Haunting Melody (29 page)

“Ha! I wish I could zap you into the 1960s in
the middle of a Gloria Steinham feminist rally thing. My grandma,
another blazing redhead, said it was wild. Brassieres flinging into
piles then being torched. She’d go to five-and-dime stores and buy
up whole counters of bras to toss, then watch the flames blaze
higher and sweep away, as she put it, ‘women’s oppressed
state.’”

Briley laughed. “I don’t need to hear this.
Although that goes a long way in explaining your pryromania
tendencies.”

“Hey! I only burn down houses of ill repute.”
I grinned. “It’s really kind of funny too, that my wild protesting
feminist Grandmother ended up a stay-at-home mom, happily married
with six kids, five of which were those oppressive male types. Five
uncles. Yow.”

“Sounds wonderful to me. Happily married to a
redhead; having six kids.”

I turned five shades of a different red, then
replied softly, “Me too.”

I straightened my back and asked, “Ready for
the details of Melody Flynn arriving in 1919 backstage at the New
Amsterdam Theatre?”

“Oh, sure. Then I’ll decide whether you
really need to be in a straitjacket. You must admit, time-travel by
means of dolls and brandy is a bit hard to swallow.”

“And sheet music. Don’t forget sheet music. I
have come to the conclusion, what with recent events, mainly the
search for Denise and my rescue from the warehouse, that sheet
music plays a great part in this.”

He groaned. “Dolls and pieces of paper with
words and music. Heaven help us.”

I’d started to tell him the tale of my visit
to Fiona Belle Donovan Winthorp, dognapping neighbor and witch,
when we were interrupted by a squealing Saree and laughing
Izzy.

They sat, ordered champagne, then we all
chattered about marriage and Memphis and dance studios and real
newspapers.

Another voice joined in. “I hear
congratulations are in order?”

The Count. With Eloise Jenkins clinging to
his side like a tick to a dog’s ear. He was smiling, which was
good, but both Briley and Izzy tensed in case the rejected suitor
decided to stir up trouble.

Saree just winked at me, then at the Count.
“Yes, In-Deedy-Doody they are! In less than a month I’m gonna be
Mrs. Isaac Rubens. Which is pretty damn swell. Anyone wanna
argue?”

The Count just politely murmured, “Again, I
say congratulations and best wishes.”

Eloise, clearly delighted to have snared
royalty, still couldn’t resist an ethnic jab, which revealed her
jealousy over her inability to have yet to make it into the
Follies. “Well, this is just terrif. Saree Goldman marrying Izzy
Rubenovitch. Two - Brooklynites - matching up. How precious. At
least that leaves room for a new Follies dancer - one with real
talent and a real American. Me.”

Briley, Izzy, Saree and I bristled. Brooklyn
in the early 21st Century is well populated with artistic types
sharing lofts and creating performance pieces. But in 1919, much of
Brooklyn was home to a variety of immigrants, especially Jews from
Eastern Europe. Clearly, Eloise felt herself superior to anyone
with that background.

I kicked Briley before he could rise and do
something ungentlemanly like paste Ms. Jenkins right in her tiny
nose. I rose and quietly grabbed the girl’s hand, staring at the
huge sapphire-cut diamond ring.

“What a gorgeous ring, Eloise. May I see it
more closely?”

I pulled her ring finger backwards until the
pain showed in her cold blue eyes. Then I released her hand and
gently placed it in the Count’s. “Count? May I wish you and Ms.
Jenkins years of happiness together. Although, I’m not sure you
really deserve her. Oh, by the way? Eloise, dear, your dress is
dripping.”

“What? No it’s not.”

I raised the bucket that had held the
champagne but now was filled with melted ice and calmly emptied the
contents over Eloise’s head.

Screams and curses followed the girl’s run to
the ladies room in the back of the club. The Count tried not to
laugh, lost his control, then quickly hurried after his date. Loud
guffaws followed his progress across the room.

Applause came from my tablemates. I bowed,
then turned when a hand grabbed mine.,

“Peter? Uh, hi.”

It was the Prince. He raised my hands to his
lips and kissed my palm as a clearly pissed Briley McShan rose and
snatched my hand away almost mid-smack.

Peter ignored him. “I haf looked for you,
Mel-o-dee. You did not say you vould be dining here, so I haf been
to Francy’s.” His handsome face darkened. “I am kept in dark over
dis is new Follies, how you say, hand-out?”

