His countenance looms in her vision, the colors changing. Ebony to flaming red to faded grey while the golden eyes grow brighter till they burn from his face with a vengeance. Centuries have passed, but his beauty is as unearthly as it was the day she first met him when she was a child.

The images shift like a screen projector.

The infant with the solemn stare and swath of jet back hair like his father's.

The girl child dreaming in a summer field, eyes dark brown as her father's, tumbling curls like leaves in autumn.

The maiden on horseback with the fierce blue gaze and her father's sword at her side. 

Then the shadowy figure she can never get a good look at that passes before her sleeping gaze. She knows him on seaside cliffs, beside lakes, and behind waterfalls. But she doesn't know him. Not really. Not ever. Despite the intimacy of the years spent together, she never truly knows him. 

And it makes her love him all the more.

***

"And 5, 6, 7, 8..." The choreographer chimed out, tapping his foot as he drew a puff off his cigar. He snarled and waved a hand for the band to stop, marching across the stage towards Ivy. "Look kid, pieces like you are a dime a dozen in this city. If you don't stop dreaming, I'll kick your bony behind right out of here."

The other chorus girls tittered among themselves as Ivy's face warmed under his threat. "I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well last night."

"Quit going out on the town every evening of the week and that will solve your problem. Other than that, leave your belly aching for someone else, I don't have the time or patience," he ranted, spittle dusting her cheeks.

Ivy wiped her face with a grimace and stretched out her ankles as she waited for the next cue, staring down at her feet. Myrtle elbowed her.

"What's wrong with you, honey? You've had your head in the clouds all day." She tightened the kerchief tied around her curls.

"Just what I said. I didn't sleep well." Ivy had no interest in discussing her nightmares openly. Avoidance seemed the best option at the moment, though it was beginning to interfere with her work.

Maryanne let out a low whistle and nodded towards one of the gilded balcony boxes over head. "Most eligible bachelor sighting at two o'clock."

Ivy glanced up. Sitting in one of the faded red velvet chairs high above them was the new owner of the Gilded Cage. Mal Smith was watching the rehearsal with a bemused expression. And seemed to be looking at everyone but her. For some odd reason, this irked Ivy.

"Probably trying to decide which one of us to give the boot first," Myrtle muttered under her breath.

"But Ivy said he mentioned that he wasn't letting any of us go," Maryanne protested.

"Aw, you're sweet kid." Myrtle pinched her cheek and Maryanne swatted her hand away.

"I wouldn't trust him just because he says it. Even the Bible says trust no man, the nuns told me so." Ivy smirked.

"I'll say amen to that," Myrtle chuckled.

Maryanne sighed. "Oh ye of little faith. C'mon, there's nothing wrong with believing the best in people."

Ivy hooked her arm around Maryanne's waist and gave her a hug. "I'll only trust you, how about that, kid?"

Myrtle held up her hands in mock offense. "Don't count me in or anything, I wouldn't trust me either."

The choreographer turned his red faced scowl directly on them. Chomping on the end of his cigar, he stabbed a stubby finger in their general direction. "Get your buns on the line or you are all fired! And 5, 6, 7..."

The rest of rehearsal went relatively well. Their costumes were changed and adjusted. No longer riding the line of burlesque, they now dressed like a legitimate Broadway show. Even the quality of the fabric had improved. More instruments were added to the band in the pit. Workers were busy reupholstering seats and painting over water stains, scrubbing the grout between tiles. All that Smith-Astor money was being put to good use in the young mogul's new venture.

Maryanne and Myrtle were meeting their Texas dates for dinner. Ivy declined, saying that if she had to endure another evening of the Deadly Dull Cowboy, he'd end up with a Delmonico's steak knife held to his throat. 

After dressing in her grey, drop waist dress and black cloche hat, she slipped out the back alley, not in the mood for conversation with the other girls. As she walked out the door, a clatter came from overhead. The fire escape ladder dropped to the cement. She watched with a confused grin as Mal Smith slipped out the second floor window, his coat hanging over his shoulder and hat cocked on his head as he shimmied down the ladder.

She snorted. "Hello?"

Startled, he jumped and turned in her direction. Pressing a finger to his mouth, he gripped her elbow and hurried her out of the alley. "Just walk normal."

She tried to look back as they slipped out into the fading light on the city street. "What is going on?"

"A quick getaway. So far so good," he muttered, slipping his arms into his coat. "I couldn't get the Rolls pulled around in time."

"Who are you running from?"

"My grandmother."

Ivy couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped her. His gaze shot over to her, a grin playing at his lips and golden eyes filled with something she couldn't name. Like he was recalling a faded memory. "What's so funny?"

"I have just never heard of someone running from their grandmother like she was a cop out to make an arrest."

"Well that's because you've never met my grandmother before." He rolled his eyes. "The Astor side at least. She's not too keen on this new project of mine as she calls it. She says its just another way for me to avoid responsibility."

"Is it?"

He gave a charming shrug and tossed her a wink. "It passes the time."

Ivy turned in the direction of the subway entrance. "Well, good luck on your escape."

He paused in the middle of the busy sidewalk, quirking an eyebrow. "You just going to leave me here? After all we've been through together?"

Ivy gripped the iron hand rail leading down to the subway, a little offset by his charm. "I was planning on it."

Sticking his hands in his pockets, he rocked on his expensive Italian leather shoes like a bashful little boy. "Because you see, I was starting to get a little hungry."

