After The Credits

New York City – 21.10 preface (the Star in the Film) 



As I blew out the candle letting my mind find her through the wax of the burnt out candle, I pictured her room like so many times before, the pieces of furniture edged permently into my mind. The small Sea Green table on the side of the wall the equally small silk and green chair that now held her figure. As she sat writing her hand hovering over a piece of old paper, well not old then but by the time I got it, it would be. But still she sat her eyes wondering out of the window as New York City shut down before her.



As I glanced around I saw her Gold Flapper dress laying on the bed her golden heels beside it tonight she was going dancing, tomorrow I would. That was the way this worked we were never in time always a second out but enough to know we were both there. Enough for some sort of comfort I suppose to know she was there after all. Sighing I watched her slip her heels on and twist in them tonight she would dance with one of the boys from the village tonight she would be a Flapper girl one night a week she got off to dance the night away, I just wish it could be with me. As she sighed and kissed the letter, leaving her light lip print laced upon the letters envelope. The light from the candle in her room blew out, as she changed swiftly into her Flapper dress the heels creaking as she left the room for the dance. While I waited patiently by my typewriter for her reply, how letters came from her to me astonished me to no end she was a 20’s flapper girl and me a 21st century artist who has only one Muse ...Her



Chapter 1 – Across Time



I let her go as the letter typed itself through my typewriter, her handwriting soft and beautiful appeared on the crinkly old paper. “My darling, you continue to surprise me “I smiled as my fingers brushed over the kiss she had sealed the letter with, she barley knew my name I filled her in when I could but mostly it was just nice to talk to her, to hear about the 20’s to hear about the life of the real Evelyn Marie Bonnet.



Not the film adaption everyone knows about the story of the real Evelyn Bonnet the story about a woman who just wanted to be a dancer, a free spirit who loves nothing more then running to somewhere safe, somewhere were she is protected forever.... Like with me. As I read through her letter I’m struck at the actions of her parents her Mother Catherine Bonnet and Richard Bonnet were two of the biggest Dancers in New York once upon a time before Catherine had Evelyn. Back then when Broadway looked like the film Chicago Catherine was a big star and every since she was a little Girl Evelyn has wanted to be a dancer that’s something the film left out. As I read through her letter laughing at the way her Best friend Charlotte is arranging to run away with the Bakers boy and how Evelyn is sneaking her bread and barley from the kitchens, that is my Evie all over kind and caring to everyone.



As I finish her letter I place the small piece of paper on my table and begin to write back lighting the candle for the third time tonight as New york comes out to play outside my window, children as young as sixteen clubbing till the early hours of the morning as I pick up my cigar and light the end pausing for a second as I contemplate my response to her letter.



Half an hour later and I had drank the last of my whisky, crying over Evelyn’s letter the way she spoke about her dance teacher Miss Jolene, the way she made Evelyn dance with every man in the class, she would always apologize but I couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous that they could hold her but I never could just once I wished she could be flesh and blood in my world. I spent the rest of that night and most of the morning writing back to her, filling her in on my Mother and her great plan to get me to do something with my life. I could imagine her smiling at that and calling my mother a Dormouse Evelyn’s term for non-believer. As I walked away from the typewriter knowing she wouldn’t get my letter till the morning, I climbed into bed and snuggled under the covers eagerly waiting for morning to come. But when morning came, my typewriter stood blank and useless on my desk, there was no letter waiting for me, Evelyn had not written back.