Melissa Refuses to Give Charles the Pages

Should I give him the pages, or make him beg, like a dog?

Enjoying my power over this most powerful of men, I gave him my sweetest smile. "I believe I have to use the powder room, gentleman," I said, affecting my best honeysuckle accent. "Would you be so kind as to excuse me?"

My attempt to play act Scarlet O'Hare was spoiled when I rose, and feeling the effects of the wine, toppled over. Charles Manton, who had risen as I had risen, in act of chivalry, caught me with his arm around my waist while mine reached for his shoulder. His next move was less than chivalrous, as his hand slipped lower while I was still wobbling.

I stepped back, extricating myself from his wandering hand. "My, the wine must be stronger than I thought" I have had more than a little experience with men touching me like this. I'm still not sure if it is because of my skin-tone or if all professional women have to put up with men thinking that our bodies are theirs to grope.

Charles and Professor Davis both smirk as I struggled to steady myself in my high heels on the courtyard cobblestones. My plan to put him Manton in his place had gone badly. Apparently, my refusal to immediately hand over the diary pages had annoyed him, and as a man who had few or no scruples, Charles was only too happy to take advantage of my intoxication.

Steadying myself, I tottered forward into the main building. It was evening now, but the place was still jammed with people. I was confronted with a barrage of unkind stage whispers as I searched for the lady's room.

On the way in, I had been a curiosity. Now that I had been seen with Charles Manton, the gossip had started, and conclusions were being drawn.

"Looks like Charles has got himself a new bedwarmer." Once again, I regretted my decision to wear the strapless dress and I adjusted the shawl to cover as much of my shoulders as I could. I was just about to continue for my search for the facilities when the woman's voice took on a nastier tone. "She isn't wearing much and look at those heels" the elegantly dressed matron's distain made my hands clench as did the way her companion looked me over like I was a yesterday's leftovers.

"That's how Charles likes, them, I guess." It seems that I am not the only one who has a poor opinion of the eccentric millionaire. "Harder for them to run away."

The patrician couple's laughter burned in my ears, but instead of running away I turned to them.

"Where is the restroom?"

They looked at me, then at each other, as if I was from Mars. Like most bullies, they were cowards at heart, and didn't know what to say when the person they had been gossiping about stopped to speak with them.

A man in a white jacket with the High Cotton crest embroidered on it in gold thread grabbed my arm. "Is this woman bothering you, Mr. Wallace?"

"No," I shook his arm off angrily, getting tired of men touching me. "I'm looking for the bathroom."

"The bathrooms are for our diners only." Apparently, the man had missed my grand arrival. "This is private property, and protesters are not welcome."

"I'm not protesting! I'm dining here, and I really need to use the restroom." It was clear to me that this restaurant employee had already made up his mind about me and grabbed me by my arm again, this time much more firmly than before. Before things got out of hand, Mr. Wallace spoke up in my defense.

"Oh, let the girl go, Humphrey. She belongs to Mr. Manton. You know how Charles is."

Humphrey released my arm without a hint of an apology but he did point me towards the restroom. I had drunk far too much wine, and relief was welcome. The phrase 'she belongs to Mr. Manton' echoing in my mind like a line from a trending song. Is that what everyone thought?

To my shock, Charles and Shelby had taken advantage of my absence to go into my purse and pull out the pages of my diary.

"How dare you go into my purse? You have no right to..."

"You brought them here to show us, didn't you?" Charles said, not bothering to look up. "You took a long time, and the Lord helps those who help themselves."

"I took a long time because some overzealous security goon thought I was 'protesting' one of your rich whites-only dinner club."

"Ah, an unfortunate but understandable mistake." This time Manton does look up as he explains. "We've had those Black Lives Matter protestors come in stir up a fuss several times over the past year. They barge in from time to time, shouting about how we're all racist, but we straighten 'em out."

"They're young and full of fire, like you. I like them, they just need to learn some manners. In fact, one of them, a pretty little thing who used to be an African Studies student at Spelman, does housework for me in my mansion at the Battery, just a few blocks from here. I call her Peanuts, because she's just the cutest little brown girl, like a peanut. You can meet her tonight, if you come home with me."

I had no intention of going home with Charles Manton, but the story did intrigue me. Spelman was one of the schools that Aniyah had looked into, not only was it an HBCU but it was also an all-women's university with a proud history of fighting male chauvinism. "You have a Spelman student, working as your maid?" Manton just laughed at my look of unmasked incredulity.

"I told you, Melissa, I get what I want. Now, do you want to sit back down and get the Professor's opinion on your diary? Because I think you'll very much like to hear what he has to say."

A big part of me wanted to grab the pages and storm out. But Shelby Davis was a professional historian, and Charles Manton was a very wealthy man. Should I leave, and never come back, or swallow my pride, and listen to what Shelby had to say?