"You should do something about that then," she said with a swift salute.

"Hey wait a minute!" He chuckled as he chased behind her down into the station. "That usually works on all the girls."

"I bet it does, the whole Little Boy Blue thing is a good look on you."

"But it's not an act, honest," he said taking off his hat and getting on one knee in front of her in the middle of the rush hour crowd. "I'm harmless and all I want is one meal with you. Please, you're breaking my heart."

Ivy perched a fist on her hip and bit back a smile.

"Oh c'mon honey, give the poor fella' a break," an onlooker hooted as the train to Brooklyn pulled up with a screech.

"Get up," she groused, taking him by the arm and getting him to his feet. He peered down at her with a smug grin, knowing even then he'd won the day. "Alright then, one quick meal. But on my territory, you hear me Astor-Smith? None of these five star places your crowd frequents. And no funny business."

"Very well, I accept your terms. Shall we?" He motioned up to the street and no doubt referred to his Rolls.

She shook her head with a sardonic laugh and dragged him over to the sliding doors of a subway car. "Oh no, you come with me. We're taking the Manhattan-Brooklyn line."

After telling her that he'd never ridden on the subway before, he spent most of the trip admiring the door mechanism and chatting with the other occupants. By the time they made it to their stop, he had most of the cranky, New York commuters fawning over him.

"Say, you should go into politics," she commented as they walked up to the street level.

"Really?" He considered this, pursing his lips. "I believe that might be a little too much work for me."

"You something of a playboy?"

"I prefer individual of artistic temperament," he accented his words with a theatrical wave of his hand. "Besides I would never be able to stomach it. It's too messy and unpredictable, I like to have my ducks in a row."

"I thought you were of an artistic temperament, shouldn't that make you somewhat messy?"

He opened the door to the diner where she'd led him and wafted a hand for her to slip inside. "I'm also a walking contradiction."

They took a booth by the lunch counter and we given menus upon sitting. Ivy peeked up at him from across the way as he scanned the paper, his eyebrows narrowing with interest. "If I knew food could come at these low prices, I would have been eating like this years ago. Bowl of soup for 35 cents, tuna melt for $0.50..."

"Its sometimes more than I can afford," she muttered without thinking, resting her neck against her hand. She glanced up to see him studying her with sympathy. Her eyes widened. "Oh no, I'm fine though. I get by on my own. Well... sometimes I'll accept a date for a free meal. Not that this is a date! I'm not using you for food or anything!" The Chauffeur's judgmental words came back to her. 

"I know, I know. I pretty much twisted your arm to get you here," he said with a boyish grin as the waitress came back. "I'll have a cup of black coffee and a ham sandwich."

Ivy nodded to the woman. "Same, thank you."

"I guess..." He bit his lower lip as he righted a upturned salt shaker and tossed a bit of the spilled salt over his shoulder to counteract bad luck. "I guess I never really thought about what your life might be like. Or people like you as well."

"It's funny how something like a meal at a diner can change your entire perspective," she replied, scanning the other patrons. It was unnerving how natural it felt to be with him, like she knew him from somewhere else.

"Perspective is an odd thing." He nodded solemnly. "Like truth. It's relative to the person. It's not an exact science."

Ivy met his eyes, still searching her face for something. Understanding perhaps? 

"Honestly, you're surprising. You're not what I would have thought you'd be like, millionaire, war hero-"

He scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Hardly a war hero. That was something the papers used to sell more stories. I was merely at the right place and right time. Like tonight when I climbed down my office fire escape and ran right into you. I'm kind of lucky like that."

"Me too actually," she laughed. "Sometimes it's like this is opening performance of my life and I've already gone through all the rehearsals, I know all the steps."

The waitress slipped their plates in front of them. Ivy picked up her cup and sipped it.

"So you're saying you believe in past lives," he commented dryly.

Ivy coughed. "Excuse me?"

"That there is more to this life than what we see here, now, today." He continued casually, readjusting his sandwich to his liking then taking a bite. "Like I said,  I'm an artist. I like to think about these things."

Ivy focused on pouring an exorbitant amount of sugar into her cup. "Never gave it much thought."

Mal set down his sandwich with a smile. "You put much more of that sweetener in there and that coffee will send you right into a coma."

With a weak laugh, she put down her spoon and took a bite of her sandwich. The bread was soggy but she was starving. "You sure do run the gambit of conversation topics."

"I like variety. It keeps things interesting."

"With your women too, I suspect." She dared to mention. "Or men, whichever is your preference."

"Women and no," he answered firmly. He met her eyes and the mouthful of rye bread turned to dust in her mouth. "I'm not a playboy in that sense of the word. You seem very cynical for one so young."

Ivy stirred her coffee. "I just don't trust people easily."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not sure. I never have, even when I was little."

Mal wiped his mouth with a napkin and peered down at his watch. "I have a meeting with one of the investors for the theater. I'm sorry to have to leave you like this but... if all goes well tonight, I have a proposition for you."

Ivy furrowed her brow. "Hey now, just wait a minute-"

"Not that kind of proposition, Miss McKee. Don't worry. It's a business proposition. I was watching you dance tonight and I have an idea." He rose from his seat and tossed a couple dollar bills on the table. "Dinner is on me tonight. Thank you for enduring my company, I know I can be trying." 

With that boyish grin still on his face, he sauntered out of the diner while merrily whistling 'O Come All Ye Faithful'.