In the Mood by Glenn Miller.
I learned the song was released later than I expected. Later than the time my dream is set in, yet it is smack dab in the middle of it of it every time.
It was the age of Jazz, speakeasies, vaudeville, and flappers. When hemlines and hair got shorter, and heels got higher.
Smoking was sexy, drinking was expected, and sexual experimentation was encouraged.
The fun before the fall. The years of decadence before the stock market crashed and plummeted the country into the Great Depression.
We were at the exclusive Aragon in Chicago.
I was in full swing. The white fringe on my black silk dress was shooting out like stars in the dark night. My long strands of pearls swung in the opposite direction of my body, and I was exhilarated, always exhilarated when I freed myself on the dance floor.
I was careless and carefree with my circle of companions dominating the floor with me.
We laughed, danced and entertained the onlookers too intimidated to share the spotlight with our wild group. My head was thrown back, laughing so hard, the tears escaped my open eyes as I danced the Charleston without a care in the world.
I knew my family was wealthy.
I didn’t know how or where we got our wealth from, that was the troubles of men too vulgar to discuss with ladies of our time. That was fine with me since it didn’t require me to work as a telephone operator or stenographer like most gals my age.
I preferred to dance all night, sleep all day and have a staff to cater to my every whim. My life was one everlasting party that blurred together with crazy nights at Aragon. The free-flowing alcohol, endless cigarettes, hours of dancing and more handsome gents a girl could ask for, was all I needed in life.
I could have gone to a university like my older sister, Margaret.
I could give up my wild ways to wake up early, sit in class all day and study all night. But why?
Daddy would take care of us girls like he always did. He simply wanted me to find “the one” so he could pass his rambunctious burden to the next enamored gentleman.
Charlotte’s hand squeezing my arm drew me back to reality.
My eyes followed hers, which were casting wanton stares at a group of amazingly distinguished gentlemen clustered on the side of the dance floor. Their mysterious eyes followed our every move while they talked amongst themselves. I shrugged, this was expected.
We were always watched and talked about.
Why did this group seem any more significant than the group of gents from last night? Wasn’t that the purpose? To get the attention we craved? To sit on our pedestals of wealth and decadence and chose the ones worthy enough to fetch us a drink or light our cigarettes?
“Do you see him?” Charlotte wheezed in my ear.
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