The Roaring Age (nWoD)

Page 35: The Dream of Belonging, Part 3

"You know what would be fun?" Jack asked. "And perhaps instructive…"

Miriam didn't, but she also knew conversation well enough to guess that she'd learn in just a minute.

"What?" Virginia asked, looking over at Mr. Gilt. It was a crowded area, but everyone seemed to be giving them a wide berth, as if they were the center of a scene in a play. Not that Miriam had been able to see many plays, she'd always been too busy, and she'd done far more reading of, say, Shakespeare than watching him or any other playwrights acted out. If anything, she'd seen more movies than anything.

"Why not go to the Chicago Black-and-Tan?" Jack said. "See what we can see. And Mr. Gilt can talk to Virginia there. There is no better place to talk to someone in secret than a crowded party filled with people who can listen in, after all." Jack gave one of those lopsided smiles she'd only ever seen him give his brother, when he said something absurd.

Mr. Gilt, though, nodded, the older man slumping a little as he moved a little closer to Virginia.

"That sounds good. What do you say, Miriam--"

Miriam tried to keep the judgement from her face. Cabarets were sinful places. Women dressed in far too little, men drinking far too much, women smoking of all things, all sorts of vices all packed into one. Too sensual, too dangerous, and with no respect for the proper boundaries. Black-and-Tans were no better, and they degraded the Race, which had to show cultured and prove itself in the eyes of the world if it was to get ahead. It showed off the basest and lowest sorts of Negroes, and made it what white people saw.

White men went into the South Side to...kiss or whatever or dance with some girl in a club and said, 'This is Negro Life.'

There were clubs that didn't even allow Negroes in except as entertainment. Except as women to be looked at, flirted with. Kissed but not married.

"Aww, I mean, Miriam," Virginia said, "how do you know if you don't check it out."

"You need to broaden your perspective," Jack said. "And besides, I think some of what you're thinking is wrong. Some of it is right, too." Jack frowned, "But there's enjoyment to be had, especially in the places that aren't segregated. Plus, I have an idea or two for you, to see what you can do."

Miriam nodded, uncertainly. She was pretty sure her father wouldn't approve, but he'd been very carefully not asking about it. He didn't want to know, and as they walked through the crowded, lively streets, she decided she wouldn't tell him. She wasn't a Catholic, she didn't need to confess her sins, and she wasn't going to sin. You could walk amid sin and not have stained shoes. Many pious men and women had ministered to prostitutes without somehow being 'polluted' or 'sinful', it was silly to think otherwise.

Still, when she saw the neon sign out, she almost wanted to object and turn away. "Chicago Black and Tan" in big bold white letters. There was a stream of people coming in, stopped by a large black man in dark pants and a white shirt, who looked as if he exercised every day of his life. The people looked both distinct and indistinct, and the foursome approached him.

Her second mind was composing an argument for why cabarets were so bad, while also listening to Virginia and Mr. Gilt talk.

They seemed to be talking about what a Demon was.

"It's a being up here, but just because you came from them don't mean you have to pay them any mind," Mr. Gilt said, "Not if you don't want to. They're dangerous, and they're not human. They're like you are when you go full out--"

"I remember how that felt," Virginia said, her voice bleak. "Like that all the time?"

"Only worse."

"Excuse me, sir," Jack said, "what's the cover charge."

The man leaned in and whispered a number, and Jack whistled but put his hand into his short pocket, and drew out a rather larger wallet than should have fit there, opening it and pulling out dollars. Each was crisp and clean, and he folded them and handed them to the man, the green of them looking tiny in those hands, which were like baseball gloves.

"Go on in, then," the man rumbled, finally.

Miriam followed her uncle close behind as she stepped in, and gasped. Gasped because there must have been a thousand people there. On three sides of a dance floor that was currently occupied by couples, there were tables, and near the back there was a band. Piano, bass, viola, trombone, a full band, playing music that was even catchier than before. Though some of it felt a little flat.

