Mitzi smiled and whispered a couple of words to the salesperson.
And the TV’s on-air correspondent, who just couldn’t wait any longer, was almost breathless with excitement. “She’s done it, folks. Annie Cornell has had the spree of a lifetime. She’s going to leave Galliard’s with fifty thousand dollars’ worth of the most expensive, most glamorous, and most exciting items that any young woman could want. Tune in to the runway show on Friday when we’re going to show you everything she collected on this fabulous adventure, this spree of a lifetime.”
The spree of a lifetime? She was going to have to let it sink in. With all the hugs and kisses from Liz, and the cheering and fussing-over by Galliard’s people and assorted spectators, and Chanel-scented air kisses from Mitzi, it was clear this was supposed to be the most important day of her life. But she was numb with spent adrenaline and the never-before experience of being the center of so much public attention. And deep down inside her intelligent head, she knew that there must be more to life—to her life—than a day in the sun of television fuss and the accumulation of a truckload of fancy clothes.
And in the car, on the way back to the hotel, Liz said, “Honey, when you get back to Laramie, you’re going to have a really super story to tell everyone about this day. Not many people come to New York and have a story like this to tell everyone back home.”
“I know. Nothing for the rest of this week could top this day.”
Chapter Fifteen
In the Park
Tuesday Late Afternoon
Back in their hotel room, the telephone light was flashing. Its mechanical computer voice announced, “You have three new messages.”
The first, it turned out, was from Craig and the boys, wanting to know how they were doing.
“I’ll call on my cell,” Liz said. “And give them a full report.” She retreated into the bedroom.
The second call was a rapid-fire message from Mitzi. Annie was getting used to listening fast when Mitzi talked.
“Annie, sweetie. We’ve had a look at the TV coverage. Everyone just loves how you come across on camera. You were born to be on TV. Now here’s the thing. We’ve decided to follow up today’s coverage with an expanded piece for the magazine and we need shots of you in the outfits you picked out today. But that’s just part of it. We’d already been booked next week on Good Morning America, doing a regular summer fashion segment, and now we’d like to include a bit about you and your spree things on that show. Lady Fair will pick up the costs for you and your sister to stay the extra days. Also, the clothes you picked at Galliard’s may need some altering, so we’ve scheduled you early tomorrow at Lady Fair for fittings. Our tailors and dressmakers can have everything ready in time for the show. Pick you up at eight thirty tomorrow. Any questions, call me back. Ciao!”
When do these people breathe?
Annie looked toward the bedroom. She could hear Liz’s voice in the next room, muted behind the closed door, rising occasionally to an excited level. She and Liz would have to plan around this new development, but she wouldn’t interrupt Liz’s phone time with Craig and the boys.
And, also, there was the third message. She clicked it on.
“Change of plans.” It was Bart’s voice. “I have to stay on tonight. One of the guys got sick and I’ll be doing his shift in the park. So instead, meet me in front of the Tavern on the Green at six thirty. I’ll buy you a hot dog. With sauerkraut, even. Best hot dogs in the world. And a Coke. Or whatever. Get a pencil.” He waited a few beats, Annie grabbed a hotel pencil off the desk. “Sixty-sixth Street entrance into the park from Central Park West. Can’t miss it.”
End of message.
She stood there, dead phone in her hand, transfixed. She spoke aloud to the empty room.
“Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to that man?” She waffled for a minute. “He just assumes I’ll be there.”
And I was so worn out. This day has been so exciting—just took everything out of me. I thought I’d stay in—get some rest. But still—
She could hear Liz talking to the boys. She opened the door, stuck her head in, and signaled she needed a brief consultation.
Liz told Brandon to wait a sec—“Just hold on”—and covered the phone with her hand. “What’s up?”
“I have a date,” Annie said. “Do you mind? Just a quick dinner—with that cute cop—and I’ll be home early.”
“Oh, no. Go, go. No problem. I really like these quiet evenings here after all the hurry-up stuff all day. I’ll watch TV here. Go. Have a good time.”
