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
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
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