She dressed well. She knew that. Her job as a clerk in the factory had provided her with the income to dress as a lady. And her education at the colle...e had equipped her with the taste and manners to carry it well. But here, she was just a Negro woman. No one in Tramville would see beyond her skin colour to the sophisticated lady underneath.She strode towards the bar, careful to stand a distance from any of the men leaning against it and leering at her. The bar steward, an elderly man who was. Mom, why don't you recognize me?" Stop calling me 'Mom.' I don't have a daughter, I have a son." I feel like I've stepped into an episode of 'Sliders.' Mom--" Stop calling me that!" I'm sorry! I can't very well call you 'Mrs. Andrews,' can I?" That's what I'd expect a total stranger to call me!" Okay." I took a seat at the table. "Let me tell you what I experienced this morning. Let's work through this calmly." I took a breath. This was something right out of the movies, but if I just ignored. More

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