New York, New York!

by Ann M. Martin

  Maybe someday I would be credited with having pushed the famous Quint Walter into the spotlight when he was afraid to go ahead with his career.

  We walked back to Quint’s apartment. We reached it just as his father was coming home from work. Quint and I glanced at each other.

  “Dum, da-dum, dum,” sang Quint softly. Then he said, “Hi, Dad. How was work? Did you have a good day? Can we have a talk?”

  Mr. Walter put down his briefcase. “Hello yourself,” he said to Quint. “Hi, Jessi.” He kissed Mrs. Walter and was then tackled by Morgan and Tyler.

  “How was the ballet?” Mrs. Walter asked Quint.

  “Fine, but I really need to talk to you and Dad. I want Jessi here, too. But not … you know …” He gestured toward his brother and sister.

  I’m sure Quint’s parents thought we were going to tell them we wanted to get married, or something equally serious. They looked awfully worried. Maybe this was a good thing. Because when Quint said, “It’s about my dance lessons,” his parents lost around twenty pounds, just by letting their breath out.

  “What about your dance lessons?” asked Mrs. Walter.

  “I sort of want to take more.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “They’ll be expensive.”

  I was going to say, “Quint, you’re avoiding the issue,” when his father asked, “How many lessons each week?”

  “A lot?” replied Quint.

  I nudged him.

  “What’s going on?” asked Mr. Walter.

  Quint looked helplessly at me, but I just looked back at him. I was not going to tell his parents about Juilliard for him. He had to do that himself.

  “Go ahead,” I said finally. “Tell them.”

  “Tell us what?” asked Mrs. Walter.

  Quint gathered himself up. “I want to audition for Juilliard,” he said. “I mean, if you can afford to send me there.”

  “Juilliard!” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Walter at the same time.

  “Yes,” said Quint. “My teachers think I can get in. So I’d like to try.”

  “All right,” said Mr. Walter. “I think we can manage it. Especially if you look into scholarships.”

  “All right?” repeated Quint. “You mean you don’t care?”

  “Of course we care,” Mrs. Walter replied. “We’re so proud of you. And if you got into Juilliard, well, just imagine.”

  “Besides, we’re behind whatever you want to do,” added Mr. Walter. “We’ll stand behind Tyler and Morgan, too.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” mumbled Quint. “I’m glad you’re behind me. And I’m glad you’re proud of me. I really am. But do you realize what’s going to happen if I go to dance school every day? Do you?”

  “You’ll develop huge muscles in your legs?” suggested Mr. Walter.

  “Dad, this is serious!”

  “Okay. I know some of the kids tease you. You have to decide whether you want to put up with that. Or else, you have to find a way to change things.”

  “Right,” said Quint. He didn’t smile. He stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. He walked around the room. At last he came to a stop in front of me. “That’s pretty much what Jessi said.”

  “You’re not worried about the audition at all, are you,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “Just the kids?”

  “Yup.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then the four of us began to laugh.

  “Get through the audition first,” said Mrs. Walter.

  “Yes, Mom,” Quint replied politely.

  “Hey, Ma!” yelled Tyler from somewhere in the back of the apartment. “Can we come out now? We can hear you guys laughing.”

  Tyler and Morgan were allowed back in the living room.

  I looked at my watch. “Oh! I have to go!” I exclaimed.

  “I’ll walk you home,” said Quint. He turned to his family. “See you later. I’ll be back soon.”

  Quint and I left the Walters’ apartment. We stepped into the hallway. “Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked as we waited for the elevator. “I have to go back to Connecticut on Saturday morning.”

  “Saturday morning?” Quint looked dismayed. “I don’t believe it. We’re going to visit my grandparents tomorrow. We won’t come home until Saturday afternoon. Or maybe even Sunday.”

  “That means we have to say good-bye now,” I whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  The elevator had not arrived yet. Quint and I were leaning against the wall, our shoulders touching. Slowly, Quint turned to face me. He took my hands in his. Then he tipped my chin up … and kissed me gently.

  My first kiss.

  “We’ll keep in touch, won’t we?” I asked.

