Haunting Melody Page 4

  I answered, “Been taking classes down in Memphis since I was four.”

  Briley handed me my Elvis carryall. “By the way, you left this in the dressing room. I knew it was yours because no one else would carry such a ridiculous piece of luggage. Perhaps that’s why your imaginary thief didn’t steal it?”

  I silently took the bag, grateful he hadn’t peeked in and seen some of the wonders of the next century, like my ATM card with the dates clearly printed as to start and expiration. And my new cell with the nine-gazillion apps. I wondered if roaming charges could be levied due to time travel?

  Briley continued his little speech. “So, you’re in the show. Congratulations. And just what report will you give Steve Clow concerning today’s audition? That jealousy exists? Perhaps you can spice it up in the usual Brevities fashion. Lie. Say that hair-pulling and eye-scratching were part of the day’s events as well.”

  I marched up to Briley until I was inches from his face. For once I was glad I was six feet tall. I needed my height to feel less intimidated by him.

  “Look, McShan. You obviously have one major thick skull. Let me emphasize this. I never even heard of Mr. Clow until you mentioned his name. And I don’t report my activities to anyone. Now, get off my case.”

  An expression of confusion crossed Briley’s face. “Case? What case? Since you supposedly were robbed, I don’t see any luggage except for this absurd looking purse with some man’s picture painted on it. Which I’m in no way sitting on.”

  “Lorda mercy, it’s just an expression! From down south. It means 'quit botherin’ me about stupid stuff.' And that’s not ‘some man’. That’s Elvis!”

  “Who in tarnation is Elvis? Some crazy friend of yours?”

  “Elvis is the best singer of the 20th century.”

  Saree intervened before a full-scale war erupted between the stagehand and me.

  “Stop it, you two. Briley, I believe Melody when she says she’s not working for Clow. Now, the girl’s just been through a very long audition and she looked kind of sick earlier. She needs some food and some rest.”

  Briley nodded. “I agree with the food and rest. That faint was no fake.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him in an admittedly childish gesture. But he was being aggravating, suspicious, and totally inhospitable. He and I stared at each like cats engaged in a hissing battle. Again, Saree intervened. “Mel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are you staying? Do you have a room?”

  I went pale. “Actually, no. I thought I’d be able to just wing it when I arrived. Dumb.”

  Briley was shaking his head. He looked as though he was about to start cross-examining me again when Saree took charge. “Perfect. I have a friend who just left for Atlantic City for a job at the Savoy. Her room’s available. She told me she’d love to have someone stay there while she’s gone so it’ll be waiting for her when she gets back. She even left a lot of clothes and she’s a doll - she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed some. She’s not quite as tall as you – who is? But they’ll probably fit you anyway. Briley?”

  “Yes, Miss-Butting-Into-Other-People’s-Business?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “I have to go. I have a date. Could you take Melody to Bettina Markams’s place? Remember where? We picked Bette up there for The Count’s last party.” She swept on without awaiting Briley’s response. “Mel. See you tomorrow. Now go and get some sleep. Flo’s reputation for very long rehearsals is true. I’m sure tomorrow’s will be a killer. ‘Specially since he’s adding you and that other girl in. Sorry I can’t stay and help. Bye-dee-bye.”

  Saree took off in a flurry of waves and air kisses. Briley and I were left alone in the wings. I took a deep breath and faced him with a too-bright smile on my face.

  “So, where is this apartment?”

  “Near Washington Square Park.”

  “I live there! I mean, I’ve dreamed of living there.”

  Briley was quick to respond to this comment. “No. You said live there and you meant exactly that. Just when did you arrive?”

  I smiled sweetly. “I told you. Today - not long before I got backstage.”

  Briley scowled. “Why is it I have trouble believing you? If you are in some kind of trouble, everyone in this company will eventually be involved. Please tell me.”

  I stiffened. “I’m not in any kind of trouble. Now, I’m ready to see this apartment. How do we get there?”

  For a moment I thought Briley would continue to quiz me but he simply answered, “Subway train or streetcar.”

