Haunting Melody (28 page)

“Well, it’s partly your fault.”

“What?”

“Yep. Izzy said you told him I thought he was
cute and he’d been liking me for ages and ages and he didn’t have
the nerve to do anything about it ‘cause of guys like the Count
always hanging around, but when he heard that the Count and I had
been bust for the last week, well, he just screwed up his courage
and finally asked me out. He called me long distance all the way
from Memphis when he was down there - can you believe?”

“I can, but I don’t. Go on.”

“Okey-dokey. He came right over to my place
yesterday after all of you guys got off the train. Of course, that
was before he heard that you got nabbed by those gangsters or he
would’ve stayed to help Briley, but anyway, he came over and we
went out to dinner and he brought me a rose and we talked and we
smooched and we smooched some more and the next thing he’s on one
knee and he’s asking me to marry him. He even had a ring! Of course
I said yes. I’ve adored Izzy forever but he never did anything
about it.”

We hugged again. I grinned at her.

“I’m so glad for you. Honest. Izzy is, let’s
see, what would you call him? A pip? And you’re perfect for one
another.”

She sighed. “We are, aren’t we? Mel, do you
want to hear something really nutty?”

Getting engaged after one date was nutty
enough but I nodded. “Sure. Hit me with it.”

“Izzy got offered a job at some newspaper
down in Memphis. The Curried Apple?”

I smiled. “Courier-Appeal. It’s like the
Memphis version of the New York Times.”

“Terrif! Well he’s going to take the job.
We’ll be moving south at end of the summer.”

“Wow. Pretty fast. Saree, I have to ask. Are
you going to miss the Follies?”

She smiled at me. “Melody, I’ve been dancing
in shows since I was eight. Did a vaudeville act with some cousins
when we were kids. I like performing, and I’ve loved being a
Follies girl, but - don’t laugh. Guess what I’ve always wanted to
do?”

I shook my head. “No clue.”

“Teach. I want to open a dance school. It’s
too hard to do that in Manhattan where it’s just way too expensive
to find a place. But in Memphis? How many are down there?”

Time to tread with care. “Uh, not many.
Really. I took dance from a great place when I was a kid. It was
very friendly and not competitive like a lot of studios can be. My
best friend, Savanna, and I both took there. Her family owned
it.”

“That’s exactly the type of school I want.
Like a neighborhood academy for kids - and even older people too.
I’ve saved all my Follies earnings forever. Even got a name for
it.”

“Saree’s School of Swing, Sashay and
Sway?”

She tapped me on my cheek in a fake punch,
but giggled. “Naw. I’m serious now. This is sort of a sentimental
thing. I want to name it after my mama. She’s the one who taught me
to dance.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Rachel Academy of Dancing Arts.”

I jumped up. “My God! That’s where Savanna –
uh – that’s a great name. Uh.”

I’d been an idiot. “Saree? What’s your full
name? I mean, I suppose Saree is a nickname, right?”

Saree hadn’t noticed my slip. She was too
excited envisioning her nice future with Izzy Rubens at her side
and small children in pink tights and tutus on makeshift stages in
Memphis, Tennessee.

She answered my question with, “It’s Sarah
Rachel Leah. From the Bible.”

I sat back down, stunned, as a new voice
filled the air in the small dressing room.

“Saree! You seen my lipstick? Honestly, every
time I put it down someone swipes it.”

Saree sighed and whirled around to take care
of a Follies make-up crisis. I stared at her retreating back. Sarah
Rachel Leah Goldman about to be Rubens. Izzy Rubens. And on down to
Sarah Leah Rubens Epstein. Savanna. My best friend was the
great-granddaughter of my closest buddy at the 1919 Ziegfeld
Follies. No wonder it felt as if Saree and I had been friends for
years. In a way, we had.

It wasn’t just the matter of of Saree’s
strong personality resemblance to Savanna. When I’d taken dance at
Rachel’s Academy I’d seen pictures of Sarah Leah Rubens all over
the place dressed in Follies costumes. I was a kid and kids don’t
always notice faded photographs, but I remembered being entranced
by all the photos that showed the former chorus girl. One in
particular stood out of Saree in her Spanish Toreador costume with
a singer named Johnny Dooley. I’d loved the black and white photos
of this lady with legendary Eddie Cantor where the pair had been
mugging for a shot that had obviously not been intended for the
official Follies scrapbook. Cantor and Saree had been mooning the
photographer – in bloomers. Not the classiest picture on the wall
but it had been one of my favorites.

