Chapter Text
1963
John and Isabetta Harrington rarely dragged their daughter on their vacations. The couple regularly left Steffani at home, with John working at the major hospital in Indianapolis and Isabetta spending her days drinking with her girlfriends or flying back and forth from Hawkins, Indiana to her homeland of Italy.
Honestly, Stevie didn’t think her parents were originally planning on taking her along. John’s poker friend, Randolph “Randy” Carver, had invited John to his resort in the Catskills. John told his wife about his plans over dinner, completely forgetting Stevie was sitting there with them.
“What will Steffani do?” Isabetta asked.
John blinked, looking over at his daughter picking at her food.
“Well, since she’s not going to Harvard,” John said, not even hiding his disappointment. “I suppose she can come with us. There’s lots of things for her to do. Dance lessons, swimming, tennis, golf, and a million activities every day. I’m sure she can find something to do.”
And that was that. Stevie packed up her suitcases and climbed into the backseat of her father’s Rolls-Royce, buckling in for the long ride.
–
“ This is your Cousin Brucie. Whoa! Our summer romances are in full bloom, and everybody's in love! So cousins, here's a great song from the Four Seasons.”
Stevie’s head bumps against the window when her dad hits a pothole. She winces, touching her temple, listening to Frankie Valli crooning about how big girls don’t cry.
John casts a glance at her in the rearview mirror, smiling.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” He chuckles. “Or should I say, good afternoon?”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Stevie replies dryly. She gazes out the window, watching tree after tree zoom by. “How much longer?”
“About fifteen minutes to go, hon.” John replies.
A half an hour later, their car hits the private drive of the resort, gravel bouncing up and clanging against the metal of the undercarriage. They ease to a stop in front of the main house, where other cars were parked and being unloaded by bellhops. Guests were scattered around, taking pictures of the green mountains. John puts the car in park, stepping out, rocks crunching under his loafers. He stretches his arms above his head, groaning as his back pops in three separate places.
Stevie scans the area, doe-brown eyes hidden behind her sunglasses.
She doesn’t really want to be here. It was just going to be old men playing golf, their wives drinking by the pool, and tiny children screaming their heads off at the playground. There is absolutely nothing for a girl her age to do other than check out the boys on the staff.
Stevie sighs and pushes her sunglasses up on her head, leaning up to the front. She wraps her arms around her mother from behind, resting her chin on the seat.
“Why did I have to come again?” Stevie sighs. Isabetta flicks out her compact mirror, carefully reapplying her lipstick. She looks at her daughter in the reflection.
“ Steffani ,” Her mother coos, using Stevie’s full name. She always does, no matter how many times Stevie asks her not to. John listened–somewhat. Calls her by her childhood nickname of ‘Steffi’. It’s fine. “You are here to enjoy the sun! Relax and such.”
The mirror snaps shut. Her mother slides on her own sunglasses then wraps a soft scarf around her head. The door clicks open and Isabetta steps out, calling to one of her friends that she wishes she brought her coral shoes they'd just go lovely with your dress !
“Steffi!” John calls. Stevie flicks back down her sunglasses and hops out, walking up the sidewalk to the porch.
“Yes, dad?” She says breezily.
Her father smiles at her and takes her hand, pulling her over to him. Next to him is a portly older man with gray hair. His hairline is receding and his face is tomato red, like he just laughed for five solid minutes.
“Steffi, this is my friend Randy Carver, he owns this place,” John introduces her. “Randy, this is my daughter Steffani.”
“Pleasure, Ms. Harrington.” Randy smiles. He takes her hand and kisses the back of it, his upper lip sweat smearing wetly against her skin.
Stevie smiles softly, taking her hand and wiping it on the back of her dress.
“Nice to meet you.” Stevie says.
“How old are you, Steffani?” Randy asks.
“I turned eighteen in February.” She replies.
“Steffi just graduated high school last month.” John explains.
“Did you now?” Randy grins. “My son, Jason is an upcoming senior, maybe you can give him some tips on how to survive.”
“Doubt it.” Stevie mutters under her breath, which the men didn’t hear or elected to ignore.
“Any plans for next year? Got a college picked out?” Randy continues his incessant questioning. Stevie wishes he would just shut the hell up.
Instead, she shakes her head.
