Tossing my head back as Victor spun me about the dance floor, the far off rafters converged on each other like the stones in a kaleidoscope, and the fiery candles of the chandelier coalesced into a flaming circle. When the song ended, we plopped onto the Victorian sofa. The three of us sat there, Victor in the middle. “You are an amazing dancer!” I cried. The dance had excited me so much that I didn’t even bother to whisper. I always spoke in whispers around men, and I hated that about myself, but now I felt free. The old Sugar Factory was a miracle site, more precious to me than Lourdes, in that it banished my shy awkwardness, if only for a little while. “A dancer is only as good as his partners. Tonight, we were superb!” Bev had gotten a fresh snifter of brandy, and it was a giant one. She passed it to me. The glass felt warm and alive in my palms. From the flush in Bev’s cheeks, she’d partaken plenty. I gave her a sidelong glance and then took a solid gulp. We were in this together.
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