The Baby-Sitters Club #99: Stacey's Broken Heart

by Ann M. Martin

  How had this happened?

  A tear ran down my cheek. Andi couldn’t take Robert away from me. She couldn’t! I wouldn’t let her! Who did she think she was? Robert was my boyfriend. Mine.

  Now tears gushed from my eyes. I jammed the palms of my hands into them. I didn’t want to cry. But I couldn’t help it. The tears kept coming.

  I heard Dad’s keys in the lock and jumped up from the couch. If he saw me crying he’d want to talk and I couldn’t stand to talk about that just then. Blinded by tears I ran to my room.

  “Stacey, are you here?” Dad called as he stepped into the apartment.

  “In my room!” I shouted back, making my voice as steady as I could.

  I could tell from his voice that he was outside my bedroom door. “Samantha and I want to take you out to eat,” he said.

  “You go,” I shouted through the closed door. “I’m pooped.”

  “Stacey, open up, please.” There was no getting out of it. Drying my eyes on the bedsheet, I opened the door. “You’ve been crying!” Dad gasped. “What happened?”

  “Robert is seeing someone else!” I blurted out, tears flooding me once again. Dad put his arms around me and I sobbed into his white work shirt. I cried for several minutes before looking up.

  Dad asked if I was sure and I told him what Claudia told me. “Why don’t you call Robert yourself?” he suggested.

  Call Robert? The idea horrified me. I couldn’t. What would I say? What would he say? “I can’t, Dad. I can’t,” I sobbed.

  Dad nodded sympathetically. “Wipe your eyes and then come out to eat with Samantha and me. She’s waiting downstairs in a cab.”

  Samantha, Dad’s friend, is pretty nice. I didn’t mind going out with her. But I was in the mood to be by myself. I told Dad that, but he insisted. “You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said. “Come on.”

  So I went. Dad and Samantha had planned to go to a burger place, but Dad switched plans. He told the cab driver to take us to Joe Allen’s which is one of my favorite restaurants in New York. We had a nice meal, though I probably wasn’t much company. I hardly said anything. I’m sure Samantha sensed something was wrong, but she didn’t ask.

  That night, after I said good night to Dad, I turned out the lights but I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake staring at the light the streetlamp threw across my ceiling. What would Robert say if I asked him what was going on? I wondered about it and the more I wondered, the more I wondered, the more I had to know.

  I got out of bed and went quietly into the living room. There was no real need to turn on the lights because a streetlamp outside the window lit the room well enough for me to see the phone.

  It was about nine forty-five. Robert’s family didn’t go to bed until ten.

  I dialed Robert’s number. His sister answered. “Is Robert there, please?” I said.

  “I’ll get him,” she said.

  I heard her call him. In the distance I could hear him ask her something. “No, I don’t know who it is,” she shouted back, sounding irritated. I heard his blurred, indistinct voice again. “Yes. It’s a girl,” his sister shouted. “No, I’m not asking who it is. I’m not your secretary.”

  “Hello?” Robert said.

  I opened my mouth to speak. Only a croaking sound came out. What would I say to him? I hung up.

  Clutching the phone in the dark, I hung my head and sobbed.

  “Is something the matter?” Ethan asked me the next day as we stood on the top deck of the Circle Line boat. The boat was cruising past the gigantic Twin Towers at the southern tip of Manhattan. Henry leaned on the railing, gazing out at the impressive city skyline. Behind us, Grace had conked out, snoozing peacefully on a bench.

  “It’s nothing,” I replied. “A personal thing.” Of course, I was thinking about Robert.

  “You seem really bummed,” Ethan observed.

  I forced a smile. “I didn’t know it showed. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Can I help?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks anyway.”

  “The opening tomorrow night will cheer you up,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

  A breeze off the Hudson River whipped my hair into my face. Pushing it back, I looked at Ethan. He had such a nice face. I was comfortable with him. He was just very thoughtful, and a lot of fun. “Will you be at the opening?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and I’m totally psyched. The show is going to be awesome. I can’t believe the Walkers pulled it off. Last week they were so far behind. They didn’t have nearly enough stuff finished or framed. But with you here this week, they accomplished a lot. You saved the day.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I laughed. “I only baby-sat.”

