Her name appears nowhere on the advertisement, but the likeness of the predominantly nude figure on the cover is a dead giveaway, Mia concludes with a sigh. With the dangerous literature stowed securely in the inner pocket of her chauffeur's jacket, Mia Bernstein decides that Madame can wait long enough for her secretary to make a very important telephone call.

Hortense and Louise fight dreadful hangovers while helping the girls settle in, the gardener and the runner finish unloading the luggage from the motorcoach, and Madame goes out to the gardens to meet Bastien and the young woman accompanying him.

Meanwhile, Mia slips into her own room, grabs the telephone, plops herself down on the floor between the bed and the bedside table, and bites her nails, waiting for Maurice to answer. "I can't perform tonight!" Mia shout-whispers into the candlestick's mouthpiece.

"Mia? You must!" comes a man's Parisian accent on the other end. "Vivienne and Mimi both have laryngitis. They will do little more than wear sequins and wave feather-fans tonight. Is it Madame?"

"Yes! She's bringing the girls to the show tonight! She has no idea it's...well...what it is."

"Show her the ad. That will dissuade her."

"I'm on the ad, Maurice! That won't help!"

Maurice sighs, muffles the transmitter with his hand, and carries on a conversation in inaudibly rapid French with someone else in the room. Mia raps her fingernails on her teeth impatiently.

"J'ai une idée, mon amie! Come to the cabaret tonight and perform your Pierrot number instead," Maurice suggests excitedly.

Relief spreads through Mia's entire body for a moment, replaced quickly by a new stress. "Oh...okay. I can do that. It's been five years, though, Maurice."

"Have no fear, mon cherie. You are a natural. I have complete confidence that you will be très splendide!"

Mia hangs up the phone, wondering if she is in any better a situation now than she had been in before calling Maurice. The Pierrot number is certainly more appropriate for the likes of 17-year-old girls. And with the elaborate costume and makeup, it is entirely possible that Madame would never know it was her. But the song. Irving Berlin's "What'll I Do?" tugged at many hearts when it debuted in 1923, Mia's more than any other.

(OOC: The song is Irving Berlin's "What'll I Do?")



It wasn't a fairy-tale ending. On the other hand, fairy tales are passé in the Modern Age. Berlin's maudlin waltz plays in her mind, against her will, and a host of memories long locked away come rushing back. Sparing a few more moments away from Madame, Mia digs into a musty drawer to uncover a scrapbook thick with newspaper clippings, photographs, theatre programmes, drawings, ticket stubs, invitations, calling cards, letters, and a number of miscellaneous keepsakes. Three photographs, in particular, are most precious to her, and with her finger she gently outlines the figure of the gentleman in each one.



It had all started in 1911, at Italia Conti's theatre school. Both Mia and Simon had a love for the stage, and their parents had enough confidence in their talents. It was here they met and became fast friends. Mia desired to be a world-class soprano. Even then, at the age of 12, she had her eye on La Scala. Simon was the classic clown and acrobat. Destined to be a music hall sensation, he saw a natural gift for comedy in Mia that he tried desperately to foster, much to Mia's annoyance.



With Madame Duvallon's blessing, Mia and Simon toured England on the concert party circuit, in 1917. Again, Mia stuck to beautiful ballads while Simon played the cheeky dandy, pearlie, costermonger, or whomever else had potential for a laugh. Their day in the sun ended when Simon enlisted to fight in the Great War. Before he left, he asked Mia to marry him. She refused him.



Their paths would cross again in 1923. A war hero and cabaret sensation, Simon found himself sharing the bill with Mia Bernstein once again, at Christmas. By this time Mia had begun her secret career as a comedienne, jazz singer, and exotic dancer, using aliases like Sultana Djari. Her childhood dream of La Scala fell by the wayside. No aria could fill the place in Mia's heart reserved for the beloved "What'll I Do?" For that was the song that she and Simon danced to when he proposed a second time.

Since then, Berlin's masterpiece has been Mia's torch song, the anthem of her doom to remain separated from her heart's desire forever. As much as she loved him, she was a product of the Age, an independent woman, someone who would never live as her mother had. Ever.

Wiping bittersweet tears from her eyes, Mia returns the scrapbook to its sacred place in the musty drawer and regains her composure before meeting Madame and the girls in the garden.