Haunting Melody

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  But I had to get it out. “Briley.”

  “Mmm?”

  “What do we do about time-travel? Seriously.”

  His smiled dimmed. “I was hoping not to think about it.”

  “I never stop thinking about it. So, you believe me now? About the future? Or are you telling me after all we’ve been through with Elvis and and crazy Fiona Belle Donovan instigating the rescue and my cell phone and checkbook that you still have doubts?”

  He sighed. “No. And that’s what scares me. I don’t like the notion that I’ll suddenly find my girl has vanished - and all that’s left will be the scent of cranberries.”

  “Just don’t let me ever sneak down to a neighbor’s in the middle of the night to come back up looped on tea mixed with booze and carrying a doll which plays music. Lock me in my dressing room for a few hours. I’d be much safer.”

  “That reminds me. You never really told me the exact story about how you landed backstage three weeks ago.”

  “Well, I gave you the highlights. Are you willing to listen and at least keep an open mind?”

  He bit his lower lip. “If I’m going to spend the next eighty years or so with you I guess I have to, don’t I? Or be accused of not catering to women’s rights?”

  “Ha! I wish I could zap you into the 1960s in the middle of a Gloria Steinham feminist rally thing. My grandma, another blazing redhead, said it was wild. Brassieres flinging into piles then being torched. She’d go to five-and-dime stores and buy up whole counters of bras to toss, then watch the flames blaze higher and sweep away, as she put it, ‘women’s oppressed state.’”

  Briley laughed. “I don’t need to hear this. Although that goes a long way in explaining your pryromania tendencies.”

  “Hey! I only burn down houses of ill repute.” I grinned. “It’s really kind of funny too, that my wild protesting feminist Grandmother ended up a stay-at-home mom, happily married with six kids, five of which were those oppressive male types. Five uncles. Yow.”

  “Sounds wonderful to me. Happily married to a redhead; having six kids.”

  I turned five shades of a different red, then replied softly, “Me too.”

  I straightened my back and asked, “Ready for the details of Melody Flynn arriving in 1919 backstage at the New Amsterdam Theatre?”

  “Oh, sure. Then I’ll decide whether you really need to be in a straitjacket. You must admit, time-travel by means of dolls and brandy is a bit hard to swallow.”

  “And sheet music. Don’t forget sheet music. I have come to the conclusion, what with recent events, mainly the search for Denise and my rescue from the warehouse, that sheet music plays a great part in this.”

  He groaned. “Dolls and pieces of paper with words and music. Heaven help us.”

  I’d started to tell him the tale of my visit to Fiona Belle Donovan Winthorp, dognapping neighbor and witch, when we were interrupted by a squealing Saree and laughing Izzy.

  They sat, ordered champagne, then we all chattered about marriage and Memphis and dance studios and real newspapers.

  Another voice joined in. “I hear congratulations are in order?”

  The Count. With Eloise Jenkins clinging to his side like a tick to a dog’s ear. He was smiling, which was good, but both Briley and Izzy tensed in case the rejected suitor decided to stir up trouble.

  Saree just winked at me, then at the Count. “Yes, In-Deedy-Doody they are! In less than a month I’m gonna be Mrs. Isaac Rubens. Which is pretty damn swell. Anyone wanna argue?”

  The Count just politely murmured, “Again, I say congratulations and best wishes.”

  Eloise, clearly delighted to have snared royalty, still couldn’t resist an ethnic jab, which revealed her jealousy over her inability to have yet to make it into the Follies. “Well, this is just terrif. Saree Goldman marrying Izzy Rubenovitch. Two - Brooklynites - matching up. How precious. At least that leaves room for a new Follies dancer - one with real talent and a real American. Me.”

  Briley, Izzy, Saree and I bristled. Brooklyn in the early 21st Century is well populated with artistic types sharing lofts and creating performance pieces. But in 1919, much of Brooklyn was home to a variety of immigrants, especially Jews from Eastern Europe. Clearly, Eloise felt herself superior to anyone with that background.

  I kicked Briley before he could rise and do something ungentlemanly like paste Ms. Jenkins right in her tiny nose. I rose and quietly grabbed the girl’s hand, staring at the huge sapphire-cut diamond ring.