  “Believe me, it made a big difference,” he insisted. “Anyway, wait until you see the show. It’s great. A lot of important people will be there to see it.”

  “Artists?” I asked.

  “Artists, and gallery owners, and art critics. Publishing people will be there because Mrs. Walker does book and magazine illustrations. Almost everyone they invited accepted.”

  “I guess it will be pretty exciting,” I said.

  “Super exciting. It will even convince you to move back to the city.”

  I smiled. “You think?”

  “I hope,” he said seriously.

  The tingling sensation at my temples told me I was blushing. Mortified, I turned away. Blushing like that was such a childish thing to do. But despite my embarrassment, I felt happy. I was glad Ethan wished I lived in the city. It made me wish I lived in the city full-time, too.

  When the tingling subsided, I turned back to Ethan. “That’s nice of you to say,” I told him. “I sort of live in the city, really. I’m here a lot of weekends.”

  “That’s true,” he said, smiling. We looked at each other and I was aware that my heart was pounding.

  Just then, Grace stirred on the bench. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. “Hi,” I said, joining her. “Did you have a good nap?”

  She nodded sleepily. Henry sat on the bench with us. “I’m hungry,” he said. Grace was, too, so we went inside and bought some snacks. From then on, the kids were awake and curious about everything they saw. Ethan and I pointed out the Empire State Building and other sights as we passed them.

  When the tour ended, we took a cab back to the Walkers’. “Hey, want to go see the star show at the planetarium?” Ethan suggested.

  “Yay!” Henry cheered.

  “Good idea!” I agreed. I wanted to stay busy. I didn’t want time to think about Robert. “Don’t you have to help hang the rest of the show, though?” I asked Ethan.

  “Not until this evening.”

  “Great,” I said. We went to the planetarium and saw the show. Even Grace liked it since she thought it was exciting to sit in a dark theater looking up at stars and planets. After that, we walked back to the Walkers’ apartment together.

  “How was your day?” Mr. Walker asked the kids as they ran to him and hugged him. He looked frazzled, with a thin smear of hot pink paint across his forehead and a patch of pearly white paint in his hair. He’d been working hard this week.

  “It was great,” Henry told him, smiling.

  “Ethan, I could use you here a minute,” Mrs. Walker said. She was fitting one of her paintings with a mat and frame. Ethan joined her. “Hold this steady for me, would you?” Mrs. Walker asked.

  It was time for me to go, so I said good-bye and left. On the street, I hailed a cab. As soon as I sat down, I felt terrible. By myself there was no distraction from my thoughts. I kept picturing Andi with Robert. It was awful, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  What was so special about Andi? Nothing that I could see. How could he like her better than me? Why had he stopped liking me? What had I done wrong? Maybe he needed somebody who didn’t baby-sit and who didn’t go away every other weekend, someone who was there all the time.

  I thought of a million things that might be the matter with me. Every insecurity I’d ever fe
lt came zooming back. Was something wrong with my personality? My looks? Was I too thin? Was it the diabetes? Did he want a girlfriend who could eat ice cream and junk food with him?

  Did he want someone who was part of his old crowd? It could be. Maybe I took him away from his old friends too much. He might want a girlfriend who fit in better.

  By the time the cab pulled up to my dad’s apartment on 65th Street, I felt like screaming. I couldn’t stand the thoughts I was thinking. I longed to turn them off, but I couldn’t.

  Dad wasn’t home yet, so I turned on the TV. I watched every rerun that came on, one after the other, without even channel surfing for something good. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I dialed Robert’s number again.

  Busy.

  Was he talking to Andi? Somehow I was positive he was.

  Dad came in around seven. He was in a great mood — too great. I could tell he was trying to be super upbeat for my sake. “Come on,” he said cheerfully. “We’re going to the theater!”

