Annie (8 page)

“I'll sign it,” giggled Miss Hannigan, hurriedly putting her signature on the paper. The document gave Annie permission to be absent from the orphanage for two weeks under the supervision of Oliver Warbucks. “I'm an easy gal to get along with,” Miss Hannigan said obsequiously. “If it's Annie you want, it's Annie you get.”

“It's Annie I want,” said Miss Farrell.

“Oh, boy!” Annie exclaimed.

“Now, if you'll get her coat, I'll take her along with me right now.” Miss Farrell had her hands on Annie's shoulders.

“Coat?” Miss Hannigan rudely replied. “She ain't got no coat.”

“All right,” Miss Farrell said, “then we'll buy her one.”

“Oh, boy!” Annie nearly shouted.

“We'll go to Bergdorf Goodman and get you a nice warm winter coat,” explained Miss Farrell. “Come along, dear. Mr. Warbucks's limousine is waiting outside.”

“Oh, boy!” Annie was all eyes. “Me in a limousine. I can hardly believe it.”

“
She
can hardly believe it,” muttered Miss Hannigan furiously as Miss Farrell took Annie by the hand and led her out of the office. Downstairs, through a basement window in their workroom, the orphans had seen the limousine pull up outside. Full of excitement, they'd watched the beautiful blonde woman go up to the front door and enter the orphanage. “Maybe she's come to 'dopt one of us,” Kate had said to little Molly. “So if she comes down here to see us, don't forget, look pretty.” After a while, when the woman hadn't come down to the workroom, two of the orphans, Pepper and Molly, had sneaked up the stairs and tried to listen at the office door. But they could hear nothing through the thick door. They didn't know that Annie was back and in the office with Miss Hannigan and the blonde stranger. And so now, when Miss Farrell stepped out of the office with Annie, Pepper and Molly were astonished to see their old friend.

“Annie, you're back!” Molly exulted. For months, she'd been dreaming that Annie would come back to the orphanage.

“Well, yes, I'm sort of back,” said Annie hesitantly.

“What happened, the cops caught ya?” asked Pepper.

“Shh,” whispered Annie. She didn't want anyone as nice as Miss Farrell to find out that she'd been a runaway. In a low voice she told Pepper and Molly, “Yes, they caught me, but now she's takin' me to stay in some rich man's house.” Annie knelt and gave Molly a big, warm hug. “Don't worry, honey, I'll be back right after Christmas, and then I'll take care of you again, just like I used to,” Annie assured her. Molly was smiling and had tears in her eyes at the same time. She was too young to understand either why Annie had suddenly come back or why she was just as suddenly leaving again. For Molly, two more weeks without Annie seemed like forever.

“Okay, see ya in two weeks,” said Pepper, giving Annie an affectionate punch on the arm.

“Tell all the kids I'll be comin' back,” Annie said. “And I'll write you from whatever this place is I'm goin' to. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Annie,” Molly and Pepper chorused.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hannigan,” Miss Farrell called back into the office. “And Season's Greetings.”

“Yeah, Season's Greetin's,” Miss Hannigan absentmindedly replied as she took out her pint of whiskey and finished it off in one long gulp. “Damn Annie,” she grumbled to herself, “goin' off to spend Christmas in the lap of luxury while I'm stuck here with a pack of rotten orphans. Well, I'll take care of her when she gets back. Good care. I'll tan her backside so she won't be able to sit down for a month!”

Outside, the chauffeur opened the door of the limousine for Annie and Miss Farrell, and Annie found herself sitting on the plushest and most comfortable cushions she'd ever sat on, sinking down almost out of sight as Miss Farrell settled beside her. In a moment, the limousine pulled away from the curb. Annie waved out the window of the limousine at Molly and Pepper, whose noses were pressed to the front window of the orphanage as they watched her go. Soon the limousine was headed up Fifth Avenue. Oh, boy, thought Annie, taking Miss Farrell's hand and clasping it tightly, if Myrtle Vandenmeer could see me now.