  “We better,” Quint replied.

  Our Friday outing with Alistaire and Rowena turned into quite an affair. First, Laine and the rest of my friends decided to come along with us. Mal and Claudia were finished with their art classes and, after all, it was our last day together in New York. This was not the morning surprise, though.

  The morning surprise began when Mary Anne and I entered the Harringtons’ apartment to pick up Alistaire and Rowena. (The two of us went by ourselves. We thought we would overwhelm the kids if all eight of us showed up. Also, we wanted Mr. and Mrs. Harrington’s permission for our friends to spend the day with us.) As you might imagine, Mary Anne and I were pretty nervous. We had to have “the talk” with Alistaire and Rowena’s parents. We knew we did. Rowena and Alistaire were being followed, and the Harringtons should be aware of it. What if the guy followed them back to England?

  “Let’s just hope Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are at home,” I said to Mary Anne as we waited for someone to answer the doorbell.

  “Do we have to hope?” asked Mary Anne. “I don’t want to give them this news. It’s too weird.”

  “We already decided,” I said. “We’re going to do it.”

  At that moment, the door was unlocked and opened.

  In front of us stood Mr. Harrington.

  “Hullo!” he said cheerfully.

  I stiffened. Mary Anne took a step back.

  Poor, poor Mr. Harrington, I thought. This could be his last happy moment. In a few seconds, he would find out that his beloved children were in mortal danger, being followed by a kidnapper, a dastardly criminal, possibly an international spy.

  “Hi,” I said in a small voice.

  Mary Anne and I entered the apartment. We stood rigidly by the door.

  “Well, now. What’s on the docket for today?” asked Mr. Harrington.

  Mary Anne just stood stock-still. So I answered, “Oh, a lot of things. But Mr. Harrington?”

  “Yes?”

  “Mary Anne and I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Is it your pay?” asked Mrs. Harrington. She bustled into the living room, fastening her earrings as she spoke.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I mean, we do need to be paid today, since we leave tomorrow, but the amount you mentioned is fine. See, it’s … There’s a little problem,” I said, faltering, and wishing that Mary Anne would speak up. I knew she wouldn’t, though.

  “With the children?” asked Mr. Harrington, frowning.

  “Well, yes —”

  “Are they misbehaving?”

  “Oh, no! They’re wonderful. The problem is … well, it sounds sort of hard to believe…. I guess the best thing is just to come out and tell you.” I paused. “Someone is following Rowena and Alistaire.”

  The Harringtons glanced at each other. I knew it. They thought I was crazy. If only Mary Anne would open her mouth, then they’d think she was crazy, too. I wouldn’t be the only one. Oh, well. I’d started this and I had to finish it.

  “It’s a man,” I went on. “We see him everywhere. But only when the children are with us. That’s how we know he’s following them and not us.” (The Harringtons were smiling by this time, but I continued anyway.) “The guy wears sunglasses and a rain hat, no matter what the we
ather. He’s never done a thing to the kids — he hasn’t even come near them — he’s just always around. I know we should have told you about him sooner, and we were going to. Honest. But we weren’t sure we were being followed, and we didn’t want to accuse anyone of something awful like that if it might not be true.” I was rushing on, talking like a record playing at fast speed. Frankly, I was blabbering. “Maybe we should have told you, but we just weren’t sure. I’m sorry if we put the children in any danger, and I hope you aren’t mad at us. See, it wasn’t until Monday that we thought about the microfilm and the diamonds and the airplane and stuff. And we were going to tell you that afternoon, but you weren’t home and you didn’t need us again until today and I guess we could have called you but we didn’t because we thought we should tell you in person so —”

  “Stacey!” exclaimed Mrs. Harrington. Laughing, she held up one hand. “Slow down. You and Mary Anne didn’t do anything wrong.” She turned toward the hallway that led to the back of the apartment. “Bill?” she called.

  Bill? Who was Bill?

  This man walked into the living room. I had never seen him before. He must be an overnight guest, I thought…. Or a spy. Oh, no. Maybe the Harringtons were the bad guys. They were spies and this man was their agent and now the three of them were going to hold Mary Anne and me captive. Probably the housekeeper was in on the plot, too.