  “What a gorgeous ring, Eloise. May I see it more closely?”

  I pulled her ring finger backwards until the pain showed in her cold blue eyes. Then I released her hand and gently placed it in the Count’s. “Count? May I wish you and Ms. Jenkins years of happiness together. Although, I’m not sure you really deserve her. Oh, by the way? Eloise, dear, your dress is dripping.”

  “What? No it’s not.”

  I raised the bucket that had held the champagne but now was filled with melted ice and calmly emptied the contents over Eloise’s head.

  Screams and curses followed the girl’s run to the ladies room in the back of the club. The Count tried not to laugh, lost his control, then quickly hurried after his date. Loud guffaws followed his progress across the room.

  Applause came from my tablemates. I bowed, then turned when a hand grabbed mine.,

  “Peter? Uh, hi.”

  It was the Prince. He raised my hands to his lips and kissed my palm as a clearly pissed Briley McShan rose and snatched my hand away almost mid-smack.

  Peter ignored him. “I haf looked for you, Mel-o-dee. You did not say you vould be dining here, so I haf been to Francy’s.” His handsome face darkened. “I am kept in dark over dis is new Follies, how you say, hand-out?”

  “Hang-out.” Briley growled. “And it’s not the new hang-out. At least it wasn’t until about ten minutes ago. Jeepers, look at this!”

  All of us scanned a room that had filled up while we’d been chatting. Follies girls and their dates, Follies comedians alone, and Follies singers with their dates or wives. Flo and Billie Burke Ziegfeld even sat in a corner, absorbed in each other but still taking the time to greet every cast member who stopped by to say “Hello” to the impresario and his wife.

  Prince Peter smiled. “I see Count leafing Francy’s and I say, new place! Maybe the pretty Mel-o-dee vill be there and I shall see her from long absence.”

  Briley’s face was turning purple. “Excuse me, Prince? I hate to burst your bubble but the lady is with me. Do you understand that?”

  He looked puzzled then he smiled. “Of course. And with Miss Saree and Mr. Rubens. Bubbles of champagne bursting? I join you, da?”

  He grabbed a chair, and plopped into it. I was still standing and still savoring my admittedly childish treatment of Eloise Jenkins, but this intrusion left me speechless. Almost. I was about to explain to the Prince that in America custom dictates that one does not cut in on another’s date. But before I could yell “Yo! Pete! Outta my grill!” arms encircled my waist then hoisted me about three inches above the ground. A voice boomed in my left ear.

  “Mel! Honey! I’ve been lookin’ fer you all night! Loved the show. Lloyd and I came together tonight and were jest thrilled to watch all you purty ladies traipsing around that stage.”

  Grady Martel let me down then nodded to Saree. “You did a fine job, too, Missy. Of course, my heart belongs to Miz Melody, but I sure did enjoy watchin’ you dance too.”

  Briley was on his feet. He calmly pulled me away from the big man’s grasp and kept his arm around me. “Mr. Martel. Consider pausing every now and again before accosting ladies who do not belong to you, sir.”

  “Huh?”

  Lloyd Ellingsford smiled and placed his hand over Grady’s forearm. “He’s trying to tell you something, Martel. If I’m not mistaken we’ve interrupted a liason here?”

  Briley snorted. “You and about fifty others. Oh hell, gents, take a seat. Actually, take mine.”

&nbs
p; I stared anxiously at Briley who had pulled out his chair and was gesturing to Grady to claim it. Grady did, Lloyd found a vacant chair at another table and pulled it next to Saree.

  Briley grabbed my hand. “Let’s dance. It’s our only chance to be alone.”

  Izzy jumped up and pulled Saree to her feet. The four of us raced to the dance floor, leaving three men at our table with mouths gaping. I had to laugh though, when Grady shrugged and lifted the champagne bottle to check and see if any was left. Then I frowned even as I twirled in Briley’s arms. Four of the men I considered possibles for Ptah Junior had shown up in my vicinity in this last half hour.

  The last man on my list was Lawrence Vassily. Who’d just walked through the doors of the ballroom and was heading directly toward Briley and me.

  “Oh, crap.”

  “I beg your pardon,” stated my sweet boyfriend.

