Michele Bravo and the Dangerous Moonlight: Ch 1

Dangerous Moonlight Ch 1: A Night in the 1920s

September 1, 1990

Pier #1 at New York Harbor was alive with lights and paper streamers and the sounds of a party, a party for the maiden cruise of the new cruise liner Britannia.

On one side of the pier was the vast length of the Britannia, as long as three football fields and almost as high as one. Opposite the ship, on the pier, crowds of people milled about. Ladies in cloche hats and flapper dresses and men in tuxedos talked and laughed, danced to the music, and drank champagne – or other alcohol – from teacups.

Red jacketed waiters and black-and-white uniformed waitresses circulated among them all with trays full of Hor D’ouerves. Those individuals who did not wish to wait for a waiter could go to one of the many tables set up, each one providing a different type of hot or cold Hor D'ouerves. Servers were stationed behind each of these tables. At each end of the ship was a band playing ragtime and jazz classic (at just over a thousand feet's distance, the music from one band faded out long before it got to the other side).

The presence of a handful of police officers, clad in the standard 1920s uniform, did not detract from the festivities. They hovered on the edges of the crowd, hands behind their backs, looking stolid….but ready to spring into action at any moment should the need arise.

Three reporters, clad in serge suits and wearing fedoras with a sign labeled PRESS tucked into the brim, wended their way throughout the crowds – carrying a heavy wire-recording device over one shoulder and waving a microphone in the other hand, soliciting on-the-spot interviews with as many people as possible. Each reporter had his own photographer, wearing jodhpurs, a white shirt, and an oversize felt cap. The cameras they carried were the huge, box-like kind, with enormous flashbulbs. Only one of these individuals was a woman…Michele Bravo, and the jodhpurs and loose white shirt she wore only served to accentuate her tall, feminine frame.

Michelle was enjoying herself immensely. The Comstock Line was doing itself proud with the launch of its newest cruise liner. Many of the ship’s decks, not to mention its cabins, had been decorated in art deco fashion, and the Comstock people had decided to go all out and throw a pier-side launch party with the same theme. All of the 2,000 guests scheduled to sail from New York to Southampton had gotten into the spirit of the thing, wearing the appropriate 1920s costumes. Comstock itself had hired the reporters and photographers and gotten them rigged out appropriately as well (and dressed its security people in police uniforms). There was nothing on the pier to destroy the image of a lovely 1920s night.

Her attention was caught by a couple dancing the Charleston...she'd have to learn how to do that....

Michele’s reporter finished his interview with the actor Robert Wade and walked back to one of the Hor D'ouerves tables. Michele wasn't much of a movie goer and actually hadn't recognized him, but she thought he looked rather cute - he had the round face she liked and his bangs were brushed forward in a Roman kind of way. Plus he he filled out his tuxedo quite nicely.

"Smile," she said to him quickly, raising her camera. She had caught him by surprise, he had started to turn away. He looked back and she pressed the button. "Got it," she said, giving him a dazzling smile.

Wade blinking after her like an owl, as she joined Patrick - her reporter partner - at the hor d'ouerves table. He had tucked his microphone into his breast pocket and was helping himself to a cracker covered with caviar.

Michele slung the camera over her shoulder, reached into a back pocket and pulled out a silver flask. She unscrewed the cap and took a quick sip.

“What a good idea,” said Patrick. He twitched the flask out of her hands. “Give us a sip.”

“It’s water,” she warned him.

He stopped with the flask halfway to his lips, looking horrified, and then sniffed. Yes, it was water.

“My god,” he said, “What are you, a teetotaler?”

Michele just grinned.

Although the reporters could help themselves to any of the food on offer, they were expressly forbidden from indulging in alcohol. They

Patrick turned to the waiter behind the Hor D'ouerves table and asked disconsolately for a coffee.

Michele took another sip from the flask and returned it to her back pocket.

“I can’t wait to get on the ship,” Patrick murmured. “My dogs are killing me.”

“I think our bit is just about done,” replied Michele. They won’t want us monopolizing the A-list all night.”

“The A list…” Patrick mused. “Some of the wealthiest people in the country, some actors, top businessmen, a few minor politicians, some well-off retirees, debutantes and their mothers….”

“Plus the top crew, support people and entertainers in the cruise line industry,” Michele mused back at him. “Plus the best travel writers money can buy.”

Patrick showed all his teeth in a Cheshire cat grin. “That’s us, love.”

“And the best security service,” Michele murmured.

Patrick nodded. “Are those cops going to stay in costume for the whole cruise?”

“I think so. Special uniform for security guards. Why not? I’m sure all of the passengers also know that there’s going to be some plain clothes security on the ship as well. But I bet they like to see the boys in blue, too.”

“I wonder how many gigolos, swindlers, and confidence tricksters managed to get aboard this ship,” he murmured.

"Hopefully we'll know by the time we dock in Southampton," Michele replied.

She turned to look over the Hor D'ouerves table, then twitched her nose in disgust. Only caviar.

“I’m not into caviar. At all,” she said. “They must have some beef wellington, or better yet some chocolate truffles.”

Patrick grabbed up another cracker and heaped it high with caviar. He thrust it into his mouth and said, “Sure, let’s go foraging.”