Timeless (26 page)

“The girl is with me.”

Lily jumped as a firm hand gripped her shoulder. She turned around and looked into the eyes of a stocky cigar-smoking stranger. He was handsome in a rugged way, unshaven with sleepy dark eyes, and wearing a three-piece wool suit with a homburg hat. He gave Lily a quick, reassuring grin.

“Oh, sir, I didn’t realize—all right, then. Sorry for the trouble, miss.” Astonished, Lily and Michele looked at the doorman as his tone immediately transformed from gruff to friendly.

Without a word, their rescuer ushered Lily inside, and Michele followed. The world of the Cotton Club engulfed them in its haze of smoke, jazz horns, husky voices, and dancing feet. Despite Prohibition, the alcohol was practically overflowing out of glasses. Michele was surprised to see that while nearly all the performers onstage were African American, the audience was made up only of Caucasians. Michele realized that while Americans might have evolved since 1910 to appreciate the gift of black music, African Americans were still unfortunately treated like second-class citizens in the 1920s, unable to patronize the very establishments they performed at.

The man led them to a booth close to the band, and when Michele looked up, she nearly fell over in shock at the sight of a young Louis Armstrong, the twentieth century’s foremost jazz trumpeter, playing with the band. So
that
was why it had sounded so familiar!

“I can’t believe I’m seeing Louis Armstrong live!” Michele said to Lily, marveling. But Lily didn’t seem too starstruck. Michele wondered if she was happening upon the beginning of his career.

“Look how close we are to Fletcher Henderson!” Lily exclaimed, gesturing to the pianist, who was playing with a furious zeal.

“So what’s your name, doll?” the man asked, pulling out a fresh cigar from his pocket.

“Li—Contessa Crawford,” Lily answered, her cheeks flushing. “Pleased to meet you. And you are …?”

“I’m Thomas Wolfe. I produce the shows here.” At that, Thomas looked over at Fletcher, who gave him a friendly nod. Lily was wide-eyed.

“Why did you help me?” she blurted out.

“Well, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for you. I reckon you are too young to be here, but I couldn’t stand to see a pretty dame like you turned away,” he replied, flashing her a toothy grin. Lily practically swooned, but something about his smile rubbed Michele the wrong way.

“Sleazeball,” she whispered to Lily.

After another couple of songs by the Fletcher Henderson Orchestra, the Cotton Club emcee announced the start of the singing contest. Michele and Lily watched attentively as all sorts of singers hit the stage, performing everything from gospel songs to the Broadway hits of the day. A beautiful, husky-voiced woman who reminded Michele of Billie Holiday sang a soulful ballad that brought half the house to tears, while a young man in a pin-striped suit and spats wowed the crowd with his acrobatic dancing in the middle of his song.

Lily was the second-to-last performer, and Michele saw a trace of hesitation cross her face as she took to the stage. But a second later it was gone, and she was singing and dancing her heart out, performing Gershwin’s “Fascinatin’ Rhythm” with amazing flair. Michele’s mouth hung open in awe as she watched. She had always known that Lily had an incredible voice, but it was stunning to hear a sixteen-year-old belt out a song with the bluesy soul of Ella Fitzgerald, scatting and hitting
impossibly high notes, while also managing to dance like Ginger Rogers. She had overpowering star quality.

When she hit the final note, the audience jumped to their feet, cheering and whistling. Lily skipped back to their booth, her face flushed with exhilaration.

“Whoa!” Michele cried. “You couldn’t have been any better. Congratulations!”

Lily smiled broadly at Michele and then turned to Thomas, who was lavishing compliments on her. “Marvelous, simply marvelous! How did you manage to sing like an angel while dancing like that?”

Lily giggled. “Oh, practice, you see.”

After one last song, by a so-so performer who had the misfortune of following Lily, the emcee announced that the judges would be deliberating on their choice, and he would declare the winner of the contest within the hour. Lily was a basket case as they waited, practically jumping out of her skin, while the orchestra did its best to hold the patrons’ attention.

At last, the emcee returned to the stage, and silence fell over the whole club, awaiting the results.

“And the winner of a weekly singing gig at the Cotton Club is … Contessa Crawford!”

The audience roared their approval, and Lily jumped to her feet ecstatically. She was soon swallowed by a crowd of new fans, as well as the contest judges and members of Fletcher Henderson’s orchestra. Michele watched in amazement as Lily shook hands with Louis Armstrong.
That’s my great-grandma!

Lily hurried back to the table, her eyes still dancing. “We have to go! It’s been over three hours. Our cab will be waiting.”

Once they were settled back in the Model T, Michele couldn’t help asking, “Do you think your parents will let you play the gigs? I mean, the Cotton Club
is
a speakeasy.”

“Goodness, no.” Lily laughed. “A young heiress traveling to Harlem to sing jazz? That’s unthinkable in my folks’ society. So they just won’t have to know. I’ll be a proper, good society Windsor girl by day, then jazz vamp Contessa Crawford by night.”

Michele shook her head, laughing. It seemed impossible that this free-spirited, independent-thinking girl could have given birth to someone as stuffy and rigid as Walter. And suddenly, she remembered one of her mother’s rare comments about her family:
“Grandmother told me that my father changed when he fell in love with my mom. Of course, he had always been much more reserved than Lily, which I suppose was his natural way of asserting his independence, being the only child of a larger-than-life personality. But my mother came from a very strict, snobbish New England family, and she had an overpowering personality herself, in a different way. Dad just fell in line with Mom’s thinking and beliefs. So while my grandmother found high society a bore, my parents let it rule their lives. Sometimes I think that if it hadn’t been for Mom, Henry Irving might have been accepted as my fiancé.”

