Haunting Melody Read online

  Berlin smiled at me. I tried not to look stupid.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Flynn. Melody.”

  Ziegfeld smiled broadly. “Melody is quite new to the company. She dropped in for an understudies call and I was immediately taken with her. Ned and I threw her into rehearsals so quickly I’m sure her head is spinning as fast as her feet.” He patted my hand. “You’ve been doing a very nice job. Now, don’t let it scare you if we go into overtime rehearsing. I’ve been known to torment my players with extremely long sessions. You simply need to rest whenever you have a chance.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Ziegfeld. Uh, Flo. Very nice meeting you, Mr. Berlin. I love your music.”

  “Thank you, Melody. I appreciate your saying so.”

  I literally staggered down towards the dressing room I was sharing with Saree and nine others. Behind me, I could hear Ziegfeld and Irving Berlin still talking.

  “Pretty girl, isn’t she, Irving?’

  “Indeed. Pretty name as well. Let me get on that staircase number, Flo. I’ll have something ready for you as soon as I can.”

  I was so stunned getting to meet Irving Berlin that I was barely watching where I was going. Suddenly, a flying object flung itself across my legs and nearly tumbled me to the floor in a tackle worthy of a pro linebacker. My Elvis bag, now carrying dance shoes as well as my worldly goods from the future, hit the floor sending sheet music, make-up, cell and wallet in all directions. I looked down, prepared to battle.

  “Allo, Mel-oh-dee.”

  The toddler clinging to me clearly wanted to be picked up. I did so. A second later I heard a voice calling in a strong French accent, “Nevin! Nevin Michel Dupre. Ou est tu, ma petit?”

  The young woman scurrying down the hall was obviously looking for the scamp who should have been given a fifteen-yard penalty for clipping.

  “Je reviens, Mademoiselle!. Nevin was helping me put ze costumes away. I look up. He is disappeared. Quite precocious, non?”

  Briley appeared like some phantom on her last words. “Melody. I’d like you to meet Denise Dupre and her son Nevin. From France.”

  He spoke with such affection and respect in his voice I had to ignore a twinge of jealousy. This was the woman I’d seen him talking with in the wings during my audition the day before.

  Denise Dupre was a very attractive brunette in her mid- twenties. Her hair was stylishly bobbed and curly, her brown eyes heavily but naturally lashed, and her tiny figure encased in a no frills shirtwaist black dress. I recognized the style. Non-existent. Every wardrobe mistress since Year One has worn that get-up. Her son Nevin was a male miniature of his mom, but where Denise’s eyes hinted at sadness, Nevin’s sparkled with mischief and amused perception of his surroundings.

  Denise shook my hand. “Allo, Melody. Nice to meet you. I see you during auditions and I want to tell you I admire those trousers. C’est tres chic, non? I ‘ave seen some of the women in Paris in similar fashion.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Dupre. Nice to meet you too. And thanks for the compliment. Everyone I’ve run into here seems to think my pants are just weird. Trust someone dealing with costumes to spot a new look and approve. Speaking of which, I like your hair bob.”

  “Merci, beaucoup.”

  I smiled at her. “How long have y’all been in New York?”

  “Six months. We have been most fortunate. Briley has found for me the post as wardrobe mistress here at zee Follies. Eet is tres bon.”

  Briley was smiling with sincere fondness at the pair. “As well as being an excellent seamstress, Denise happens to also be a superb chef. In fact, she’s helping with the party Lloyd and Lili Ellingsford are throwing tonight. She makes a mean veal dish I can’t pronounce and a mousse de chocolate that haunts one’s dreams.”

  I couldn’t help wonder if this gorgeous woman would end up as my ghost. She definitely qualified as exotic looking. I hoped not. My ghost had exhibited signs of terror I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I liked Denise and her little boy. Good news - she wasn’t a Follies chorine and Fiona Belle seemed pretty adamant about that little detail so I felt a sudden assurance that she was not the lady haunting Apartment 413.

  I grinned. “I can whip up a peach cobbler and fry a chicken, but other than that, I’m a failure in the kitchen.”

  A snort from Briley. “Not surprised. Excuse me, ladies, I need a break and I'm taking it now."

