalked away...