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“You were amazing tonight,” Dorothy tilts her head toward Blanche, giving her an approving once over as they stroll along the boardwalk. “I don't know how Rose ever did better than you at that dirty dancing class. You seemed pretty attuned to your body to me.”
Blanche flushes, her skin already slick with perspiration from the exertion of the evening, and a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Probably because it was you I was dancin' with,” she drawls, winking.
The air is balmy, fronds of the trees swaying, stars twinkling down at passers-by in time with their unhurried footsteps.
Fingers brush against each other, electricity shooting through the tips as they finally intertwine.
“Look at you,” Blanche squeals, more than a little bit pleasantly surprised. “Holdin' firmly to my hand in public.”
Dorothy chuckles, stops walking. “You do something to me,” she says, looking straight into the blue of Blanche's eyes. “Loosen me up a little.”
She leans to the left. Pairs of dainty lips meet each other in the middle. Tasteful. Reserved. Not entirely chaste. This is love. New, budding, blossoming love.
“Dykes.”
How can something so simple ruin the tranquility of an evening?
The word is sharp, its edges serrated.
The human in her peripheral must be a mirage. All she can make out is a serpent. Beady eyes. Twisted mouth. Poorly disguised slick and lashing tongue.
Its biting words have cut through her like the chill winter winds of Brooklyn.
How many times do I have to remind you, Pussycat? Take your jacket!
Ma.
Recollection of her voice does nothing to soothe in this moment.
One word. In mere seconds, five letters settle at Dorothy's core. Diminish newfound confidence and chip away at a resolve not to live in the shadows.
“I'm sorry, what was that?”
Blanche's chin juts out defiantly. Her eyes may as well be daggers. Her small frame seems irrelevant as she stands on tiptoe. She shoots those blue daggers at the serpent-man as though she is six feet tall. Dorothy feels her own stature changing, posture straightening, simply being next to her.
Resolve returns. Confidence burgeons.
“I said dykes.”
The man really does have a serpent's tongue.
Dorothy notices just before he spits, staining the pavement with his vitriol.
She clutches Blanche's hand tighter.
“I'll have you know, sir, that that word is as antiquated and repugnant as your attitude.”
“Blanche...” Serpent-man is not worth it, but Dorothy knows, even as she speaks, neither is wasting her breath. Blanche would always hold her own.
“No, honey. I will not have anyone talking to you like that, ruinin' our evenin'. Especially not someone as small minded and ugly as this.”
She looks into the unmanly man's beady eyes and those blue daggers dare him to challenge her again.
“I'm proud of you, to have you, to be here with you. I have as much right to walk these Miami streets as anybody else and I won't hide that I love you.”
This was love. New, budding, blossoming, solidifying love.
Confidence burgeons. Resolve returns.
I won't hide that I love you.
A smile pulls at the edges of Dorothy's mouth. Serpent-man could not touch her anymore, even if she weren't taking deliberate steps away from him.
How many times do I have to remind you, pussycat? Take your jacket!
He's but a blip in the distance now. A blemish tarring the perfection of Miami summer nights.
I won't hide that I love you.
Dorothy looks to the left. Blanche is already staring at her, brow raised. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Those blues are certainly not daggers anymore.
“Let's tell Ma tonight, yeah?”
Confidence burgeons.
“I thought you'd never ask.” The belle's face glows even more intensely beneath the light of the moon.
These were the shadows worth living in.
This was love.