“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.
Back 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.”
“Th
anks!” 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.
“How was the sleepover?” Mrs. Windsor asked in the melodic, old-fashioned tone of voice heard in black-and-white movies. She had auburn hair like Lily’s, but she wore it in shoulder-length waves and parted on the side. She was dressed in a long wool sweater over an ankle-length pleated skirt, with a long knotted string of pearls dangling from her neck.
“Oh, it was good fun,” Lily said breezily. “Who’s in the papers today, Daddy? Any of our friends?”
“Unfortunately, yes. John Singer Sargent has died of heart failure,” Mr. Windsor replied sadly.
“Oh no!” Lily cried. “That’s so awful. And to think he so recently painted my portrait—I had no idea it was the last time I’d ever see him.…”
Michele’s jaw dropped. So the portrait of Lily Windsor hanging in her sitting room was by John Singer Sargent? He was one of the most famous American painters; Michele had seen his work in museums since she was a little girl. Michele wondered if Clara’s portrait was also by Sargent.
“We’ll be at the funeral, of course,” Mrs. Windsor told Lily.
As the brunch conversation drifted on, Michele sat back and listened with fascination to the talk of current events of eighty-five years earlier. Lily fidgeted with boredom when the topic shifted to politics, but Michele listened attentively. She learned that the current president was Calvin Coolidge, who Mr. and Mrs. Windsor seemed to adore for his tax cuts, and the first woman governor in the United States had just been elected in Wyoming. Mr. Windsor spoke worriedly about Italy’s new dictator, Benito Mussolini, and Michele shuddered at the name, recognizing him as one of the Axis villains of the upcoming World War II.
The conversation turned to books, and Mr. Windsor commented that Fitzgerald’s new tome, The Great Gatsby, wasn’t selling as well as his previous books. “Have you read it, girls?”
“I positively loathed it,” Mrs. Windsor answered, just as Lily gushed, “It’s simply swell!” Lily laughed, but Mrs. Windsor gave her an irritated look.
“Really, dear, I don’t understand how you could enjoy a trashy novel like that, all about silly flappers making a mockery of society. I trust you don’t behave that way when we’re not around?”
“No, Mother,” Lily said in a grudging tone that let Michele know they’d had many variations of this conversation before.
“That’s what I like to hear, that my daughter is a proper young lady. Speaking of which, the Vanderbilts and Whitneys are hosting an art gala next month and they’ve invited you to sing! Your father and I were thinking you could do Madame Butterfly’s aria.”
Lily’s face fell. “No, Mother, I don’t sing classical. You know that! Please, let me sing what I’m good at—”
“Those Harlem songs?” Mr. Windsor broke in. “Absolutely not, Lily. You know that would be highly inappropriate.”
“It’s only jazz. There’s nothing wrong with it,” Lily argued. “Just think, this would be the perfect opportunity for your society to see what a talent I am—”
“It is out of the question,” Mrs. Windsor said firmly. “You’ll perform an art song or nothing at all. Now, let’s change the subject.”
Lily gave Michele a despairing look. What is it with these people? Michele wondered. First Philip was denied the music he loved, and now Lily?
After brunch, Michele gestured for Lily to follow her outside. Once they were on the front steps and out of earshot of Lily’s parents and staff, Michele said, “I really do have to go now, but I’ll be back soon.”
“Do you promise?” Lily’s eyes were suddenly anxious. “And don’t forget, you need to bring me the sheet music for the songs.”
“I know. I’ll bring them with me next time. I’ll see you soon.” Michele gave Lily a hug and waited for her to run inside, then clutched her key necklace. Time, I’m ready for you to send me back now.
Suddenly, the front gate swung open and an older gentleman entered the garden. Michele froze in her tracks.
He wore a business suit and leaned on a silver-topped cane, a briefcase hanging from his other arm. His gray hair was parted in the middle, and the dark eyes beneath his wiry spectacles looked oddly familiar to Michele. Then she realized who he was.
“Irving Henry,” she breathed. He looked like an aged version of the photo she had seen in the old Windsor album.
To her astonishment, Irving looked up. “Yes, miss?”
Michele covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “You can see me?”
Irving’s fair skin seemed to turn a whole shade paler. He came closer, and as he peered at Michele, his eyes focused on the key around her neck. His body began to shake, his cane barely able to hold him upright.
“Are you okay?” Michele hurried forward to steady him, but as her hand grasped his arm, she felt a force push her back, and the familiar spinning of Time enveloped her. She looked at Irving Henry as she whirled away from him, and saw that he was staring at her, his mouth open in shock, and his eyes inexplicably brimming with tears.
“So you’ve decided to come home now?”
Michele looked up to find that she was back in 2010, nearly colliding with Annaleigh on the front steps.
“Oh,” she replied, catching her breath. She was so consumed with thoughts of Irving Henry that for a moment she could barely speak. “Um, I’ve—I was at Caissie’s. Didn’t I tell you I was going?”
“No, you didn’t,” Annaleigh said humorlessly. “But thankfully when I called the Harts, Caissie answered and told us you were there. Otherwise your grandparents would have called the police. Why do you insist on going out without telling us, and leaving your cell phone at home? Come in. Your grandparents want a word.”
“I’m really sorry,” Michele said, reluctantly following Annaleigh inside. Her grandparents were seated in the Grand Hall and they both looked up sharply at the sound of Annaleigh’s and Michele’s footsteps.
“She’s home,” Annaleigh announced.
“Thank you, Annaleigh. That will be all,” Dorothy said, dismissing her. She fixed Michele with a plaintive look, and Michele instantly felt a wave of shame for worrying them, especially after Dorothy had been kind to her the other night. Once Annaleigh had left, W
alter laid into Michele.
“Young lady, what will it take for you to learn the rules here? It’s very simple: you have to let us know when you are leaving the house. There should be no need for poor Annaleigh to have to call and track you down. And for heaven’s sake, take your phone with you! One more occasion like this, and you’ll be grounded for a full month.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “It won’t happen again.” It better not, she thought. She didn’t know what she would do if she had to be stuck in 2010 for a full month!
As soon as she was in her room, she grabbed her cell and called Caissie.
“Thank you, thank you for covering for me,” she said as soon as Caissie picked up. “You won’t believe where I was!”
Caissie listened with rapt attention as Michele told her all about her adventure with Lily. The only part of the story Michele left out was her meeting Irving Henry. She didn’t feel ready to talk about it yet. She was beginning to have an idea of who Irving Henry might be, and the thought was too incredible, too unthinkable, to share with anyone just yet.
When Michele had finished filling her in, Caissie said with an amazed laugh, “Wow. Only you could manage to find true love and launch a songwriting career in the past.”
“Well, it’s not for me. I mean, it’s not like I can claim the songs as my own here in our time,” Michele reminded her. “It’s the only way I can think of to help Philip.”
“It really is a great idea,” Caissie said. “So shouldn’t you be going back with the sheet music now?”
“Believe me, I want to, but I’m afraid to leave again so soon and risk getting into even more trouble with my grandparents. The last thing I can afford right now is to get grounded. I’ll go tomorrow right after school,” Michele decided. “Will you be my alibi again? I think I’ll tell my grandparents we’re working on some major, time-intensive project, to explain why I’m gone for these chunks of time.”
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