American, but I promise not to commit any obscene acts in public if I can avoid it.”
He winked. I pretended not to notice, though I had no doubt the heat flush I felt signaled otherwise.
***
Mark
When Genie stopped in front of a tidy storefront bearing the sign Tea and Sweets. I smiled to myself and remembered the stories of how my parents first met. Dad had an apartment over the bakery near the hospital where my mom worked in the emergency department. She and Dad used to see one another as they headed off to their respective shifts. “I knew I was in love the day I let your mother have the last cream-filled donut in the case.”
My smile grew once we entered the bakery and were greeted by the sweet smells of pies and cakes and bread baking in the back. My stomach purred in delight. We settled in at a small table near the front window and ordered tea and scones from the woman Genie introduced as the shop’s owner, Mrs. O’Connell.
She gave off a warm grandmotherly vibe but eyed me suspiciously, then looked inquisitively at Genie before retreating behind the counter.
I ladled sugar and cream into my tea despite the faint look of horror on Genie’s face. “You know, I never realized tea with cream and sugar tastes a little like coffee. Or maybe they both just taste like hot cream and sugar.”
Genie smiled blandly back and I found myself with a sense of déjà vu, feeling as though I was on one of the weird blind dates my parents set up every now and then, the one with “nice girls” who turned out to be not as ladylike as the folks wanted to believe.
A pang of homesickness hit me. I shook my head to clear it and stared out the window for a minute then glanced back at Genie. “I agree about violence against women being a problem. But it’s a problem of not having enough patrols in the area and of the women themselves taking reasonable precautions.”
“The police could certainly do more.” Genie insisted. “They need to catch this fiend!”
I shook my head. Hadn’t we been through this? “How? No one ever sees or hears or knows anything. I was there. Nobody wanted to talk to the ‘coppers.’ So what have they got to work with? A dead body that hasn’t even been identified. There are no clues. No suspects. No evidence. No apparent motive. And the police are supposed to do something about it? It’s the people who live here who need to do something. They need to stop being victims and start getting involved.” I stopped, embarrassed that I sounded like a mini replica of my father.
“ I am certainly involved.” Her eyes flashed. “I’m trying to get the police involved.”
I looked down to my teacup. This was only going to get worse and I was the only one who knew it. I looked at Genie again. “The police can do only so much. People have to change the way they think and behave. They need to do it sooner than later.”
Genie sipped her tea. “Giving women the vote would certainly change everything.”
“It wouldn’t change a thing. Not really.”
“You are wrong, Mr. Stewart. Dead wrong.”
“Okay. Sure. You go live in the world your mother and sister would vote into existence. Then come back and tell me how much better it is.”
Genie opened her mouth to argue then snapped it shut
“You think just letting women vote will magically change England or the world? Not in a hundred years.”
“Typical man,” she said with a sneer. “You think women are only here for your comfort.”
“I never said that. I’m all for equal rights. I know girls can do just as well as guys if they try.”
Genie sat up even straighter. “That’s exactly what I keep telling everyone. I have the initiative and the desire to help the women of Whitechapel help themselves. I’m willing to do anything it takes to get through to them. What I need is the cooperation of the authorities. I believe you can help provide that.”
“And you think this because…”
“As I said before, you are
He winked. I pretended not to notice, though I had no doubt the heat flush I felt signaled otherwise.
***
Mark
When Genie stopped in front of a tidy storefront bearing the sign Tea and Sweets. I smiled to myself and remembered the stories of how my parents first met. Dad had an apartment over the bakery near the hospital where my mom worked in the emergency department. She and Dad used to see one another as they headed off to their respective shifts. “I knew I was in love the day I let your mother have the last cream-filled donut in the case.”
My smile grew once we entered the bakery and were greeted by the sweet smells of pies and cakes and bread baking in the back. My stomach purred in delight. We settled in at a small table near the front window and ordered tea and scones from the woman Genie introduced as the shop’s owner, Mrs. O’Connell.
She gave off a warm grandmotherly vibe but eyed me suspiciously, then looked inquisitively at Genie before retreating behind the counter.
I ladled sugar and cream into my tea despite the faint look of horror on Genie’s face. “You know, I never realized tea with cream and sugar tastes a little like coffee. Or maybe they both just taste like hot cream and sugar.”
Genie smiled blandly back and I found myself with a sense of déjà vu, feeling as though I was on one of the weird blind dates my parents set up every now and then, the one with “nice girls” who turned out to be not as ladylike as the folks wanted to believe.
A pang of homesickness hit me. I shook my head to clear it and stared out the window for a minute then glanced back at Genie. “I agree about violence against women being a problem. But it’s a problem of not having enough patrols in the area and of the women themselves taking reasonable precautions.”
“The police could certainly do more.” Genie insisted. “They need to catch this fiend!”
I shook my head. Hadn’t we been through this? “How? No one ever sees or hears or knows anything. I was there. Nobody wanted to talk to the ‘coppers.’ So what have they got to work with? A dead body that hasn’t even been identified. There are no clues. No suspects. No evidence. No apparent motive. And the police are supposed to do something about it? It’s the people who live here who need to do something. They need to stop being victims and start getting involved.” I stopped, embarrassed that I sounded like a mini replica of my father.
“ I am certainly involved.” Her eyes flashed. “I’m trying to get the police involved.”
I looked down to my teacup. This was only going to get worse and I was the only one who knew it. I looked at Genie again. “The police can do only so much. People have to change the way they think and behave. They need to do it sooner than later.”
Genie sipped her tea. “Giving women the vote would certainly change everything.”
“It wouldn’t change a thing. Not really.”
“You are wrong, Mr. Stewart. Dead wrong.”
“Okay. Sure. You go live in the world your mother and sister would vote into existence. Then come back and tell me how much better it is.”
Genie opened her mouth to argue then snapped it shut
“You think just letting women vote will magically change England or the world? Not in a hundred years.”
“Typical man,” she said with a sneer. “You think women are only here for your comfort.”
“I never said that. I’m all for equal rights. I know girls can do just as well as guys if they try.”
Genie sat up even straighter. “That’s exactly what I keep telling everyone. I have the initiative and the desire to help the women of Whitechapel help themselves. I’m willing to do anything it takes to get through to them. What I need is the cooperation of the authorities. I believe you can help provide that.”
“And you think this because…”
“As I said before, you are
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