  Denise smiled at me as we watched Briley’s tall form stalk towards the exit, then she tried to pull her child away. He seemed permanently attached to my leg.

  “Let’s leave la belle Melodee to her business. Come help Maman, oui?”

  The child shook his head. “Non. Wanna stay with Mel.”

  Denise looked at me with desperate hope. “I am so sorree. Nevin ees a stubborn one. Especial when ee meets someone ee, how you say? Takes to?”

  I smiled. I couldn’t imagine learning a new language while trying to raise a son and work backstage with a bunch of egocentric chorines. “It’s fine. I was about to go outside and rest in the alley until the next onslaught from Mr. Ziegfeld. If Nevin wants to come, I’d love the company.”

  If lighted halos were given out for relieving tired mothers of their harridan-like offspring, I’d be glowing like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Denise acted as though she was going to volunteer to be my slave for the rest of my life. As it was, she scooped up my scattered belongings and was polite enough not to ask embarrassing questions about the strange objects that had tumbled from my bag.

  As I gently disengaged the little boy from my chest, placed his feet on the ground, and took him by his tiny hand, I wondered how in blazes the little urchin had known my name when he’d first come running down the hall. Nevin tugged at my hand the entire way to the alley. He’d probably grow up to marry Fiona Belle Donovan and they’d plot my life together.

  Chapter 8

  Briley McShan was sitting on the back stoop sipping a cup of coffee. Nevin Dupre marched right up to him and poked a tiny finger into his broad chest.

  “Briley! Licorice, si vous plait?”

  Briley smiled wickedly. It was apparent he and little Dupre were well acquainted. Sure enough, a hand reached into a pocket and licorice twists magically appeared. He held them out to Nevin who crammed them into his mouth. Briley then graciously offered me half a ham and Swiss cheese sandwich. I accepted. Hours of dancing and posing make a girl hungry.

  Briley pointed toward Nevin. “I see you found a friend.”

  “Actually, he found me. Attached himself to me after trying to knock me down. Feisty little imp, isn’t he?”

  Briley offered Nevin another licorice stick then turned to me.and grinned. “He’s a parasite, but ultimately lovable.” He moved over to give me space to sit next to him. I did.

  Nevin chewed his licorice and danced over and around the various boxes that littered back stage alley. He ignored both of us.

  “So, Melody. How’s rehearsal going? From a new dancer’s point of view?”

  “In a word? Ouch.”

  Briley laughed. “Weren’t quite ready for a Ziegfeld marathon?”

  “I thought I was in shape, but when you’re holding poses forever, doing hundreds of high kicks, or parading down stairs every few minutes you realize you’re in dire need of serious training. Is Flo always like this?”

  “Yep. The last show I worked for him, he had rehearsals that went on for over thirty straight hours. Chorus girls were fainting all over the stage. At least most of my work is done. Well, it was until one of the gels fell off a light last night. And today one of the instruments failed. At any rate, count your blessings. You’ve only been here today – what? Nine hours?” A twinkle appeared in his eyes. “That’s what you get for spying. You should have asked for an easier assignment.”

  “What’s with this spy thing anyway? Mind you, I’m not, but if I were, what’s the big deal? A cheesy gossip rag? Who really cares?”

  A shadow fell over Briley’s face, darker than an eclipse. “I kind of take thi
ngs personally. My older brother was a soldier in the war. He was wounded thanks to a German spy who infiltrated the unit he was with. I was a medic and was there in the Paris hospital the day he was brought in. It was . . . horrible. The war is over but the Follies company is like my family. I don’t like Steve Clow’s attempts to destroy them. Last year he did a piece on Saree that nearly got her arrested for robbery. All lies but it didn’t matter to the police who interrogated her nightly after the shows while she choked back tears. Anyway, you’re bound to meet Izzy Rubenovitch, now Rubens, one of Clow’s reporters. We grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood. Izzy was a war correspondent - a good one - then he came back to America and got the job with Clow. I keep wanting to sock him in the jaw when I see him. Although, at least he doesn’t lie about his stories.”

  “Well, I don’t like sneaks and spies either. Especially those who try to destroy the reputations of good people. It’s wrong.”

  We both grew quiet, watching Nevin dance and bow to an imaginary crowd.

