mention the fact that I didn't know any twenties tunes.
Then again, I had been queen of karaoke back in college…
Daisy reached into the backseat and pulled out a beautiful beaded black dress. She handed it to me, and I fingered the long black fringe. It looked like something out of Chicago. Or something Satine would have worn in Moulin Rouge!
And that gave me an idea…
CHAPTER SIX
The whitewashed home belonging to Don Wags, movie producer and party host, rose tall and proud against the shores of Lake Michigan. I stared at it, somewhat in awe. It was an utter monster. Bigger than your stereotypical twenty-first-century McMansion, for sure. In fact, I'd bet my iPad mini there had to be fifty rooms, at least. (And you can be sure I don't make iPad mini bets lightly.)
Outside, an array of white sparkly lights climbed the majestic oak trees and wrapped around squat rosebushes. Inside, every room was ablaze with light, and tinny, cheerful jazz drifted out of the house, effectively soundtrack-ing the night like a Busby Berkeley flick. In fact, the whole thing was like something out of a movie, and I couldn't believe I was witnessing it all in real life.
At least two dozen shiny black automobiles with ostentatious hood ornaments were parked alongside the long circular driveway. A few looked abandoned, as if the drivers, in their extreme haste to let the party games begin, had just killed the engines without any regard for where they'd actually left their cars. Parallel parking, it seemed, had yet to be invented.
"Here we are!" Daisy exclaimed, yanking the steering wheel to one side and landing half on the front lawn. But I didn't care about lousy parking skills at the moment. I was too grateful to have survived the trip all in one piece. Even though a hideous car accident might have been more fun than my upcoming debut.
Would they buy my pathetic act? Or would I be lynched, revealed as the fraud I was? I sank into my seat, suddenly not wanting to go inside.
"Get a wiggle on," Daisy scolded as she hopped out of the car and into the night. "We're already late."
We were "already late" because we had already wasted the entire afternoon bar-hopping. My first full day in 1929 Chicago and I could already pen my own Zagat's guide, thanks to Daisy. Of course, unlike her, I was swigging soda the whole time. No way was I going to allow myself to get tanked and say something stupid to give my twenty-first-century self away. Daisy, on the other hand, had nothing to give away, evidently, and she drank accordingly. I couldn't believe the five-foot-nothing was still standing after the amount of gin she'd poured down her throat.
I grabbed my costume and exited the car. Walking toward the house, Daisy and I passed a myriad of people, lounging, dancing, drinking, and smoking on the front porch, as if they didn't have a care in the world. Kind of crazy, since it was about twenty-two degrees out, and half of them had evidently forgotten to bring their coats. Alcohol heated the blood, I guessed. The men all wore smart tuxes, and the women had on loose-fitting party dresses of white, beige, and black, all light and chiffony and not at all appropriate for winter. Many wore felt caps or straw hats on their bobbed heads, and almost all held cigarettes placed in long, elegant holders in their well-manicured hands.
"Hi, Louisey," one of them slurred gaily as Daisy and I stepped onto the porch. "Yourha missin' a great pahhhty."
"Ab-sho-lute-ly," chimed in the curly redhead next to her. "Itsha truly mah-velous event."
Wow. I shook my head. Wasted. You'd never know from this scene that liquor was technically illegal. It was fascinating what an utter failure prohibition turned out to be. Made a girl wonder what would happen if they just ended the war on drugs in the twenty-first century.
I studied the crowd. Those lazy, drunken, thirty-something-year-old guys leaning against the wall probably had been soldiers overseas just ten years
Then again, I had been queen of karaoke back in college…
Daisy reached into the backseat and pulled out a beautiful beaded black dress. She handed it to me, and I fingered the long black fringe. It looked like something out of Chicago. Or something Satine would have worn in Moulin Rouge!
And that gave me an idea…
CHAPTER SIX
The whitewashed home belonging to Don Wags, movie producer and party host, rose tall and proud against the shores of Lake Michigan. I stared at it, somewhat in awe. It was an utter monster. Bigger than your stereotypical twenty-first-century McMansion, for sure. In fact, I'd bet my iPad mini there had to be fifty rooms, at least. (And you can be sure I don't make iPad mini bets lightly.)
Outside, an array of white sparkly lights climbed the majestic oak trees and wrapped around squat rosebushes. Inside, every room was ablaze with light, and tinny, cheerful jazz drifted out of the house, effectively soundtrack-ing the night like a Busby Berkeley flick. In fact, the whole thing was like something out of a movie, and I couldn't believe I was witnessing it all in real life.
At least two dozen shiny black automobiles with ostentatious hood ornaments were parked alongside the long circular driveway. A few looked abandoned, as if the drivers, in their extreme haste to let the party games begin, had just killed the engines without any regard for where they'd actually left their cars. Parallel parking, it seemed, had yet to be invented.
"Here we are!" Daisy exclaimed, yanking the steering wheel to one side and landing half on the front lawn. But I didn't care about lousy parking skills at the moment. I was too grateful to have survived the trip all in one piece. Even though a hideous car accident might have been more fun than my upcoming debut.
Would they buy my pathetic act? Or would I be lynched, revealed as the fraud I was? I sank into my seat, suddenly not wanting to go inside.
"Get a wiggle on," Daisy scolded as she hopped out of the car and into the night. "We're already late."
We were "already late" because we had already wasted the entire afternoon bar-hopping. My first full day in 1929 Chicago and I could already pen my own Zagat's guide, thanks to Daisy. Of course, unlike her, I was swigging soda the whole time. No way was I going to allow myself to get tanked and say something stupid to give my twenty-first-century self away. Daisy, on the other hand, had nothing to give away, evidently, and she drank accordingly. I couldn't believe the five-foot-nothing was still standing after the amount of gin she'd poured down her throat.
I grabbed my costume and exited the car. Walking toward the house, Daisy and I passed a myriad of people, lounging, dancing, drinking, and smoking on the front porch, as if they didn't have a care in the world. Kind of crazy, since it was about twenty-two degrees out, and half of them had evidently forgotten to bring their coats. Alcohol heated the blood, I guessed. The men all wore smart tuxes, and the women had on loose-fitting party dresses of white, beige, and black, all light and chiffony and not at all appropriate for winter. Many wore felt caps or straw hats on their bobbed heads, and almost all held cigarettes placed in long, elegant holders in their well-manicured hands.
"Hi, Louisey," one of them slurred gaily as Daisy and I stepped onto the porch. "Yourha missin' a great pahhhty."
"Ab-sho-lute-ly," chimed in the curly redhead next to her. "Itsha truly mah-velous event."
Wow. I shook my head. Wasted. You'd never know from this scene that liquor was technically illegal. It was fascinating what an utter failure prohibition turned out to be. Made a girl wonder what would happen if they just ended the war on drugs in the twenty-first century.
I studied the crowd. Those lazy, drunken, thirty-something-year-old guys leaning against the wall probably had been soldiers overseas just ten years
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