A
few minutes later, the limousine drew to a halt in front of Bergdorf Goodman, at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street, and Miss Farrell led Annie into the elegant department store. There she bought her the warmest and most beautiful winter coat that Annie had ever seen—it was a pale pink wool and had a white ermine collar. And Miss Farrell also bought her a matching pink hat. Annie couldn't believe the price tags on the coat and hat—together they cost more than a hundred dollars. But Miss Farrell didn't blink an eye at the prices as she casually told the saleslady, “Charge it to Oliver Warbucks.”

Feeling like a fairy-tale princess in her new coat and hat, Annie settled luxuriously once more in the backseat of the limousine as it proceeded northward and at last stopped at the curb in front of Oliver Warbucks's six-story marble-pillared mansion, at Fifth Avenue and 82nd Street, across from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The chauffeur ceremoniously opened the door, and Annie and Miss Farrell alighted from the limousine. Taking Annie by the hand, Miss Farrell led her up the front steps of the mansion and rang the bell by the huge, carved-oak front door. All but instantly the door was opened by a tall, stern-faced butler in a bottle-green uniform whom Miss Farrell introduced to her as Drake. Now, as Drake bowed to one side, Miss Farrell led Annie into a high-ceilinged foyer that was the biggest room she'd ever seen aside from the main concourse of Grand Central Terminal. “Do you really live here?” asked Annie, looking around in wide-eyed awe, “or is this a train station?” “We really live here,” replied Miss Farrell with a smile.

“May I take your coat and hat, miss?” Drake asked Annie, speaking with a nasal British accent.

Annie took a wary step away from Drake. “Will I get 'em back?”

“Of course, dear,” said Miss Farrell, smiling once again as Drake took Annie's coat, hat, and tattered old sweater. Having arrived at the mansion in her beautiful new coat and hat, Annie felt embarrassed to be seen now in her patched dress and the worn-through shoes that she'd lined with cardboard during her days at the Hooverville. But neither Drake nor Miss Farrell seemed to notice how sadly raggedy she looked.

Now Miss Farrell, followed by Drake, led Annie into a vast living room with a huge marble fireplace. The room, seemingly about the size of a football field, was several times larger than the foyer. A dozen or so uniformed maids and footmen were busy cleaning the room, dusting the furniture, polishing the woodwork, and vacuuming the Oriental rugs. In the center of the room was a large statue of a naked woman who had no arms. “What's that thing?” asked Annie, pointing at the statue.

“That's called the Venus de Milo, dear,” said Miss Farrell. “There's a copy of it in a museum in Paris called the Louvre, but this one, belonging to Mr. Warbucks, is the original, of course.”

“Oh,” breathed Annie.

Miss Farrell turned to Drake. “That reminds me,” she said, “has the new painting arrived from Paris?”

“Yes, miss,” murmured Drake, indicating a pair of servants who were unpacking a wooden crate at the far end of the living room, “they're just setting it up now.” The servants lifted a velvet-wrapped painting out of the crate and placed it on an easel. “Ah, good,” said Miss Farrell, “then everything is in order for Mr. Warbucks's homecoming. Has he arrived yet?”

“No, miss,” Drake replied. “But I called Teterboro Airport. His plane from Chicago landed at three forty-five, and the car, of course, was there to pick him up. We're expecting him any minute.”

“It will be good to see Mr. Warbucks again, miss,” said another of the servants, the cook, a short, plump, pleasant-faced Scottish woman named Mrs. Pugh.

“Yes, six weeks is a long time,” said Miss Farrell with a sigh. Annie was surprised to notice that Miss Farrell's eyes were suddenly misty. Gee, Annie thought, she must have missed this Mr. Warbucks real bad.

“Everything is ready for Mr. Warbucks,” declared Mrs. Pugh. “The kitchen staff and I have prepared his favorite dinner—roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.”

“Good.” Miss Farrell smiled. “Now, would you all come here for a moment, please?”

“Quickly, everyone; everyone, quickly,” Drake commanded, snapping his fingers as the servants lined up in a row in front of Miss Farrell and Annie.

“Everyone,” announced Miss Farrell, “this is Annie, the orphan who will be staying with us for the next two weeks. For Christmas.”

“Miss,” the servants chorused, the women curtsying and the men bowing to Annie.