“I, um, have decided to go into the workforce, actually. Maybe become a seamstress like my Zia Maria. Settle down, have kids, or something.” Stevie shrugs, the tips of her ears going red.
She didn’t get into any colleges she applied to. She was just too dumb and stupid and would never be a doctor like her dad or a fashion designer like her mother had been. Something was wrong with her, she knew. No matter how hard she tried, nothing stayed in her head long enough. She could barely even read ! Every time she looked at the pages of some dumb book, the words all jumbled together and jumped around the page until she had a headache. Stevie knew her father was disappointed in her, and… she just wished she could change that. Wished she wasn’t so stupid and could carry on the Harrington Harvard Grad tradition like her father wanted.
“Well, the world needs more and more women like you,” Randy says. Stevie fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Ah, there’s Jason! Jason, come here!”
A blonde boy smiles a thousand watt smile, jogging over to his father. He has baby blue eyes that matched the polo he wore. A clipboard held tightly in hand, he waves.
“John, this is my boy, Jason,” Randy says. “Jason, this is John’s daughter, Steffani.”
Jason smiles broadly and shakes her hand, exchanging pleasantries.
“Jason here is going into the family business,” Randy brags, wrapping an arm around the boy. “This summer, he’s helping organize events and luncheons and such.”
“Oh, how nice.” John nods.
Then, the conversation transgresses into politics and sports and the economy yada yada yada . Stevie sighs, slipping away quietly. Just as she was stepping down the stairs, someone grabs her wrist stopping her in her tracks.
She turns and nearly falls back when Jason is right in her face, grinning.
“Steffani, right?” He says, letting her go.
“It’s Stevie, actually,” She replies. “It’s easier to say than butchering the Italian pronunciation.”
“Well, Stevie, it’s nice to meet you,” Jason says. “I’d love to get to know you better. Sit with me at dinner tonight?”
Stevie grimaces internally.
“Sure.” Is all she says, then she practically runs away.
The cabin, much to Stevie’s dismay, is much smaller than she expects. All close quarters, closer than she wants to be to her parents. She had hoped there would be a second floor like at home, where she could disappear upstairs and hide out until the trip was over. Instead, Stevie’s room is on the other side of the single bathroom, her parents were on the other side–the master bedroom right off the back porch. The rest of the cabin consists of a small den with an unlit fireplace and a small kitchenette. Obviously, the point of this type of vacation is to force families to spend time together. Something Stevie could pass on.
Somehow, Isabetta and John ropes their daughter into complimentary dance lessons up at the gazebo.
Stevie laments her life.
The gazebo itself is pretty crammed with guests, and it certainly doesn’t help that Stevie has two left feet. She can barely keep up with the dance instructor, a mousey brown haired woman named Heather. Stevie keeps stumbling and stepping on others, falling behind the group. Stevie watches her own feet, trying to follow the steps to the merengue Heather is yelling out.
“Turn, turn, and spin!” Heather calls.
Stevie bumps into an older woman next to her.
“Sorry!” She apologizes.
“Start a train! Ladies, follow me; men, make an outer circle!” Heather chants, leading a conga line. Stevie is crowded into the line, her hands falling to her mother’s hips awkwardly.
Yeah, she is ready for the vacation to be over as soon as possible.
“Dad, I’m gonna head up to the main house. Y’know, explore.” Stevie says, pulling on her soft blue cardigan.
John grunts in acknowledgement from the table where he’s playing solitaire, a large cigar hanging out his mouth.
“Be back for dinner, Steffani !” Her mother calls as Stevie skips down the stairs of the porch. She follows the stone path up the hill. She walks around the house, admiring the crown molding of the ceiling, the polished hardwood floors, and the paintings adorning the walls. Stevie trails up the stairs, out to the balcony.
The salty breeze from the lake washes over Stevie’s face. She leaned on the railing, taking a deep breath, appreciating the view. The water shimmers in the setting sun, the trees swaying in the gentle breeze.
“There are two types of staff here, people,” Jason’s voice pulls Stevie out of her trance-like state. She tip-toes farther down the balcony, peaking around the door to the grand ballroom. The floor is set with dinner tables, all decorated with dining ware. Jason stands in the middle of the room, men dressed in white waiter’s uniforms surrounding him. “There’s the respectable and reserved staff, and there’s the ones who lose their jobs if they fuck up. This is a family place. That means keep your hands where I can see ‘em, and your hair outta the soup. Keep the daughters entertained, dance with ‘em, show ‘em the stars. Even the goddamn dogs.”