  “The theater?” I repeated.

  “Yup. We have an intern at work and there’s really not much for her to do, so I asked her to go stand on line at the TKTS booth and get us half-price tickets for a Broadway show.”

  “You shouldn’t have made your intern do your personal stuff,” I scolded. “That’s not right.”

  Dad pulled off his tie. “She was glad to do it. She wanted the chance to get tickets for herself, too.”

  “I suppose that’s all right then,” I said. I was glad about the tickets. If I’d had to sit around the apartment thinking about Robert all night I might have gone nuts.

  We went to Joe Allen’s again for dinner and then to the theater. The musical we saw was fun and uplifting. Dad was great, too. He didn’t mention Robert or ask me how I was feeling. It was just what I needed.

  The next day, entering the Walkers’ apartment was like walking into a hurricane. People from the gallery carried out paintings and illustrations. The Walkers themselves both worked feverishly, adding last-minute touches to the artwork still in front of them.

  Ethan hurried past me carrying one of Mr. Walker’s paintings. He smiled and nodded at me, but was too rushed to stop. “Come on, kids,” I said, going down the hall to Henry’s room. “We’re going out.”

  Grace hopped out into the hall. “Hurray! Hurray!” she cried, bouncing as if her feet had springs.

  Henry came out and folded his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “No one is paying any attention to us,” he complained. “This morning, Mommy told me to pour my own cereal.”

  “You’re big enough to do that,” I said with a smile.

  Henry shook his head. “The Rice Krispies fell on the floor and I spilled the milk.”

  “Bummer. What did your mom do?”

  “She looked up at the ceiling and said, ‘Give me strength!’ How could the ceiling give her strength?”

  “Cereal is not heavy,” Grace added.

  That made me laugh. “She didn’t need strength to pick up the cereal. She just …” How could I explain it? “She’s just very busy right now. We’ll go out so she can get her work done.”

  I took the kids to the Central Park Zoo. They had a great time, especially watching the seals perform their tricks. We had lunch in the park. They ate hot dogs and I ordered a knish from a vendor. I bought them helium balloons from another vendor and let them run around in the park, trailing their balloons behind them.

  It was a fun day. Late that afternoon, when we returned, everything was quiet. We read books and soon Mr. Walker came in, still paint-splattered but looking much calmer.

  “You can go home early,” he told me. “Get ready for the opening. That’s what Mrs. W. is doing right now. We’ll bring Henry and Grace to the opening and you can meet us there.”

  “All right,” I said, closing the picture book I was reading to the kids. “Good luck.”

  I went home and showered. I decided to wear the black dress and a pair of black sandals. I fixed my hair in a French braid and put on a pair of gold hoop earrings. After a quick salad, I cabbed it to the Fitzroy Gallery.

  There were actually limousines in front of the gallery when I arrived. I hopped out and went inside. Everything looked great. The paintings were all framed and hanging. Small lights shone across some of them. Mrs. Walker’s illustrations and Mr. Walker’s paintings were on different walls, but in the same rooms. Jazz music wafted through the gallery. At the far end of the main room people milled in front of a refreshment table. A huge bouquet of tall, orange flowers with pointy petals sat in the middle of the table looking like exotic wild birds.

  “Stacey!” Mrs. Walker called me. She looked gorgeous in a flowing gold, purple, and orange African print gown. Her dangling earrings glistened with metallic pieces. (Very artistic. Claudia would have adored them!) Henry and Grace were with her. Henry wore a white shirt and black pants. Grace had on a wonderful party dress of cobalt blue with a lace collar. “You look lovely,” Mrs. Walker told me.

  “You too!” I said sincerely. “So do you, Henry and Grace.” I took their hands and we walked over to the refreshment table. They picked at the wide array of foods. I bit into a fat, fresh strawberry and looked around. I spotted Ethan wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a lightweight gray sports jacket. He looked awesome.

  In a minute, we made eye contact. He waved and came over. “Pretty cool, huh,” he commented.

  “Extremely,” I agreed.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said.

