At the bottom of the stairs a grandfather clock opened and out popped Savanna, accompanied by three fat fairies wearing Prohibition browns. She pointed to her Mickey Mouse wristwatch, yelling, “Time to come in, Mel!” She held out a bouquet to me and I bowed to the sounds of staccato applause that resembled door-locks clicking more than hands clapping. “Melody. Saree. Wake up, girls.” I opened a lid. Mrs. Donovan stood in the doorway of my room holding a vase full of some sort of Japanese lotus blossom. “What?” “They’re for you. Arrived a few minutes ago. I brought 'em right up.” “Thanks, Mrs. Donovan. Who are they from?” She ignored the question, trotted over to the bed and handed the flowers to me. “Ya don’t see a lot of lotus blossoms as gifts.” “Damn straight.” There was no card. Anonymous lotus blossoms. The disappointment that swept over me was almost tangible. I knew they weren’t from Briley. A few dances do not a love affair make. I should have that one plastered on a T-shirt.