Stevie scowls at that. This kid is such a high schooler, like he’s talking with the guys about the girls they’ve fucked and if they were cows or hotties.
The door to the kitchen bangs open and a group of loud people walk in, laughing and talking. Leading the pack is a man with shoulder length brown hair, full of crinkly curls and choppy bangs above his eyes. He has big doe-brown eyes just like Stevie does. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt that stretched tight against his body, tucked into his blue jeans. On one arm, he has a black leather jacket slung over the shoulder, while the other is wrapped around the shoulders on the girl at his side.
Stevie gasps. Because this…this is the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen.
The girl is a head shorter than the man. Her head full of golden blonde curls, ringlets cascading down her back and resting between her shoulder blades. She’s in a strappy red swing dress, her breasts pushed up, straining against the fabric and threatening to spill over. She has broad shoulders, skin tanned golden from days in the sun. Her lips are painted red to match her dress, pursed around a cigarette, black liner around her eyes. And her eyes ! Her eyes are blue, the shade of blue that reminds Stevie of the ocean. Eyes you could drown swimming in.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the entertainment staff, ” Jason sneers. “I’ve got rules for you guys too. Munson,”
“Yes, your majesty ?” The man in the leather jacket smirks. The girl next to him grins, her fingers drawing the cigarette away to exhale, the smoke escaping out her nose. Her tongue flicks over her teeth as she laughs.
Jason scowls, “Munson. Your job is to dance with the women. Teach ‘em the mambo, the tango, the waltz, whatever the fuck they want. But that’s it . It stops there. Keep it in your fucking pants, freak .”
Munson saultes, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Yeah, Eddie!” One of the boys of the group laughs, playfully punching Munson– Eddie’s shoulder.
“Save some for the rest of us, you absolute dog.” Another comments sarcastically.
Jason rolls his eyes as the group laughs.
“And Ms. Hargrove?” Jason calls. The girl– the goddess –turns her attention back to Jason. She pulls in another lungful of smoke, then blows it right in his face.
“Yes, Mr. Carver ?” She coos in a falsetto shrill pitch, all snarky and mocking. She flutters her eyes, her cupid-bow lips drawing into a teasing pout. Eddie snorts beside her.
Jason walks over to her and plucks the cigarette from her hand, drops it to the floor and puts it out with his shoe.
“There’s no smoking inside,” Jason smirks when the girl glares at him. “And Billie, sweetie ? Can we maybe try to find a dress that’s more… ladylike ?”
Jason’s gaze drops to Billie’s cleavage, the wait staff exploding in laughter and wolf calls.
“I’d appreciate it if your ladies didn’t make a guest appearance tonight.” Jason continues.
“I’d appreciate it if they did make an appearance.” One of the waiters says, snickering with his friends.
Billie hears him, turning her icy-blue glare in his direction.
“How about my foot makes an appearance up your ass, Tommy!” She shouts, the sweet lilt gone and replaced with a dry sarcastic tone that seems more fitting to her. Tommy, the waiter, flicks the bird at her and she growls, lunging at him.
She doesn’t get very far, Eddie stops her with an arm wrapped around her waist. He whispers something in her ears and she stops struggling, huffing in annoyance. Tommy and his friends hoot and holler as the entertainment staff leave the building.
Stevie sits at the dinner table, seated between Jason and her father. She’s wearing her baby pink sweater matched with her white tennis skirt, her brown hair pushed back with a hairband. Jason was discussing something with John, Stevie isn’t really listening.
She’s thinking about that girl. That spitfire girl in the devil red dress.
“--don’t you agree, Steffani?” Jason asks.
Stevie blinks at him as she lands back down on earth.
“W-what?” She mutters. Beside her, John laughs.
“Steffi has always been a bit of a space-case,” He chuckles. “He was asking about school, Steffi.”
“Oh,” She mumbles meekly. “It will probably be easy for you. It kinda sucked for me since I’m not very smart.”
Jason doesn’t reply to that, just continues his conversation with John, pretending like Stevie hadn’t spoken at all.