“Thanks, Liz. You’re a peach. I’m going to take a quick power nap. Wake me at five thirty.”
And she closed the door.
In her own bedroom, she sat on the bed and took a couple of moments to savor the fact that this had, indeed, been quite a day. Then she pulled off her boots and dropped them on the floor. She closed her eyes and fell back on the bed. She did not have another conscious thought until Liz came in to wake her up at five thirty on the dot.
Ten minutes in the shower. Then another five to decide on the proper outfit for a hot dog in the park, definitely with sauerkraut—dinner al fresco – – and decided on the little sundress and sandals. A few quick strokes of a brush through her hair, a dab of lip gloss, and a wave to Liz.
“I’ve got my phone. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” And she was out the door.
At the concierge’s desk in the lobby, she paused to get directions.
“Tavern on the Green?” He selected a map from his assortment. “Right here,” he said, his pen circling the location. “You won’t have any trouble finding it.”
“Is it far from here? I have to be there at six thirty.”
“Just across town. You’d probably prefer to take a taxi. But you have plenty of time. I’d suggest you ride from here just as far as the entrance to the park here”—with his pencil he indicated an entrance along the southern edge of the park—“and then go by foot the rest of the way.” He marked the route for her. “The weather’s so mild this evening and it’s a lovely walk. Visitors to the city always enjoy it. So much to see.”
“And is it safe?” She’d heard stories.
“Yes, Miss Cornell. Perfectly safe. Not, perhaps, at three o’clock in the morning, but at this hour, you are entirely safe. Nothing dangerous could possibly occur. Trust me.” He handed the map to her.
She got out of the cab and turned right, into Central Park. With map in hand, she made her way, choosing among a dizzying assortment of paths, keeping herself on a northward heading. The hotel’s concierge was right: it was indeed a lovely walk, past bridges and stone arches, a pond and playgrounds, a zoo and a skating rink, countless statues of famous people, and numerous enticements that deserved far more time to explore than a single evening would allow. Unlike Wyoming’s sere, spare growth—its beige palette of sage and scrub oak and aspen—here all was rampant lushness, well watered, rain-abundant greenery, great swaths of verdant lawn and a numberless variety of trees, none of which she could identify.
And in this green haven, she made a discovery. The stereotypical fast-moving, fast-talking, hard-working go-getter New Yorkers who seem to suck up energy out of the very sidewalks they strode along all day were magically transformed when they entered the park. Men slipped off their jackets, stuck their ties into their pockets, opened their shirt collars, and slowed their pace to a leisurely amble. Mothers chatted with each other as they pushed baby strollers along the paths. Nannies walked little ones home for dinner, friends sat on the grass, shared a picnic supper, a bit of wine, reviewed the events of the day, and old folks whiled away a peaceful hour or two in the late-afternoon sun. On the roads, streams of joggers jogged, cyclers cycled, and online skaters skated in an unending flow of motion along the many paths and roads, a ribbon of motion through the lassitude of the day’s end. Miraculously, despite the thousands of people enjoying this lovely early evening in the park, there was no crowding. There was room for all within the beauty of
an extraordinary urban treasure.
The charm of this urban oasis was seductive. Surely, only good things could happen in this idyllically peaceful place. With cell phone in hand, she took photos as she walked, making a record to be treasured back home.
She was just crossing the bridle path at the place where, her map told her, the Tavern on the Green should appear ahead of her, and, indeed, there it was, an inviting sprawl of elegant brick and glass, trees draped and summery, with black-coated waiters moving smoothly among the outdoor tables. Her watch showed six thirty exactly. She looked to her right, and right on schedule, there was Bart. Not mounted, holding Lindy’s reins, while an enthusiastic cluster of kids surrounded him, asking questions, asking if they could pet the horse, asking if Lindy does tricks, getting teased lightly by Bart, who seemed to be drawing the kids magically from the nearby playground and from the pre-dinner strollers along the paths. Mommies and daddies and nannies stood around, watching, enjoying the show, enjoying this friendly break in the day’s activities.
