move across the floor. He steered the
pair of us around the ballroom like champion tango dancers. There
was no chance to talk, no chance even to worry about stumbling. We
moved as one unit. Other dancers stood aside and watched as we
dipped and swayed. Briley’s face pressed against my cheek. The
muscles in his thighs forced mine to move although my knees were
growing progressively weak.
I glimpsed faces as we toured the floor.
Saree’s mouth stretched into a wide, impish grin. Denise was
smiling too, but her mouth held a trace of sadness at the corners.
Nevin was being held up in the air by Izzy. The child waved his
arms gleefully. The Count watched us with a paternal smile. Eloise
Jenkins sneered and turned away. I could see various performers,
including John Steele, encouraging us with hoots, hollers, and
smiles. Prince Peter was frowning. I had no idea whether that was
an opinion of our dance or because of something a man wearing the
livery of a chauffeur was whispering in his ear.
There must have been an unwritten law in 1919
that society chauffeurs had to be ugly to get the job. Mr. Bongo
looked like a losing boxer and Peter’s buddy needed some serious
help from an image consultant – or a good wig maker. Actually, all
the chauffeurs who politely stood by a table in the back of
Francy’s could have used a nice nip and tuck from a good plastic
surgeon. I wondered if they were all as talented in the music
department as Mr. Bongo to make up for their lack of handsome in
the looks department. I also wondered how many titled persons were
waltzing around Francy’s. Savanna would never believe this. Mel
Flynn surrounded by royalty and the elite of Manhattan society.
We finished the tango, then immediately
started a waltz, a fox trot, another waltz and one more tango.
Briley kept silent through them all. He didn’t let me go after one
dance ended and another began. I had no idea if he’d had a change
of heart or if this was where his heart had been all along - as
Saree and Denise had intimated. I didn’t care.
“Melody? Briley?”
“Hmm?”
“The Count and I have just had a tiff and
he’s gone off in a huff and left me stranded tonight. I have no
money and no way home. Can you believe that scrub?”
Briley hid a grin. “You two fight at least
once a day. You should be used to that by now and carry money for
taxis with you. Let me see what I’ve got in my wallet.”
I grabbed his hand. “Wait. Saree? Wanna come
home with me? There are two beds in the room. We can sleep in
tomorrow.”
“Ooh, that’d be nice. Thanks, Mel.”
Briley took each of us by the arm. “In that
case, I’ll escort you both to the rooming house. I’d be afraid to
let the two of you loose on an unsuspecting New York after a big
night like this.”
The subway ride and walk to E.12th Street
seemed to take only a few minutes. The three of us laughed and
argued about the high and low points of the show and talked about
nothing serious until we reached the apartment.
Briley opened the lobby doors. “I’ll come by
tomorrow and escort you to the theatre.”
“You don’t have to do that. We’re big girls.
We can make it there,” I told him.
Briley’s expression turned grim. “Through all
the gaiety and mayhem tonight you may have forgotten. Francesca
Cerroni is dead. I don’t want another Follies girl sharing that
fate.”
I shivered, remembering that at some point in
my trip to the past I might well encounter the ghost of my future.
A Follies girl. Francesca? Saree? Or - that nasty suspicon which
kept growing stronger - me. I looked up at Briley. “Thanks. We will
take you up on that offer. The McShan escort and security service
has just opened for business.”
Chapter 12
I dreamed I was showing off my high kicks
down a staircase while Fiona Belle sang a medley of Irving Berlin
tunes in harmony with Bert Williams. At the bottom of the stairs a
grandfather clock opened and out popped Savanna,
pair of us around the ballroom like champion tango dancers. There
was no chance to talk, no chance even to worry about stumbling. We
moved as one unit. Other dancers stood aside and watched as we
dipped and swayed. Briley’s face pressed against my cheek. The
muscles in his thighs forced mine to move although my knees were
growing progressively weak.
I glimpsed faces as we toured the floor.
Saree’s mouth stretched into a wide, impish grin. Denise was
smiling too, but her mouth held a trace of sadness at the corners.
Nevin was being held up in the air by Izzy. The child waved his
arms gleefully. The Count watched us with a paternal smile. Eloise
Jenkins sneered and turned away. I could see various performers,
including John Steele, encouraging us with hoots, hollers, and
smiles. Prince Peter was frowning. I had no idea whether that was
an opinion of our dance or because of something a man wearing the
livery of a chauffeur was whispering in his ear.
There must have been an unwritten law in 1919
that society chauffeurs had to be ugly to get the job. Mr. Bongo
looked like a losing boxer and Peter’s buddy needed some serious
help from an image consultant – or a good wig maker. Actually, all
the chauffeurs who politely stood by a table in the back of
Francy’s could have used a nice nip and tuck from a good plastic
surgeon. I wondered if they were all as talented in the music
department as Mr. Bongo to make up for their lack of handsome in
the looks department. I also wondered how many titled persons were
waltzing around Francy’s. Savanna would never believe this. Mel
Flynn surrounded by royalty and the elite of Manhattan society.
We finished the tango, then immediately
started a waltz, a fox trot, another waltz and one more tango.
Briley kept silent through them all. He didn’t let me go after one
dance ended and another began. I had no idea if he’d had a change
of heart or if this was where his heart had been all along - as
Saree and Denise had intimated. I didn’t care.
“Melody? Briley?”
“Hmm?”
“The Count and I have just had a tiff and
he’s gone off in a huff and left me stranded tonight. I have no
money and no way home. Can you believe that scrub?”
Briley hid a grin. “You two fight at least
once a day. You should be used to that by now and carry money for
taxis with you. Let me see what I’ve got in my wallet.”
I grabbed his hand. “Wait. Saree? Wanna come
home with me? There are two beds in the room. We can sleep in
tomorrow.”
“Ooh, that’d be nice. Thanks, Mel.”
Briley took each of us by the arm. “In that
case, I’ll escort you both to the rooming house. I’d be afraid to
let the two of you loose on an unsuspecting New York after a big
night like this.”
The subway ride and walk to E.12th Street
seemed to take only a few minutes. The three of us laughed and
argued about the high and low points of the show and talked about
nothing serious until we reached the apartment.
Briley opened the lobby doors. “I’ll come by
tomorrow and escort you to the theatre.”
“You don’t have to do that. We’re big girls.
We can make it there,” I told him.
Briley’s expression turned grim. “Through all
the gaiety and mayhem tonight you may have forgotten. Francesca
Cerroni is dead. I don’t want another Follies girl sharing that
fate.”
I shivered, remembering that at some point in
my trip to the past I might well encounter the ghost of my future.
A Follies girl. Francesca? Saree? Or - that nasty suspicon which
kept growing stronger - me. I looked up at Briley. “Thanks. We will
take you up on that offer. The McShan escort and security service
has just opened for business.”
Chapter 12
I dreamed I was showing off my high kicks
down a staircase while Fiona Belle sang a medley of Irving Berlin
tunes in harmony with Bert Williams. At the bottom of the stairs a
grandfather clock opened and out popped Savanna,
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