It was like eating something that was missing an ingredient, though she felt another part of...something. It was trying to worm her way into her. It was the rhythm. It was something deep and powerful about the way the beat worked. It wasn't…

"Jazz is like that. You get it or you don't. But you can feel it, right? The tempo for the dance? The speed of it?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," Miriam said, "But also something missing."

"That's the charge. That's the metaphorical flirtation, the sensuality, the energy," Jack said, "In real life, that's something you bring to it, but in the world of imagination, you can blame it on the Jazz."

There was a bar in the far corner, and a curtain near the back, as if there were going to be some dancers. The dance floor was full of couples. A very few were white and white. The rest were white-and-Negro and all-Negro. They were dancing the foxtrot and the Charleston, startlingly and shamefully close to each other not always fast, but far faster than she was used to from what dances she'd seen. And it was so intimate, hand in hand. The tables were almost all full, people laughing and talking and drinking, ordering drinks from girls dressed in skirts that went above their knees, and tops that revealed way too much.

The men, Negro and white, all were dressed up, and the women, almost all of them Negroes with a few exceptions, were similarly dressed up, but rather more gaily. Bright colors, flapper dresses, black dresses on some, sure, but it was clear that they were wanting to be looked at. The serving girls were all about Miriam's color, and there was a definite separation here.

A table could be all white, all Negro, or mostly one or the other. It couldn't be mixed. Here a white man talked amid a crowd of another Negro man and two Negro women who looked to be in their early twenties. There a Negro woman swooning as three different white men talked to her at a table. But never two and two.

There were so many other things to notice. Feather boas in bright red, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, the talking and the laughing. The music, which hadn't changed but did seem to be worming its way into her. It felt so spontaneous, and yet she could feel as if there was a rule as well. Miriam could tell that there was a lot of craft going into it. She hadn't even thought about that, but listening to it, she felt as if it were something she could learn to enjoy.

In the proper place. That was to say, not here.

It was a huge hall, and the sea of faces all blurred together. She knew its exact dimensions, could have listed its volume with a simple calculation--a calculation that she in fact made in her head, without paper, while she walked along with her Uncle--and yet it still seemed more than it was.

So many people. "Is it always this…"

"Big? No. This is mash up of imagination. No floor show yet, or perhaps it has already passed. It's large but intimate, it's segregated but not…" Jack shrugged. "It is not a cabaret, but A Cabaret."

Miriam tried to consider this for a moment as Jack turned back towards Virginia.

"Hey, you two," Jack called, "stay where we can see you, and you can talk."

"Of course, sir," Virginia said, as sweetly as if she'd never cause trouble. Miriam smiled, softly. Oh, that Virginia.

"Well, follow me. You aren't letting the scene set you, I see."

Miriam looked at Jack, and realized that his suit had slowly been shifting to be more like those that everyone else wore. Still shockingly colored, but now a little more formal. A little more meant for evening. Each place tried to help you blend in. Miriam wondered what caused that. She supposed that if she somehow found herself under the sea, she'd be wearing a diving suit in order to survive. It wouldn't just throw her into death. Or even, she guessed, sticking out too much. Unless she chose to stand out.

Miriam let it work its magic, letting out a breath as they pushed past people.

Above, there were chandeliers, to light up the white tablecloths and the drinks and the chairs, to shine down upon the dancing pairs, so many of them that she couldn't pick out more than brief details about any one person.

"This is a great place to test out magic," Jack said. "Not as good as in your head, but a little bit of risk is always interesting. I'd like you to test out a few spells. First, you see that woman?"

He pointed over towards a curvaceous woman in a dark dress, who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was a 'high yellow' as they called it, and was moving to and fro, talking to one man one moment, and another man another, running back and forth delivering drinks. Her face was delicate, the features fine, but her eyes watery and abstracted in some strange way.

"Yes," Miriam said.

"Use your magic against her. Well, not against her, but introduce yourself to her, and then try to touch her and influence how she views you. Imagine how important a first impression is. The first thing you see of someone, it's important, right?"

