It was a close call that night at the theater. The morality police came banging on the doors after the final act, looking for dubious behavior. Luckily, the theater owner didn't allow gin on the premises. He was taking enough of a risk with his chorus line.

The girls onstage walked the border between Vaudeville and racy Burlesque. Ivy loved their costumes. It showed too much leg with golden fringes that shimmered as they bounced and twirled to the Charleston. But they were scandalous by the standards of the older generation, except for the rich, old men occupying the front row, nervously twisting their wedding bands.

"I'm starving!" Myrtle had changed into a dark blue number that put her impressive cleavage on display. "Mr. Oil Baron is taking me to Delmonico's for a late supper then we're off to this party in the Hamptons. He has a couple friends with him..."

Clad in sleek black chiffon, Maryanne touched up her signature scarlet lips and fluffed her strawberry curls in the backstage dressing room. "What kind of friends?"

"Young ones. Don't worry. I know you have standards, Maier," Myrtle teased as she sauntered past. "You're such a sweet little farm girl, so wholesome."

"No. I just like my men with less wrinkles than you," Maryanne dryly stated.

"Hey! The Baron is not wrinkly! He is merely vintage."

"Like a fine wine?" Ivy emerged from behind the dressing screen. She smoothed her hands over the creamy tassels of her dress, a lend from Maryanne for the night. The drop waist was perfect for her slim, statuesque figure. "As long as I don't tower over my date, I'm up for anything. Well, except for someone deadly dull."

"If you didn't insist on those heels, you wouldn't have to worry about being taller than the men you go with." Myrtle pointed to her feet with her cigarette holder.

Ivy lifted her chin and perched her hands on her hips. "I don't dress to fit men's tastes. I dress to fit my own and I like the way these make my legs look."

Combing the flyaway strands in her black bob, Ivy hooked arms with the two other chorus girls as they strode out into the night. The Baron was waiting by the alley with his open air car. Myrtle slid into the front seat while Maryanne and Ivy got into the back with the two nervous young Texans who accompanied the Baron.

Ivy's date was tall enough, but a stick in the mud as she had feared. Still, he insisted on paying for everything and she had a full stomach for the first time that week as they left Delmonico's. Maryanne seemed to be having fun though.

"Well, Miss Ivy," her date droned as they drove through the night for the Hamptons. "You see, a Hereford steer is something mighty aggressive..."

"Mmhmm?" she feigned interest, perching her arm across the door and letting her fingers catch the draft as they buzzed down the highway.

The Deadly Dull Cowboy blathered on for the entire ride about the different cattle breeds on his family's ranch in western Texas. Ivy spent most of the trip studying the piece of spinach stuck between his prominent front teeth and wondering if she should say something or just ignore it.

The manor glowed like an artificial dawn through the crowded trees as they joined the train of cars pulling up to the party. The throb of timpani drums and brass horns filled the air. Antsy to be gone before she was subjected to another description of cows dropping calves, detailing the placenta discharge, Ivy hopped from the car before it came to a stop.

"Hey! Where yah going!?" Myrtle hollered as the Baron beeped his horn.

Even Maryanne came up for air as she had been necking with her date for most of the drive. "Ivy!?"

"I'll meet you in there! I'm dry as dust, I need some libations!" She mimed a faint, throwing her palm to her forehead, and scurried off through the growing crowd of guests into the mansion.

The big brass band swung their instruments like swords, killing the crowd that skipped on the checkered dance floor beneath a gleaming chandelier. The party spilled out into a circular courtyard hedged by a well-groomed garden. A fountain with leaping jets was also filled with drunk party goers, still doing the Texas Tommy swing in the knee deep water. Champagne flowed down towers of crystal. The early summer soiree was off to a swell start.

Ivy grabbed a raw oyster off a passing Hors-doeuvres tray. As she went to suck the oyster shell, she paused with a scoff. Sitting on the fleshy crustacean was an iridescent pearl the size of her thumbnail. She rolled it between her fingers. This was certainly unheard of. Perhaps the host of the party was trying hard to impress someone. Come to think of it, she didn't even know the name of the person throwing the shindig.

"What have you got there?" Maryanne asked, coming alongside and handing her a cocktail.

Ivy held up the pearl. "It was on my oyster."

"Good thing you didn't swallow it."

"You want it?"

Maryanne coughed on a mouthful of gin and juice. "Want what? The oyster or the pearl?"

"The pearl." Ivy tossed back the clam. "I don't like 'em."

"It might help you pay for a few Hershey bars and cups of coffee," Maryanne commented with a yawn. "Why don't you like pearls?"

"I don't know why. They just make me sad," Ivy curtly replied, taking her friend's hand and pressing the pearl into her palm. "I'm going to dance. You coming?"

