“Sam. Don’t make me kill you on a full stomach. I might get a cramp.”
Sam smirked. “Nice doing business with you, too, Baby Vamp.”
Evie batted her lashes. “Go now before I change my mind.”
“Leave separately and disappoint our audience?” Sam nodded toward the other patrons slyly watching from their tables. That wolfish grin was back. But the thread of pure glee was new. Sam slipped his arm through Evie’s, parading her through the gaping patrons of the Algonquin. He leaned in to whisper in Evie’s ear, and her stomach gave another rebellious flip.
“From now on, Sheba, you won’t be able to shake me.”
Theta and Henry raced down the crowded sidewalk of Forty-second Street, late, as usual, for rehearsal. They squeezed past a preacher and his small flock of parishioners holding a prayer vigil. “This sleeping sickness is God’s judgment! Repent!” the preacher thundered, a Bible held high in one hand. “Turn away from loose morals; from those dens of iniquity, the speakeasy; from the Devil’s music, jazz; and from the untold evils of the bootlegger’s liquor!”
“Gee, if I do that, I won’t have any hobbies left,” Henry quipped.
“If we don’t hurry, we’re not gonna have any jobs left,” Theta said.
A corner newsboy waved a newspaper at Theta. “Paper, Miss?”
“Sorry, kid.”
He shrugged and shouted out the day’s headlines. “Extra! Sleeping Sickness Spreads, Docs Fear New Plague! Anarchist Bombers Take Out Factory! The Sweetheart Seer Engaged! Extra!”
“What?” Theta stopped short. “Kid, here,” she said, tossing over a nickel and practically snatching the Daily News from him. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“Is this some sort of joke?” Henry asked, reading the front page over Theta’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t Evie tell us about this?”
“I don’t know what game Evil’s playing now, but you can bet I’ll find out,” Theta said, shoving the crumpled paper into her pocketbook. “If she’s marrying Sam Lloyd, I’ll eat my hat.”
“Gee, that’s too bad,” Henry said, opening the theater door. “It’s an awfully nice hat.”
The sharp report of tap shoes competed with the melodic rise and fall of chorines singing scales, announcing that rehearsal was already under way at the New Amsterdam. Wally, the show’s long-suffering stage manager, glowered at Henry and Theta as they sauntered down the aisle together, arm in arm. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Tardy Twins. Congratulations. You’re only”—he made a point of checking his watch—“ten minutes late today.”
Theta patted Wally’s cheek and pursed her lips. “Now, Wally, don’t let your ulcer flare up—Hen’s got a new song for you. Quiet, everybody!”
“Hey, that’s my line,” Wally griped. Not to be outdone, he barked, “Quiet, everybody!”
“Go on, Hen,” Theta coaxed.
Henry perched at the piano and took a deep breath. “It’s a bit rough, mind you. But it goes something like this.”
Henry played a lilting melody, singing along in his raspy falsetto:
“Inside a dream I yearned anew
You appeared, like morning dew
My heart leaped up, no longer blue
But only here in Slumberland.…
The moon sank low in the morning sky
Why, oh why, must we say good-bye?
I’ll see you again, sweet by and by
But only here in Slumberland.
They say that dreams come true, dear,
If you believe their charms
But if my dreams came true, dear,
I’d hold you in my arms.
Sandman come and dust my eyes
Blue moon, won’t you start your rise?
Every night, oh, how time flies
When I’m with you in Slumberland…
I’ll stay with you in Slumberland.”
When he finished, Henry turned to Wally. “Well,” he asked nervously, “what do you think?”
For once, Wally wasn’t cradling his head in his hands and looking like he’d lost the will to live. “You know, kid, that’s not half bad.”