Miriam nodded, trying to imagine it.

"So shift her mind subtly so that's she's more willing to give you the time of day. You're going to ask her to come back here, and say that Jack wants a drink." Jack smiled, "Because I do, even if it's dream alcohol I'm getting. I want you to start cheating, really distinctly cheating, in a social interaction."

Miriam shifted, uncomfortably, "Uncle…?"

"I know you might object, but I want you to see just what you can do when you have incentive. Do whatever it takes to get as close to her as possible in as short a time as possible. Can you try?"

Get him a drink? When she didn't approve of alcohol at all? That seemed like a horrible idea, but at the same time, a part of her wanted to see just what she could do.

"I...can."

*****

Miriam walked through the crowds, causing a little bit of a stir as she did. She hadn't looked down beyond noticing that she was wearing a white dress, and there were other girls her age, even if most of the girls and boys were far older. Actually, the youngest man here seemed to be perhaps seventeen, while there were more girls close to her age. Another different standard, perhaps.

Either way, she kept close on the woman, and then as soon as she had a chance, she pulled out the mirror, reflecting the woman's back, and then the pen, pointing right at her. Keeping both of them in her mind while walking was a complicated process, but she kept at it, and finally brushed against the woman's shoulder, and then, as she turned, moved the mirror to briefly reflect the woman as she pulled out yet another spell.

Before she even knew the first one had worked, she suddenly saw a green cloud around the woman's head, green but a rich green. She was a hedonist. Greedy, a little like her uncle, but far more vain, someone who wanted to save up money to get somewhere bigger and better than just a cabaret. She was very charming, and far smarter than she had to be to get ahead. Miriam looked at the other woman for a moment, "Excuse me, miss. My uncle would like a drink. He's the...high roller over there," she said, pointing over at him.

It was easy, when Miriam knew what the woman wanted, to say what would make her most likely to come over. A rich man willing to spend money frivolously? It would seem to be exactly what she was looking for, or at least another step in her goal of getting rich.

"Oh? And aren't you precious. My name's Belinda, what's yours?" the woman asked. She was tall enough that she was eye to eye with Miriam.

"My name is Miriam," Miriam said, putting the pen away so that there was no proof of what she'd done. She knew she'd pushed a little, bit it had felt so easy. The magic had come together almost on its own, and she'd done it without any of the long theatrics and mental stumbling she'd felt before.

Her mind was oddly free, and she almost wanted to press her luck, and try reading the other person's mind. But she wasn't sure how safe it'd be, and she wasn't sure if she wouldn't overreach and cause some minor disaster. So she just left it at that.

"Nice to meet you, Miriam. Of course I'd bring some alcohol to your uncle. Is there anything he'd prefer?"

Miriam glanced back at her uncle, and then met his eyes. He nodded, and she got what he was saying. Heart racing, she carefully palmed the pen and pointed it at him. She focused on the details, and it all came together in a single moment.

'Red wine, doesn't matter what' he was thinking, over and over, echoing in her head.

"Red wine, probably? I don't drink, I'm not old enough and it's illegal," Miriam said."But probably something like that?"

"I can get that, why don't you just go over with your uncle, then," Belinda said, walking off.

She was humming, clearly in a very good mood, and Miriam smiled, surprised that her magic had worked so well. It hadn't even required her to strain herself. The magic had just flowed, glorious and simple. No excitement, but also a confidence that was intoxicating.

"So, how did it go?" Jack asked. "I know, but I want to hear you say it."

"Very well," Miriam admitted. "I didn't really feel what I'd done to her, but she was all smiles, right?"

"You can do far more than that, with enough practice," Jack said, "But it wasn't unethical. You weren't convincing her to give away everything she had, just to serve me a drink, and perhaps she'll stick around to talk to you, and me as well."

"You as well?"

"Watch what I do. I'm not going to do much more than you did, but I'm going to do it with the practice and experience of someone who knows magic."

There she came, with a bottle and a glass, and no doubt a request for the money that would pay for the bottle. She was smiling.

