“Ding, ding, ding! You’ve won the prize, Margaret Beck. Since Gladys refused me, you can come along.”

Gladys sat up straight, just as the driver hit a bump in the road. She gripped the edge of the upholstered seat and then smoothed her skirt as if nothing had happened. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.”

Oliver and Margaret once again exchanged conspiratorial looks.

“Okay. If you really want to,” he conceded.

And it was settled.

They arrived at the entrance on 44th, and a doorman in a tall felt hat opened the car door. Twelves stories of white stone and brown brick cast their imposing shadow onto the sidewalk, and olive-green awnings looked like half umbrellas over the gold-cased windows. Margaret felt like a princess, basking in the generosity of George’s family to include her in such indulgences.

So this is how the rich live. But she surprised herself with her lack of envy. The excitement was in the novelty of it. And novelty always proved to be a short-lived siren. Though Dottie’s financial status had just been elevated tremendously, she shared George’s penchant for simplicity. In fact, they planned to buy a house in Brooklyn rather than purchase a Park Avenue Manhattan apartment so George could continue working at the Navy Yard while Dottie stayed home with Joanna. And any future children that would come.

The elegance continued as they entered the hotel. Marble floors sparkled and black pillars surprisingly reflected the light of the many crystal chandeliers. It was not a large room, but it had a grand coziness that she hadn’t expected.

Eight at a time, the guests entered the elevators for the one-story ride up to the ballroom while others ascended the staircase. However they arrived, they were welcomed by a beautiful sight. Everything was draped in white—flowers, tablecloths, plates. Even the waiters’ uniforms were white. Margaret considered the impracticality of it, imagining the bleach that would need to be used on the laundry later. But her mind was not supposed to be concerned. Tonight was to be one of no concerns.

Two hours into the festivities, satiated with unending trays of crab meat and canapes, the band started up with a Glenn Miller tune. Gladys pulled Oliver onto the dance floor and Margaret grinned as her friend wore herself to exhaustion with each passing song.

“Golly, they’re good,” Gladys said at last, standing over Margaret as she turned around to applaud the band. “Do ya think they have any gin at the bar?”

“I’ve never known you to drink gin, Gladys.”

“My darling Maaaahgret,” she slurred, already with lips loosened by whatever she had found so far. “It is the most sincere wish of my heart that no one—not even you—know everything that I have buried inside me. I like to keep ’em guessing.”

Margaret grinned. “Keep who guessing, Glads?”