“Hang-out.” Briley growled. “And it’s not the
new hang-out. At least it wasn’t until about ten minutes ago.
Jeepers, look at this!”

All of us scanned a room that had filled up
while we’d been chatting. Follies girls and their dates, Follies
comedians alone, and Follies singers with their dates or wives. Flo
and Billie Burke Ziegfeld even sat in a corner, absorbed in each
other but still taking the time to greet every cast member who
stopped by to say “Hello” to the impresario and his wife.

Prince Peter smiled. “I see Count leafing
Francy’s and I say, new place! Maybe the pretty Mel-o-dee vill be
there and I shall see her from long absence.”

Briley’s face was turning purple. “Excuse me,
Prince? I hate to burst your bubble but the lady is with me. Do you
understand that?”

He looked puzzled then he smiled. “Of course.
And with Miss Saree and Mr. Rubens. Bubbles of champagne bursting?
I join you, da?”

He grabbed a chair, and plopped into it. I
was still standing and still savoring my admittedly childish
treatment of Eloise Jenkins, but this intrusion left me speechless.
Almost. I was about to explain to the Prince that in America custom
dictates that one does not cut in on another’s date. But before I
could yell “Yo! Pete! Outta my grill!” arms encircled my waist then
hoisted me about three inches above the ground. A voice boomed in
my left ear.

“Mel! Honey! I’ve been lookin’ fer you all
night! Loved the show. Lloyd and I came together tonight and were
jest thrilled to watch all you purty ladies traipsing around that
stage.”

Grady Martel let me down then nodded to
Saree. “You did a fine job, too, Missy. Of course, my heart belongs
to Miz Melody, but I sure did enjoy watchin’ you dance too.”

Briley was on his feet. He calmly pulled me
away from the big man’s grasp and kept his arm around me. “Mr.
Martel. Consider pausing every now and again before accosting
ladies who do not belong to you, sir.”

“Huh?”

Lloyd Ellingsford smiled and placed his hand
over Grady’s forearm. “He’s trying to tell you something, Martel.
If I’m not mistaken we’ve interrupted a liason here?”

Briley snorted. “You and about fifty others.
Oh hell, gents, take a seat. Actually, take mine.”

I stared anxiously at Briley who had pulled
out his chair and was gesturing to Grady to claim it. Grady did,
Lloyd found a vacant chair at another table and pulled it next to
Saree.

Briley grabbed my hand. “Let’s dance. It’s
our only chance to be alone.”

Izzy jumped up and pulled Saree to her feet.
The four of us raced to the dance floor, leaving three men at our
table with mouths gaping. I had to laugh though, when Grady
shrugged and lifted the champagne bottle to check and see if any
was left. Then I frowned even as I twirled in Briley’s arms. Four
of the men I considered possibles for Ptah Junior had shown up in
my vicinity in this last half hour.

The last man on my list was Lawrence Vassily.
Who’d just walked through the doors of the ballroom and was heading
directly toward Briley and me.

“Oh, crap.”

“I beg your pardon,” stated my sweet
boyfriend.

“The circle is complete. All the suspects are
in the room.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ptah. Every one of the guys we thought could
be our kidnapper is here. I wonder if I’m totally off base about
who’s who?”

Briley turned my head so my cheek rested on
his. “ You’re right about the fact that our guy seems to haunt the
Follies girls. Unfortunately, that opens up the field quite a
bit.”

“Gag. It does, doesn’t it? I hate the idea
that someone who appears to be a friend is creepy enough to go
snatching girls and trying to mate with them for whatever kooky
reason he seems to have to become a reincarnated god. But things
fit too well with all five of these clowns.”

Briley stayed silent for a moment as we
rocked, then spinned to the tune of "Girl of My Heart." Finally he
murmured, “Whoever is behind this - well, let me just scream to the
heavens that if they try to grab you they’ll be dealing with me.
And they don’t want to deal with me. I can’t lose you. In any era.
I love you beyond time.”

I snuggled against his chest. “I love you,
too.”

We silently moved to the music. I could stay
here in 1919 and be happy as long as I had Briley with me. I would
miss my Dad and Savanna horribly – I knew that – but perhaps since
Fiona Belle seemed to be the conductor, engineer and brakeman on
the time-travel train she could find a way to tell them I was all
right. Oh yeah, I’d have to ask her if she wouldn’t mind making a
pit stop at her apartment and picking up Lucy too.