"She chose the most expensive bottle she could find," Jack said. "That is joyous."

"Oh," Miriam said. "Well, she is a little greedy."

"Ah well." Jack shrugged as she approached.

"Would you like to sit down?" she asked.

Miriam smelled the faint whiff of smoke, and then he smiled. Belinda blinked, looking dazed. Jack's smile widened and he said, "Only if you sit down with me. Talk to us, you know? I'm not going to spend too much of your time, but I wanted to ask you a few things."

She followed them, and Miriam noticed that her eyes were all over Jack. Was that what it was like? Or…

It was hard to tell, and they all sat down as Jack worked with a wine bottle opener, messing around with the cork for a little while, smiling in an absent way.

"So, what brings you here to Chicago Black-and-tan?" Belinda asked.

"I've never been to a Cabaret," Miriam said, hoping that it was a good topic starter.

"Never danced with a boy you liked who liked you? Never let the music sweep you up like you're shouting in church?" Belinda asked.

"No," Miriam said, not saying that none of that particularly interested her.

"Then girl, you're missing out on a lot."

"That's what I always say," Jack said, with a long-suffering sigh, "When I get to talk to her. She's a preacher's daughter. And I'm the rascal and rogue."

It felt like a challenge. "I could dance if I wanted to. It's just not…"

"Proper? Ladylike?" Belinda asked, leaning over, her skin looking even lighter in this particular light, "Or do you think that dancing is a sin?"

Miriam didn't answer, glancing over at her Uncle. "There's a lot that I could see, and a lot you could show me, if…"

Then she heard a voice in her head, and smelled a little more smoke.

'If you want, I can do it. I would need a little time to set it up, but I could do it right here. I'm not sure who you'd dance with, but look at the people with the right eyes, and perhaps it'd be as good of a way to see it as anything.'

'Lust? A sin?"

'No, attraction. Not a sin if you don't act on it, as even your Uncle would admit. As long as you understand it in context. It'd just be a simple test. Just creating something that isn't there. And then I could show you a few images, a few illusions.'

'Here? Would anyone notice?'

'I hope not.'

The whole conversation was taking place even as Belinda smiled at Miriam and said, "What do you say?"

"Well, I say that I'd like something to drink as well while I consider dancing. I don't know how to dance, after all," Miriam said. "Something without alcohol."

'I'm not sure,' the second mind said, while the first just talked about trivialities. 'Give me a moment to think.'

"Oh, of course I can," Belinda said. "Juice? They have some to mix with the alcohol to make it taste less horrible."

"It tastes horrible?" Miriam asked.

"More than you can imagine," Belinda said. "And we get all types of people coming in here. The ones that are just scenery, that's easy, but the Walkers, oh boy the Walkers. They're rough on you, and they…"

Miriam let Belinda talk, replying a few times absently, while her second mind debated it among herself.

And then came to an answer.

Which does Miriam do?

[] I don't feel like dancing: Save that for later. For private between the two of you, and just talk to Belinda, or maybe go over and see what Virginia is doing with Mr. Gilt.
[] Save the Last dance…: Experience this whole...thing. Maybe talk to Belinda more, maybe go out and dance. It can't be that hard, right?
*****

A/N: I hope my description wasn't too sparse, I was relying, in part, on some photos of Harlem Cabarets as general guidelines, and I'm not sure how well I got across the 'overwhelming and hard to focus on any one thing' aspect of it. Like, it's too big for her to say, "I saw three people, and that's what they looked like" because it's a huge crowd, so she tries to note patterns and so on.

Not sure how well it worked! Still, it's another update, and so at least that's something, right? This next part will be the last of the Dream of Belonging posts, and then we'll be getting into a few more meetings, a bit of philosophy!

Page 36: The Dream of Belonging, Part 4

'I can do it.' She thought it carefully, still talking with Belinda. Belinda was a very open person, even without powers used on her. She was talking, then, Miriam heard out of a set of ears that were part of a different mind, about how it sucked getting changed for work in the back room with all of the other girls that were supposed to dance and work the room. Barely any room to sit down and put up makeup, the smell of sweat and cheap perfume and half-eaten food.

