Chapter 12

“Having fun?” Alex asks.

“I’m a little overwhelmed,” Charlotte answers. “But yes. I think so.” She takes him by the hand and pulls him to the dance floor. He follows quietly. If anyone had asked her last week about attending a party of this nature, where she can see a man whimpering on a nearby couch, his hands tied as two women tease him, she wouldn’t have given that answer. She looks across from them, to the mirror reflecting the empty couch, and rubs her eyes. It’s all still so surreal, but it’s only a fantasy. Except for the two of them. She and Alex, and all this has meant for them. That’s real.

Charlotte begins to dance. She’s much more accustomed to slow dancing than whatever is happening here, but she tries to play along. Jazz, it seems, is more free form, not just in the music itself but the way people enjoy it. Arms, legs, and heads all flail wildly around her. She shakes her shoulders loose and tries to join in. It’s awkward, but trying brings a smile to her face. She can feel each muscle, one by one, slacken and go free. The trumpeter pauses to wish everyone a happy 1927, to much intoxicated cheering. Charlotte joins in, clapping wildly. Then, he starts another song, and the dancing starts again.