  “The circle is complete. All the suspects are in the room.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ptah. Every one of the guys we thought could be our kidnapper is here. I wonder if I’m totally off base about who’s who?”

  Briley turned my head so my cheek rested on his. “ You’re right about the fact that our guy seems to haunt the Follies girls. Unfortunately, that opens up the field quite a bit.”

  “Gag. It does, doesn’t it? I hate the idea that someone who appears to be a friend is creepy enough to go snatching girls and trying to mate with them for whatever kooky reason he seems to have to become a reincarnated god. But things fit too well with all five of these clowns.”

  Briley stayed silent for a moment as we rocked, then spinned to the tune of "Girl of My Heart." Finally he murmured, “Whoever is behind this - well, let me just scream to the heavens that if they try to grab you they’ll be dealing with me. And they don’t want to deal with me. I can’t lose you. In any era. I love you beyond time.”

  I snuggled against his chest. “I love you, too.”

  We silently moved to the music. I could stay here in 1919 and be happy as long as I had Briley with me. I would miss my Dad and Savanna horribly – I knew that – but perhaps since Fiona Belle seemed to be the conductor, engineer and brakeman on the time-travel train she could find a way to tell them I was all right. Oh yeah, I’d have to ask her if she wouldn’t mind making a pit stop at her apartment and picking up Lucy too.

  A hand suddenly clamped onto Briley’s shoulder.

  “Briley? Sorry to interrupt your night, but we have a small crisis at the theatre. The electricity is out and everyone is frantic about tomorrow night’s show. You’re needed.”

  Chapter 32

  Briley started to escort me back to our table, but stopped when he saw the men still camped there. Grady, Lloyd and Prince Peter were engaged in animated conversation. As long as it didn’t involve Egypt, gods, or abduction, I didn’t care that the gentlemen seemed to be bonding. The Count was somewhere in the back of Fontainbleu’s consoling a sopping-wet Eloise Jenkins. Lawrence Vassily was at the next table dropping dollars into a waiter’s hand for bringing him a Scotch and soda with no ice. The suspects were all in sight and accounted for.

  I turned to Briley. “Look, I’ll be fine. You go on to the theatre and deal with the lighting problems. I’ll grab a cab.”

  Briley frowned at me. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

  “I’m not exactly by myself.” I gestured around the room. “There’s what? Two hundred people milling about here?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m not sure how long this will take and I’d really prefer that you were securely back at Mrs. Donovan’s.”

  Izzy's voice chimed in.“We’re on our way out, Briley. We’ll take her.”

  We turned. Izzy and Saree stood behind us. Saree handed me my Elvis bag. “Here. You left it at the table along with all your broken-hearted suitors. I thought I’d rescue it before one of those idiots starting searching for coins at the bottom. Rich men are the worst, I swear. Never can seem to find the nickels and dimes they need for tips. They’re always asking us girls.”

  Izzy shook his head. “No more of that. From now on you’re with an employed, but poor, journalist who will not bum spare change from his girl.”

  Saree kissed her poor journalist then smiled back at me. “We’re leaving. It’s just too crowded now. This became, in one night, the latest Follies gin joint and dancehall. By tomorrow there won’t be room enough to wiggle your toes.”

  Briley tried to give Izzy a few dollars but his friend refused. “We were going to take a taxi anyway. Put your money away. Hey! That reminds me. I’m still on Clow’s payroll for the next two weeks. I’ll give him a great scoop about Fountainbleau’s being the Follies latest playground and see if he’ll advance me some dough for the trip down to Memphis. Before he starts screaming at me that I’m a traitor for moving.”

  Briley reached his hand out to me. I took it then curled up against him for an embrace. We stayed close for at least a minute, until Saree poked me in my ribs.

  “Will you guys cut it out? I thought we were bad, but you two are topping Izzy and me for canoodling in public.”

  Briley kissed me lightly on the lips. “Take care of her, you two.”

  Saree pushed him in the direction of the exit doors.“Go away, worry wart.”

  I waved him good-bye. “Briley, I’m okay. Honest. Give me a call when you’re done, okay? I won’t be asleep. It’ll tick Edith off no end, but she’s always mad anyway since the phone is never for her.”