After dinner, a live band strikes up in a fast paced beat. People crowd the floor, dancing with their partners to the music. Stevie is dragged into a waltz at breakneck speed, Jason yanking her along. Soon, the music morphs into a mambo and thankfully, Stevie is able to flee to the sidelines.
In the middle of the floor, the crowd has cleared a space. In that space, Billie and Eddie dance the mambo rapidly, their feet matching the others movements easily. Eddie is now dressed in a tuxedo, his hair pulled back into a bun. Eddie’s big hands hold onto Billie’s waist as she spins around, a wide smile on her face. Eddie dips Billie with ease, hands roaming her body in a practiced manner.
The crowd whoops and claps, cheering the couple on. Stevie's eyes widen as Billie swings her leg up and onto Eddie’s shoulder. He grabs her ankle and drags her tantalizingly across the floor. Billie’s eyes catch Stevie’s and the blonde throws her a wink. Stevie’s face heats up.
Eddie dips Billie back, then twirls her into his arms.
“The hell are they doing?” Jason mutters, coming up behind Stevie.
Eddie looks over and Jason draws a finger across his neck, signaling them to knock it off. Eddie’s smile fades and he pulls Billie into one more step, before they stop. The crowd claps and cheers as the couple bows. They separate and the music slows to a swaying doo-wop. Eddie begins dancing with a different woman and Billie finds an older male partner.
As Stevie gets ready to head back to the cabin, Jason stops her yet again.
“Hey Stevie,” He says. “I was wondering if you could help out?”
“With what?”
“Well, Scott Clark is doing a magic show after this and he needs a female volunteer for one of his acts. I told him you’d be happy to do it.”
Oh, she most certainly is not !
“Uh, sure,” Stevie says instead. “Which act?”
Stevie laments her life once again as she lays down in the box, her head sticking out of the hole in the top. She pushes the fake feet out the other end, then curls up into a fetal position, holding her knees to her flat chest.
“Let’s give her a round of applause, ladies and gents,” Scott Clark says, dressed in a cape and top hat, complete with a magic wand. “Now, my assistant will just close the lid here and–”
The lid closes and locks, and Scott Clark brings out a giant saw, which is definitely overkill. The crowd claps and Scott Clark saws right through the box. Two ends slide down between the cut and locked into place, covering the end of each separated box.
They wheel the box apart and the crowd screams in joy as Stevie is effectively sawed in half.
Stevie kicks a rock as she walks back to the cabin. Alone. Her company is some crickets and two frogs, all singing away into the night. As she crosses the bridge of the creek, she bumps into someone.
“Sorry!” Stevie apologizes. The guy is a skinny black kid with a curly black afro. In his arms are three giant watermelons he’s struggling to carry.
“It’s fine.” The kid wheezes.
The kid is younger than Stevie, probably a freshman or younger. But, he is just as tall as Stevie, which is saying something since Stevie’s pretty tall, reaching five foot seven just last fall.
“Let me help, please.” Stevie says, taking one of the watermelons into her arms.
“Thanks,” The kid smiles. “I’m Lucas.”
He goes to hold out a hand and nearly drops the other watermelon. Stevie giggles.
“I’m Stevie,” She replies. “Where are we taking these?”
“Oh, I gotta drop ‘em off at the staff lodge,” Lucas says. “There’s a watermelon eating contest tomorrow.”
They walk down the path, deeper into the woods, until Stevie can hear music blaring. Up the hill, a house is all lit up. The music gets louder as they trudge closer, heaving themselves up the steep staircase.
Atop the hill is the staff housing. The grounds are littered with small cabins and a large lodge in the center, where Lucas was leading her.
Lucas smiles at her, turning around to kick the door open. He holds it open and lets Stevie pass into the hall.
And all she can say is… wow .
The floor is crowded with people, all dancing closely and sensually. Stevie watches with wide eyes as a couple grinds on each other to the beat of the music, their legs interlocked and hips brushing each time they make a circle.
The music is so loud, vibrating the floor. Elvis Presley’s ‘Trouble’ thunders from the speakers as the couples danced along.
“Hey! Eddie!” Lucas calles over the music.
Stevie’s eyes fly over the crowd, landing on the familiar figure of Eddie Munson.
His hair was back down, swinging around his head. The jacket, tie, and white button down had been discarded, leaving him in his white under shirt tucked into the black pants. He is dancing and smiling, his head thrown back as he laughs.
