“Louise,” he said.
Oh, it wasthatLouise.
She was attractive, I’d give her that. Blond, with high cheekbones and a disproportionately large mouth. Two slightly less attractive women stood at her sides.
“Archie, darling, no need to run away with your tail between your legs.” She laughed. “This must be the—”
“Louise,” Archie said quickly, “this is Olive Shine.” And then he dropped his head slightly, as if he couldn’t believe he had found himself in this situation.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. I could think of plenty of other things to say, but I imagined this was hard for her—to see her former beau in her hometown with his new fiancée. Or maybe she didn’t know that part. Just as I thought it, she took a good hard look at my ring and smirked.
“You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you, Archibald?” She shared a look of disgust with her two friends.
I bristled, but Archie squeezed my hand, so I kept my powder dry and refrained from giving her an earful.
“Well, I wish you two the best of luck,” she said with a snort and that oversized mouth, laughing almost, and it infuriated me. Then the three of them walked off.
“Archie…” I turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me she’d be here?”
“I didn’t think she would be, honestly. I’m sorry.”
“And your mother, she acted as if I were some acquaintance, not her future daughter-in-law.”
“She just takes a little time to warm up, that’s all.”
But I wasn’t about to be dismissed, and I wanted to get some dancing in before dinner was served—it wouldn’t hurt if it also bought me a little time before having to face his mother again.
“You’re feeling blue about all this, aren’t you, Olive,” Archie said. “I really wanted this to be special for you, meeting my family and friends. Sorry about Louise, she’s just sore about how things ended. She’s very traditional, you know, a real—”
“Forget it, Archie,” I said, kissing him so he’d stop talking about that dreadful woman. “Put it out of your head. We’re here to have a good time, and I know one way you can make it up to me.” I tugged him toward the orchestra.
“You’ve got that wild look in your eye, Olive—I don’t know if they’ll appreciate the style of dancing you like, the way they do in Manhattan.”
“Do you really care what everyone thinks?”
Archie shrugged. He did care, but I was convinced he cared more about me.
“Please, darling,” I said, skipping toward the orchestra. “Let’s have some fun.”
Archie paused for a second and then relented. “Let’s,” he said, and led the way.
We danced the Charleston, and Archie let Cincinnati have it. A few couples danced around the perimeter, a one-two up, one-two up, but boy, did we put them to shame. Archie didn’t hold back, arms were swinging, legs were kicking, he turned me and touched the floor, pulling out all the stops. I always loved a man who could dance. And me, well, let’s just say I gave them a good show.
We returned to the table as the appetizers were served. By thetime we sat down, I felt one hundred times better. It was as it always was—a good dance could get rid of any bad feelings, just shake them loose and send them off to God knew where—anywhere but in my head. It worked for Archie, too, I could just see it in him.
But his mother glared.
“I’ve been sitting on that train for twenty-four hours straight,” I said cheerfully. “Had to let off some steam.”
She muttered something and dug into her shrimp cocktail.
“Mother!” said Archie, who was sitting between us.
“It’s all right, darling,” I said. “I can fend for myself.”
Archie looked stricken by her remark, or maybe it was mine, but I wanted to show him that I could defend myself without losing grace. “I completely understand that this new development in the way of women is a regional phenomenon, picking up speed on the East and West Coasts of the country first, but Mrs. Carmichael, I assure you it will be here in your hometown soon enough if it’s not already, so it’s best to prepare yourself.” I speared a shrimp with a cocktail fork, dipped it in the sauce and took a bite. “I don’t know what you just called me, a flapper, perhaps, but I assure you I don’t take it as an insult. Us new girls are able, independent individuals seeking freedom of thought and expression, casting off the shackles of fear.” I’d read those words in a newspaper article on the train just that day. Lecturer Helen Ferguson Buchanan had defended us in a speech at the First Universalist Church and I was all for it. “The rise of flapperism is nothing but the flood of feminism that has been kept down through the ages and is now rushing through broken barriers to its new level.” Thank God for Helen Ferguson Buchanan!
Mrs. Carmichael kept her head down, staring at the damned shrimp. I tried to keep up my cheerful banter, but the tension at the table was stifling. I looked to Archie, and he gave me a look as if to say, “Stop while you’re ahead.” But the silence was killing me.
