“Well, then, guess I’d better make this look good now.” Sam kissed the back of Evie’s hand. The table of flappers let out a collective, swooning Ohhhh. The kiss tingled up Evie’s arm and gave her insides a soft buzz. Stop that, she thought. She’d have to discuss this with her insides later and let them know the score.
The waiter appeared at their table once more. “The meal is on the house, Miss O’Neill, Mr. Lloyd. Thank you for dining with us at the Algonquin today. We do hope you’ll come again.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “I could get used to this.” He snugged his fisherman’s cap down onto his head.
“Mr. Phillips has arranged an interview for us at WGI today. Four o’clock. We’re telling the story of our love. Don’t be late.”
“Nifty. I’ll steal something swell to wear. Whaddaya think—pantaloons?”
He was toying with her. This was the trouble with trusting a fella like Sam Lloyd.
“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!”