A bar stood off to one side, under strings of lights, seemingly unattended, and as they made their way to it, a man in tweed stopped them. He was selling raffle tickets. Two dollars a pop, and the prize was that lovely painting of a sailboat and lighthouse displayed at the side of the stage. Max said he’d buy five, one for everybody. Clara laughed. “I don’t want that thing,” she said, and Max said, “Good, because I do. If anyone of you wins, you have to give it to me.” He bought the tickets, and they went over to the bar, and the same man who’d sold them the tickets went behind it and asked what they wanted. Clara found this wildly funny. “Martinis all around,” Max said grandly.

While they waited for their drinks, Henry’s eyes adjusted to the scene. A group of Coast Guard cadets, easy to spot in their white uniforms, crowded around one table near the dance floor. The rest of the crowd looked old, except for a group of children who ran among the tables, playing a game of tag or something similar. Clara seemed amused. Alma seemed to be observing it with detached curiosity. But Effie, standing on tiptoe, her lips parted, seemed tense with expectation, with hope. His heart faintly broke for her. “The band’s great,” he said, and eagerly she agreed.

Their drinks appeared on the bar, Max paid for them, and they made their way to one of the tables beside the dance floor. For a couple of numbers they just sat and sipped their martinis—Alma was having one too—and watched the band, periodically looking back toward the door to see if more people were arriving. But no one was. It was a sad scene. People were dressed as if for church, and Henry felt eyes on their table—on Alma’s shimmering dress, on Clara’s exposed cleavage. After the first number the audience clapped respectfully, and the trumpet player said, “Thank you, thank you. It’s great to be here,” and without further comment, launched into the next number. They were earning a paycheck, Henry thought. Alma slumped back in her seat with her arms crossed. Effie drew her lips tight and gave Henry a look that seemed to say, Well, we tried, and he couldn’t bear it. He clapped his hand on her thigh and said, “To hell with it. Let’s dance.”

“There’s the spirit,” Max said.

By this point the dance floor was completely empty. Effie seemed uncertain, but then Max stood up and offered his hand to Clara, and when Clara accepted, Effie said, “Well, I guess I went to the trouble of dressing up.”