And Annie watched, too, enjoying the unexpected side to this man. Obviously, he was naturally comfortable in this press of children and she found herself wondering about his family. Is he an only child? Or one of many siblings? Is he the oldest? Or is his bossiness the pampered self-confidence of the baby of the bunch. What sort of parents does he have? What sort of parent would he be?
Just then he looked up, saw her, and waved. He detached himself from the little crowd of admiring kids and led Lindy across the path to join her.
She snapped a quick shot of them as they approached—the two of them, man and horse, so striking, he in his uniform, boots polished, his trim blues emphasizing his good body, and his horse, so powerful and regal, so perfectly groomed, with the late afternoon sun falling across them, lighting them up dramatically—it would be a great Insta-gram for the folks back home: “My dinner companions for tonight.” And slipped the phone into her bag.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m glad you got my message.”
She realized people were noticing them. Not staring—New Yorkers would never do that—but heads turned a bit as folks strolled by and expressions warmed. She also realized that Bart was used to the kindly regard and paid it no attention.
“I’d planned something a little different tonight,” he was saying, with a gesture toward the Tavern, “but a hot dog in the park on a great night like this—that’s pretty good, too. I wouldn’t let you go home to Laramie without having had at least one hot dog from a street vendor.”
“I couldn’t resist your gracious invitation.”
Her light sarcasm went right past him.
“I’m patrolling now, so I’ll have to mount, but no problem if you walk along with me and I can show you the sights. We’ll take a dinner break in a little while. ”
“That’s fine with me. I’ve had such an incredible day—and I’m so bushed, I’d planned to just fall into bed. But your offer of a hot dog sounded better than room service, so—here I am. As long as we don’t make it a long trek. I’m going to need to get back to the hotel soon. I left my sister alone—again—and I need a good night’s sleep. Lady Fair has more plans for me early tomorrow.”
“No problem. A little walk, a little dinner, an hour to see the park, no excitement, I promise you. And I’ll put you in a cab back to your hotel in an hour.”
And so they strolled. And so they melted into the peaceful flow that surrounded them, accompanied by the clip-clop of Lindy’s hooves, the muffled background sounds of playing children, birdsong from the treetops, the light swish of leaves lifted by an occasional breeze. Bart was a good guide and explained points of interest, while never forgetting that he was on patrol, keeping his eyes scanning as they walked. Then, abruptly, he stopped.
“I wanted you to see this,” he said. “Take a look.”
She looked around her. All she saw was great, tall, rock outcroppings, thick trees, and a rather empty path.
“See what? I don’t see anything.”
Bart just smiled.
“Keep looking.”
She looked.
Still nothing.
Bart still smiling.
Then she saw it.
“Oh, my God!”
A cougar, crouching on the rock above her, ready to pounce.
Her heart had jumped and she needed a few beats and at least two deep breaths to realize the cougar was bronze but so naturally executed, so skillfully placed, it could not have been more realistic.
“He’s called ‘Still Hunt,’ and if you’re not prepared for him, he’s a shocker.”
“A shock is right. When I see a cougar, I prefer to have my twelve-gauge with me.”
“I figured a western girl like you would appreciate him.” Bart was smiling mischievously.
“And you promised me no excitement tonight.”
“I did,” he said as he dismounted. “And I apologize. Let me make it up to you by stopping now for dinner. There’s a hot dog cart down there,” pointing to a vendor’s umbrella ahead of them, “out in front of the boathouse. May I escort you to a quiet dinner on a park bench?”
“You sure can,” Annie said. “I’m starved. And I’m dying for a hot dog.”
And together, with Bart leading Lindy, they walked toward the hot dog stand, where the vendor greeted Bart like an old friend.
“This is Sergei,” Bart said. “Sergei here makes the best hot dogs in the whole city.”
Sergei laughed. “Yeah, sure. Like the water I boil them in is different from all the other carts.”
