LordPeter List Literary Contest

It's not exactly the same crowd as the Ritz-Carlton," she thought, as she made her way into the large lounge of the Resplendent. She felt self-conscious in her simple gray silk gown, given the fantastic plumes and fans and fabulous parures in evidence. On the other hand, she reflected wryly, it would have cost several shipping fortunes to invest in such protective coloration. True, she had inherited a number of suitably vintage dresses from Aunt [X] and Aunt [Y], but these had depended on whalebones and laces for their configuration. No true [member of her family], herself included, would have willingly parted with the shillings and pence required to create the illusions on parade tonight.

As she nursed her glass of wine, she studied the professional dancers with discreet fascination. The melancholy man reminded her of one of her distant cousins--the queer, unhealthy face was surely indicative of the over-inter-breeding cherished by old Boston families, in order to keep the family wealth intact. His partner, swathed in a heavy confection of petunia satin, looked just like the girl in the painting Cousin [Z] had recently sold in the now-annual auction.

"Autre temps, autre moeurs," she murmured to herself. She had read in the Times about these fashions as a "return to womanliness." What would Cousin [W] make of that, she wondered. Cousin [W] knew a thing or two about cosmetic legerdemain. Her lips compressed as she recalled her own sheltered upbringing. Before her second marriage, she herself had never swirled around a ballroom (Ritzy or Resplendent) with a date, much less dreamed of trouncing the same date on the tennis-court but a mere eight hours later. She wasn't exactly bitter, but she was now well aware that plenty of men would buy into any illusion of female submissiveness given half an encouraging smirk. "They know darned well it's a game," she mused, "but they have to pretend that they're the ones who set the rules."

She took another sip of her wine, idly noting that the chartreuse beverage in her neighbor's shot glass was fermented diplodocus juice.

-- Sylvia Marriott

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