Ginger Clayton, an old friend. Her younger sister had died six months before because her family couldn’t afford the medicine to save her. Suddenly I didn’t feel like dancing anymore. How could I dine on oysters and caviar while people like little Emma Clayton had lost their lives?
I let go of his hand. “Don’t you see?”
He tucked my hand in his again. “Careful,” he said. “We’ll be disqualified if we stop. What was it again? The three-second rule?”
I looked away.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I said. “Well, yes. I just wish the poor didn’t have to suffer so.”
The band slowed its tempo, and I was glad for it. It felt strange to be having such a serious conversation when dancing at such a frenetic pace.
“Listen,” I continued, seeing concern register in his eyes, “I do believe you care, and I know you’re different than most people in your position. I just wish more people with your privileged background cared about the plight of the poor. Times are tough. The widow who lives on the floor below me has to leave her children alone all day while she works because there’s no one to care for them. Perfectly respectable people are out on the street, begging for handouts. All this while the rich…”
“While the rich do nothing about it?” he said.
“Yes,” I replied, nodding.
“Well, you’re right,” he said with a look of conviction. “We’re a despicable lot. I’m the first to admit that. My own parents won’t even pay the household help a living wage. Most have to take second jobs just to feed their families. It’s not right. I’ve tried to speak to my father. He won’t hear of it. He himself came from poverty. Worked his way up from a farming town in Eastern Washington. He’s a self-made man. He believes that hard work and discipline is the ticket out of poverty. In his mind, anyone can make their fortune.”
I shook my head. “But that’s not always true.”
“I know.”
“What he doesn’t realize is that decent, hardworking people are down on their luck,” I continued. “There aren’t enough jobs to go around. People who want to work can’t.”
Charles looked away. “I don’t know what to tell you, Vera. I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“I don’t mean to sound like I’m blaming you, or your father,” I said, worrying I’d overstepped my bounds. It’s just that I was taught that if you have two of something, you share it with someone else. Why can’t the privileged do more to help the needy?”
Charles nodded. “That widow you spoke of, what’s her name?”
“Laura,” I said. “Her name’s Laura.”
“Where does she work?”
“In a garment factory in the industrial district.”
“How many children does she have?”
The band began playing a faster song, so we picked up the pace. “At least five,” I said. “The eldest is barely nine years old. It’s a terrible situation. I brought a loaf of bread down to her last week. The place was an awful mess. Squalor, really.”
Charles looked at me tenderly. “I want to help her.”
“How?”
“For one, let’s get her out of that wretched factory job so she can care for her family,” he said.
“To do that she’ll need—”
“Funds, yes. I’ll take care of it.”
I smiled from a place deep inside. “You will?”
“Yes,” he said. “But she must not know of my involvement.”
“I can help,” I offered.
“Good.”
I nestled my head on his lapel. “That’s an honorable thing to do.”
“No,” he said, stroking my hair, “it’s the right thing to do, and I’m ashamed I haven’t done more things like it.”
Charles twirled me across the floor before I rebounded like a fire hose back into his arms. The music stopped for a moment as I looked into his eyes. His gaze made me feel tingly everywhere, and when he leaned toward me, I let my lips meet his.
“There you are!” a shrill female voice echoed across the dance floor. I took a step back from Charles and watched as a woman approached. Her tan silk dress and hat trimmed with white feathers looked like a page torn from one of the discarded Vogue magazines Georgia sometimes brought home from her housekeeping job. In the ragtag gymnasium, this woman stood out like a swan in a coal mine.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Charles,” she continued with a chastising tone.
He divided his attention between the approaching woman and a man who appeared before us wagging his finger. “I’m afraid you’ve paused too long,” he said. “Please step off the