Jannie Burgess had always been a lady who knew her lipstick, powder, and paint. She was seventy-nine years old now and obese, but in her youthful prime she had been tall with an hourglass figure and unlimited access to the beauty parlor owned by her older sister Gladys. She had fled an abusive husband as a young mother and lost her only son in Vietnam, but she knew joy, too, loved putting on the perfume and grabbing her daughter, Linette. “Let’s dance, let’s dance!”
