exactly like the kind of man who would beat a woman to death. How could she possibly differentiate between them?
Sarah was shocked to see so many of the young women lighting up cigarettes as soon as the dance was over. Or rather, their male companions were lighting the cigarettes for them. Sarah had never seen a respectable woman smoking. She’d never seen a respectable woman drink more than a sip of anything alcoholic, either, but now the couples who had been dancing were making their way over to the bar on the far wall where several harried bartenders were serving drinks. The girls were doing much more than sipping.
“We’ll have to wait till the next time,” Hetty explained to her, nodding toward the bar.
“The next time for what?” Sarah asked.
Bertha rolled her eyes, but Hetty gave her a dirty look that put Bertha in her place. “The band plays for a few minutes, then everybody goes to buy a drink. Or the fellows buy drinks, that is. For the girls they dance with.”
The dancers must need a drink to keep from expiring in this heat, which would provide some excuse for the girls to imbibe, Sarah thought, and realized she was thirsty herself from the walk over. “I’ll treat you to drinks,” she offered, but the girls gaped at her in horror.
“A girl don’t buy her own drinks, missus,” Bertha said, as if explaining one of the more profound truths of life.
“You do, and what’ll the fellows think? They’ll think you don’t need them, that’s what, and you’ll be sitting on the bench all night!”
Sarah managed not to smile. Sitting on the bench all night was exactly what she intended to do, but she wouldn’t spoil their chance to have a good time. By the time the band began to play again, men had begun to buzz around, like flies attracted by the sweet scent of honey. To Sarah, the men looked like people she would cross the street to avoid, but Bertha, Hetty, and Lisle seemed more than pleased with their attention. When the band struck up the first discordant notes to “A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” all three of them got up to dance, leaving Sarah to observe.
Hours later Sarah was still observing. She’d bought herself some beer, ignoring the pitying looks she received from the bartender and the other women standing around, and she’d rebuffed the few men who were too drunk to notice her advanced age. Indeed, she was too old by a generation for this event. She was probably the only woman in the place older than twenty, and most were nearer fifteen.
The men tended to be older, probably because a man needed ready cash to impress the girls, and a young boy wouldn’t be able to afford it. In fact, some of the men seemed much older. And when Sarah looked more closely, she realized the older ones were very well dressed, too. Even though their suits were just as tasteless as the others, the quality was much better and the fit one only a tailor could accomplish. Once the sun went down and the shadows grew deep in the hall, Sarah began to understand what men of means might be doing in a working-class dance hall, too. When she had, she was ashamed of her naïveté.
The dancing was merely a ruse to get people into the hall to drink. The band would play one number and then take a break for about ten minutes while everyone went to the bar for a libation. Much more time was spent drinking than dancing, and as the girls became drunk, the men began to take advantage. Or maybe the girls simply began allowing them to.
The most obvious result of this loss of inhibition was the way the style of dancing grew wilder. Several couples were engaged in the kind of dance Sarah overheard someone call “spieling.” The girl would stand stiff as a poker, her left arm out straight, and the man would sidle up to her, positioning himself so that his chin was on her shoulder, regardless of the difference in their heights. She’d put her chin on his shoulder, too, and they’d start pivoting or spinning around in
Sarah was shocked to see so many of the young women lighting up cigarettes as soon as the dance was over. Or rather, their male companions were lighting the cigarettes for them. Sarah had never seen a respectable woman smoking. She’d never seen a respectable woman drink more than a sip of anything alcoholic, either, but now the couples who had been dancing were making their way over to the bar on the far wall where several harried bartenders were serving drinks. The girls were doing much more than sipping.
“We’ll have to wait till the next time,” Hetty explained to her, nodding toward the bar.
“The next time for what?” Sarah asked.
Bertha rolled her eyes, but Hetty gave her a dirty look that put Bertha in her place. “The band plays for a few minutes, then everybody goes to buy a drink. Or the fellows buy drinks, that is. For the girls they dance with.”
The dancers must need a drink to keep from expiring in this heat, which would provide some excuse for the girls to imbibe, Sarah thought, and realized she was thirsty herself from the walk over. “I’ll treat you to drinks,” she offered, but the girls gaped at her in horror.
“A girl don’t buy her own drinks, missus,” Bertha said, as if explaining one of the more profound truths of life.
“You do, and what’ll the fellows think? They’ll think you don’t need them, that’s what, and you’ll be sitting on the bench all night!”
Sarah managed not to smile. Sitting on the bench all night was exactly what she intended to do, but she wouldn’t spoil their chance to have a good time. By the time the band began to play again, men had begun to buzz around, like flies attracted by the sweet scent of honey. To Sarah, the men looked like people she would cross the street to avoid, but Bertha, Hetty, and Lisle seemed more than pleased with their attention. When the band struck up the first discordant notes to “A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” all three of them got up to dance, leaving Sarah to observe.
Hours later Sarah was still observing. She’d bought herself some beer, ignoring the pitying looks she received from the bartender and the other women standing around, and she’d rebuffed the few men who were too drunk to notice her advanced age. Indeed, she was too old by a generation for this event. She was probably the only woman in the place older than twenty, and most were nearer fifteen.
The men tended to be older, probably because a man needed ready cash to impress the girls, and a young boy wouldn’t be able to afford it. In fact, some of the men seemed much older. And when Sarah looked more closely, she realized the older ones were very well dressed, too. Even though their suits were just as tasteless as the others, the quality was much better and the fit one only a tailor could accomplish. Once the sun went down and the shadows grew deep in the hall, Sarah began to understand what men of means might be doing in a working-class dance hall, too. When she had, she was ashamed of her naïveté.
The dancing was merely a ruse to get people into the hall to drink. The band would play one number and then take a break for about ten minutes while everyone went to the bar for a libation. Much more time was spent drinking than dancing, and as the girls became drunk, the men began to take advantage. Or maybe the girls simply began allowing them to.
The most obvious result of this loss of inhibition was the way the style of dancing grew wilder. Several couples were engaged in the kind of dance Sarah overheard someone call “spieling.” The girl would stand stiff as a poker, her left arm out straight, and the man would sidle up to her, positioning himself so that his chin was on her shoulder, regardless of the difference in their heights. She’d put her chin on his shoulder, too, and they’d start pivoting or spinning around in
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