It sounded pretty miserable, though Belinda tried to put a glamorous spin on it. Of course, there were plenty of people, whose lines of work were far less questionable, who lived no better than that, cramped and dealing with their own problems. But pious, and living on the right track.

Still, it was not unique misery, Miriam thought. What mattered was that it was misery that detracted from the supposed romance of it, if that existed. To Miriam, the idea of being on display for hundreds of men sounded not only horrible, but kind of terrifying. Judged and torn and picked apart by white men who were just seeing some debased piece of flesh.

'You have a point,' Jack thought.

'When will you do it?' she asked, mentally.

'You'll see when I do it. Or rather you'll feel it. It's because of what's here.' Jack briefly glanced over towards the orchestra, and she caught it.

'What is it?'

'People think that Jazz makes people have sex. That it taps into some primitive element of the soul of black folk.' Jack gave an annoyed, bitter laugh, one that only she could hear in her second mind. 'Primitive? Not likely. Complex and founded in western traditions in part? Sure, there are elements that go back to Africa, but there are elements of western civilization that go back to the middle-east.'

'So, people think that Jazz…'

'Has a special power on men and women. And black folks in particular. That it unleashes their natural souls, or is an expression of their…'

'I get it.' Miriam wished she didn't, but racism was something that certainly existed. 'And so when I'm--'

'Attracted to guys. You'll feel it. The music will finally hit you full on. You should try to resist it, even though it can be fun to give in. And then…'

'Then what?'

'Why not dance?'

'With who?' Miriam thought, as she began to talk to Belinda.

"That's sort of terrible," Miriam said. "I couldn't imagine…"

"Well, you get used to anything. At least it wasn't the old club, that one didn't let me use the women's restroom, because there were always white women coming with their men. Like I was gonna take them. Not that I wouldn't--"

Miriam blushed, that front-mind of hers scandalized by how openly the other woman was talking about attraction. It just wasn't proper. Meanwhile, the rest of her was listening.

Jack turned his head when Belinda wasn't looking. There was a young man who looked perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Young, and dressed as if he were in his father's tuxedo. But, well. He was white.

'Are you sure…' Miriam began.

'I'll find others if you're really so uncertain. Now, take a breath.'

It shouldn't have felt so sudden. But it did. The first thing she noticed wasn't anyone, it was instead everything. She heard the music, and before she'd liked it, against her expectation. It felt a little wild, and yet she'd been able to see that ultimately, it was just music. Notes and sounds all put together in a way to make something beautiful. Nothing transcendent, though she'd been surprised how little like noise and nonsense it had sounded, after all she'd heard about jazz.

Now, though, it felt as if her heart was beating in time with the swing of the music, the way it raced and careened, the way it had seemed out of control until she'd seen the control. The sense. But now she couldn't.

She felt warm, and confused at the warm, and her emotions seemed to be racing forward like a pair of horses around a track, like she was sliding into home, like the most daring feeling she'd ever felt, right in the pit of her belly, her skin flush, every sensation amplified for a moment.

She was transported back to those moments of physicality, of feeling the ball beneath her hand, but also of this strange desperation that she couldn't place. That she'd never felt. Her legs were itching, and her skin felt more there than it'd ever had. Her emotions felt raw, her ability to control them stripped away in one second.

She gasped, "Oh," she whispered.

"What is it?" Belinda asked. "Are you feeling faint? I should get you some juice…" She got up, looking worried, and hurried off.

Miriam looked out into the crowd, the sea of faces, but something was different. She frowned, focusing on one man. He had a short mustache, and a strong jawline. His smile was a little like her uncle's, but his skin was a little lighter than Miriam's, and his teeth were straight and full, which made his thin smile all the richer. And the eyes flashed for a moment, as if he saw her, and Miriam felt--

She didn't know how to even deal with the warmth she felt. The way she found herself unable to do anything but stare at him. Something about the way the tuxedo looked at him. Something about the way he moved, his small, thin hands, like he was a pianist, and--

She couldn't even place half of what she was feeling, but it was so strong that she couldn't breathe.

