****** ****** ******

A/N: Hello! Um --- this is my first attempt at original fiction. I know that this chapter is way too long, since it was originally part of my novel. I should probably split it into two chapters. So, I'm going to ask you, the reader, to tell me when I should break it up. I have tried to figure it out myself, but I get many different answers from my siblings and neighbors. Please help! And enjoy the story!

****** ****** ******

Cora was seated peacefully on the embroidered stool, hair neatly pinned to the crown of her head. With decided resignation, she gently placed all ten fingers on the polished ivory keys of her grandmother's piano. At of flick of her mother's hand, the orderly strains of Beethoven's 9th symphony began to sail through the stuffy atmosphere of the sitting room.

Mrs. Cordelia Versailles closed both her eyes, and began to hum quietly along as her daughter's graceful hands gave life to the German melody. A pale blonde of eighteen years stood patiently by her side, hands clasped delicately. Her crystalline blue eyes held no sparkle in them as she peered down at her seated mother. Yet a touch of life flickered in her vision when she looked at her sister, whose energetic fingers banged against the keys in a daring crescendo. "Cora," Mrs. Versailles's composed voice chastised her daughter gently. Cora instantly faded into a tinkling tune, going slowly and prettily.

"Now, Jane," Mrs. Versailles gestured towards her oldest daughter. With the sparkle of merriment in her eyes, Jane opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice was that of an Italian opera star, throaty even at the highest of notes. Mrs. Versailles watched her plain daughter intensely, approval in every stretched movement. Jane was no beauty, always delving into some novel of gross sentimentality, and her conversational skills were disgustingly average. The only hope for her future was the singing voice that flung itself into each and every corner of a room, filling it with delicious sound until the very last note.

Cora continued to strike the piano keys, keeping a slow pace so as to accommodate Jane's pauses for breath. She was very patient with her older sister, smiling encouragingly when Jane lost track of the French lyrics. Though she was the younger of the two Versailles sisters, Cora always felt obligated to protect her elder sibling from the vicious world of Chicago, and the sharp edge of their mother's tongue. "Jane, why are you pausing?" Mrs. Versailles snapped, "Have you not studied your words?"

Cora quickly interrupted. "Of course she has, mother," Cora droned, still playing with one hand as she dismissed her mother's complaint with a flick of the hand, "but my fingers a bit slow today. I'm quite out of practice, you know. Jane is such a dear; she's only trying to allow me my pace. Besides, it's all the rage in Paris to play this song in a slow manner." She let her twitching hand fall back to the keys, and struck up another chord, just in time for Jane's finishing note.

The song ended, and Cora turned around. "Wasn't that a lovely job, mother? I should say so. Jane held all the correct pauses, and it was almost natural to suspect her of purposefully slowing the song down for dramatic effect." Cora turned to her sister. "But Jane, darling, I believe mother caught on during the second go-round. You waited too long for the vowel accent. I believe that next time we should place the accent first, and then go ahead with the rest. Yes, that would definitely do it."

Mrs. Versailles did not seem to know what to say. She was confused by what seemed to be musical language, a foreign object she had never been able to grasp. But, lest she appear ignorant to her daughters, she quickly agreed with Cora, adding a few musical terms into her sentence so as to seem learned.

Cora smiled. "I knew you would grasp the concept, Mother. You understand music so well." Jane smirked at Cora's overlooked sarcasm. Cora peered at the clock. "Good heavens! Mother, Jane and I have promised to meet our dear friend, Wilfred, at Woolworth's. You remember Wilfred, don't you? He's the one with so much money in the stock market. It serves him well, though, or so I hear." Mrs. Versailles smiled again. The stock market and its vast perplexities were given a great respect from this ancient crone, whose understandings did not reach into that field.

Jane nodded silently. "Yes, Mother. And if we do not hurry, we shall surely miss our date," she agreed, voice so quiet that Cora could barely hear her. Mrs. Versailles gestured towards the door. "I suppose if you must, you must. But please, Cora, your hair is falling from its position again." Cora sighed. "Mother, it's the look. I don't want to seem stuffy for poor Wilfred. He gets so uncomfortable around stuffy women."

"Very well. Go now, both of you."

