I’ve
ever dated. He gets jealous. I don’t want him to go around
Manhattan beating up old boyfriends.” She sighed. “Something tells
me this romance will be ending soon. I’m getting very bored with
the possessiveness.” She grinned. “But the limo is terrif!”
I laughed at her. “You, Saree Goldman, remind
me so much of my best friend back in Memphis." I didn't tell her
she was actually in Manhattan. No way to introduce them. "She dumps
guys faster than speeding bullets, loves to party, and thoroughly
enjoys the perks that come with dating wealthy men.”
Saree giggled. “Smart cookie! Maybe I’ll get
to meet her sometime and we can exchange war stories about our
various flames.”
I didn’t attempt to explain that meeting
Savanna could prove difficult unless Saree made it to the ripe old
age of hundred and twenty or so. Shame. They’d adore each
other.
Saree dressed with the speed only a dancer
can perfect with quick changes offstage, hugged me and was out the
door before I realized I’d wanted to tell her I’d appreciated
having a roommate after Briley had brought up the topic of
Francesca Cerroni. Since I figured only one ghost haunted #413, if
two possibles stuck together we should stay safe.
I had about seven hours before I had to be at
the theatre. It was spitting rain outside so playing tourist didn’t
look enticing. I headed down to the lobby to look for Mrs. Donovan.
Not there. The girl behind the desk introduced herself as Della
Lowder, one of the boarders who lived on the first floor of the
house. I explained my request and though she seemed surprised she
said she’d see about finding me some plain paper to draw on. I’d
decided to make use of my free time by sketching some costumes for
Frolic. Eyeing the funky outfits at the two parties had inspired
me.
By the end of the day I had six nice sketches
done. Whether they ended up on stage in the 21st Century, or even
somewhere in the 20th, it didn’t matter. I’d been productive and
managed to dodge thinking of ghosts - or Briley McShan. Well, part
of the time.
Briley himself showed up at the rooming house
at 6:30 to escort me to the theatre.
“Hey, Briley. How was your day?”
“Fine. Yours?”
I couldn’t resist. “Lovely. Started this
morning when lotus blossoms arrived for me.”
He glowered. “Lotus blossoms? From whom?”
“Oh, an admirer.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Don’t get too thrilled.
There are more stage-door Johnnys sending junk to every Follies
chorine after shows than there are pastrami sandwiches at Katz’s
Delicatessen. Peter Herzochevskia always sends the new girls
something after opening night. As do Grady Martel, Robert Samson,
Lawrence Vassily, Lloyd Ellingsford - shall I go on?”
“Oh.”
I felt myself deflate.
Briley kindly jumped to another subject.
“Have you seen the reviews?”
“No. They’re out?”
“Yes, indeed, they are. And they’re terrific.
I’d say John Steele got the lion’s share of the praise, as did Bert
Williams. The Times critic raved about Berlin’s music. On the
whole, it was a theatrical triumph.”
“And did that redhead with all that talent
get a mention?”
“You mean Jessie Reed?” he chortled.
I lightly tapped him on his chest. “No! I
mean Mel Flynn from Memphis, Tennessee.”
“Sorry. After all, you did come in too late
to make the program, much less catch the eyes of the critics.”
I gave a mock sigh. “I suppose I shall just
have to bear the disappointment of not being an instant star.”
He laughed then grew serious. “Is that what
you want? To be a star in the Ziegfeld Follies? Then go on to the
moving pictures?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve never had
aspirations to be on camera. Or even on stage. I’m much more
comfortable designin' costumes than wearing them. I needed this job
and I’m lovin' it but my goal has always been to design for
Broadway. Win a Tony someday.”
“A Tony?”
I hadn’t had an anachronistic slip for
ever dated. He gets jealous. I don’t want him to go around
Manhattan beating up old boyfriends.” She sighed. “Something tells
me this romance will be ending soon. I’m getting very bored with
the possessiveness.” She grinned. “But the limo is terrif!”
I laughed at her. “You, Saree Goldman, remind
me so much of my best friend back in Memphis." I didn't tell her
she was actually in Manhattan. No way to introduce them. "She dumps
guys faster than speeding bullets, loves to party, and thoroughly
enjoys the perks that come with dating wealthy men.”
Saree giggled. “Smart cookie! Maybe I’ll get
to meet her sometime and we can exchange war stories about our
various flames.”
I didn’t attempt to explain that meeting
Savanna could prove difficult unless Saree made it to the ripe old
age of hundred and twenty or so. Shame. They’d adore each
other.
Saree dressed with the speed only a dancer
can perfect with quick changes offstage, hugged me and was out the
door before I realized I’d wanted to tell her I’d appreciated
having a roommate after Briley had brought up the topic of
Francesca Cerroni. Since I figured only one ghost haunted #413, if
two possibles stuck together we should stay safe.
I had about seven hours before I had to be at
the theatre. It was spitting rain outside so playing tourist didn’t
look enticing. I headed down to the lobby to look for Mrs. Donovan.
Not there. The girl behind the desk introduced herself as Della
Lowder, one of the boarders who lived on the first floor of the
house. I explained my request and though she seemed surprised she
said she’d see about finding me some plain paper to draw on. I’d
decided to make use of my free time by sketching some costumes for
Frolic. Eyeing the funky outfits at the two parties had inspired
me.
By the end of the day I had six nice sketches
done. Whether they ended up on stage in the 21st Century, or even
somewhere in the 20th, it didn’t matter. I’d been productive and
managed to dodge thinking of ghosts - or Briley McShan. Well, part
of the time.
Briley himself showed up at the rooming house
at 6:30 to escort me to the theatre.
“Hey, Briley. How was your day?”
“Fine. Yours?”
I couldn’t resist. “Lovely. Started this
morning when lotus blossoms arrived for me.”
He glowered. “Lotus blossoms? From whom?”
“Oh, an admirer.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Don’t get too thrilled.
There are more stage-door Johnnys sending junk to every Follies
chorine after shows than there are pastrami sandwiches at Katz’s
Delicatessen. Peter Herzochevskia always sends the new girls
something after opening night. As do Grady Martel, Robert Samson,
Lawrence Vassily, Lloyd Ellingsford - shall I go on?”
“Oh.”
I felt myself deflate.
Briley kindly jumped to another subject.
“Have you seen the reviews?”
“No. They’re out?”
“Yes, indeed, they are. And they’re terrific.
I’d say John Steele got the lion’s share of the praise, as did Bert
Williams. The Times critic raved about Berlin’s music. On the
whole, it was a theatrical triumph.”
“And did that redhead with all that talent
get a mention?”
“You mean Jessie Reed?” he chortled.
I lightly tapped him on his chest. “No! I
mean Mel Flynn from Memphis, Tennessee.”
“Sorry. After all, you did come in too late
to make the program, much less catch the eyes of the critics.”
I gave a mock sigh. “I suppose I shall just
have to bear the disappointment of not being an instant star.”
He laughed then grew serious. “Is that what
you want? To be a star in the Ziegfeld Follies? Then go on to the
moving pictures?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve never had
aspirations to be on camera. Or even on stage. I’m much more
comfortable designin' costumes than wearing them. I needed this job
and I’m lovin' it but my goal has always been to design for
Broadway. Win a Tony someday.”
“A Tony?”
I hadn’t had an anachronistic slip for
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