And wrapped in his arms, is Billie Hargrove, still in her devil red dress.
Eddie’s head whips over to Lucas and he waves, his hips not stopping their movements against Billie’s.
Lucas lifts the watermelons and Eddie gives a thumbs up, then points in a different direction. Stevie follows Lucas to a kitchen, drops off the watermelons, and then follows him back out to the dance floor. Solomon Burke’s voice cries over the speakers.
Lucas leads Stevie over to Billie and Eddie.
Eddie dips Billie backwards, their hips still gyrating. He slides a hand up her stomach, to her sternum, right between her breasts. Billie sighs, her hands tangling in her blonde curls.
Stevie peers down at her in awe.
Billie’s eyes flit open, her blue eyes gazing up. The smile drops.
“Oh, fuck,” She says. She pulls herself back up and stops dancing. Instead, she stands with her hands on her hips, her lips pulled into a sneer. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“Oh! Well, Stevie here was just helping me carry–” Lucas starts, but Billie cuts him off.
“You want us to get fired, Sinclair?” She snarls at the boy, poking him in the chest with a red painted nail.
“I carried a watermelon.” Pipes in Stevie. Billie glares and ignores her.
Really? I carried a watermelon? Stevie sighs internally.
“She’s dating Carver Jr. for chrissakes! If the boss man’s son finds out, we’re done for.” Billie growls at Lucas.
“No!” Stevie cries. Billie’s eyes fly back to her. “I-I won’t tell! I was just helping–”
“Then get lost, pretty girl.” Billie huffs, crossing her arms.
“Billie,” Eddie chastises.”Stop badgering her. She was just being nice and helpin’ Lucas out.”
“Then why is she still here?” Billie grumbles.
“I–well, I was–” Stevie stutters. “I wanna dance.”
“You wanna dance?” Billie repeats, a blonde brow quirked.
Stevie nods.
“Then go dance.” Billie razzes. “Go on. Go dance.”
Stevie looks at the floor of people despairingly.
“I, um, I don’t know how.” She squeaks.
“Of course you don’t.” Billie rolls her eyes. Eddie sighs, taking Stevie’s hand.
“I’ll teach ya, no worries.” He smiles.
“Munson, I swear to god, if she tattles and we lose our jobs–” Billie spits.
“My ass is grass, yeah yeah, I know,” Eddie smirks. “Come on, honey, let’s dance.”
As Eddie drags her to the floor, Stevie casts a glance back at Billie. Billie has plopped herself down on the couch, watching the crowd in disdain.
“Is she okay?” Stevie asks.
Eddie laughs, “Don’t mind Billie, she’s like that all the time. Prickly. But you get to know her for as long as I have, she warms up.”
Eddie slots his leg between Stevie’s, causing her to squeal in surprise. He smiles at her, guiding her leg to bracket his own. He leans in, resting his hands on her hips gently.
“This okay?” He checks, speaking in her ear so she could hear him. Stevie nods. “Groovy, baby. Okay, now start slow. Move your hips in circles, like this.”
He moves her hips in slow circles, in tempo with the music. He guides her for a moment, until she picks up on it and does it herself. Eddie smiles at her, then moves his own hips to match hers. He keeps it pretty clean, not letting their groins touch like the other couples, instead bumping his hipbone against hers with every loop.
Don’cha feel like cryin’?
Where here I am a-honey
A-c’mon, well, cry to me
“Is that all?” Stevie asks.
“Next step is the dip,” Eddie says. “And that’s it!”
Stevie smiles and nods, “Let’s do it.”
“Alright, gotta trust me, baby,” Eddie says. His hand drifts from her hips, resting one on the small of her back, while the other presses gently on her stomach. “Lean it back, baby.”
Stevie leans back , back , back , arching her spine. Eddie’s hand drifts up, following her as she dips. He holds her steady, then begins to swing her gently left from right.
Stevie giggles joyfully.
She could do this all night.
C’mon, c’mon
And cry to me
Stevie sneaks back into the cabin around midnight. She quickly sheds her clothes and hops into her nightgown, quietly humming.
“ Do ya love me ?” She sings softly.
She pulls the blankets back off her bed and settles in.
A smile on her face as she drifts to sleep. A certain blonde haired girl in red finds her way into Stevie’s dream, and Stevie doesn’t mind the slightest.