Hang on. Dix Donahue. That sounds familiar. I glance at a nearby poster and, sure enough, it’s printed in big gray letters: HOST: DIX DONAHUE.
This is the host? He looks about a hundred.
“Dix!” A plump man with a neat black mustache bears down on us and pumps his hand. “Victor Jamison from EQUAL. I’m a big fan. All set for your introductory speech?”
“Gathering inspiration all the time.” Dix flashes his smile at me, and I beam back. He must be famous in some sort of way. I wonder how? Luke will know.
The two men head off, and I drain my glass. I really must find Luke and Suze, but the trouble is, everyone’s started clustering around the stage area and it’s hard to see. The dancers have stopped their routine and the band has fallen silent and there’s an expectant air. Then the band strikes up again, with some tune that everyone recognizes, going by their nods and smiles at one another. Dix Donahue mounts the steps with a hop and a jump—and it’s obvious he’s an entertainer. He seems to sparkle under the lights, even if he is a zillion years old.
As he starts to tell jokes, I edge my way round the corner of the throng and suddenly see Luke. I’m about to join him when the room goes dark and a spotlight moves around the crowd, and Dix Donahue takes on a grave manner.
“But seriously, folks,” he says. “We’re here for a very fine cause tonight. Discrimination is an evil and it takes place in all shapes and forms, often in the place you’d expect the least. Later we’ll be hearing from Pia Stafford, who battled workplace discrimination regarding her disability after a car accident.”
The spotlight falls on a woman in black, who lifts a hand and nods soberly.
“But, you know, I was talking to a young lady just now, who had maybe the most unusual tale of discrimination I’ve heard.…” Dix Donahue shades his eyes and squints into the audience. “Rebecca, where are you? Ah, there!”
Does he mean me? I stare up at him in horror. A moment later the spotlight is glaring into my face.
“Rebecca was discriminated against because, of all things”—he shakes his head somberly—“her pet.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. He can’t have taken me seriously. I only said “pets” because I ran out of other things to say.
They should never have hired a hundred-year-old host. He’s batty.
“Rebecca, let’s hear your story,” says Dix Donahue in a soft, coaxing voice. “What was your pet?”
I stare at him, transfixed. “A … a hamster,” I hear myself saying.
“A hamster, ladies and gentlemen.” Dix Donahue starts clapping, and a halfhearted round of applause breaks out. I can see people whispering to one another, looking puzzled, as well they might.
“And what form did the discrimination take?”
“Um … well … people wouldn’t accept it,” I say cautiously. “I was ostracized by my community. Friends turned against me, and my career suffered. My health too. I think it’s up to the government and society to change attitudes. Because all humans are the same.” I’m rather warming to my speech now. “All of us, whatever religion we practice or color skin we have, or, you know, whether we have a hamster or not … we’re the same!”
I make a sweeping gesture and catch Luke’s eye. He’s staring at me from a few yards away, his mouth open.
“That’s it,” I finish hastily.
“Wonderful!” Dix Donahue leads another round of applause, and this time it feels really genuine. A lady even pats me on the back.
“One more question before we move on.” Dix Donahue twinkles at me. “What was your hamster’s name, Rebecca?”
“Er …” Shit. My mind has gone totally blank. “It was … er … called …”
“Ermintrude,” comes Luke’s deep voice. “She was like family.”
Oh, ha-ha. Very funny.
“Yes, Ermintrude.” I muster a smile. “Ermintrude the hamster.”
The spotlight finally moves off me, and Dix Donahue comes to the end of his speech, and I look up to see Luke giving me a little wink as he approaches through the crowd.
“I’ll get you a new hamster this Christmas, darling,” he says over the sound of applause. “We’ll fight the discrimination together. If you can be brave enough, so can I.”
“Shhh!” I can’t help giggling. “Come on, it’s time to eat.”
That’s the last time I make conversation with some random old man just to be kind. As we move back to our table, I’m totally mortified, especially as people keep stopping me to congratulate me and ask about the hamster and tell me about how their kids have a rabbit and they wouldn’t stand for discrimination—it’s shocking in this day and age.
