Work Text:
Vera felt out of place. This was not a location where she belonged. The ballroom nearly resembled a fine mirror with its shiny, sparkling surfaces. The men wore suits created by foreign designers with names she didn’t even dare try to pronounce. The women floated in dresses worth more than her car. They all knew the rules. They all knew the customs. They were the indigenous ones, and Vera the tourist.
Luckily, where there are tourists, there are guides; companions to help one navigate the often treacherous areas of interest. The ones who know exactly where to go, whom to speak with, and what to avoid.
Joan Ferguson was such a cicerone. A paradigm, even. She transversed the floor filled with chattering guests with ease, an Amazon in burnt red. The Governor led her Deputy around the room with her hand on the small of her back, introducing her to the right ones and neglecting the wrong, the faulty, the toxic ones. Once the music started, she precisely positioned Vera for a slow waltz, commenting: “We either do this correctly, or not at all.” They floated across the hardwood flooring with ease, the fact that they had never danced together before invisible to others.
At the end of the evening, Vera found herself standing outside, waiting for a taxi to take her back home. As the town car pulled up, she gathered the courage to speak her mind.
“Tonight has been lovely. Thank you, Governor.”
Her bravery was rewarded with an earnest, gentle smile.
“The pleasure has been all mine, my dear.”