I was still reeling over my late discovery
that Saree was related to Savanna, when the stage manager called
“Places.” I ran to the wings and prepared to go onstage after a
week away.

Perhaps that week had given me a different
perspective. I wasn’t frantically trying to remember songs and
dances and when to go on. I gave it my all when I was onstage, but
found I kept snapping pictures of the heart to keep for the time
when I was no longer a Follies girl.

Capturing Saree was the easiest inner
snapshot. She glowed more than the lights illuminating the stage.
The standout photo in my mind came at the end of a shimmy dance
when she kicked just a tad higher than the rest of the girls, then
flung back her head, laughing in sheer happiness.

Bert Williams was a more poignant picture in
his blackface makeup and white gloves and shabby tuxedo and
stovepipe hat. Just before he went onstage to join the cast for the
Mandy minstrel number I saw him close his eyes. He took a deep
breath, opened them again then smiled his onstage character smile.
I knew it hid a pain none of us would ever understand.

The last heartfelt inner photograph of the
night came when John Steele stepped out to sing "A Pretty Girl is
Like a Melody." He winked at me and grinned broadly before
gesturing directly at me while I descended the staircase to the
lyric that included my name.

The night passed almost like a dream. The
show was over in a few hearbeats. I was bowing in the curtain call
then staring into the mirror in the shared dressing room.

Saree raced in just as I was preparing to
slather on cold cream for the painstaking removal the make-up from
my sweaty face. She screamed, “Don’t!” I jumped three feet into the
air, terrified that Ptah Junior was hiding under the table waiting
to pounce.

“What?”

“Don’t take off your make-up! Picture
time!”

“What?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” She upped her volume so the
other five chorines sitting at tables preparing to divest
themselves of mascara, shadow, rouge and lipstick would stop before
they got too involved in the process. “We have to get into the
staircase parade costumes, and do what we can to fluff out our hair
to get rid of the Prohibition bonnet squishes.”

Groans and gripes echoed around the room. The
Prohibition bonnets were nothing short of hair destroyers. Mary De
Luca began stroking her bobbed hair until it stood up in spikes.
She sighed. “Why didn’t they do this earlier? Before the show?
Before we looked like, like . . . ”

“Demented ‘B-boys’ krumping on the sidewalk
in hundred-degree heat?”

Faces whipped around to stare at me. Saree
giggled. “What in creation are you talking about?”

“Oh. Uh. ‘B-boys.’ Uh. Those are - uh -
barbers who wave hair. Instead of crimping it’s called krumping.” I
waited for lightning to strike me dead.

The dressing room became silent. Then Saree
whooped and hugged me. “You are so funny, Melody! You make up the
kookiest things and then come up with such terrif explanations! I’m
going to miss you!”

I froze. Had Saree somehow figured out my
time-traveling secret? Did instinct tell her I was going to
disappear soon back to my own time? Had Fiona Belle been gabbing?
Worse, did she somehow know I might becoming a ghost soon? I stayed
silent and watched five girls smother Saree in a huge embrace.

“We’ll miss you too, Saree! Congrats on
getting hitched and moving down South!”

I took a deep breath. She was talking about
her own traveling plans – plans that sounded nice and normal.
Getting on a train where the honeymoon cabin has been reserved was
a far cry from winding a musical doll and landing in another
era.

Or being murdered and haunting one’s future
self.

I joined in the good-will wishes and hugs and
kisses. Then all of us got down to the business of making ourselves
look like Follies girls again instead of skunks with red
cheeks.

Saree and I strolled on stage together - arm
in arm. The photographer was setting up for the staircase shot as
we entered. He placed Saree on the next to last step at the bottom,
with me standing beside her on the right side of the stairs. For
the next thirty minutes bulbs flashed in my face. My mouth hurt
from smiling so much.