Cora threw her jacket on and dashed out the door. Jane smiled timidly at her mother, inclining her head forward, and then pulled on her own jacket. She gently closed the door behind her, so softly that barely a click resonated through the air as she did so.

Cora smiled at her sister. It was a brisk Chicago day in the year of 1926. The winds swept round them, teasing the dark clouds with the childish motivation of getting them to move. Jane quickly buttoned her suit jacket and straightened her dress, which ran to just about midway down her shin. The waistline drifted midway between her natural waist and her hips, which was higher than the height of fashion demanded, but Jane had never been a fashion expert. She smiled hopefully towards Cora, who grinned in return, clinging to her wide-brimmed hat with both gloved hands as the wind tried to rip it from her head. Cora's dress was much more in, with no waistline whatsoever. Jane adjusted her own less dramatic hat, with a smaller brim and darker shade. She personally adored the hats that had been so commonly accepted by the flappers, but dared not don one, for fear of scorn. Flappers drank, smoked, and applied heavy make-up, practices Jane's mother would never approve of. But it was not the attitude that appealed to Jane, it was the image. When one of those wildly dressed girls strode confidently down the sidewalk, it screamed of suffragist.

Cora smiled. "What are you thinking of Jane?" she asked, "Perhaps, Wilfred?" she asked. Jane blushed and lifted a clump of mud into her hand. She raised it to hurl at her sister, who giggled as the dirt flew through the air at her head. Blonde curls snapped in the breeze like a flag behind her as she darted to the left. Jane squealed with delight as she took to the chase, long legs clapping against the cracked pavement of Chicago's famous Loop. Cora laughed merrily. She had a laugh that filled a space, no matter how vast, and swept any listener into the unaltered ecstasy it embodied.

The two sisters raced heartily down the sidewalk, laughing as if the world itself were a joke. The great bellows of Chicago's wind tunnel streets rose up to chortle with them, rushing past their ears with some secret joke that only the chosen three grasped.

Finally, after corners of laughter and crosswalks of merriment, the two sisters arrived at Woolworth's.

Woolworth's was the place to be in Chicago is you were young. Cora swore that the French had nothing on Woolworth's fries, and the name should be officially changed to Wooly Fries. The windows shone with their own inner vibrancy even in cloudy weather. The local owner, Mr. Samuel Goldwise, told the Versailles sisters that his magical windows glistened only in reflection of his visitors' bright smiles. Cora had believed him totally when she was younger, and when she had finally come to realize it was only a story, had often wished it were true. To think that something as timeless as a Woolworth's window was nothing but a reflection of your own happiness was a wonderful thought. She had felt like an important quest had been placed upon her shoulders, but it was a pleasant task to undertake all the same - a splendid little job with glorious consequences. Every time her mother had taken her into town, she had dragged Jane over to the window so that they could grin at it, and be sure that there was enough happiness to give the window a decent shine that day. Mr. Goldwise had always encouraged Cora's innocent escapades by laughing whenever she pressed her face against the window, baring all teeth in a determined grin while Jane simpered awkwardly beside her.

Jane clasped the cold metal handle in her gloved hand and pulled it back. Cora smiled brightly at her and proceeded inward, removing her hat along the way. Jane followed silently, and also tore her gloves and hat off.

A gangly young man with glasses and a mop of champagne blonde hair sat at the counter, nervously chewing on a French fry over the popular lunch counter. A few seats away from him, a noisy group of upstarts were sitting on the counter and chairs, laughing raucously every few minutes. Leading this group was a gorgeous blonde flapper dressed in darling scarlet and smoking a cigarette carelessly. She was lounging on the counter with her face turned towards the ceiling, smiling like the Aphrodite of Woolworth's lunchroom. A small group of young men surrounded her, bedecked in costume similar to that of the infamous Al Capone, fitting attire for the worshipers of Aphrodite's beauty.