  “Streetcar? Neat.” I frowned. “Oh crap. I mean, oh my. I just realized I have a serious problem. I don’t have any money. How am I going to pay for the room? Think a landlord would give me credit until my first paycheck from Mr. Ziegfeld?”

  Briley’s left eyebrow lifted. “I must be wrong. You can’t be a spy. No one is that inept. The day a landlord takes credit in Manhattan is the day a rocket flies to the moon. Since you’re now part of the Ziegfeld family, I’ll pay for the room. Anyone with as many problems as you seem to have obviously doesn’t need to be wandering the streets.”

  I looked up at him. He was suddenly being so nice I almost told him rockets flying to the moon were no biggie any more. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  “Don’t worry about it I’m not such a cad that I would bother a lady for a few dollars of her hard-earned pay. Consider this a gift.”

  I felt horrible. Briley didn’t like me and now was offering charity. So, naturally I got pissy. “No, thank you. I’m not such a gold-digger that I would take money from a man I don’t know. Or from one I do know, for that matter. What do you think I am?”

  Briley looked deeply into my eyes. “Good question, Miss Flynn.”

  “If we’re going to constantly argue, could you at least call me Melody or Mel?”

  He paused then smiled. My pulse quickened.

  “I imagine that wouldn’t kill me. Call me Briley.

  He held out his arm for me to take then whistled. Duffy scampered out from the darkness backstage.

  “Come on D.G. And Melody. Manhattan awaits.”

  He deliberately gave the dog first billing. I suppose he wanted me to realize that I was just an afterthought and continue to be annoyed with him. Fine. Better that way. He could simply escort me to the rooming house and neither of us would concern ourselves about the other again.

  A thought that hurt - a lot.

  Chapter 6

  I didn’t miss a step as we rounded the corner of E. 12th St. even when Briley motioned to the building and escorted me up the front stoop. Duffy ran on ahead, barking, tail wagging maniacally. I knew this brownstone quite well. It was old, gothic in architectural design, and remarkably unchanged from four o’clock this morning, when I’d drunk tea with Fiona Belle Donovan Winthorp on the third floor.

  Instead of a tiny lobby, with fifteen or so mailboxes, a creaky elevator, and a large radiator pressed into the wall, the 1919 version seemed more like a small hotel. There was even a front desk counter with a ledger thingee on it. Behind the desk stood an extremely short lady with intense black eyes and dyed black hair. Knitting needles were stuck into the middle of the bun made of her hair. They were perilously close to falling out, as was the bun. She was dressed in black, except for a white apron around her round middle. Stains that must have come from a pot of spaghetti created bright splashes of artwork all over the apron. She grinned at Briley and me with the whitest, prettiest teeth this side of a Crest commercial. She waved chubby fingers in the air toward Briley and me. She was a dead ringer for Fiona Belle Donovan Winthorp.

  “Well, Faith and Mr. Muldoon! Just look at ya, there. You’re a tall one. Red hair - a good Irish lass. Come about Bettina’s room? ‘a course ya did. And ya brought along such a fine-looking laddie. I’ve met ya before, haven’t I? And what a darlin’ puppy.”

  Briley gifted the lady with a genuine smile. I stood there with my mouth hanging open.

 
She turned to me. “Don’t gawk, girl. It’s not pretty.”

  Déjà vu all over again. Fiona Belle’s exact words at four a.m.

  Briley made the formal introductions. “Hello, Mrs. Donovan. I’m Briley McShan. I was here about a month ago with Saree Goldman. Do you remember? She’s a good friend of Bettina Markham. She sent me with Miss Flynn today to ask whether she could stay in Bette’s room while she’s in Atlantic City. Melody doesn’t have a place to live yet and is very new to New York.”

  “But a’ course, darlin’.”

  The Irish lilt in her voice was growing thicker with every phrase. She’d be performing selections from Riverdance soon. That lilt had been non-existent hours ago. A century ago.

  “Sure as yer born, lad, I remember Saree. Fine lass. I’m so thrilled that this puir charmin’ dear will have a place to stay in the city. T’will help Bettina with the rent money. Faith, she was goin’ to pay me while she was gone so she wouldna lose the room. I was feelin’ terrible for her. What did ya say yer name was, darlin’?”

