Her heart pounding, Clair waited for her cue. All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. Well, she’d played for others all her life: the perfect daughter, the debutante, the downtrodden. Now it was time to do what she’d always wanted. But what if everyone laughed at her, or worse yet, booed her offstage? They’d almost done it to Winnie the first time she’d performed her solo. Feathered wings soft on Clair’s arms, pearl headdress secure on her head, she closed her eyes and imagined embodying a white dove empowered with the voice of peace.
The stage was pitch-black, and Rudy’s voice boomed over the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen. We have an unexpected pleasure for you this evening. The debut of the Songbird of Broadway.”
In silence, with outstretched arms Clair glided onstage in her rhinestone shoes. The spotlight lit up and followed her as she gracefully circled the wooden floor. On a diagonal with a figure-eight pattern, she swept forward, floating her arms up and down. She stopped center stage, spotlight hot on her body, sequins sparkling and pearls glimmering. She wore a wide-eyed look of innocence.
Fragments of audience members could be made out, a glint off a bald head here, a reflection of eyeglasses there. In the heat of the moment, thoughts of Farley disappeared from her mind.
Clair nodded to Mordecai, who had received Rudy’s message to play the “Man on the Flying Trapeze.” Slowly Mordecai began to play the melody. In perfect pitch the made-up lyrics soared out of her, like a rainbow of colored sequins arcing all the way to the back of the theater.
“I fly through the air with the greatest of ease.
Free as a bird, I can do as I please.
They tried to cage me, but I got away.
I’ll be free as a bird
for the rest of my days.”
She sang as if taken over by an otherworldly spirit. She was no longer herself, or even a bird, but a winged immortal being with a voice from the heavens, Nike the strong, winged goddess of Victory.
Clair’s arms swirled in a windmill motion, slowly at first, then gradually picking up speed. She imagined flying up and above the audience. She struck poses—curved, smooth, graceful. Holding each, she counted to ten in her mind. The moves were innocent at first, then with a dip of her shoulder sensual, until finally they became sexual in nature with a rotation of her hips in a circular fashion, one way and then the other. She could sense the crowd’s eyes gazing at her with desire.
If it hadn’t been for that one night with Mr. X, she’d never have known how to move her body this way. And she was grateful to him for opening up her seductive passions.
She circled the stage several more times and trilled her finale, arms wide, holding the last note for what seemed like an eternity. Bright lights cast a shadow of her wings behind her, making her appear fifteen feet tall. Before she exited, she soared downstage, put her fingers to her lips, and blew a kiss to the crowd.
In her fantasies she never had imagined performing in front of a crowd that insisted on multiple encores. With pride and a desire to do it all again, she felt what it was like to captivate an audience and be a star.
After the show ended, after the cast gathered round with congratulations, after she thought she couldn’t feel any higher, she stepped out into the alley, where the crescent moon vibrated.
“Hello,” a deep voice said.
Her gloved hands flew to her pounding chest. Had Farley escaped from the police?
A man wearing a fedora and an overcoat walked toward her from the shadows.
“You scared me.” Clair breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry.” His blue eyes shone as he came closer. “I’ve been hoping to see you again.”
Mr. X!
“Me, too.” Her voice trembled as she looked up at him. He was more handsome than she had remembered.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?”
Still shaken up from revelations of Farley’s crimes, she couldn’t talk of that now and would probably be wary of any man for a long time. However, she still wanted to say yes to Mr. X. She had so many questions to ask him but paused. “No. You’re a married man.”
“Married? I’m not married. What gave you that idea?”
“I noticed a ring on your finger that night. Afterward.”
He frowned. “Is that why you ran off?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I had been widowed for two years. I still hadn’t been able to take off my ring.”
“I’m sorry.” Clair couldn’t believe how foolish she’d been.
“If it’s any consolation, I took it off the next morning. With you I realized it would be possible to find someone else to love. Please, I’d really like to talk with you. How about a cup of coffee?”
“But I don’t know you.”
He gave her a sideways smile. “You didn’t know me that night either.”
She laughed and held out her hand. “I’m Clair Devereaux.”
“Yes, the Songbird of Broadway. What a performance!” He clasped her hand. “I’m Clifton Marshall.”
She stepped back in surprise.
“The Clifton Marshall? From Hollywood?”
He chuckled a deep-throated laugh. “Yes. Every few months when I’ve come to New York in search of talent, I’ve kept my eyes out for you.”
“You have?”
“Your act tonight was the best I’ve witnessed in years.”
“You’re only being kind.” She shrugged nonchalantly to hide her elation.
“I mean it. Please have that coffee with me, or maybe even breakfast?”
Lots of breakfasts, she thought. “Thank you for keeping me safe from the police that night. And for . . .” She paused.
“For what?”
She grinned at him. They both laughed. With a questioning look, he held out his arm.
She took it. “Let’s go! We have a lot of catching up to do.”