The gangly young man jerked from his seat and ran awkwardly towards Jane. "My love," he whispered breathlessly, touching the side of her face in awe and adoration. His fingers ran gently down the remainder of her chin, barely touching her skin, as if he were afraid the priceless porcelain of Jane's face would shatter were he to press his fingers against it with even a slight more force. She smiled benevolently in return, and kissed his cheek. "Hello, Wilfred," she replied quietly, allowing him to take her free hand in his own. He then led her to his little area of the lunch counter, and helped her to sit down. Still grinning nervously, he lifted her coat carefully from her shoulders and folded it neatly on the chair to his left. A strand of Jane's hair fell into her face as she watched him lay both hat and gloves atop the aforementioned jacket. Wilfred smiled and brushed it behind her ear. She giggled nervously, and kissed his cheek again. Oh, how she had missed him! In London for two weeks, and not a letter sent. She would have been angered, had it been anyone but Wilfred, whose excuse would be most reasonable and believable, at least in his eyes. And that was what mattered, wasn't it?

He simpered at her. Would she be angry with him for having sent no letter? He had written them, of course, but had never been able to send them. Because every time he set her heavenly name to paper, his fingers would quake with fright. He knew what needed to be asked, but the fear of rejection was too strong to overcome. He could not afford to lose her, not in the present or the future. Never.

He fumbled stupidly into his pocket. Where were those flowers? Jane smiled patiently, clasping her hands together in her lap as he tore through his pockets in search of the flowers. He'd forgotten them.

Cora's head jerked upward. Oh, poor Wilfred. One of the Capone wannabes near the door snickered. "Stupid fool," he muttered, arms crossed obnoxiously. Cora glowered ferociously at him. "Shut your vile mouth and keep that disgusting tongue inside of it," she growled, stepping towards him. Aphrodite sat upright, crossing her legs delicately, and Cora prepared herself for a fight. But the flapper shoved her friend. "Yea, shut your useless trap, Vinnie." She turned to Cora and winked. "Me and the boys can handle this," she added.

Aphrodite leapt from the counter with catlike grace and motioned to her friends. The Capones followed her instantly, like slaves called to a master's beckon. The flapper and her troupe of followers strode effortlessly over to Wilfred and Jane, grinning as only true performers can. Aphrodite swung her hips and moved around in her heeled shoes like she was floating on air and drifting over water. Wilfred trembled slightly when they approached, and Jane reached desperately for his hand in her own fear. Their white knuckles clasped each other for protection and comfort.

Aphrodite snapped her fingers, flourished her hand, and a bouquet of roses and babies' breath appeared between her painted fingers. She raised an eyebrow and grinned with rakish triumph. "I believe these are for you, from your good friend right there," she announced, thrusting forward the gorgeous flowers dramatically and gesturing proudly towards Wilfred at the same time. Jane turned to Wilfred for approval. She did not want to claim flowers that he had not intentioned to be hers. His lips curled into a slight smile, and he nodded. Grinning with unexpected affection, she took the roses into her hands. Wilfred stuttered helplessly in a search for fitting words. Aphrodite silenced him with a wave of her hand. "I am quite aware that we were late in the delivery." She bowed dramatically, and her followers did so as well. "And I apologize most sincerely for my uncalled for tardiness. Please understand that our reasons were justified, though I choose not to disclose them at the moment, since the young lady seems anxious to reward you for her surprise." Winking, the Capones and their leader exited through the door.

Cora stared at Mr. Goldwise, who was wiping down their section of the counter. He shook his head, smiling affectionately. "That girl," he muttered, "is something else." His wrinkled hands lifted a crumpled napkin from the wreckage of the Capone feast. He smiled genuinely at Cora as one hand began to wipe down the rich wood of the counter. "Isn't this just the funniest thing you ever saw?" he asked gently. Scribbled in running black ink were the letters, "I.O.U.". The message was stained with French fry grease and ice cream. Mr. Goldwise smiled fondly at the note, and then traveled round the counter to place it in his cash register. "She always does repay me," he murmured, closing the cash register with a click. Cora smiled. "I'd like to meet her," she replied. Mr. Goldwise looked up from cleaning the cash register. "You're welcome to chase after her. She's always welcome to new friends, that Opal."

Cora turned to check on Jane. Her sister was passionately kissing Wilfred. Poor Wilfred was nearly falling over, but Jane had grabbed his shirt to pull him close to her, and he remained upright - barely. Cora rolled her eyes. Only with Wilfred was Jane such. Jane backed up a bit, and released Wilfred's shirt. The two parted and sighed romantically. "Jane, love," Wilfred murmured, running his fingers down her neck. She kissed his forehead. "Yes, Wilfred?"

