Betty sits upright on a stool at the bar snapping pistachio shells open while other people are dancing to David Bowie on the main floor—Gloria Steinem being one of them. Through the red and purple changing colored lights, the pretty brown vixen keeps waving a hand for Betty to come dance with her.
NO, Friedan keeps mouthing back. She crushes a salty pistachio with her teeth never taking her gaze off Gloria’s tight-fit turtleneck and leather mini skirt. Betty enjoys music, but when it comes to dancing...
The crowd applauds once the song ends, which always humors the wispy haired pro-activist, because she wants to know what exactly are they clapping for?
So cheesy!
Gloria makes her way towards her pulling loose strands of hair back with a quirky smile on her face. She grabs hold of Betty’s rose pattern-clad arm.
“Come dance for a bit...”
“You’re high, Gloria,” Betty observes.
Steinem rolls her eyes and tugs on her.
The music now starts playing a song performed by Barry White.
“Oh, jeezus. You want me to boogie through this?” Betty demands.
Gloria bops her head along, smiling wide.
So what does she do? She slips her butt off the vinyl stool and let’s Gloria drag her to the dance floor. Betty elegantly holds her arms out and sways left and right to the deep, rich soul of Barry White.
“Who taught you how to move like that?” Gloria’s voice rose with sheer amusement the moment they leave the night club and start walking through the dark, city streets, arms linked together, steering each other along the pavement.
“Don’t be a kiss ass,” Betty snorts at her, but she’s smiling at her clog shoes moving in step with Steinem’s boots.