  I looked at Mary Anne. She looked at me and shrugged.

  “Don’t you recognize him?” asked Mrs. Harrington.

  Mary Anne shook her head.

  I said, “Who? Bill? No. Should we recognize him?”

  Mr. Harrington nodded to Bill, who nodded back, and left the room. When he returned, he was carrying a rain hat and a pair of dark glasses. He put them on.

  “Aughhh!” screamed Mary Anne. “There’s that guy!”

  “Mary Anne, that’s Bill,” I said. I turned to the Harringtons and asked, “Who’s Bill? I don’t get it.” And please don’t kidnap us, I added silently.

  “Bill is our bodyguard,” replied Mr. Harrington.

  “Your bodyguard?” said Mary Anne with a gasp.

  “Yes. You girls were right in thinking that Rowena and Alistaire should be watched,” Mr. Harrington continued. “It’s unfortunate that they must be, but that’s the state of our affairs. In England, we are very much in the public eye. And here in the United States, Mrs. Harrington and I are involved in international politics. We can’t take chances. So Bill is the bodyguard for Alistaire and Rowena.”

  “Why — why didn’t you tell us about him?” asked Mary Anne, who apparently was recovering from a great shock.

  “Or why didn’t the kids tell us about him?” I asked. “They know who Bill is, don’t they? They must recognize him.”

  “Oh, they know Bill,” replied Mrs. Harrington. “They know him all too well. And, they like him, but he makes them feel self-conscious. They’re very aware of him when they’re out in public. Having a bodyguard reminds them that they’re in a different situation than most children are.”

  “So we thought we would try to give Rowena and Alistaire a real vacation,” continued Mr. Harrington. “They know Bill is here with us, of course, but they don’t know he’s been following you around. And they would have recognized him, which is why he wore the hat and the glasses.”

  “But why didn’t you tell us about Bill?” Mary Anne asked again.

  “Because we thought you’d be nervous, that you’d overprotect the children, and we just wanted them to have a good time.”

  Mary Anne turned to Bill. “Will you be following us today?”

  “Yes,” replied Bill. He smiled. I could tell that he liked Alistaire and Rowena, which is why these thoughts began clicking along in my mind, and suddenly I cried, “Bill! Did you do something with the balloons that Alistaire and Rowena got at the street fair and then tied to the bike rack at the museum?”

  Bill looked sheepish. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t want the children to be disappointed, and I knew they would be if they left the museum and found that their balloons had gone missing. So I checked on the balloons once, saw that they were gone, and ran back to the fair. I bought two more, but I think I got the wrong colors.”

  “One wrong color,” said Mary Anne, laughing.

  She looked as relieved as I felt. I began to laugh, too, and was soon joined by the Harringtons and Bill.

  “Hullo! You’re here!” cried Rowena, running into the living room.

  She was followed by Alistaire, calling, “Brilliant! Is it time to go?”

  “Yup,” I replied. “We planned a big day.”

  I asked the Harringtons if they minded if our friends came along, and they said it would be fine. So we set off.

  “ ’Bye, Bill!” called Rowena and Alistaire as the door closed behind us.

  * * *

  I think we walked about twenty miles that day. Our first stop (well, we took cabs there) was FAO Schwarz. Rowena said she could not wait one more moment to see it. “And,” she added, “I need a toy.”

  “Well, you’re in luck,” I told her. “Your mother and father said that you and Alistaire could each buy one toy, as long as the toys aren’t too expensive.”

  “They did? Brilliant!” exclaimed Rowena.

  As soon as we entered the store, Rowena’s eyes lit up. “Ohhh,” was all she said.

  And Alistaire whispered, “So many animals.” (He meant stuffed ones.)

  I thought for sure we were in trouble as we roamed the store and the kids kept examining things that were priced at hundreds or even thousands of dollars. But when Mary Anne finally said, “Okay, guys. What do you want to buy?” Alistaire chose a small stuffed dinosaur and Rowena chose a Skipper doll. Whew.