"I missed you beyond all compare."

"Did you truly? Wasn't there some British dame to distract you?"

"Of course not, darling."

"Promise me that there will never be a British dame to force us apart."

"I give you my life upon that word."

Jane smiled with satisfaction. Wilfred knew what she was waiting for. She wanted him to ask the question that had burned itself into his mind and throat for years, but outright refused to leave them. He smiled awkwardly. He did not bother trying to ask. The words would not come. They would never come. Even the ring in his pocket would never force them out. Instead, he struck up conversation. Jane was the most interesting person to speak with.

Cora placed both palms on the door and threw herself out into the brisk air of fading afternoon in Chicago. Her heeled shoes clacked noisily against the pavement, but the afternoon bustle was in full swing, and a jazz band could have been screaming out Benny Goodman songs and not a one of the drivers or pedestrians would have given it much notice. The blue collar population was returning to the home, and the street cars and sidewalks were littered with these returning laborers. Cora held a hand over her eyes and peered nervously around in search of Opal. But there were so many people blocking her view. And then, through the sea of workers, she caught a glimpse of someone's feather. The feather in Opal's hat! She dashed in that direction, stumbling over people's feet and nearly knocking over a stack of newspapers that some local newsie was selling.

After a few minutes of mad pursuit, the Capones and their goddess were in clear sight as they headed towards a recently opened dance hall. Cora smiled to herself, and raised a hand in greeting, screaming, "Opal! Opal!"

Opal turned around and smiled brightly. "Why, hello there, babe! How you doing?" she called, waving an arm. The Capones, too, turned to watch their visitor. Cora dashed up to them, still breathing hard and clasping her hat to her head. Next to these deities of fashion, she felt like a dumpy schoolgirl begging admittance. The wind flared up again, and Cora smiled. "I just wanted to thank you for - for what you did back there. It was - well, it was much appreciated."

Opal winked. "It was nothing. Besides, I got out of it without paying for lunch. Works both ways, hon. Don't it, boys?" They all murmured their agreement, smiling. One of them, a tall Italian in a striped suit, walked up to Opal and put his arm round her waist. "It sure does," he replied, grinning down at her. She pushed him away. "Shove off, Gill. You got Florence. She's nice girl, and I'm not going to take her man, no matter what a Democrat he is."

"God, Opal, no politics."

"I'm a woman who can vote, you simple farm boy. Got to keep up with the happenings. Unlike little miss Evelyn and her fat.. I won't say it. There's a real lady here."

She smiled at Cora. "So, Gibson girl, do you want to come dancing with us? They always discourage female patrons, so I like to get under their skin." Cora's temper flared. Gibson girl? How dare she? Her eyebrow instinctively twitched. Opal, still flicking her cigarette, grinned rakishly. "Oh, come on now," she called, "you aren't mad about my Gibson girl comment, eh? It was only a joke, pretty." She blew a ring of smoke into Gill's face. "I said back off, you toad."

"Come on, baby. You know Florence doesn't mind."

"Florence may not care, but I sure as the Nineteenth Amendment do."

Opal grinned at Cora. "So, are you coming?" she asked, kicking Gill square in the ankle with her heel. Amidst Gill's howling, Cora shook her head. "Jane needs me," she mumbled. Opal rolled her eyes. "Does she really need help? After all, she's got blonde boy, doesn't she? He's not half as incompetent as he looks." More smoke billowed form her pursed crimson lips. "Made Vinnie's brain spin before you guys came in. Well, if Vinnie's got a brain." She threw her cigarette onto the ground and stomped it out, twisting her ankle gracefully. Cora thought she was just showing off how gorgeous she was, with her shaved legs covered in rayon stockings and short, waistless dress. "She doesn't like walking home with only Wilfred," Cora said, "She claims that it 'tempts' her too greatly."

Opal shrugged. "See you around, then, dove." She turned to Gill as the Capones walked off. "Oh, you stop your caterwauling before I kick you where it'll really hurt, farm boy." She waved her hand absently towards Cora as the group disappeared around the block.