"Miriam. I know it's probably overwhelming," Jack said, "I thought it would be."

"How does anyone get anything done?" she asked, breathlessly. That was just one man, and when she allowed her eyes to look again, honing in on the faces of another, there was that same feeling of shock. Shock and a desire to go talk to them. She didn't know what else she felt, because the emotions were all so loud, like a band right next to her ear. The kind of sound that made it hard to hear the subtler notes, the woodwinds and the downbeats, the…

"Because they're used to it. It's like taking someone who lived their whole life in the desert and stranding them in the middle of a Chicago blizzard. Of course it feels colder at first," Jack said. "You should get used to it."

"But, this is--"

Miriam had seen features like this all the time. Her friends had features like this, for heck's sake. There was nothing special about any of the faces except that there was everything special about them, everything strange and new and different in a way she couldn't understand, let alone interpret. Sometimes she didn't even see the features that apparently attracted her, she just looked at the face and something clicked.

"Breathe, breathe. I had to be sort of rough," Jack admitted, "Or I didn't have to be, but I didn't want there to be any risks of something going wrong by reaching too far. So I didn't fine-tune it. Plus it'd feel weird, setting the preferences of my niece."

Miriam understood, that at least. It wasn't hard, from reading of fiction, to tell that men liked different sorts of women. Some who were adventurous, some who were shy. Or whatnot. So the idea that different women might like different kind of guys only made sense. People had preferences, they liked some things and not others. But she felt shallow, and it was wrong and--

But the beat of the music seemed to wipe away all of those concerns in a single moment. "I...wow. This is hard to fight."

"Just relax. Pay attention. Use the other mind to your advantage," Jack said. "You have two minds, so let one give in, and let the other pay attention, watch out if anything is wrong. It can't stop some things, it's not a way around mind-affecting magic, but it can deal with you getting too swept up in anything."

Miriam nodded. "Do you still want me to--"

"Yes. Try it. After all, are white people forbidden? Should they be forbidden?"

"No, but--"

"But?"

"I can't really dance," Miriam said. She wasn't that uncoordinated, and so she added, "I mean, not the kinds of dances we're talking about."

Jack smiled. "And I can fix that in just a moment." He waved his hand, drawing out what looked like a shard of glass, and tapped her on the shoulder while muttering words in Awakened speech 'give knowledge, give talent, give dancing' it sounded like. She blinked, again surprised by how foreign and yet how familiar the knowledge was. "And if you want to make a good impression on him, you already know how to do that. Now go out there and work some magic."

Miriam stood up, glancing over at where the white boy was. She looked more closely, now, actually seeing him. Or, seeing her attraction. He was pale, startlingly so, with blue eyes that looked a little icy, and he had blond hair, also a little too pale. His nose was raptor like, and his face was angular, as if made to be some viking lord. Or something. The look on his face, though, was uncertain, the features weakened a little bit by this. And he looked, again, as if it was not his tuxedo.

When she walked, somehow, against any common sense, she found that there was a swing in her step, her hips moving in a way that didn't feel natural and didn't seem sensible, and yet somehow felt almost compelled by the music. She passed him by, and he didn't even see her, so she was able to brush against him while trying ot focus on the magic all at once. It was like everything was just yearning to go right. Her mind made the connection instantly, and she pushed it as hard as she could, and then there it was.

He turned just right, at the right moment to see her and say, "Oh! Sorry."

"No problem," Miriam said, smiling, "I was just passing through."

"O...on your way to the dance floor?" His voice sounded oddly familiar too. Or like a voice she'd heard before. It was hard to place, though, but she realized with a start that now she could place, almost, the look in his eyes. Now she probably had had that same look in her eyes, which meant it was lust.