“Annie, this is . . . everyone,” said Miss Farrell.

“Hi, everyone,” said Annie with a cheery grin.

“Now, Annie,” asked Miss Farrell, “what would you like to do first?”

Annie looked slowly around at the huge expanse of marble floors that were only partly covered by rugs, and at the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall of the mansion facing Fifth Avenue. “The floors,” Annie decided. “I'll scrub them and then I'll get to the windows.”

“Why, Annie,” Miss Farrell gasped, “you won't have to do any work while you're here.”

“I won't?” Annie had figured that she'd been brought to the mansion at Christmastime to help do extra cleaning for the holidays. After all, everyplace she'd ever been she'd had to work for her keep.

“No, of course not,” Miss Farrell reassured her. “You're our guest. And for the next two weeks you're going to have a swell time. You'll have breakfast in bed every morning, served to you by Mrs. Pugh, and Annette will make up your bed and clean your room. And then . . . well, let me see. The swimming pool is on the lower level at the rear.”

“
Inside
the house?” Annie asked.

“Yes, dear!” said Miss Farrell

“Oh, boy!” cried Annie.

“While you're with us, you won't lift a finger—you're here, Annie, only to have a good time,” said Miss Farrell.

“Oh, boy.” Annie beamed. “I think I'm gonna like it here.”

Suddenly, a loud, gruff man's voice was heard calling angrily from the foyer. “Been away six weeks,” shouted the man. “Where the hell is everybody?”

At once, the servants came stiffly to attention. And a moment later, the man, who was wearing a velvet-collared chesterfield coat with a pearl-gray homburg hat and was carrying a heavy black leather briefcase, came storming into the room.

“Hello!” he boomed, slamming down his briefcase as Drake stepped forward to take the hat and coat he had angrily flung off. Frightened, Annie edged her way backward to hide behind the Venus de Milo. She peeked out to look at the man. He was tall, with massive shoulders, and he had a bald, totally shaved, bullet-shaped head. His eyes were piercing, ice-cold, and blue, Annie saw, and there was a dark frown on his face. All in all, he was just about the scariest-looking man Annie had ever seen.

“Welcome home, Mr. Warbucks,” said Drake.

“It's good to be home,” snapped Mr. Warbucks.

“How was your flight from Chicago, sir?” Drake asked.

“Not bad,” said Mr. Warbucks. “Took seven hours and we only had to land twice. Now, first things first. Has the painting arrived from Paris?”

Miss Farrell stepped nervously forward. “Yes, sir, they've just uncrated it,” she said. A pair of servants scurried to the easel on which the painting had been placed and whipped off the royal-purple velvet covering. The painting was of a sweet-faced woman who was smiling slightly. Annie later learned from Miss Farrell that it was called the
Mona Lisa
and that it had been painted hundreds of years ago in Italy by someone named Leonardo da Vinci. Mr. Warbucks strode across the room and stood for a moment in front of the painting. “Hmm, no, I don't think so,” he said at last. “Ship it back to Paris, where it came from.”

“Yes, sir,” said the servants, replacing the velvet cover over the painting and starting to put it back in its crate.

“Grace?” said Mr. Warbucks.

“Yes, sir.” Miss Farrell stepped forward eagerly.

“Messages?”

“Yes, sir,” said Miss Farrell. A shadow of disappointment crossed her face. For she'd been hoping that, after six weeks, he might at least have first asked her about herself. But she very efficiently took out her notepad and began reading his messages to him. “President Roosevelt called from the White House at one forty-eight this afternoon,” she said. “He wants you to call him this evening.”

“Huh,” snorted Mr. Warbucks, “I'll get back to
him
tomorrow. Anyone else?”

“John D. Rockefeller, Mahatma Gandhi, and Harpo Marx,” said Miss Farrell.

“Nobody important,” said Mr. Warbucks. “What did Harpo want?”

“He didn't say,” replied Miss Farrell.

Mr. Warbucks walked back over to the easel, where the servants were re-crating the
Mona Lisa
, and motioned them to hold it up for him to look at again. “Hmm,” he muttered, “maybe I could learn to live with this thing. Hang it in the upstairs back hallway.”