  “Forget the phone. I’ll come by. Mrs. Donovan will let me upstairs even it’s the middle of the night.”

  I grinned. “Even better.”

  He left. Izzy, Saree and I stayed behind long enough to pay the bill then headed outside to try and find a taxi. A rainstorm had started up during the time we'd been dancing and drinking and a cool front seemed to have accompanied it. I shivered as I climbed inside, wondering how to get water stains out of borrowed satin and lace.

  Izzy gave the driver my address on East 12th, then turned back to Saree and me to talk about wedding plans and honeymoon trips. I hugged them goodbye in the shelter of the cab and told them to stay put. No point in either of them getting soaked. I was wet enough for all three of us and for a moment I regretted my childish act in tossing an ice bucket over Eloise. Cold water is not pleasant when it’s trickling down one’s front or back. But since Eloise deserved the dousing for being a snooty bigot, I dispensed with the guilt. I ran up the four flights of stairs eager to take off my own sodden garment and put on warm clothes.

  My black pants and black turtleneck were dry and felt wonderful against my skin after I’d toweled off and hung Bettina’s dress up to dry. Tomorrow I’d ask Mrs. Donovan what took out water stains and if she had no rememdy, I’d buy the girl another dress to replace this one.

  I felt edgy. I wanted Briley with me, making me laugh, scoffing at my stories and theories, and kissing me, then maybe going a tiny step or two or further with the physical activity. I wondered if we’d ever get a chance to be really alone.

  Alone.

  I hadn’t seen another living soul in my mad dash up the stairs to my room. No one had been at the desk downstairs and I couldn’t hear any giggling or chattering from any of the other rooms on this floor. The only sound I did hear was the rain beating against the window. It was coming inside. It was also aimed directly at the bed I’d pulled up against the wall under the window for stargazing during nights when I hadn’t been able to sleep.

  “Not good.” I shut the window and felt the coverlet to see if it was soaked. It was. I wrung out the quilt into the base of the ficus tree in the corner of the room.

  The phone down the hall rang. I hadn’t seen Edith, so I ran to answer.

  “Mel?”

  “Briley! Hey! How’s it goin’ at the theatre?”

  He snorted over the wire. “Oh, famously. It’s ridiculous. There were two - count ‘em -two frayed electrical wires. Anyone with half a brain would know
to throw them away and replace them tomorrow. It was not an emergency. I’m furious that I was called away from you to handle something this basic and silly. I still need to check one or two things to make sure no one gets electrocuted, then I’m coming over.”

  “Good. I miss you and it’s only been an hour since you left. This is crazy!”

  He laughed. “It is but it’s also very logical and real! I’ll be there as soon as I can. Rumor has it that with this downpour every taxi is busy tonight so it won’t be in the next thirty minutes but I’ll try my best. Subways are flooded but still supposed to be running.”

  “I love you, Briley. See you soon.”

  “I love you too. Bye, Mel.”

  I hung up then wandered back into my room in a romantic haze. Briley should be by in about twenty minutes. I passed the time by rearranging the clothes in Bettina’s closet.

  The phone rang again. I ran to answer but received no response to my, “Hello? Who are you calling?”

  Someone whispered, “Melody,” then what sounded like “my sock mate” then the line went dead. I jiggled the receiver a time or two but there was no response. No dial tone, no operator. Nothing.

  I ran back to my room, slammed the door and locked it. The words “sock mate” kept going through my head. I could see that page in the book we’d read down in Memphis. Ptah’s mate, the woman who adorned herself in lion skins, the creator goddess was called Sekhmet. I had no idea if the name hit an “ah” instead of an “eh” on the first syllable.

  It didn’t matter how it was pronounced. Ptah Junior wanted her and apparently had decided not to wait another moment to find his woman. His consort. His “sock-mate.” Me.

  I was now in trouble. I was up on the fourth floor in a building where the fire escape was in the back. As far as I knew no one else was even around, or if they were, they were zonked out dreaming pleasant dreams.

  The phone lines must have been cut. That meant my caller was near enough to snip them. If I ran down the hall, and my attacker waited, there was no way for me to escape. If got nabbed this time, I wouldn’t be left free to roam around a warehouse, chow down breakfast and dive into the East River singing “Shake, Rattle and Roll.”