Page 11 of Pride and Protest
“This party isnotgiving back. I don’t see how you can smile and shake hands—”
“Your sister said you’d be conflicted about this,” David said. Liza didn’t think he sounded conflicted at all, simply bored.
“I’m doing what I have to do.”
“Then tell your face, man.”
Dorsey nodded in begrudging agreement. “Well, I would smile too if I were dancing with theonlybeauty in this place.”
“Now, that’s not very generous. Her sister seems like a lovely woman.”
“ ‘Lovely woman’ is how you describe someone with a pleasant personality, not a beauty. And that hair!” Dorsey chuckled to himself and held his hands out around his head. “David, do you forget I’ve kissed Ms. Venezuela?”
Liza gagged.This dude is really feeling himself, and Mr. I-only-kiss-supermodels feels some kind of way about my hair? Typical Eurocentric beauty standards.
David shook his head. “You are a snob, Fitzgerald.”
“Don’t give me those big baby blues. I am a realist. These girls are looking for their next meal ticket.”
“The women at the country club are doing the same,” David shot back. Dorsey was thoughtfully silent.
A student’s tuba connected with Liza’s backside then, and she jumped, thinking it was a fresh schoolboy. This, unfortunately, put her directly in the line of sight of Dorsey Fitzgerald. She smoothed her hair self-consciously.
Breathe.
She was making her way over to him before her brain registered the movement.
“It’s called a twist-out,” Liza offered, patting her coils once again. She was unsure why—with livelihoods on the line—she started her tirade by defending her hair, but she didn’t want to lose momentum. Her voice was buoyant with false confidence. “And it’s magnificent.” She flashed her phone. “As of thirty minutes ago, it has its own hashtag.” Liza looked down at her phone. “And I quote, ‘On God, Liza’s twist-out could solve world hunger.’ ”
David’s face grew red, and he clearly had the decency to be embarrassed that Liza had overheard the uncharitable things Dorsey said. She could see David mentally recapping the conversation while Dorsey squinted at her hair. David rushed to her side.
“I’m David. You’re Liza, right? Your sister is such a talented dancer.” He rolled his head at the wordsuchfor emphasis.
“Yes, we all are.” Liza’s barb went over David’s head, but Dorsey smirked and signaled for a server carrying plastic flutes of cheap champagne.
“And your hair,” David continued, “isglorious. Please don’t mind Fitzgerald.” He leaned in closer. “He’s not very sociable.”
“Nonsociable does not equal culturally insensitive,” Liza said with a huff, “and your friend can probably speak for himself.” Sheplastered on her prettiest smile.You’ve got bigger fish to fry tonight, girl. The entire neighborhood is watching. Don’t ruin it all over hurt feelings.
Dorsey took a long-stemmed glass from the server’s tray and took a quick swig. He then dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out the two rumpled ten-dollar bills Liza had given him andtippedthe server, whose eyes widened as he gave Dorsey another drink.
“Did you say something about cultural sensitivity?” Dorsey’s eyes were a sharp indictment.
“You could have corrected me,” Liza said. Her eyes followed the crumpled bills out of sight.
“You shouldn’t have assumed,” Dorsey said, looking down into his plastic flute and setting it on a nearby table like it was radioactive. He didn’t even want it, the asshole. A theory bubbled up out of her rage.
“There are two types of people in the world: those who Electric Slide, and those who don’t.” Dorsey let out a snort, but Liza continued. “People who shy away from communal activities are rarely to be trusted.”
David shook his head. “What if you just don’t know the dance?”
“That’s the thing about group dances—they’re remarkably forgiving for the uninitiated. Bumbling through the steps is part of the dance,” Liza asserted.
David laughed. “So those whodon’tpartake?”
“Either (A) have an overinflated ego that makes them afraid of looking silly, or (B) hold the other parties in disdain,” Liza said, not taking her eyes off Dorsey.
“What a ridiculous way to divide the world.” Dorsey’s dark eyes pinned her as he finally took Liza’s bait. The inky orbsbrought intensity to the smallest of his affectations. He had the kind of self-important face Liza couldneverimagine blowing out birthday candles or wearing a tiny green Saint Paddy’s Day hat. In the ballroom’s light, she could see now that she had made a grievous mistake confusing him with the waitstaff. That suit wasnota rental, for one. His mannerisms were too cool, his speech too crisp.