  As we were leaving the store, I caught sight of Bill stepping off the escalator. I waved to him and he waved back. Then he straightened his rain hat and tried to look inconspicuous but official.

  We wandered through Bloomingdale’s. While Rowena sampled perfume, Bill hovered over a cosmetics counter, pretending to look interested in some lipstick.

  We had lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe. It wasn’t easy, but a waitress managed to seat the ten of us together. Bill sat by himself at a little table across the room. He looked pretty odd wearing his hat while he ate, and especially wearing his sunglasses, because the inside of the Hard Rock Cafe is on the dark side. A few people stared at him, but at least Alistaire and Rowena didn’t recognize him. (I waved to him again. I couldn’t help it.)

  After a long day of shopping and sightseeing, we returned the Harrington kids to their apartment. Mr. Harrington was home, and he gave Mary Anne and me our pay.

  Then we said good-bye to Alistaire and Rowena.

  And on our way out, we said good-bye to Bill, who was on his way in.

  My friends and I (plus Laine) ended our vacation with a terrific evening. First we got all dressed up, and then Stacey, Dawn, and I went to the Cummingses’ apartment. The eight of us looked like models or something. Even Kristy. She was wearing a long cotton sweater, black leggings, and black shoes. (She had borrowed everything from Laine.) The rest of us were wearing short skirts or dresses, leggings — you know, the layered look. A lot of our clothes were new, bought while we were on vacation.

  “Where are you girls off to?” asked Mr. Cummings. As if he didn’t know.

  “Our night on the town,” replied Laine.

  Mr. Cummings clapped his hand to his head. “You know? I completely forgot!”

  “Dad, you didn’t. What about the limo?” cried Laine.

  “Laine, I think he’s kidding,” I whispered.

  “Are you kidding?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Mr. Cummings. “The limo is waiting outside. It’s at your disposal from now until the play is over. The driver knows he’s supposed to bring you directly here from the theater.”

  “Okay.”

  In case you’re wondering, Laine’s father is a producer of Broadway plays. He’s pretty well-known, ac
cording to Stacey. And he makes an awful lot of money, which is how the Cummingses can afford to live in the Dakota — and to hire a limo and chauffeur whenever they need one. (They don’t own a car. Having a car in New York City is a gigantic pain.) Also, since Mr. Cummings produces plays, he gets lots of free tickets to shows. Our theater tickets that evening were free. If we’d had to pay for them, we wouldn’t have been able to go. Most of us (especially Kristy) were pretty broke.

  “Is it the same limo as last time?” I asked excitedly. (Once, during the time Dawn, Mary Anne, Kristy, and I had visited Stacey for a weekend when she was living here, Laine’s father had hired another limo. It was incredibly chilly. When the driver hit the horn, instead of beeping, it played the first two lines from “Home on the Range.”)

  “The exact same limo?” said Mr. Cummings. “I doubt it.”

  Darn. Oh, well.

  “You girls better get going,” Mrs. Cummings spoke up. “You’ve planned an awfully busy evening.”

  That was true. We were going to look in a few of Laine’s favorite stores before they closed for the day, then go to dinner at … Tavern on the Green. And then go to the show. Whew. (Chilly.)

  We found the chauffeured limousine waiting in the street outside the entrance to the Dakota. Now, there are several sizes and kinds of limos. This particular one was a black stretch limo, which basically means it’s large (well, long), and fancy. The last limo (the one that played “Home on the Range”) was equipped with a TV set, a radio, a bar with ice cubes and sodas, and a partition between the driver and the passengers that you could raise just by pushing a button. I guessed that this was to give the driver some privacy.

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Mallory with a gasp, when she first saw the limo. “Look at that. When I get inside it, I’ll feel like a movie star.”

  “Or royalty,” whispered Jessi, whose eyes were shining.

  Giggling, the eight of us crawled inside. (The chauffeur held the door open for us.) We settled down, the driver closed the door, and then he climbed into his seat.

  “ ’Scuse me,” I said, since the driver’s partition was down. I leaned over the front seat. “Does your horn play ‘Home on the Range’?”