sit still and watch the movies, learn something about lovemaking from Milton Sills? Opal's Freddie too, trying to date her, telling her she was a hot number. She decided—pure speculation, as she knew none—she preferred older men.
She agreed with herself that she had learned a lot in the past year. Even Miss Shaver was more exciting than Frank or Freddie. The fuzz on Miss Shaver's upper lip was like a pussy willow. Her tight brown belt gave her a trim look—Lucy pulled her own imitation patent leather belt tighter to accent her new gentle swelling.
She had torn a page from her lesson book and, lingering after class, had asked Miss Shaver to draw around her stockinged foot.
"It's a pattern for made-to-order ballet slippers from New York," she said importantly.
Miss Shaver had ran her smooth clean hands down Lucy's legs to make certain she was standing straight and had squeezed her toes and they had laughed together. Miss Shaver's face was red. Frank never would think of anything like what Miss Shaver did, he was awfully clumsy.
Then, when school closed, Miss Shaver invited Lucy to lunch at the Brown Palace Hotel, an invitation which caused consternation because she didn't have a new dress ready. Only rich people went to the Brown Palace. There was no time to make a new dress, so Mae bravely opened a charge account to outfit Lucy for the important occasion.
"Don't forget, put your knife on your plate when you are finished cutting your meat, and don't leave your spoon in your cup."
At first Miss Shaver had been formal, almost strange, as they sat in the large dining room. Lucy hardly could pay any attention to her because there was so much to see. The napkins were bigger than towels, and Negro men carried big silver dishes to tables on which were flowers.
I wonder if I can take the flowers home? thought Lucy, longing to share with Mae at least part of these riches.
Miss Shaver didn't mention school but asked about Lucy's dancing and how she planned spending the summer. She reached across the table and touched Lucy's hand, like when she had smoothed her hands down my legs, thought Lucy.
"You're so pretty, Lucy. I wish I had a—little—girl like you."
That was funny for Miss Shaver to say, she didn't feel like a little girl.
"My goodness, I'm not a little girl—I'm in my teens."
