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,