"Oh I've done enough dancing tonight, thank you very much. I'll wait for Charlie here."

Ivy guzzled her drink and set the empty glass on a passing tray. "Is Charlie your date?"

"Yes. And yours is looking for you. What's his name again?"

"No idea. I've been calling him the Deadly Dull Cowboy in my mind."

"Be careful or you might say that out loud."

"If only..." she replied with a wink as she raced for the dance floor and pulled a bystander into the fray.

Ivy always seemed to have the right kind of luck at the right time. Deadly Dull was lost in the crowd and she didn't see him again until she spied him dead drunk and kissing a knobby kneed gossip columnist from a low end newspaper on a garden bench. She wouldn't have any more trouble from him.

Myrtle had disappeared hours earlier with her middle aged Baron and Maryanne was giggling at the jokes Charlie told her. Her laughter seemed genuine. Ivy was glad for her friend. Maryanne had been conflicted over her hometown beau for months. What she needed was a good fling with a nice fella'.

After snagging her third champagne cocktail from an obliging tray, Ivy shimmied towards the overlooking patio that surveyed the buzzing courtyard. Tapping her nails on the stone railing, she sipped the drink, the liquor burning through her consciousness till all semblance of her earlier scare disappeared.

Swan boats and bloody swords... what nonsense. It was all a silly dream. This screaming, golden bright night was real life and the only place she wanted to be. Living in the present was the only thing she wanted out of life.

Her gaze drifted to the fountain. A man in an expensive suit with a beautiful, white silk scarf was fending off a buxom blonde blowing smoke in his scowl. As he moved, she recognized him as the man from earlier waiting outside the Gilded Cage with the gorgeous golden motor car. Now that she got a good look at his stale glare of bored disdain, she was glad she'd avoided him.

"Can I get you another one?"

To her left hovered the chauffeur of the golden car in his gray uniform. She swirled her half full glass. "I'm not finished with this one yet. You trying to get me sauced?"

A red tint touched his pallid cheeks, his pale blue eyes hemmed by thick lashes and heavy, black eyebrows. Though his features were strong, a Roman nose and plush lips, he wasn't unattractive.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize-" he stammered.

"Your boss is something of a stiff, ain't he?" She motioned to the man in the white scarf down in the courtyard.

The Chauffeur stifled a grin. "He's not exactly in his element."

"Well that's obvious," Ivy laughed, curling her body in his direction. She was pleasantly surprised to find him a head taller than her. "But you seem comfortable enough. I didn't know they invited chauffeurs to these things."

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "My employer said it was alright if I came in as long as I didn't drink."

Ivy held out the last swallow of her glass. "One sip won't make you wreck the car."

He chuckled and met her eyes before taking it. "You're a wild one."

"No, just interested."

After finishing the drink, he popped the remaining strawberry in his mouth. "Interested in what?"

"Everything, I guess," she replied smiling, rubbing the back of her neck while gripping the stone railing with her other hand. "Aren't you?"

A graveness arrested his masculine features as his demeanor changed, his gaze appearing older and wiser than his years.

"I'm interested in the truth," he answered in his distinct, low growl.

Ivy let out an unsure breath of a giggle. "What kind of truth?"

"About people, who they are." He leaned closer, curving his hand over hers. His gaze captivated her like a snake would a mouse. For a moment, it seemed it was only the two of them amidst the mayhem of the party. "Do you know who you are, Ivy McKee?"

She wet her lips. "I- I'm a dancer at the Gilded Cage."

"Is that all?" He smirked handsomely. "I'm not so sure."

As he pulled away, Ivy swore she felt a touch of fire leap from his fingers to her skin. She pressed her hand to her stomach, furrowing her brow. "And who are you?"

"I'm the Chauffeur. And I'd better get back to my car." He tipped his hat and was swallowed by the surging crowd before slipping into the mansion.

Ivy gasped. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. The jazz beat was sounding redundant as she returned to the view of the patio. The man in the silk scarf had vanished.

Something hit her shoe. By the toe of her silver heel rolled a pearl the size of a marble. Ivy picked it up, holding it to the bursting colors of a surprise fireworks display. The explosions thudded dully into her senses as she stared at the pearl.

She had the uncanny sense that she was being watched. Ivy peered over her shoulder towards the mansion behind her. In one of the upper rooms, she spied a shadow move, a curtain spilling closed across the glass pane.

Her first instinct was to toss away the pearl. Instead she tucked it into her sequined coin purse as Maryanne and Myrtle approached to tell her they were leaving. Ivy was more than ready to go.

It wasn't until she was half asleep in the Baron's car on the ride home that she remembered something about the Chauffeur. He had called her by her name, but she had never introduced herself to him.