Haunting Melody (10 page)

My first chance to be on stage came with the
music "Tulip Time" sung by Delyle Alda and John Steele. I was - yes
- a dancing tulip. I didn’t have time to worry about my performance
because I was too busy making a quick change for the Shimmy Town
scene, then the minstrel show, where I did high kicks and slapped a
tambourine.

Act II started with a scene called Harem Life
that included just about every one in the Follies. I was a ‘lady of
the harem.’ I saw my fellow understudy Mary De Luca trotting by as
a ‘favorite wine’. We smiled at each other for support. When the
number finished, I hurried off to change for the huge Prohibition
scene. It seemed to me that for “just an understudy” I was on stage
an awful lot.

The Prohibition scene was a blast. Bert
Williams sang a funny song called "You Cannot Make Your Shimmy
Shake on Tea." I was ‘live scenery’ for this number, understudying
the girl playing “Coca-Cola”. I knew those steps well, so I let
myself enjoy Mr. Williams.

I remembered the television show about the
Follies where they’d talked about Bert Williams. His appeal as a
comedian; his timing and his strange dancing style. Not a strong
singer in the sense that John Steele, a classically trained tenor
was, Bert Williams nonetheless could sell a song faster than a
peanut vendor on Broadway fills bags for tourists. Even without
meeting the man I had thought it would have been so neat if he had
lived in an era where he wouldn’t be held back by the prejudices of
1919. I now found it beyond painful watching a black man in “black
face”. I knew he must find it excruciating. He was more trapped by
time than I.

I had to ditch these thoughts when I realized
it was time for the Circus Ballet. I was part of the corps de
ballet of clowns. Several other ladies were bareback riders. The
operative word was “bare.” I was relieved to be Bozo and not Lady
Godiva.

Then we lined up for the staircase. Irving
Berlin had composed his masterpiece in one night. "A Pretty Girl is
Like a Melody." John Steele sang it, we flowed straight-backed with
hips forward, and the audience went wild. I glanced into the wings
as I came halfway down those stairs. Briley was staring at me. I
nearly lost my balance and ended my career before it started.

The last number I was in was a patriotic
tribute to the soldiers in World War One. Entitled "We Made the
Doughnuts Over There," it featured the majority of the Follies
girls in Salvation Army uniforms singing our hearts out. We almost
didn’t make it through. The moment the audience saw John
Steele,they gave him a standing ovation and non-stop applause.

Then it was over. I had performed in the
opening night of the "13th Edition Ziegfeld Follies." My name
wouldn’t appear in the program. I’d never be able to tell anyone in
my own time period, but I’d remember this night for the rest of my
life. I already felt different, prettier, more self-assured.
Nice.

Music was blaring full blast at Francy’s. I
could hear saxophones wailing from halfway down the street. The
excited sounds of people partying were even louder than the
band.

Francy’s had crammed tables, celebrity photos
plastered onto every conceivable wall space, and elegantly clad
waiters expertly weaving through crowds to deliver their goods. And
a ton of smoke. New York changed its smoking laws in the 1990s,
restricting cigarettes and cigars from public places, including
bars and restaurants. There was no such curb on tobacco here. I
could barely see five feet in front of me through the haze.

I plowed through the blue mist and found a
back room that had been stripped of the tables and set up for
dancing. It’s hard to waltz with a cigarette in one’s hand, so the
ballroom air was fresher and the floor clearer. At least twenty
couples were dancing. Before I had a chance to further inspect my
surroundings, a hand grabbed mine.

“Want to dance, Melody? Or are you too pooped
from the show?”

Izzy Rubens grinned at me. I couldn’t help
but grin back. “Don’t you own any other clothes, Izzy?”

He was wearing the same brown outfit he’d
been in the day before.

“I forget. Hey, I’m clean. Swear. Wait a sec.
Are you saying you’ve seen me in this before?”

I laughed. “Now and again. And yes, dancing
with you will undoubtedly be an experience.”

The band was playing a waltz. I love to
waltz. I couldn’t help wishing I was waltzing with Briley but I was
going to enjoy the moment dancing anyway. I looked over Izzy’s
shoulder for the elusive Mr. McShan. He couldn’t miss the opening
night party. He’d been as much a part of the success of the 13th
Edition Follies as any one on the stage. I finally spotted him
dancing with Denise near a gilt-edged bar. I tried to ignore the
stab in my stomach. Stupid to be jealous. She was a widow with a
little son and she was probably still grieving for her late
husband. She had a little son. Of course, none of that made a
difference if Briley had the hots for the gorgeous, tiny
Frenchwoman. I felt certain he could cheer her up with a glance, a
smile or a soft kiss.

For the next two hours, one partner after
another swept me around the dance floor. Izzy was followed by the
Count and the Count was followed by three gentlemen whose names I
never did catch. Prince Peter Herzochevskia danced with me at least
six times. Grady Martel told me that he had to duck out early from
this particular bash, but still managed to get in a couple of
two-steps before he left. Briley hadn’t asked even once. I’d seen
him twirl everyone from Saree to Eloise Jenkins but he stayed away
from me as if by clear intent. I decided to ignore him. I finished
a fast fox trot with the Prince then we headed outside for a little
air.

Peter smiled. “You like being Follies girl,
yes?”

“Sure. I also design costumes, but it’s great
parading down that staircase.”

“You dee-sign?”

“I’ve been sketching since I can remember.
But, please, tell me about yourself, Prince Herzochevskia.”

“You may call me Peter.”

