“You’re pos-i-tute-ly lit, is what you are, Evie O’Neill,” Dottie shouted.
“I’ll prove it. Norma, give me something—scarf, hat pin, glove.”
“I’m not giving you anything. I might not get it back.” Norma laughed.
Evie narrowed her eyes. “Yes, how smart you are, Norma. I am starting a collection of only right-hand gloves. It’s ever so bourgeois to have two.”
“Well, you certainly wouldn’t want to do anything ordinary, would you, Evie?” Norma said, showing her teeth. Everyone laughed, and Evie’s cheeks went hot.
“No, I leave that to you, Norma.” Evie brushed her hair away from her face, but it sprang back into her eyes. “Come to think of it, your secrets would probably put us to sleep.”
“Fine,” Harold had said before things could get really heated. “Here’s my class ring. Tell me my deep, dark secrets, Madame O’Neill.”
“Brave man, giving a girl like Evie your ring-ski,” someone shouted.
“Quiet, s’il vous plaît-ski!” Evie commanded with a dramatic flair to her voice. She concentrated, waiting for the object to warm in her hands. Sometimes it happened and sometimes it did not, and she hoped on the soul of Rudolph Valentino that this would be one of those times it took. Later, she’d have a headache from the effort—that was the downside to her little gift—but that’s what gin was for. She’d numbed herself a bit already, anyway. Evie opened one eye a slit. They were all watching her. They were watching, and nothing was happening.
Chuckling, Harry reached for his ring. “All right, old girl. You’ve had your fun. Time for a little sobering up.”
She wrenched her hands away. “I will uncover your secrets—just you wait and see!” There were few things worse than being ordinary, in Evie’s opinion. Ordinary was for suckers. Evie wanted to be special. A bright star. She didn’t care if she got the most awful headache in the history of skull-bangers. Shutting her eyes tightly, she pressed the ring against her palms. It grew much warmer, unlocking its secrets for her. Her smile spread. She opened her eyes.
“Harry, you naughty boy…”
Everyone pressed closer, interested.
Harold laughed uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
“Room twenty-two at the hotel. That pretty chambermaid… L… El… Ella! Ella! You gave her a big wad of kale and told her to take care of it.”