  “Melody Flynn, Mrs. Uh, Donovan.” How in holy relativity had the old witch landed in 1919? Or perhaps she’d never left. Perhaps I’d been caught in a time warp since first knocking on the door of Apartment 314 this morning.

  I tried a bit of irony. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m so grateful for having the chance to live here. It’s already home to me. And it’s like I met you - about a hundred years ago.”

  She shook my hand so fiercely I worried about breaking my wrist then she thrust a pen at me and asked me to sign the register. I dipped the darn thing into the inkwell, hoping I wouldn’t leave giant Rohrshock splotches all over the page.

  Briley was quietly explaining the circumstances of my recent arrival as he knew it, including my lie about the mugging incident and the fact that I was now duly employed at the New Amsterdam Theater for the run of the 13th Edition Ziegfeld Follies. I almost told him not to bother. Mrs. Donovan doubtless already knew since she’d engineered my travel arrangements to this time period.

  Briley paid for the room while Mrs. Donovan dug under the counter for a key. Duffy ran around in circles through the lobby, sniffing plants and pawing tall cigarette stands.

  “Okey dokey. I’ll show ya to yer room now. Ya come too, Briley. Bring the pup. I dearly do love dogs.”

  True. She’d dognapped mine just this morning. I hoped her clone, time-traveling buddy or broomstick-riding self was taking care of Lucy in the future. I missed my dog. A lot. As that thought crossed my mind, Mrs. Donovan closed the elevator door, turned and winked at me. At least, it looked like a wink. Could be she had dirt in her eye. I decided not to respond in case it was the latter. Maybe this was Fiona Belle’s grandmother from Kilkarney County or something and she honestly knew nothing about my true circumstances.

  The minute our quartet stepped out of the elevator I turned to the left without a break in stride. Even the room number was same. #413.

  Mrs. Donovan gave me the key and wished me well, then whirled around and was gone almost before I could say thank you. I guessed she wasn’t concerned about the propriety of having Briley in my room. A Briley who looked extremely uncomfortable finding himself alone in what was essentially a bedroom with Melody Flynn, future girl.

  He held out his hand to shake mine. I took that as an obvious goodbye.

  “Well. Melody. This looks nice. Well. So I suppose I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow? Remember you need to go early for your costume fittings.”

  “Yes, I remember. Thanks for everything you’ve done, Briley. I appreciate it.”

  I reached down and gave Duffy a big hug. Two paws gripped my shoulders while a tongue lovingly slimed my face. Briley tried to pull the dog away, but it was taking some work.

  “Melody, I almost forgot. Here’s some money for transportation and for food. Should last for a week or so, until the theatre pays you. If you need more, just ask me tomorrow.”

  I grimly took the coins, hating feeling beholden to anyone, much less someone who didn’t trust me and probably didn’t even like me.

  “Thanks.”

  I turned away. I wanted to cry. The day had caught up with me. But I needed to cry alone.

  “Melody?”

  “Yes?”

  He stopped for a second then said, “Nothing. I’ll see you at the theatre tomorrow?”

  He started to leave, then turned back around. Duffy sat with his head tilted and ears cocked, listening to every word uttered by both his master and his new friend.

  “Look, are you going to be okay here? You’re really a stranger here and you weren’t exactly hale, hearty and raring to go when you rather magically appeared backstage.”

  What was this? Concern?

  “I’ll be fine. Really. I’ve had a good meal now thanks to you (we’d eaten at a diner on the way to the rooming house) and Mrs. Donovan seems more than capable of helping in an emergency. I’m not going to faint again, so don’t worry.”

  “Well. Good. Swell. Well, I, uh, guess I’d better get going.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  I extended my hand. He was being nice. Too nice. I wanted to keep him in that state, but was afraid if he lingered I’d say or do something incredibly stupid and make him again question who I was and where I came from. I didn’t want a repeat of the spy accusations.

  He touched my hand once, then quickly turned away. Duffy gave me another doggie slime-kiss then trotted behind Briley.

