Default Title - Write Your Own

Chapter One

My life was turned on its ear in the Summer of Nineteen-Twenty. The Great War was finally over. Prohibition was in full swing. We women were fighting for our right to vote. People like the Gatsbys, the Firestones, and the Bankheads frequented our parlor via the front page of Father's newspapers. The colored folks down in Harlem were bleeding art and jazz music. It was a wonderful time to be alive. Especially if you were not only alive but if you were both alive and rich.

I remember the day everything changed. I remember I was nineteen, and Mama and I had just returned from our trip to Paris on the fourteenth of June. Two days later I was still utterly exhausted. It was one in the afternoon and I was sleeping in my room, trying to adjust to the time difference. Outside, it was hotter than Las Vegas. Well, that's an exaggeration but that's how it felt, y'know? I was comfortably dreaming about who knows what when my two best friends in the world stormed through my bedroom door.

Mama didn't approve of my friends. In fact, she hated them. Both Florence and Viola were outspoken Feminists and were well, Flappers. I quite admired their gumption and effervescence. They were everything I wanted to be as a woman: witty, beautiful, daring, independent, and held in low esteem by my mother.

Florence Harrison was a blonde blue-eyed all-American princess. She was amusing, animated, temperamental and impulsive as a child in a candy store. Florence was short, about five foot three inches and curvy like depictions of Aphrodite. She was one of my dearest friends and I had known her since I was a small child.

Viola Mason was a dark, poetic soul. When she spoke, which was rare, her silky, low voice made every word Viola said sound important. Her emerald eyes were expressive and as large as her ego. Viola acted like a sophisticated adult, and to this day I don't truly understand how we became friends. It was probably because her slim waist and dark hair never failed to attract the boys. Of course, Florence and I were sloppy seconds, but at the time we didn't care. We were happy when a boy looked our way.

Florence jumped on the bed excitedly and squealed, "Get up lazy bones! We're going out tonight and I expect you to look gorgeous!"

In response I groaned and pulled the sheets over my head only for Viola to rudely rip them from my tight grasp.

"Wake up Elizabeth," she spoke coolly, "We've been invited to a speak-easy."