Staring at someone with lust; oh she'd known it before, but now confronted with it it seemed as if she was somehow tainted by the very knowledge. Which was absurd, a part of her told her. But another part backed the first part up. But for the first time in her life, she was ignoring it. All of this doubt was in her back-brain, in the secondary train of thought she had.

It was remarkable how the most remarkable things could seem, after just days, pedestrian.

"Maybe," Miriam said. "Maybe not. You can call me Ruth, and I don't usually come around these parts," she said, feeling as if she were stumbling across words to throw out. This close, every detail of his face seemed magnified, and she didn't know how she managed to talk. But then she did. The words came, or maybe he wanted to hear them. "You look like you aren't used to it either."

"You aren't usually… but you're… " he trailed off, staring at her, "A negro?"

Miriam was slightly offended, but she smiled. "I'm religious. I'm only here to see what it's like. What about you?"

"Uh, the same," he said, stunned, "Would you like to dance?"

"Maybe. I'm not very good at it," she lied. "But I suppose I can try. But first, what is your name?"

"My name...uh, it's Angelo," he said, after a moment. Italian, though he didn't quite look it.

"You can call me Ruth," she said. She smiled and added, "Maybe this isn't a place either of us should be, and God forbid I do this too often, but, why don't we dance. The music's great, I can feel it."

"Oh," he said. He stared at her for a moment and then nodded, holding out a hand. "Foxtrot?"

"I can try," Miriam said, and elecrticity ran through her body the moment his hand touched hers. Right next to each other, side by side like that, their faces that close--it was even more inappropriate than she thought. It wasn't something she wanted to do often, and more than that, it was something she'd never talk about.

But as they stepped on the dance floor, even move was stunning. It was the energy between them, the warmth and the closeness as they began to move, faster and faster through the foxtrot to the time of the music.

It seemed to go faster, and she smiled and, once she'd cleared away from a half-dozen other couples that for a moment seemed all a kin to her, she said, "You aren't bad."

"You're saving me," Angelo complimented.

This close, she could use magic easily, she thought. It wouldn't even be hard. So she did it, focusing on his mind and thoughts. It was easy, maybe even too easy. And then she heard his thoughts, could feel who he was, running across it.

'She's so beautiful. Even though she's one of them. Her eyes, her smile--'

Miriam smiled a little wider, though her face was flushed, and said, "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. But this is fun."

"Not tiring at all?"

'We could go sit down, I could talk to her, I could--'

"Noo, not at all," Miriam said. "I keep in good shape. I used to play baseball, even." She moved, half-skipping as she did, breaking out of the dance and then looking at him, her arms locked in his, which felt so strong. "You know, it was nice, the dance."

"Well. I'd be happy to dance again. I'm… I didn't expect to meet a girl like you--"

'Here.'

"Here?" Miriam asked, with a smile, "You won't meet girls like me here. Come to a church sometime. Go to the baseball games. Go to a library. That's where you'll find me. I hope you understand that."

"Oh, of course. You're in high school?" he asked, looking her up and down.

She appreciated it in a way, but she also got this feeling, like he was afraid of what she was. Like he thought she was something and someone she wasn't.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" she asked.

"No, of course not," he said. "I'm just--"

'Not taught to believe that's where… '

Miriam's second mind found itself rioting, even as she smiled and began to guide him towards a table.

"Just?"

"You do well in school?" he asked.

"Of course I do," Miriam said with a smile. "I'm going to go to college, before that long." She sat down, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. "Nothing to drink, please, unless it's plain juice. Alcohol is bad for you."

"Oh. My father says that as well," he said.

"What else does he say? What would he say that you were here?" Miriam asked curiously.

"He wouldn't approve. Especially not with you. Even just for a dance. He, he's religious too. He talks about the curse of Ham--"

"Caanan," Miriam said, trying to smile so she did not cry. "Ham was the father, and wasn't cursed at all, and the curse never mentions skin color at all. There's nothing to tie them together at all. My father's a preacher, and the sort who has read up and down and around all of this," Miriam said, gesturing with one hand.