“I’ll take two of them now, with the usual, mustard and sauerkraut. And whatever it is, water or whatever,” Bart said, “yours are still the best.” He turned to Annie. “How many?”
“One will be enough. But I’d like one of those soft pretzels, too. And a bottle of water.”
“And maybe take some chips, too?” Sergei said. “For you, miss. With my compliments. To go with your drink.” He said it as though he was addressing a duchess. “And who is this pretty lady, Sergeant Bart?”
“This is Miss Cornell. Visiting from Wyoming. That’s out west.”
“I know where is Wyoming. I know where is every state in America. I studied the map before I come to America.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Poltrovnea—little village you never heard from—in the mountains. Very high. Very far away. Famous for our riders—great warriors long ago. Best horsemen in the world.”
“Annie knows horses, too,” Bart said. “She should show you the trick she taught Lindy.”
“The trick?” These days had been so full, she needed a moment to remember. “Oh, yes.” She positioned herself in front of Lindy. “Okay, Lindy. Let’s see how smart you really are.”
Lindy was all attention.
She puckered up and whistled the fight song.
And Lindy tapped the ground three times with his right front hoof. And, for good measure, he tossed his mane as though asking for applause.
“See?” Bart said, as proud as a prodigy’s daddy. “See. Is that a smart horse? He learned it after only one try. And now that fight song is going to be how he knows you, Annie. I bet he never forgets it.”
“Ah, yes,” said Sergei. “Lindy is very special horse, very strong, very handsome. And you are very special lady, I see. You should know, Miss Cornell, this is first time this young man brings a lady to dinner here at my hot dog stand. So I am very happy to meet you.”
Bart was one of those men who blush when they are embarrassed. And Sergei had just embarrassed him. So he was in a hurry to change the subject.
“This guy has been selling hot dogs here since I was a kid.”
“Yes,” Sergei said. To Annie, he added, “His papa used to bring him here for lunch every Saturday, when he was young like little toad.”
“That’s enough, my friend.” Bart’s color deepened further. “If she’s going to hear my life story, she’s going to hear it from me.”
“Of
course. Of course. I talk too much. Go now. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thanks. We’ll do that. We’ll find a place in the Ramble. Maybe up by the lake.”
“Just be careful.”
“Of course.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” Annie nodded. “And thanks for the chips.”
“Any time. Come again.”
Hot dogs, pretzel, chips, and drinks in hand, with Bart leading Lindy, they left Sergei and walked on past the boathouse.
“What’s ‘the Ramble’?”
“It’s where I’m taking you for dinner.” Bart pointed into the thick tangle of growth that stretched out ahead of them. “Thirty-six acres right here along the lake—all wild and very beautiful. It was designed that way right from the beginning, to be like a wilderness, all dense and tangled. You can walk through here for hours, paths in all directions, and feel as though you’re almost in a jungle. No monuments here, no attractions, just some benches and raw nature. Not many people come through here, maybe because of its reputation. Except the birdwatchers, of course. Birdwatchers love it. Trouble is, it also attracts unsavory types, bad guys who—well, who want to do bad things. It’s safe enough during the day, but I wouldn’t let you come into the Ramble after dark.”
Annie smiled.
There he goes again, she thought. He wouldn’t let me! Who does he think he is—my daddy? Still, she felt the protectiveness and it pleased her. It’s true—this guy really would protect me—if I needed protection.
“But it’s safe enough now,” Bart said, leading her into the woods. “It’s still light, and you’re with me and Lindy, so you’ll be okay. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
In moments, they were in a kind of alternate universe. Who knew, in addition to all the attractions the city offered, it was also possible here to disappear into a sunlight-dappled woodland, a tangle of trees and harsh rock outcroppings and a network of dirt pathways? With Bart guiding her, choosing their course, they walked silently through this magical forest, with only an occasional bike rider or jogger passing them, and accompanied only by the whisper of the breeze through the trees, the distant birdsong from the green canopy above, the sound of their own footsteps, and the muffled beat of Lindy’s hooves.
Her Winning Ways Page 11