Amy chuckled and stopped at the bar, pulling Rory in for a gentle kiss. “I’ve had a fair few, but I suppose another wouldn’t hurt,” she said, looking up at him with a loving smile. She took a glass from the bartender and sipped it, looking briefly at the shape in his pocket. She couldn’t deny an intense desire to know what the little gadget did, if it was even anything worth being excited about. Still, they couldn’t leave early and mucking about with it in the middle of the party was the definition of a stupid idea. Still, it gnawed at the back of her mind and only the bubbles tickling her nose seemed able to push it away.
She looked around at the room, several long time couples nestled into corners, those who were only together so they wouldn’t ring in the year alone twirling on the floor. A cluster of wives whose husbands were fighting the war stood by the balcony doors, offering each other comfort and support, platitudes they knew were weak. All of them were excited by the upcoming year and terrified of what it may have to offer. But Amy knew, at least in a general sense, what 1944 had to offer. There would be the invasion of Normandy, the last eruption of Vesuvius, Anne Frank, more war and death but very little of it would reach them in New York. The rationing, the war bonds, the tragic news of course, but they were not actively hiding from bombs as they would have been in London at this time.
She finished her glass, anxiously awaiting the countdown to midnight. She had no desire to play cards right now, though she usually enjoyed wiping the smiles off pompous assholes faces. She took Rory’s hand and squeezed it. “Keep me distracted until midnight, pretty boy,” she said with a mischievous grin, leading him to a little nook she’d noticed earlier.