Grace in Autumn
Grace in Autumn
“Birdie gaped in surprise. “Why, you look so distinguished!”
Buddy Franklin stood before her in black tails, a white shirt, and a red satin cape. His long face gleamed in a bright spotlight, and beyond the edge of the stage, she could hear a spattering of anticipatory applause.
“They’re waiting,” he said, winking at her. “And you look pretty foxy yourself.”
Birdie blushed. “Aw, go on.”
“No, Birdie, you are a vision of loveliness, a comet of cuteness, a shooting star from Saturn.” He paused as the orchestra music swelled. “You look just like . . . whatever.”
While she watched, Buddy swept past her, his red cape flashing as he began a routine with moves like Fred Astaire.
Birdie blinked. She didn’t know Buddy could dance. When did he learn to waltz like that?
As the audience went wild, she turned, a little surprised to find herself in the wings of a stage. She glanced down as a feather rose in the heat of the lights and tickled her nose.
Why was she wearing a red feather boa?
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