I waited across the street as the clientele glittered their way through the entrance of the Topaz. Pulling my coat tight around me, I skulked in the shadow of a doorway, feeling my spirits sink as some unhelpful part of my brain reminded me that I had no money, no smokes, and absolutely no way to get into that damned club.

It was then that I saw her, tottering along the street in satin shoes and a dress that must have been painted onto her, pressing herself against some heavy-looking rich guy, like a colorful bug against the windshield of a Duesenberg. Surely, it couldn’t be…Greta Munday? Seizing my chance, I crossed quickly and sidled up behind her.

“Greta!” Her head jerked round, eyes widening as she recognized me.

Way back, we’d fallen down opposite sides of a slope and met at the bottom, then stuck together for a couple of years. She did folk’s laundry, I sold the odd story. We got through for a while, but I always knew she’d somehow find a way to claw herself back up.

“Shaw?”

The rich guy stared.