  “Briley? You said you've worked before with Ziegfeld?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I want to finish college someday and I need the money so I'm saving up. I’ve done work for other theatres but Ziegfeld’s shows are the best.”

  “What are you planning on majoring in? Medicine?"

  I guess people had majors in the early 20th Century? I tensed.

  He answered like it was nothing startling. “Not medicine. I think I saw too much blood and gore in that hospital to want to see more ever again. Besides, I'm really interested in engineering. I love building and putting things together.”

  I smiled. “Which you’re doing here.”

  “Hopefully civil engineering won’t be quite as crazy. I love it here but the theatrical temperament sometimes gets to be a bit too much and I long for the peace and quiet of buildings.” He paused. “If the war had continued I was going to try and join the 12th Engineers out of St. Louis.”

  “Well, at least it stopped before you had to deal with all that.”

  “My brother wasn’t so lucky. But that’s another story. I’m just glad it’s over and no one else is getting killed or maimed or - lost. I only pray that it really was the war to end all wars.”

  No way would I tell him that another world war would devastate the earth in less than a quarter century. Or that in the 1960’s there would be young men dying in a “police action” in a tiny Asian country. That insane fanatics would later blow up buildings in this wonderful city by flying planes into them. Buildings that hadn’t been imagined in 1919 - even by Briley. That innocent people would die who hadn’t been born yet.

  I stood, walked over to an overflowing trash receptacle in the alley then deposited the remains of my sandwich. My appetite was gone. I returned to the stoop and sat down.

  “You said your brother was wounded?”

  His face looked grim. “I lost him after the war.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “He was shot in the head.”

  I gasped.

  “It was superficial and he recovered - physically. But his memory was gone. He was sent to a hospital near Camp Gordon, Tennessee. He was there about a month when he just wandered off. No one has yet found him. I even took a train down to the Camp to see if I could locate him. I spent two months last summer searching all over Tennessee but there was no trace of his whereabouts. He’s literally lost.”

  I took Briley’s hand and forced him to look at me. “Briley. If he’s physically okay, he may still be down in Tennessee. I have family there. Maybe they could help?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt there’s much chance, but sure, if you want to tell them about Frank, it’s worth a try.”

  “Okay.”

  We lapsed into silence again. I was wondering how to extract my foot from my mouth and make him forget I just offered assistance in finding his brother. How in blazes was I to get word to my Dad or my cousins in Memphis to search for a lost World War I veteran last seen in Camp Gordon, Tennessee in 1919?”

  Nevin suddenly plopped himself in my lap. “Mel-o-dee?”

  “Yes, Nevin Michel?”

  “Je suis Nevin. Non Michel. I am not that big now.”

  I lifted my brows and tried not to laugh. “So, what do you want, petit Nevin?”

  “Au-to-graph s’il vous plait?”

  I laughed. Briley chuckled.

  “How did you ever hear about autographs? And why would you want mine?”

  “Les femmes. They write names. I’ve seen them. I like you. Tu tres jolie! Pretty!”

  Briley almost fell off the step he was laughing so hard. “We have the makings of a young rake here.”

  “Oh yeah! Definitely a charmer.”

  Nevin started digging through my bag before I could stop him. He pulled out a pen and the sheet music for "A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody. I signed, “To Nevin, My best beau. Love, Melody. June 1919.”

  You’d have thought I’d just given him an ice-cream truck of his very own. He began dancing up and down the stairs doing high kicks. I held my breath and hoped that Briley wouldn’t notice the title, composer and date of the music Nevin held in his hand. That could take some explaining. I had the evil thought that I should take it to Mr. Berlin and tell him to save his energy and get some sleep tonight, since the song was already written.

  “Hot diggety! My buddy, Briley McShan and a very lovely doll. This is my lucky day!” A man emerged from the entrance of the alleyway, whistling "Alexander’s Ragtime Band" in a non-existent key.

  If the fashion police had existed in 1919, this guy would have made the Most Wanted for a Felony list. His brown suit looked as though it had been fished out of the bottom of a Goodwill bin and his brown fedora reminded me of the Indiana Jones hat I’d worn until Lucy ate half of it. Curly black hair peeked out from under the hat.

