Hot and Steamy by Jean Rabe

predictable and unfailing.
    She withdrew into the curve of the gold velvet couch, and watched the dozens of couples sweep by her around the high-ceilinged white ballroom. How she wished she had not let her aunt talk her into coming to the dance! Jean Rabenski was aware how few opportunities for socializing that Rosa had. For that kindness, Rosa was grateful. But it was futile to hope that attendance might lead to courtship and matrimony.
    Oh, God , she thought, let me not die an old maid, or at least not a maiden!
    Her aunt would undoubtedly have been shocked. She came from a different generation, when a young lady’s dreams of equality in matters of mind, body, and soul were just dreams. The advent of the machine age had brought forth the new notion that women were just as capable of invention and achievement as men, so holding women to be a secondary creation of God was foolish. It had opened the eyes of young ladies to exciting possibilities.
    Still, Rosa was unlikely to put her hopes to the test. By all standards of public decency, or, more honestly, public fear, she should remain at home, quietly living out of sight of other people, so as not to remind them of the frailty of the human body. Rosa did not want to be decent any longer. She wanted to live. She wanted to dance with a different partner than the infernal gas-powered machine that kept her heart beating. Aunt Jean understood that part. She and Uncle Bruce, who had invented the cardiac regulator, were as devoted and loving a couple as anyone had ever known.
    Here she came, her large blue eyes wide with delight. The rapid rasp of Jean Rabenski’s dark blue taffeta gown almost drowned out the waltz music played by the orchestra as she towed a tall man behind her.
    â€œRosa, my darling, this lovely man would like to meet you!” she said. The blonde hair piled into a pumpkin shape on her head threatened to shake loose as she nodded vigorously at her escort. Rosa smiled politely at the newcomer. He didn’t look ‘lovely.’ In fact, he was a bit plain, if Rosa could be so bold. He might have been tall, but he was somewhat stout, and though he looked not much more than Rosa’s own age, he was already losing the hair on his domelike head. “Miss Lind, may I present Mr. Greenberg? Mr. Greenberg, this is my dear niece, Rosa Lind.”
    Rosa put out a gloved hand. To her surprise she felt it tremble. Mr. Greenberg wore thick pebble-lensed glasses, but when he bent down to take her fingers she saw the kindly blue eyes behind them. His grasp was warm and gentle.
    â€œMr. Greenberg, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Rosa said.
    â€œThank you, Miss Lind,” he said, his face shining with eagerness. “When I saw you from across the room, I knew I could not wait to speak to you. Your aunt was kind enough to introduce us.” He nodded to Aunt Jean, who beamed. “I wonder, if it would not be an intrusion, if I might . . . it would mean a great deal to me . . .” He swallowed. Rosa held her breath, preparing herself to say yes, yes, yes! “. . .If you would permit me to examine the device at your side.”
    Rosa’s heart, the flesh-and-blood one, sank to her dancing pumps. “Oh.”
    â€œNot here, of course,” Mr. Greenberg continued, reading the disappointment and dismay in her face as potential embarrassment. “I am fascinated by modern machinery, and I am interested in its workings.”
    â€œYou do understand that this is not a toy,” Rosa said, unable to keep asperity out of her voice. She shot a speaking look at her aunt, who smiled blandly at her. She would have a lot to say to her later!
    â€œOf course I do,” Mr. Greenberg said earnestly. “It would be useless to deny that I have heard, er, some talk about the purpose of the machine. I know that it is continually saving your life. Not only would I want it to continue in its purpose, but it would be my aim to better