Flash-Fiction: Day 192: (Put Your Best Foot Forward) The Church Dinner Dance

Dominica was unsure of herself and as to whether or not she would go with her aunt and grandmother to a church related dance.  Sleeping throughout most of the day due to depression of her friends and other relatives not ever calling her in such a long time to hang out, she was beside herself.

“Dominica, you should start getting ready to go to the dinner dance tonight,” Aunt Doris yelled from the first landing on the stairwell.

“I’m too tired to go anywhere.  I’d rather stay home and get some more sleep,” Dominica sighed while pulling her covers over her head.

Aunt Doris entered her bedroom and pulled down the covers to talk to Dominica.  “You can’t stay home.  You need to get out of the house and get some fresh air.  Staying in the house for more than 24 hours a day every day this week like you’ve been doing isn’t good for you.  Get up out of bed and get dressed to go with your grandmother and me to the church dinner dance.  It will do you some good to be around people,” Aunt Doris insisted while walking over to the closet, going through the rack of clothes to find a suitable dress for Dominica to wear.  Upon making her selection, she removes the dress from the rack, and lays it out on the bed.  Next, she selects some shoes from the shoe rack and some nylon stockings from the bureau for Dominica to wear with the dress.

“I don’t know why you go through the trouble of getting a dress and things out for me to wear.  I already told you I’m not going.  I don’t want to see anyone.  After the festival the church had a couple months ago, the others at the church don’t care to associate with me, because I outdid everyone when it came to doing a thorough job of cleaning and sanitizing.  They all hate me.  I did nothing to them; yet, they hate me.  I wish I could drift off to sleep and never wake up again,” Dominica groaned while turning on her side, fluffing up her pillow and rested her head on it with her eyes closed.

“Nonsense.  You did a thorough job at the festival.  No one has anything to complain about.  All you need to do is get dressed, show up at the dance with your grandmother and me, where we’ll join our closet friends and have some fun.  You have twenty minutes to get ready,” Aunt Doris said as she walked out the door of Dominica’s bedroom.

By the time Aunt Doris and Grandma Feldman headed out the door of the house, Dominica descended the stairs, room entered the living room wearing the white satin dress sleeveless dress Aunt Doris picked out for her.  She followed Aunt Doris and Grandma Feldman out the door.

Entering the dance hall, the three of them hung up their coats, and headed over to their assigned table.  On their way to their table, they stopped off and Uncle Davis Feldman’s table to greet him and his lady friend Luella.

“Dominica, I’d like to introduce you to Chapman Strong.  He belongs to Luella’s church.  A good man.  We invited him to join us tonight,” Uncle Davis said cheerfully to Dominica who walked around the table to introduce herself to the young man.

“I’m Dominica Moore,” she said in a phony old fashioned 1920’s style American-British accent, talking very dainty; yet, mannerly, “How do you do?”  Extending her hand for a handshake, she slightly curtsied.

“Good to meet you,” he replied flatly, while raising an eyebrow.

“So do you go to college?”  She asked in a high pitched Betty Boop type voice, as she pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down next to him.

“Actually, I’m a history buff,” he replied, picking up his glass of wine, looking into it,  and taking a swallow without even looking at Dominica.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she said while scooting back in her chair to sit in a more ladylike fashion.

“I didn’t throw it,” he replied bluntly, “So what do you do?  Are you still in school, or are you in between jobs?”

“I’m a writer by education, and by profession,” she giggled, while pushing her hair back behind her ears, while being attentive to the young man and what he was saying.

Scooting his chair closer to hers, he puts an arm around her waist, while point to her right, “You see the man over there in the far corner of the room?”

“Yes.  What about him?”

“He’s a photographer,” he blurted out.

Looking direct at him, Dominica asked, “You mean like for magazines or something?”

Looking away from her, he responded, “Something like that.  He’s from Vogue magazine,” and he scooted his chair away from her.

Gee he’s rather cold.  More of a jerk than anything else.  What’s he trying to prove by telling me the man on the other side of the room is a photographer from Vogue magazine.  It’s probably some line he uses on women all of the time.  Dominica thought to herself as she got up from the table and walked over to the buffet where the other guests at the dinner dance were getting in line.

While she was in line making her selections from the various entrees available, the young man was directly behind her trying to decide what he should have.  “What do you recommend?”  He asked while holding his plate.

Paying attention to what she was doing when getting her own food selections, Dominica replied, “I recommend the spinach pie.  It’s one of my favorites.”

“Spinach pie it is,” he said, while picking up the spatula and putting some in his plate.

When it came to the dancing, the young man danced with all of the women at the dance, except for Dominica, who when she got up from her chair to go up to the bar to get a drink, the jerk was behind her, pushed her back down in her seat by her shoulders, saying, “Excuse me.  I need to get through,” as he walked over to the next table and asked a girl sitting there for a dance.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015

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