"You've read--"

"Plenty," Miriam said with a smile. "You learn and then you learn more." She brushed her hand against his. "See, don't assume. I know you saw me and you thought… well, you thought things." She shrugged, "And I danced well, but then again--"

"I. Huh." He blinked, and she could tell from his surface thoughts that he was blown away, if confused. That he had looked at her skin and felt something for her even from the start, but that it wasn't the same as what he was feeling now. It was probably tenuous though, a result of magic and lucky guesses. But he was seeing her, blinking and looking her over like she'd just appeared in front of him. "You know, Ruth, that was a very nice dance. Would you like to dance again?"

Miriam looked over at her uncle, who made a simple gesture, a one with his finger. She smiled at him. He wanted to kiss her, she realized, but that wasn't going to happen. It wasn't going to happen, and yet there was something in this brief moment, in the way he was now looking at her and not seeing some willing negro, or worse. It made her feel warm and happy, and yet she also wondered whether she should at all. He was too easily swayed, at least for a moment, and too weak not to have resisted it before--

Yet the band played on, and she allowed herself to be lost in just one more dance.

It wasn't as if she'd see him again, and she'd go back to being normal, or normal for her, before too long.

They parted, smiling and a little confused, both of them.

*******

In the dark of the club, ther ewas more variety and color than ever. She was more aware of herself than she'd ever felt before, in some ways. Aware of the colors of the skins around her and the colors of the feelings. Aware that this was all an artifice, and more than that, that it had a downside.

That here was a place where the worst immorality was done as if it were nothing, and also where Negro women danced for the amusement of others, includinge whites. This was not a place that should seem, in the strange lights and the sights of skin colors mingling, white the least notable of all of them, compared to the high yellows and the rich browns, the bark and the midnight like the hour it felt like when she finally left.

Virginia was there, frowning, looking thoughtful. It was as if they had exchanged places for a night. Miriam, her primary mind excited, a smile on her face, allowing herself to feel what she felt, Virginia thoughtful, disconnected.

As if nothing of this mattered. She was dressed like a flapper, but if she were a carefree young woman, it wasn't now. And Mr. Gilt, his eyes hard and glittering, was striding across the floor, on some path that Miriam didn't know.

It was not her story, and when she left she knew she'd realize just all that was wrong with this picture. The drinking, the racism, the dancing…

The cabaret was not a wholesome place for the Race.

But oh, the dancing!

*******

Miriam sat on her bed, the memories already strange. It was all in a dream, and Angelo? It made her wonder, was he somehow part of the scene? The way his reluctance so swiftly was disarmed, it was as if he was looking to be convinced. Or--

And she read a book of philosophy.

'Dance, then, for the glory of God. He who has the art, who has the ability to do that which is magical, should dance and use freely that which controls and guides the motion of his spirit, which strains at the edge of the Garden of Eden. This spirit, this fire. This experimentation, and yet this return. He who can walk through a thousand places and return home, that is the true mark of greatness, and so too can a person stand in a thousand poses, and yet represent one truth, glory be to God.

This truth, simply put, is that of commonality.'

She wasn't going to do that again. At least not anytime soon. But now she understood it. She understood the ways that people like Virginia must look at guys. She understood how Dickens could look at her, and apparently want to kiss her. Apparently want to date her.

She wasn't sure if it was for her. But it was interesting to play around with. Just for a little while.

Just to see what it was like.

Isaac and the Hierarch, which first?

[] Choose your order.

With Isaac…

[] Approach it as a student. He is wise, and no doubt might have something to share.
[] Approach it as a business meeting: He is important. Dress well, and try not to mess it up.
[] Approach it as a prospect: The Silver Ladder is interesting, perhaps you should focus on learning more?
[] Write-in.

With the Hierarch

[] Approach it as an interview.
[] Approach it as a questionnaire...what does his job involve?
[] Approach it as a chance to get a lay for the political landscape. She's not political, but, maybe she should start being so?
[] Write-in.

******