Disclaimer: Dorian Gray belongs to Oscar Wilde, but Madison (Evelyn Adams was my great-grandmother's name, and she was a flapper in the 20's), Jess, Stephanie, Gracie, and all else are Sarrin's.
"I won it! I really did!" Gracie exclaimed. Stephanie whistled and Madison clapped enthusiastically. "I could've sworn Mark was about to drop, and Greg and Jen never seemed to stop, and I would have told Mark we could stop if I hadn't been so tired, but then Jen slumped to the floor and started snoring, and-" Gracie paused to take a breath. "We won it! Really!"
"I believe you, Grace," Stephanie laughed. "You aren't going to leave us two, now that you and Mark have all that money, are you?"
Gracie shook her head. "Of course not. Were using the money to pay for the house."
"The house?" Madison repeated, looking over at her friend. "What house?"
Gracie blushed and quickened her pace. "The one we're going to buy after we're married."
Stephanie stopped walking and started at the blonde agape. "Grace," she murmured, "You didn't tell us?"
"I planned to," Gracie said defensively, and reached back as though to gather her hair into a bun, but the short strands slipped through her fingers.
There was a small silence until Madison, uncomfortable and disquieted, said quietly, "Let's go out tonight and celebrate the wedding."
"Out?" repeated Stephanie, confused. "We're already out. That's why we're heading out to the café."
"To the speakeasy," Gracie said softly. It dawned on Stephanie and she grinned. "Oh," she said, laughing, "that was ridiculous of me."
"You're awfully forgetful today," Gracie remarked. Stephanie laughed harder. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep, so I worked on some crosswords," she admitted. Madison did not speak. She was still thinking of the young man with the wounded head back at her house. Stephanie and Gracie both notised her silence and called her on it. It was not like her to not talk. She enforced the idea among other people that flappers were young, dizzy girls who couldn't shut their mouths.
"Madison," Gracie said, "you're being awfully quiet. What happened? I'm tired because I won a dance marathon, Steph's tired because she stayed up doing mah-jongg or something-"
"Crosswords," interrupted the black girl stubbornly.
"-And you're tired why?"
Madison sighed and adjusted the cloche hat. It was a different one from that which she'd warn the previous night. "I was running back home and tan into someone," she said in a low voice.
Stephanie snorted. "And?"
"He fell over and hit his head on the pavement," Madison went on. "I couldn't leave him there, so I got him to my house."
Gracie looked worried. "What happened next?"
"Did he kiss you for saving him?" blurted Stephanie. Gracie glared at her. "She's the one who knocked him over in the first place, you twit," she hissed.
"He was all right," Madison finished, "but I was really worried. And no, I didn't kiss him. I don't even think I like him much." She thought bout how he'd laughed at her after she'd gotten frustrated over him.
"Why not?" Stephanie demanded to know.
Gracie looked very disapproving, but Stephanie did not notise.
"He wasn't very nice. And the way he talks…" Madison trailed off.
"Cusses much?" Gracie asked sympathetically.
"An accent," said Madison.
"Southern or Western?"
"He isn't American."
That caused Gracie to look at her sharply, then look away with an air of haughtiness. "Gracie," Madison said soothingly, "he's British. They were our Allies, remember?"
Stephanie poked Madison in the arm as they neared the café. "Is he cute?"
"For goodness' sake!" burst Gracie. "Is that all you care about!"
Stephanie looked sheepish, but Madison piped up, "Yes, he's pretty good-looking." Her thoughts went back to his golden hair and enchanting blue eyes. Yes, he was very handsome. Very beautiful. Very…bothersome.
Gracie looked highly affronted and it made Madison laugh. "You're beginning to sound like my grandmother," Stephanie said to Gracie.
Gracie raised her eyebrows and took out a tube of lipstick. "At least I don't look like her," she said after putting it on. A few people tittered as they walked past them, speaking in hushed voices about them being a disgrace.
"Don't bother with them," Stephanie said scornfully, watching them with eyes narrowed with distaste. "They're jealous of our esprit and joie de vivre."
"Yeah," agreed Madison, and they walked up to the café. Although it was mostly for blacks, like Stephanie, Madison and Gracie went often. Other than the speakeasy, it was their favourite place to be. After all, where else would they hear great jazz music?
"Hey Gracie!" called someone from a few tables away as they entered. "I hear you and Mark won the dance marathon!"
"Jess!" Gracie called back, smiling, and the three flappers went over to her table, where she and her friends had reserved seats for them.
"You were in the band, weren't you, Steph?" asked Jess when they say. Stephanie smiled and nodded. Their families had been neighbors back in Tennessee before they moved to New York City. Jess, a black poet who wore her hair in braids rather than bobbed, like the other three did, turned to Madison, who was taking an aspirin.
"You sick, hon?" Jess asked, frowning in concern. "Maybe you shouldn't come to the speakeasy tonight."
"I'm fine," Madison said hurriedly. "Just banged my head against the pavement last night when I ran into a young man from Britain."
"Ran into?" Jess echoed, dark eyebrows arched. Madison nodded, and said "Literally," taking a sip of tea that had been set out.
Jess smiled, bemused. "Did you, now?"
"Well, he was knocked unconscious when his head hit the pavement and so I got him to my house, where I thought he was dead, when he woke up and argued with me."
"Argued?"
"Well, maybe not argue, but he bothered me," Madison said truthfully. And he had. Maybe it had been his damned reluctance to offer up his name; maybe it had been his remark about Americans. Talk like that could have gotten the man lynched in some parts of the world.
"I see," said Jess, thinking. "What's he like? He young?"
"Young and cute," said Stephanie, smirking. "Madison says so."
"Does she, now?"
Madison, colouring slightly, nodded. Jess' smile widened.
"Did he know his way round?" she inquired, pouring herself another cup of tea.
"Didn't seem to," replied Madison.
"Why don't you show him round, then? We could invite him down to the speakeasy tonight. Take him dancing. He might even find himself a lady friend," Jess suggested, nudging Madison gently with her elbow. Her white teeth were showing in one of her slow, easy smiles.
"I don't-" Madison began, but Jess laughed and said, "Madison Evelyn Adams, if you nearly kill someone, the least you can do is apologise properly!"
The conversation went off topic from there, away from the young man with blue eyes, but Madison, quiet, did not. Her mind still thought about him. If she took him, could she trust him? She didn't doubt that her friends would like him, but…did she, Madison, want him around?
'Twas a pity she didn't have an answer.
To be continued.
To all who reviewed:
SilverFlover- Aww, thank you! And I hope for some updates from you as well… Metaphors are fun, but there aren't many in this chapter…TT
The End- Aspirin came out in 1899, so yes, there was aspirin in the 20's.