  He was grinning idiotically at me. I grinned back.

  “Let me introduce myself. Izzy Rubens, reporter and lover of beautiful women. Especially Ziegfeld women. I keep asking Flo for discards, but he just ignores me.”

  “I’m Melody Flynn. Wait. Your name sounds familiar. Reporter? Are you the infamous muckraker who so annoys Briley?”

  Mr. Rubens bowed. “Guilty. You must be the new girl Briley suspected of being in cahoots with me. I like the sound of that. Care to be in cahoots with me? Or in a hammock or anywhere else on the planet?”

  Briley sat stone-faced watching Izzy flirt with me.

  I couldn’t help laughing. Izzy might be digging up dirt on everyone from Ziegfeld to the janitor of the New Amsterdam Theatre, but he was funny and charming in an impish way.

  “Ah. A lovely laugh to go with a lovely lady.”

  Briley stood up and brushed a few crumbs off his trousers. “Izzy. I’d say it’s good to see you, but that would slide into the realm of falsehoods, so I won’t.”

  “And here I was going to compliment you for being sharp enough to entertain a cute little doll.”

  I stood up and wrinkled my nose at the reporter. “If you’re referring to the child there, he doesn’t exactly qualify as a doll, although he’s definitely little and cute. If you’re referring to me, let me point out that I’m six-feet tall, independent and am neither little or a doll. I, Mr. Rubens, am a bona fide Ziegfeld Girl.”

  Izzy chortled.

  Briley applauded. “Watch out for this one, Izzy. She’s got an answer for every question. Melody, believe it or not, Izzy was a decent guy back when he was plain Isaac Rubenovitch from Brooklyn. How he ended up with Clow, I’ll never understand.”

  Izzy winked at me. “Briley doesn’t comprehend finance. As in; Clow pays well, and the New York World does not. But now Briley calls me a sneak.”

  I smiled at Mr. Rubens. “You’re in good company. Mr. McShan had that honor reserved for me until he finally realized that I only came here two days ago and didn’t know anyone in the big bad city. Plus, I’ve been kept so busy today spinnin’ around the stage a
nd doing step aerobics on those stairs, how could I have passed any dirt on to anyone? Email Clow during lunch from my cell?”

  Both men stared at me.

  “Aerobics? Email? Cell?”

  Crap. Two anachronistic comments in the same conversation.

  “Uh. Email’s a new postal service we have down in Memphis. They use a gadget called a cell. I’m pretty sure Manhattan doesn’t have it yet.” (And won’t for about eighty years.)

  Izzy was eyeing me with growing interest and fortunately letting my comments pass right by. Briley was simply eyeing me.

  Izzy whispered. “It’s not too late. Steve is always on the lookout for information from the inside. Or you can take over my job if I ever get a big scoop that will land me a byline on the front page of the Times. For that honor I’d go back to serious news.”

  Briley pulled me up next to him. “Enough, Izzy. Leave her alone.”

  Izzy tipped his wretched hat. “Not on your life. I love exotic girls. Especially dancers. Speaking of which, are you going to the party after rehearsal tonight, Miss Flynn?”

  “What party?”

  “You mean this cad hasn’t invited you to the soiree at the Ellingsford’s? Shame, shame.”

  Briley scowled. “I had planned to tell her before you barged into the alley. Melody, there is indeed a huge party being held tonight out on Long Island. Saree and the Count are giving me a ride and they'd be happy to pick you up as well. Interested?”

  As invitations go it was not exactly the most romantic, but I didn’t care. I could use a party right about now.

  “Cool. I’d love to go.”

  “Cool?’ Izzy was writing in his notebook.

  “Just a southern phrase, Mr. Rubens. Means - uh - swell.”

  An ear-splitting grin crossed his features. “I like that. See you tonight, Miss Flynn.”

  Briley teased, “By the way, Iz, I plan on filling Melody in on all your evil deeds on the way to the party before you can get your clutches on her.”

  Izzy winked at me.“Cool.”

  Saree’s dulcet tones suddenly blasted from the stage door, interrupting this charming meeting of reporter, stagehand-electrician-engineer, dancing imp, and me. “Break’s over. We’re on again!”