Cora smiled to herself, and then raced off towards Woolworth's. Darkness was falling, and Jane could not be trusted alone with Wilfred. Wilfred was a passive man, and he adored Jane as if she were a goddess. Every word that escaped her lips was the prayer of a gorgeous saint to him; he would do anything she asked of him. The admiration he felt for the unattractive girl was so deep inside of him that he had kissed her only once. The other times it had been Jane who began the kiss. Wilfred was too afraid of angering her with forward behavior. It was a miracle he had ever asked her to date him.

Cora had helped with that. Wilfred had been shaking in his boots outside of the Versailles house. After weeks of haggling with one of her friends at the opera house, Cora had procured an almost priceless ticket for opening night of the Russian ballet, Firebird. Mrs. Versailles had dashed out into the night dressed in her finest evening dress and wrap, not to return until after both the ballet and a good deal of socializing. Wilfred had silently slipped to the Versailles residence with flowers in his hand and a broken glasses lens. Jane had opened the door. He'd shoved the bouquet into her hands and kissed her right on the lips. As soon as the kiss ended, Jane collapsed in a dead faint on the front steps. Wilfred had screamed Cora's name, and she'd flown down the stairs to find Wilfred holding a senseless Jane in his arms.

They had placed Jane on the couch. Wilfred had hovered frantically round his goddess, stuttering apologies for his behavior, while Cora placed cool cloths on her sister's forehead. When Jane had finally awoken, Wilfred had attacked her with his humble apologies. Instead, Jane had smiled. "Wilfred, that was the most amazing thing you've ever done." With that, she'd clutched two handfuls of Wilfred's shirt and kissed him passionately, yanking him down onto the couch with her.

"Jane?" Cora called, stepping into the store. The bell on the door tinkled merrily in the dull glow of lamplight. Mr. Goldwise smiled meekly at her from behind the lunch counter. "Jane and Wilfred haven't done anything, little protector, but talk for hours to each other." Cora nodded, smiling slightly at her nickname. Jane turned around to see who called her name, one hand still on Wilfred's shoulder. "Hello, Cora," she called, "Have you come to drag me back to the pestilential pit?"

"I'll probably bind and gag you first; to be sure you don't struggle."

"Of course. How could you do otherwise?"

Wilfred smiled. After weeks of dating Jane, he understood the sarcastic comments the sisters exchanged and let them pass by him in serene oddity. Jane sighed. "I'll be there in a minute, Cora," she said, "Just let me say goodbye to Wilfred." She had the glint in her eyes as she peered at her boyfriend and Wilfred grinned. Jane's goodbyes were always wonderful.

Cora stuck out her tongue in disgust as Jane and Wilfred locked lips. Thank God Wilfred was such a conservative person, or else Jane's tongue would be swimming amuck in his mouth. Jane was timid in everything but her love of Wilfred, who was the acme of all male life in her eyes. No idea why, Cora thought. He wasn't the most handsome guy Cora had ever met, that was certain, but Jane claimed he was - in addition to being interesting, intelligent, loving and hilarious. Please. Love was such an idealistic conception.

Cora pulled on her hat and refastened her jacket buttons. "Come, Jane," she called, "Wilfred's apt to faint soon from lack of air."

Jane released the object of her passions and ran her fingers along the side of his face. Wilfred's hair was askew, and his glasses tilted awkwardly as he grinned foolishly. Jane lovingly adjusted the eyewear and raced fingers through his hair. "I love you, darling. Please keep from those awful trips to England, and then we can have more of this." She grinned rakishly at him and kissed his ear. He peered adoringly after her as she retreated into the lamplight around the door.

Cora handed her sister her jacket. "You ought to be a flapper, you're so flirtatious," she whispered, as Jane donned the hat and jacket. "I cannot help it," Jane replied happily, kicking the floor. "Better days, Mr. Goldwise!" she called, flinging open the door and stepping into the approaching Chicago night. Cora flicked her fingers up and down in a tiny wave. "Goodbye! Thank you for harboring the fools so long!" she called, smiling. With that, she pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The inevitable night that swiftly enveloped her was particularly promising, with Jane grinning nearby. The lights of Woolworth's were dimming, and Cora suspected that Wilfred would be leaving soon. To save Jane from such distractions, she took her sister's hand and pressed onward into the encroaching darkness. What had they fear? After all, the twenties were in full swing!