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 things 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
“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 things 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
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