A body twists to smoke on the deck of a burning ship, vanishes to nothingness. She knows he's gone, but can't accept it. Then another man is run through with a flashing blade and set alight, she watches him crash into the ocean.

They are gone. 

Both both in the passing of a mere moment. And yet her brain won't accept it, an unimaginable loss so great that the heart balks at it's enormity.

But this is not the last scene of horror she will witness. Not by far.

***

The other girls whispered among themselves as she dressed herself after rehearsal, even the ones she shared a jail cell with for a whole night. Daisy and Betty stood off to the side with two other girls, their eyes narrowed and voices low as they spoke, casting glances in her direction.

"I can't believe he'd do something like this without talking to me first," Ivy ranted under her breath at Maryanne. "It's absurd."

"He did mention it when you went to dinner the other night," Maryanne reminded her.

Ivy shook her head vigorously. "No, no you see, he said he had a business proposition to discuss. Not that he was going to make me the lead dancer and soloist in the first show we put on. It's like he's got cotton for brains. Doesn't he know how that looks when a girl jumps that high up the totem pole without even a lead group role first?"

Maryanne tugged on her cardigan. "Maybe he thought you were ready for it. He said on several occasions that he was impressed with your talent."

Her head spun with exhaustion. After another sleepless night plagued by dreams of burning ships, ravaged battlefields and toppling towers, she ended up watching the sunrise from the fire escape outside their window. After burning through a whole pack of cigarettes, she concluded that she was going insane. There was no other alternative. 

She refused to consider what the Chauffeur had said to her. He had been mysteriously absent for the past couple weeks. After not being able to shake him, he had disappeared without a by-your- leave. Oddly, she was annoyed by it, like he felt he had to right to disturb her peace of mind then saunter away as if he didn't owe her a thing. She didn't even know his name, for Christ's sake.

After pinching her finger on a shoe buckle, she winced and sucked on the tip of her thumb. "You know, I'm going to give that no good, dirty, rotten, scheming..."

"If you're thinking about confronting Mal Smith about all this, it's a bad idea." Maryanne stepped in front of her and steered her towards the dressing room table. "Just sit down, fix your lipstick and fluff your hair. You'll feel better in no time. I've got a date tonight, you interested in coming along?"

Ivy groaned and thumped her forehead onto a section of the vanity's surface that wasn't covered in make up containers. "Is it that awful Texan again?"

"No, he's local. I met him by chance at a party last weekend, the one you skipped out on because of a headache. He mentioned he has a friend that's going stag to this party we're crashing. You interested?"

With a heavy sigh, Ivy massaged her temples. "What the hell. Why not."

Maryanne squealed. "I bet his friend is really nice. My date is so handsome, this gorgeous mop of thick black hair and he's such an elegant dresser. I guarantee his friend is made of the same stuff."

"You go on then, I'm going to fix my make up. Where are they meeting us?"

"Just outside. Don't take too long, you don't want to keep us waiting."

After slipping into a silvery fringed number with a streak of crimson lipstick, Ivy snagged her purse from the vanity.

"Hot date with the war hero?" Daisy cooed as Ivy passed her.

Ivy breathed hard through her nose, but chose to ignore her. Instead, she made a beeline for the second floor where Mal Smith's office was located. Fully prepared to rap on the door with confident indignation, she was surprised to find it cracked open. The room inside was dark except for a single hanging light over the desk. It creaked back and forth as Mal swung it side to side, his back to the door in his swivel chair. He was on the telephone.

"I don't care what the papers say, it's a perfectly respectable venture. My slate is clean. The state would never go after an Astor, much less a celebrated hero from the Great War... you are being paranoid, I know what I'm doing... why did I decide to buy the old place at all? ... well, let's just say I had a previous investment in it... right. Good night." He sighed as he hung up the phone, the chair creaking as he leaned back in it.

Ivy moved in the shadows, unsure if she should call attention to herself as now it would appear she'd been eavesdropping. He swept around in the seat, his fingers matched in a steeple in front of his nose. He lazily opened his eyes and peered right across the room at her.

"Are you coming in then, Miss McKee? Or do you prefer skulking in hallways?"

Ivy straightened her posture and marched into the office, trying to call up her former vigor. "Mr. Smith."

"Miss McKee."

"I wanted to talk to you about the recent casting choice."

"You look lovely."

Ivy hesitated. "Thank you."

"Date tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

He rose from the desk, his fingers trailed across the edge as he moved in front of it and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore only his shirt with his suspenders hooked over his shoulders, his coat draped over the chair behind him. 

"Do... you... have a date?" he spoke carefully as though she were slow.

Ivy jutted out her jaw and wrapped her arms around herself. "What does it matter to you?"

"No reason. You just looked too pretty to be going home alone is all."

"You see, that kind of talk is the reason I am here in the first place. Between the subtle flirting and my sudden jump to solo dancer, you have slapped a target on my back for vicious, jealous gossip."

Mal shook his head. "And I was sitting here thinking you were the right kind of gal for this kind of position."

"You knew this would happen?"

"Of course, it's only natural. It's a competitive environment out there, I understand that. And considering how the unfortunate Mr. Robin used to run things around here, it makes sense. Any girl who took this role was going to have to possess tough skin. You struck me as the type and you are talented enough to carry the role."

Ivy shifted on her feet, feeling at a loss. His confidence in her was thrilling but confusing at the same time. "Thank you, but what makes you think you know me so well?"

He moved forward, slipping his hands in his pockets. He stopped a hand's breadth from her, the scent of his expensive cologne drifting softly from his clothes. With half his face in deep shadow, he looked like a different person. His eyes flashed with need. "Because I do. You're the sort of girl who jumps off sea cliffs for the hell of it, who lets herself fall head over heels for a guy without demanding anything of him, who would kill to defend those she loved."

Ivy shivered, images from her dreams parading through her head. "I've never truly loved anyone. Not even David, my fiance. He died in the war, but... I never even cried for him."

"Don't feel guilty about that," he said in a low voice, trailing a thumb underneath her lower lip, his eyes focused on her mouth. "He never had your heart. Not really."

A car horn below jolted her from the spell. Ivy took a halting step back towards the door.

Casually, Mal moved back towards his desk and stood rifling through a stack of papers. "You should get going, that's probably him. Have fun, Miss McKee."

Ivy wet her lips and retreated from the darkened room without saying goodbye. Her ears buzzing with Mal's words and her dreams throbbing through her thoughts like distant but inevitable thunder, she emerged onto the glimmering street, the electric lights banishing the darkness from her mind.

"Ivy! Over here!" Maryanne waved to her from a vehicle across the street.

It was the beautiful golden motorcar. The well dressed man in the silk scarf sat in the back with his arm around Maryanne. And the Chauffeur was in the driver's seat. Ivy slowly approached them, her gaze skeptical. 

The Chauffeur hopped from the car and opened the passenger side door. "Good to see you again, Ivy."

She paused in front of him, his gaze calm and expression placid. "What's going on here?"

"We're heading over to this party uptown," Maryanne explained gleefully. "C'mon, it sounds like it'll be a real gas!"

"Well? Are you getting in or not?" The Chauffeur challenged her with a sardonic grin.

Ivy clenched her fists and slid into the driver's seat. "Let's go then."

As they pulled into traffic, she peered back up at the Gilded Cage. From the window of the main office, the blinds slid down over the glass pane. Someone had been watching her from above and she had an idea who it was.