  “Thank you. You look great, too.”

  I can’t begin to tell you what a wonderful night it was. Henry and Grace were angels. Ethan stayed with me as much as he could. Every once in awhile he had to rush off to help with something, but he came back often. He pointed out all the important artists and art dealers, museum curators, and gallery owners. He knew everyone — who they were and what they did. Being there with him as a guide was so much more interesting than it would have been otherwise.

  Henry and Grace both got sleepy around eight o’clock. I told Mr. and Mrs. Walker I would take them home. “It’s all right,” Mr. Walker said, “there are two beds set up in the office here. Put them to sleep and then stay and enjoy the rest of the show.”

  I stayed in the office with Grace and Henry until they fell asleep. Ethan came in and laid his sports jacket over Henry. I found a small blanket for Grace. “Come on, I’ll give you the official tour of the show,” Ethan offered in a whisper. “I can tell you everything about each piece.”

  “Terrific,” I said, tiptoeing out of the office. Ethan and I returned to the main room, which was now very crowded. It was amazing how much Ethan knew about the artwork, and about art in general.

  The evening flew by. And I didn’t think about Robert even once.

  Saturday was my last official day of baby-sitting for the Walkers. They needed me so that they could be at the gallery to greet people who were coming to see the show. (It was going to be there for three weeks.) Grace and Henry were tired so we had a stay-at-home day, just watching videos, drawing pictures, and reading books.

  That night, when I returned to Dad’s, Abby called me. “I heard about the Robert thing,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to talk or anything.”

  “Thanks, but I’m okay,” I told her. “How did the festival go today?”

  “It was pretty wild.”

  When people arrived around noon, the festival wasn’t nearly ready. The booths weren’t completely built. The food was still heating in Mary Anne’s oven. Mallory and Jessi were still concocting the fruit punch. Everything was half done.

  But cars were pulling into Mary Anne’s driveway and parking out on Burnt Hill Road. I guess everyone had end-of-summer boredom and parents were dying to find fun things for their kids to do. Our clients were among the first to show up: the Newtons, the Prezziosos, the Papadakises, the Braddocks. Carolyn and Marilyn Arnold came wearing identical Mexican hats. Charlotte Joha
nssen wore a Mexican dress her parents had brought back from vacation.

  “What do we do?” Abby asked, panicking. “We have to tell them to come back later.”

  “We can’t!” Claudia cried. “That would be terrible.”

  Claudia, Jessi, and Mary Anne looked at one another. What could they do? “What would Kristy do?” Claudia asked.

  “Forget about Kristy,” Abby scolded. “You have to make me a sign that says closed.”

  “Kristy would find a way to stall, yet keep everyone happy at the same time,” Mary Anne said, frowning as she thought hard about the problem.

  “Face painting!” Claudia cried. “I have my face painting sticks. I could do that while everyone finishes getting ready.”

  “Great!” Mary Anne agreed. “And I’ll bring out Dad’s tapes of Mexican music and play them on the portable player. It’ll make things seem more festive.”

  As Mr. Spier’s tape, Sounds of Mexico, came on, Claudia took out her face paints and unfolded her director’s chair. “Free face painting!” she cried. “Free face painting. This hour only.”

  The group flocked around her. They watched her work on each kid. Jessi and Mallory came around with paper cups of their fruit punch and gave them out free.

  Meanwhile, Abby flew around putting things together. She strung up piñatas, draped crepe paper, tacked signs on booths. Mary Anne and Jessi helped her, but they quickly realized they’d never get it done fast enough.

  “Kristy asks associate members to pitch in when we can’t do everything ourselves,” Mary Anne said to Abby. “I’ll call Logan and Shannon to come help us.”

  Abby wished everyone would stop talking about Kristy. It made her feel as if she weren’t in charge at all. She felt as if Kristy were in charge even though she wasn’t there.

  “Why don’t you call Anna?” Mallory suggested to Abby. “She cares about the orphanage, too. She might even be able to round up a few friends from her orchestra group.”