The photographer took one final shot, telling
us all to picture beautiful things as befitted beautiful girls. I
glanced into the wings. Briley was standing near the curtain pull;
Duffy the dog obediently at his side. Briley smiled at me and waved
and I flashed the warmest smile of the night. That picture was
meant for him and him alone.

“Irving Berlin was right.”

“About what?”

“His new song John Steele sings each night. A
pretty girl is indeed like a melody. At least my Melody.”

I blushed. “Thanks. Both for the compliment
and the ‘my’. I like the sound of that.”

Briley smiled. “I like the idea of that as
well.”

He rose from his seat at the table at
Fontainebleu’s, the very latest Follies hang-out.

“Care to dance? I’ve wanted to have my arms
around you for the last four hours, but never got the chance. That
photographer took forever.”

“Love to.”

The band was playing a slow waltz. Perfect
for holding one another close without attracting the attention of a
crowd. The music was even soft enough to let the two of us talk
without resorting to screaming at each other.

Briley murmured, “I never really apologized
for acting like a spoiled child.”

“When? You’re always wonderful to me. What
are you talking about?”

“In Memphis. Well, more specifically, on the
train coming back when I wouldn’t talk to you about the future. I
was still sore about Frank staying down there but I didn’t mean to
take my anger out on you. I’m really sorry.”

I continued to sway to the rhythm of the
music, but reached over and lightly kissed him. It was all I could
do not to let that kiss go further.

“Briley. You were hurt. I could see that. And
it was – it is – perfectly understandable. You just found your
brother. You didn’t expect him to, well, kind of disappear from
your side again. It wasn’t meant like that but I imagine you felt
somewhat betrayed. And your apology is not needed, but it’s
accepted anyway.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “You’re a good listener,
Melody Flynn.”

I preened. “All due. . . ”

“To your friend Savanna’s brothers,” he
interrupted with a smile.

“Yeah, well, they really did teach me more
genteel things than techniques of fighting and breaking and
entering. They were fairly solid citizens when they weren’t
stirring up trouble.”

“I wonder if I’ll get to meet them one
day?”

I didn’t respond for a few seconds and Briley
gently took his hand off my waist and lifted my chin so I could
look at him. “I understand. According to your theory, by the time
they’re born I’ll be an extremely old man. Unless Mrs. Donovan
decides to take us both traveling by means other than the Central
Railroad.”

I sighed. “It is nutty. isn’t it? I wish I
could pin her down as to how and why but everytime I try to ask she
throws sheet music or a scone at me and that ends all hope of
reasonable discussion.”

The music shifted to a tango. Both of us love
tangos. We quit talking so we could shift dance positions. I loved
the feel of his body pressed against mine but this music put a
swift end to our conversation.

When we finished, we sat back down and Briley
poured champagne into our glasses. Then he raised his glass. “A
toast. To Mel and Briley. To the miracle of finding each other
however it came about. Staying together - always” He took a breath.
“I do intend marrying you one day -in this century or the next.
Would you say yes?”

My breath caught. I closed my eyes. “Oh
yeah.”

He kissed me.

But I had to get it out. “Briley.”

“Mmm?”

“What do we do about time-travel?
Seriously.”

His smiled dimmed. “I was hoping not to think
about it.”

“I never stop thinking about it. So, you
believe me now? About the future? Or are you telling me after all
we’ve been through with Elvis and and crazy Fiona Belle Donovan
instigating the rescue and my cell phone and checkbook that you
still have doubts?”

He sighed. “No. And that’s what scares me. I
don’t like the notion that I’ll suddenly find my girl has vanished
- and all that’s left will be the scent of cranberries.”

“Just don’t let me ever sneak down to a
neighbor’s in the middle of the night to come back up looped on tea
mixed with booze and carrying a doll which plays music. Lock me in
my dressing room for a few hours. I’d be much safer.”

“That reminds me. You never really told me
the exact story about how you landed backstage three weeks
ago.”

“Well, I gave you the highlights. Are you
willing to listen and at least keep an open mind?”

He bit his lower lip. “If I’m going to spend
the next eighty years or so with you I guess I have to, don’t I? Or
be accused of not catering to women’s rights?”