  I glanced around the room. My apartment. A brass bed had been shoved in the corner where I normally keep my drawing board. There was a huge white comforter neatly folded at the end of the bed for use if the night turned chilly. A lamp with a sturdy black base and faded yellow shade was perched on top of an ugly, but useful brown lacquered table. I’d been told there was a community bath I could share with five other girls from the fourth floor. The community pay phone was next to the bathroom as well. No private phone in the room. Not that I had anyone to call in 1919 anyway. Reaching out and touching extended only so far.

  I began to cry. I’d held up okay so far but the fear I’d been shoving back was coming out like a geyser. My dad was in Memphis and he had a tendency to call once a week. How could I send word I was alive and well but in another time? I’d never felt so alone as I had in that moment. I sobbed until I’d used up the entire travel pack of tissues I always kept stuffed into my Elvis bag, then literally lifted my chin and stiffened my lip. Enough self-pity for one day. I continued the tour.

  The window seat was in the same place. The Chinese take-out joint wasn’t visible, but since it probably wouldn’t exist for at least sixty years or more, I didn’t expect any signs announcing the Kung Pao special. I spotted a bookstore down near the end of the block and knew it now stood where nearly a century later Manny’s, a retro coffee bar, would serve lattes and cappuccinos to chic New Yorkers. Manny’s was where Savanna and I were supposed to meet for brunch Sunday.

  There was one lone poster on the wall tempting the viewer to come to Atlantic City and behold the wonders of the Million Dollar Pier, which boasted a troupe called the Dancing Dolls. The date was 1910. I immediately fell in love with it. I wondered if there was a way I could transport it to the future. If I could give it to Savanna as a Christmas present next year, she’d probably even lend me the white cashmere sweater I’d coveted for months. Savanna adored campy old things. The poster - heck, the whole room - definitely qualified. I wished she were sharing this time-travel adventure with me. Savanna would be loving every minute. She’d have Flo Ziegfeld firmly wrapped around her little finger on first meeting. Doubtless Briley McShan as well.

  The only other object of interest in #413 was an upright piano that had obviously seen better years. I wandered over, sat down on the stool, and picked out a G chord. I pulled out the sheet music of "A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody" from my bag. In the corner, at the top, still clearly visible, was the cranberry stain from this morning’s breakfast with Fiona Belle Donovan Winthorp.
/>   Chapter 7

  Dress rehearsal. I was terrified. Everyone was terrified.

  I had more right to be terrified. The other girls hadn’t traveled through time two days ago. They weren’t trying to learn the customs of an era as well as seven dance routines in two days. Then I didn’t have time to be terrified, because I was busy practicing steps offstage in the wings. I was gliding down the stairs. I was in the wings with a terrified Mary De Luca trying to figure out what we were supposed to be doing in each number in case some Follies dancer disappeared and one or the other of us were thrown in to sub. I was onstage in the Prohibition number trying to learn how to do a shimmy.

  Nine hours later, Wayburn and Ziegfeld called time out for dinner. I hauled it toward the dressing room.

  Florenz Ziegfeld and a small man with dark hair were standing in the wings, talking. I had to screech to a halt to avoid crashing into them.

  Flo sounded tense. “I’d love one really brilliant number for that moment when the girls come gliding down that staircase. I need something there. A solo for John Steele. Something lovely but catchy.”

  I tried to sneak past without interrupting. I was not successful. Flo Ziegfeld was many things. Brilliant, flirtatious, demanding, talented and temperamental. But always polite- especially to his chorines.

  “It’s Melody, isn’t it? The new understudy?”

  I nodded, awed and amazed that the great man knew my name.

  “Yes, sir.” I responded.

  “Skip the sir, dear, it’s Flo. Melody, I’d like you to meet Mr. Irving Berlin, one of the composers for this year’s Follies. He wrote the 'You’d be Surprised' number that Eddie Cantor sings so well. Irving, this is Melody –– I’m so sorry, young lady, I don’t recall your last name.”

  “Flynn. Melody Flynn.”

  I could barely gasp out my name. Shaking my hand was one of America’s greatest songwriters ever. Irving Berlin. 'One of the composers for this year.' Oh-kay.