oyster shell home when I was a girl, and I’d cut my finger on its sharp edge. My mother, working the night shift at the factory, hadn’t been there to bandage it. So I tore a piece of fabric from a kitchen rag and wrapped it around the wound with enough pressure to stop the bleeding. When Mother returned from her second job, after spending her days tending to a wealthy family’s children in a privileged Seattle suburb, I held the injured finger before her. “It’s your own fault!” she barked without looking up. “You’re five years old; you should know better.” Dark shadows of fatigue hovered under her eyes. She didn’t mean it. She never meant anything she said after a long day at work. I forgave her, as I always did. And when she fell asleep in the parlor chair, in her work clothes, I pulled a blanket over her.
I held the oyster shell in my hand, feeling the sharpness on my skin, and recoiled, dropping it back onto the plate. I rubbed my index finger and eyed the jagged scar that anchored me to my past.
“Everyone’s a little bashful when they try their first oyster,” Charles said. “Let me help you.”
I let my eyes meet his, so warm, so welcoming. I’m not that little girl anymore. He put the shell to my lips, and I opened my mouth as the oyster’s cool, silky flesh rolled onto my tongue. I tasted the salt of the sea, its briny pungency, followed by the tartness of the lemon. The bite awakened my senses, opened my eyes.
“That was surprisingly good,” I said, reaching for another.
We ate. We drank. And we danced. With Charles leading, my feet carried me around the dance floor with an agility I hadn’t known I possessed.
Just as a song ended, and after a round of applause for the band, a couple approached us. The woman, with perfectly coiffed hair dyed to a beige blond, waved hello to Charles, her hand displaying a diamond engagement ring the size of a nickel. It sparkled under the stage lights as she held her fingers out to me. The man beside her, presumably her fiancé, looked at me curiously.
“I’m Delores,” she crooned, turning to Charles with a wounded look. “Charles, you didn’t tell us you had a new girlfriend. I thought you were still dating Yvonne. The two of you were—”
“Yes,” he interjected. “This is Vera. Vera Ray.”
Delores looked amused. “Of course,” she said, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “Miss Ray. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you as well,” I said, feeling a tightness in my chest.
“How did you two meet?” she continued. “At the country club?” She eyed my dress. Something told me she knew I wasn’t a member of the country club.
“No,” Charles said, “Vera and I met at—”
“At the Olympic Hotel,” I interjected. “My friend and I were there for the opening.”
Delores raised one eyebrow. “Oh?” she said, as if trying to make sense of the very idea of me at the Olympic Hotel. “Dear, tell me something.” She clasped her hand on my arm. “How ever did you get an invitation to that party? I know at least a dozen of the city’s most elite who weren’t invited.”
Charles tucked his hand around my waist and gave me a protective squeeze. “She was my guest,” he said, the confidence in his voice snuffing out any further talk of my appearance at the hotel.
“Well, then,” Delores replied, tugging at her date’s sleeve, “we’ll leave you now.” She giggled. “The way you two have been dancing you’d think you were in that dance-a-thon over on Sixth Avenue.”
Charles looked confused. “Dance-a-thon?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard about it,” she said. “It’s not really your crowd.” Delores then turned to look at me.
“Perhaps it’s my kind of crowd,” I said in a moment of boldness. My cheeks burned. I knew what she was getting at: I wasn’t good enough for Charles. It was written all over my shabby dress, secondhand shoes, and unmanicured hands.
“Goodnight, Delores,” Charles said before nodding to her male companion. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to me as we walked back to the table.
I nodded. “Where to?”
“Vera,” he said, as if suddenly struck with a thought, “why don’t we go to that dance-a-thon?”
I shook my head. “You can’t be serious.”
“We’re an incredible dance team,” he said, grinning. “I bet we could win. Besides, I’m tired of this stuffy old place.”