Oh I may, may I? Thank God. That last name
was a killer. And while the man was a hunk, he needed loosening up.
A good English vocabulary book was in order as well.

“Thanks. Sure. So, Peter. How long have you
lived in New York?”

“Not long. I escape Revolution.”

Of course. Russia. Nineteen-seventeen had
been a time of chaos and turmoil as the aristocracy had been
violently replaced by the Communists during the Bolshevik
Revolution. I figured I’d better steer clear of that subject.
Doubtless too painful.

“What do you do? I mean, besides being a
prince.”

I smiled. A hint of one flitted across his
handsome features.

“Beesniss. Imports and exports.”

“Oh.” I paused. “What do you import? Or
export?”

Our stilted conversation was interrupted when
Saree came flying by and grabbed my shoulder. “Come on. Toasts are
about to be drunk with champagne. And mounds of food just arrived
in the ballroom from the restaurant part of this place. It looks
super and I’m always famished after a show.”

Saree was hard to resist. So was the thought
of tons of great food. Toasting the Follies on opening night, an
opening night in which Melody Flynn had sauntered with the
confidence of a seasoned Follies performer down the famous
staircase was something I never thought would happen in my
lifetime. But then, this wasn’t really my lifetime. The thought
depressed me.

Saree was fighting her way through the now
intensely crowded ballroom. Her destination seemed to be the small
table where the Count stood with Briley, Izzy, Denise and Nevin.
Peter, His Highness, stayed behind me as we inched our way over,
but we lost him just before we reached the table.

I was immediately captured by Nevin. His hand
seemed glued to mine.

Briley inclined his head my way. “Melody.
Enjoying the party?”

Briley’s tone seemed to suggest he hoped I
wasn’t. I disappointed him. “I’m having a wonderful time. Flo
doesn’t just put on a great musical, he throws one great
shebang.”

“Ee does, does he not. I am so threeled to be
included. Everyone has been so kind. I have danced until my feet,
they are sore.” Denise was laughing up at Briley. As usual she
looked adorable. Her shining black bobbed hair was perfectly in
place even after dancing for hours. Just once I’d like my hair to
stay anywhere near my head. As curly as it is and as humid as
Francy’s had become with the swell of human bodies moving, I was
sure I resembled a Brillo pad after a big scouring.

Briley addressed the pretty Frenchwoman.
“You’re a good dancer, Denise. I’m surprised Flo hasn’t tried to
get you onstage.”

She giggled. “No, no. I do not perform la
danse. I would be too, what is the word? Shy? Now, Mademoiselle
Melodee, she is both the bon dancer on the stage and here on the
floor.”

Briley threw a quick glance my way. “Yes,
I’ve noticed she hasn’t stopped all evening. Is there anyone you’ve
missed on your little tour around the ballroom?”

Ooh, that was snide. Fine. I’d reply in
kind.

I fluttered my lashes and gave him my best
imitation of a Southern Belle. “Why, Mr. McShan. I do believe the
only man who hasn’t filled my dance card is lil’ ol you. How evah
did that happen? Are you too scared to waltz with me?”

Briley shot me a murderous look, then stomped
off towards the men’s room. I bit my lip then turned to Denise and
Saree. “What did I do to him to make him dislike me so much?”

Saree and Denise both stared at me in
astonishment. Saree hit me on my shoulder with her cigarette
holder. Fortunately there was no cigarette currently occupying the
space.

“Melody, are you spoony? Briley has talked of
nothing but you to both of us since you arrived backstage the other
day. This is a man who’s been surrounded by beautiful women on a
daily basis for the last few years and he ignores them. He talks to
me because I have a new beau every other week and I don’t chase
him, and he adores Denise, but that’s different. He’s intrigued by
you and he doesn’t like it one bit.”

My jaw dropped. “He’s intrigued by me? Well,
why can’t he show it?”

Denise took my hand. Nevin was still clinging
to the other while his free hand stuffed cheese bits into his
mouth. “Melodee. Briley sees much pain ze last few years. His mama
and papa - they die. His brother and my husband his friend is lost.
Now we ‘ave this dead girl from my shop. Briley does not want to
lose another person in his life.”

I was silent. She was right. I nodded.“I do
understand that. I guess since I have no idea what my future is
going to be here so maybe it’s just as well I keep my distance. He
doesn’t need to be hurt anymore than he already is, does he?”

Saree looked sharply at me. “What do you
mean? About your future here? Flo loves you. Ned Wayburn loves you.
I’ve never seen either of them hop so fast to hire someone.
Sweetie, you can make headliner if you stay with the Follies.”

If I stay. Was there a time limit was for
traveling by means of musical dolls, brandy and sheet music. Would
I suddenly disappear in the middle of the next Irving Berlin tune?
Or worse - if, as I was beginning to suspect, I myself was the
ghost haunting Apartment 413, I’d be vanishing by a different
means. “A slimy sonovabitch.” I shivered.

My future was a mystery. I’d best leave
Briley McShan alone. I turned my attention back to Saree but she
was listening as various toasts were being shouted from every
table. Just as well. I didn’t want to have to lie more than was
necessary.

Saree added her own toast. “Here’s to the
best Follies ever!”

I lifted my glass and clinked it against
hers, then set it on the nearest table and began searching for a
soda. My mouth was very dry.

A hand grabbed mine. Before I even knew what
was happening I was out on the dance floor again. The band had
started a tango and I was being partnered by Briley McShan. He
pulled me close then began to 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.