He felt the heat in his face when the drum solo began, but Molly was smiling at him, excited, and they kept up with each other now, the pleasure of the movement like a kind of foreplay that made everything else disappear. He noticed vaguely that people had made space around them, watching and stamping their feet, but he kept his eyes fixed on her. The song started its false diminuendo, everything running down and building at the same time, and they danced close, keeping pace, waiting for the break. Sweating. “Wow,” she said, laughing, panting a little. “No, you,” he said, meaning it, because he didn’t dance, not like this. Then it came, the sudden loud blast of the finale, irresistible, and they were dancing wildly, grasping hands to hold on, their circle of movement spinning wider to fit the music, until the dramatic up-tempo crash, the real climax, and they hung on to each other, winded, while the entire hall shook with applause. Goodman’s crowd-pleaser, the same frenzy.
The applause was for the band, not for them, but he heard it like an alarm clock, bringing him back. They were supposed to be inconspicuous, not drawing a crowd. He dragged Molly outside the circle of people and stood for a minute against the wall, catching his breath.
“Who would have thought?” she said, smiling, hanging on to him. She reached up and wiped his temple, smoothing back the damp hair.
“We’d better get back,” he said, but when he looked up he saw that his father had come to find them and was standing there watching. He felt embarrassed, as if they’d been caught necking. Molly followed his gaze and turned.
“Did you see?” she said to his father, still smiling.
“A killer-diller,” his father said wryly. “We were wondering what had happened to you.”
“My fault,” Molly said lightly. “I couldn’t resist.”
His father looked around. “How about a cigarette?” he said. Then, to Molly, “Tell Anna we’ll be right there.”
Molly looked surprised at her dismissal, but he took Nick’s arm before either of them could say anything and led him out the door. Nick felt the night air on his sweat and shivered.
“Outside?”
“Yes,” his father said, still leading him.
“Sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.”
His father waved it aside, a matter of no importance. “Here,” he said, lighting him a cigarette. “Listen to me, Nick. Carefully, please. We don’t have much time.”
Nick leaned against the building, still sweating, and took a gulp of air. Now what?
“We have to make a change.”
“What’s wrong?” he said, alert now.
His father shook his head. “Just listen. I need you to do something for me. Tomorrow morning go to the train station and buy a ticket for Vienna-you’ll need your passport. The Berlin train at eight-ten. You shouldn’t have any trouble. An American. Even at the last minute.”
“What are you talking about?”
He put his hand up. “Just listen. If it comes up, which it shouldn’t, you had a quarrel with Molly-these things happen. Take a bag with you, what you’d take if you were leaving. After you buy the ticket, go to the men’s room, the one near the platform. First stall on the right as you enter. You leave the ticket there-an accident, but you don’t realize it. You don’t miss it until the train is about to leave, so you retrace your steps, but you can’t find it. Too late. You don’t report it. But missing the train-maybe it’s a sign you should make up. So you go back to the hotel. You do make up-no need to take the train after all. But leave that afternoon. Drive to Vienna. Don’t stay in Prague any longer.” He paused, as if he’d forgotten a detail in the rush. “Don’t talk to anybody at the station. That’s important. You don’t see me, not even if we’re alone there. Do you understand?”
Nick stared at him, trying to catch up. Was he crazy? “You can’t do this.”
“Do you understand?” he repeated.
“You can’t just get on a train.”
“Yes. It’s the ticket that’s difficult. A Czech would get it early, with the visa. No one goes to Vienna at the last minute. But for you it’s easy.”
“No one goes to Vienna at all.”
“Russian Jews,” his father said. “They have exit visas. This is the train that connects to Vienna. It’s how they leave. Don’t worry, I have papers.”
“Yours?”
“Someone’s. They won’t bother me. Once I have the ticket I’m all right.”
“No risk at all.”
His father looked up at him but didn’t answer. “When you get to Vienna, stay at the Imperial. I’ll contact you. And don’t tell anyone you’re there-anyone.”
Nick dropped his cigarette and took him by the arms. “What’s going on? You can’t do this,” he said again. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“It has to. It’s not what I planned, Nick. But now we do it this way.”
“But why? This morning-”
When his father didn’t answer, it occurred to Nick, a chill like the night air, that it had always been the plan — not the elaborate exchange but an escape, clandestine like the rest of his life, drawing Nick in deeper, one story into another, until he was on a train platform buying a ticket, an accomplice. No risk at all, unless he was caught.