A hand suddenly clamped onto Briley’s
shoulder.

“Briley? Sorry to interrupt your night, but
we have a small crisis at the theatre. The electricity is out and
everyone is frantic about tomorrow night’s show. You’re
needed.”

Briley started to escort me back to our
table, but stopped when he saw the men still camped there. Grady,
Lloyd and Prince Peter were engaged in animated conversation. As
long as it didn’t involve Egypt, gods, or abduction, I didn’t care
that the gentlemen seemed to be bonding. The Count was somewhere in
the back of Fontainbleu’s consoling a sopping-wet Eloise Jenkins.
Lawrence Vassily was at the next table dropping dollars into a
waiter’s hand for bringing him a Scotch and soda with no ice. The
suspects were all in sight and accounted for.

I turned to Briley. “Look, I’ll be fine. You
go on to the theatre and deal with the lighting problems. I’ll grab
a cab.”

Briley frowned at me. “I’m not leaving you
here by yourself.”

“I’m not exactly by myself.” I gestured
around the room. “There’s what? Two hundred people milling about
here?”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m not sure how
long this will take and I’d really prefer that you were securely
back at Mrs. Donovan’s.”

Izzy's voice chimed in.“We’re on our way out,
Briley. We’ll take her.”

We turned. Izzy and Saree stood behind us.
Saree handed me my Elvis bag. “Here. You left it at the table along
with all your broken-hearted suitors. I thought I’d rescue it
before one of those idiots starting searching for coins at the
bottom. Rich men are the worst, I swear. Never can seem to find the
nickels and dimes they need for tips. They’re always asking us
girls.”

Izzy shook his head. “No more of that. From
now on you’re with an employed, but poor, journalist who will not
bum spare change from his girl.”

Saree kissed her poor journalist then smiled
back at me. “We’re leaving. It’s just too crowded now. This became,
in one night, the latest Follies gin joint and dancehall. By
tomorrow there won’t be room enough to wiggle your toes.”

Briley tried to give Izzy a few dollars but
his friend refused. “We were going to take a taxi anyway. Put your
money away. Hey! That reminds me. I’m still on Clow’s payroll for
the next two weeks. I’ll give him a great scoop about
Fountainbleau’s being the Follies latest playground and see if
he’ll advance me some dough for the trip down to Memphis. Before he
starts screaming at me that I’m a traitor for moving.”

Briley reached his hand out to me. I took it
then curled up against him for an embrace. We stayed close for at
least a minute, until Saree poked me in my ribs.

“Will you guys cut it out? I thought we were
bad, but you two are topping Izzy and me for canoodling in
public.”

Briley kissed me lightly on the lips. “Take
care of her, you two.”

Saree pushed him in the direction of the exit
doors.“Go away, worry wart.”

I waved him good-bye. “Briley, I’m okay.
Honest. Give me a call when you’re done, okay? I won’t be asleep.
It’ll tick Edith off no end, but she’s always mad anyway since the
phone is never for her.”

“Forget the phone. I’ll come by. Mrs. Donovan
will let me upstairs even it’s the middle of the night.”

I grinned. “Even better.”

He left. Izzy, Saree and I stayed behind long
enough to pay the bill then headed outside to try and find a taxi.
A rainstorm had started up during the time we'd been dancing and
drinking and a cool front seemed to have accompanied it. I shivered
as I climbed inside, wondering how to get water stains out of
borrowed satin and lace.

Izzy gave the driver my address on East 12th,
then turned back to Saree and me to talk about wedding plans and
honeymoon trips. I hugged them goodbye in the shelter of the cab
and told them to stay put. No point in either of them getting
soaked. I was wet enough for all three of us and for a moment I
regretted my childish act in tossing an ice bucket over Eloise.
Cold water is not pleasant when it’s trickling down one’s front or
back. But since Eloise deserved the dousing for being a snooty
bigot, I dispensed with the guilt. I ran up the four flights of
stairs eager to take off my own sodden garment and put on warm
clothes.

My black pants and black turtleneck were dry
and felt wonderful against my skin after I’d toweled off and hung
Bettina’s dress up to dry. Tomorrow I’d ask Mrs. Donovan what took
out water stains and if she had no rememdy, I’d buy the girl
another dress to replace this one.