Michele looked at Lily, feeling a wave of sadness that her great-grandmother’s spirit and spunk hadn’t rubbed off on her only child.

B
ack at the Plaza that night, the girls settled into their decadent fourteenth-floor room, paid for with Lily’s emergency “dough.” Their guest room had two marble fireplaces, ornate chandeliers, and a Fifth Avenue view overlooking Grand Army Plaza, which was a circular courtyard in front of the hotel featuring an equestrian statue of the Civil War’s General Sherman. As Michele looked around, she told herself that the next time she time traveled, she seriously
had
to remember to bring her digital camera. She was vaguely aware that she needed to get home, that she was long past her curfew—but the carefree exuberance of Lily, and Jazz Age New York, was beginning to rub
off on her. Michele found herself too keyed up to pay attention to the time.

Lily ordered room service, and the two girls celebrated over chicken and ham pie, petit fours, and sparkling cider.

“Tonight we really hit on all sixes,” Lily sighed happily. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I have to say, I feel pretty darn pleased with myself too.” Michele grinned.

“Now, I seem to recall making you a deal,” Lily said grandly. “How about you sing your songs for me now?”

Michele froze. She’d been full of confidence about her plan before, but she felt completely ridiculous singing for Lily now, after having just seen her bring the house down. And what if she hated the songs? “I don’t know—I’m a terrible singer—”

“Well, that’s why you write instead,” Lily said matter-of-factly. “Now, let me hear. I’m awfully curious to hear the type of music a spirit would bring me.”

“Okay. Here goes.” Michele turned to face the door so she wouldn’t have to look at Lily while she sang. She decided to start with “Bring the Colors Back.”

“Why, when you’re gone
The world’s gray on my own
You bring the colors back …”

she began.

When she finished, she nervously turned to see Lily smiling at her incredulously.

“Well, you were right about your singing—but the song is
rather swell!” Lily exclaimed. “It’s just the type I like to sing. I’d like to give it a jazzier blues flavor, though. Like this.

“Why, I feel numb
,
I’m a sky without a sun
Just take away the lack
And bring the colors back.”

Lily sang beautifully. “That does sound better! That sounds awesome!” Michele cried.

“Awesome?” Lily furrowed her brow in confusion.

“I mean, um, swell! It sounds swell,” Michele said with a laugh.

“Did you write it about a chap?” Lily asked curiously. “Is he handsome?”

Michele nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. Very.”

“I’ve never had those feelings about any person,” Lily confessed. “But that’s how I feel about music and performing. That’s where I find the … the colors in my world.” She smiled wryly. Michele smiled back, thrilled that Lily had identified with her lyrics.

“Let me hear the other one.” Lily looked at her expectantly.

“Okay. Try to imagine this one with a ragtime feel.” Michele sang “Chasing Time,” a little more sure of herself now, so she didn’t feel the need to sing with her back to Lily.

“Why, that’s aces!” Lily said excitedly. “The lyrics are quite intriguing, and just right for a vamp like me. Ragtime’s gotten passé, but there is a new similar style that’s gaining favor, that would suit this song. It’s called big band. Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah, I love it!” Michele said enthusiastically. “So … what do you say? Will you perform the songs?”

“I will,” Lily agreed. “And I must say, you are a rather good songwriter.”

Michele’s cheeks warmed with pride.
If only Mom could hear the great Lily Windsor praising me!

“I only did the lyrics,” she said modestly. “My cowriter composed the music.”

“Well, the lyrics are quite special,” Lily said. “Now, enjoy this, as it might not happen again. I don’t praise others very often, you see.”

“Thanks!” Michele beamed. “Thank you so much.”

Michele awoke the next morning in an unfamiliar, yet deliciously cozy, double bed. She glanced at the tall grandfather clock across the room and sat up with a start. It was ten o’clock.
Oh, my God. I fell asleep here. I’m going to be so dead when I get back to my time
. She did her best to push the thought away, focusing on Lily instead. She had to get Lily back home before her parents got suspicious and uncovered the truth. She hurried out of bed and gently shook Lily awake. “Lily, we have to go.”

Lily jumped out of bed and quickly scrubbed off the makeup she had been too tired to take off the night before. She changed into a conservative sweater-skirt combo and a wide-brim hat that covered half her face. Once Michele had assured her that she was perfectly presentable for her parents, the girls hurried down to the hotel lobby to check out.

When they returned to the Windsor Mansion, a tall, formally dressed butler greeted them at the door. “Good morning, Lily. You’re home just in time for brunch.”

“I’ve got to go,” Michele murmured apologetically to Lily.

“Oh, not just yet,” Lily insisted when they were out of the butler’s earshot. “Stay at least till after brunch.”

“Well … okay.” Michele followed her into the dining room, figuring that an hour probably wouldn’t make much difference at that point.

“Hello, Mother, Father,” Lily called out, going around to their chairs to give them each a kiss on the cheek before settling into her seat across from them. Michele slipped into the empty chair next to her.

“Good morning, dear,” Mr. Windsor answered, digging into his grapefruit while scanning the
New York Times
headlines. Even though it was a Saturday morning, he looked dressed for the office, in a short suit jacket, a double-breasted vest, and wide-leg trousers.