“Yes, sir,” said the servants.

“Drake,” snapped Mr. Warbucks, turning once again to the others, “I'll be working in my study all evening. I'll want my smoking jacket and my brown velvet trousers.”

“Yes, sir,” Drake replied.

Miss Farrell suddenly remembered Annie and spied her hiding behind the Venus de Milo. She now took Annie by the hand and led her to Mr. Warbucks. Annie's heart was thumping with fear.

“Mr. Warbucks,” Miss Farrell said, smiling, “I'd like you to meet . . .”

“Oh, and Mrs. Pugh,” continued Mr. Warbucks, ignoring Miss Farrell and not even noticing Annie at her side.

“Yes, sir?” asked Mrs. Pugh.

“I won't be having dinner tonight—I have too much paperwork to get caught up with,” said Mr. Warbucks.

“But, sir, we've prepared roast beef with Yorkshire pudding,” said Mrs. Pugh, “as a special treat for your homecoming.”

“Roast beef, huh?” said Mr. Warbucks. “No, just send up a cheese sandwich and a glass of buttermilk in a couple of hours—I haven't got time to eat.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Pugh curtsied.

“And Grace, I'll need you all evening for dictation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, good to see you all again,” said Mr. Warbucks brusquely to the servants.

“Sir,” replied the servants in unison.

“All right, Drake,” Mr. Warbucks impatiently ordered, “dismiss the staff.”

“Yes, sir.” Drake snapped his fingers and at once the servants quick-marched away, followed by Drake himself. Suddenly only Mr. Warbucks, Miss Farrell, and Annie were left in the room.

“Grace, if you'll get your notebook we'll get started right away,” said Mr. Warbucks, picking up his briefcase and starting for the marble staircase that led from the living room to the upper floors of the mansion. Suddenly, he noticed Annie standing silently in her ragged dress. He stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and pointed at her. “Who the hell is that?” he asked in an outraged bellow.

“This is Annie, Mr. Warbucks,” Miss Farrell said, “the orphan who will be spending the Christmas holidays here with us.”

“Huh?” said Mr. Warbucks.

“Remember, sir, your public-relations counsel suggested that it might be a good idea for you to take in an orphaned child for the holidays—and you agreed,” Miss Farrell told him.

“Oh, yes, an orphan,” said Mr. Warbucks, glowering down at Annie. “But that's not a boy. Orphans are boys. Like Oliver Twist.”

“I'm sorry, sir, you just said ‘an orphan,'” Miss Farrell apologized. “And so I chose a girl.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Warbucks, taken aback. “Well, I suppose she'll have to do.” Mr. Warbucks strode over to Annie and stood towering above her. “Annie, huh?” he said. “Annie what?”

“Sir?” said Annie, bewildered and frightened.

“What's your last name, child?”

“Oh, I'm just Annie, sir, Mr. Warbucks,” Annie said. “I haven't got any last name. That I know of.”

“So, you're just Annie, huh?”

“Just Annie,” replied Annie. “I'm sorry that I'm not a boy.”

Mr. Warbucks leaned down and put one of his huge, meaty hands on Annie's shoulder. “Say,” he jovially asked in a sudden change of mood, “how'd you like to meet Babe Ruth?”

“Oh, boy, Babe Ruth, sure!” cried Annie eagerly, smiling, trying to please Mr. Warbucks. “Who's she?”

Mr. Warbucks straightened up and looked down at Annie with a sigh. “I couldn't be happier that you'll be spending Christmas with us,” he said, patting her absently on the head and starting once again for the staircase. “Grace,” he said, “we'll start with the figures on the iron-ore shipments to Toledo from . . .” But then he stopped again, looking confused. Rather awkwardly, he went to Miss Farrell and hoarsely whispered, “What the hell are we supposed to do with this child?”

“I don't know, sir,” Miss Farrell whispered in turn, “but, well, it is her first night here.”

“It is, huh?” Mr. Warbucks looked perplexed. But then he smiled a half smile and walked back to Annie. “Well, Annie,” he said with abrupt cheerfulness, “your first night here, I guess we ought to do something special for you. Why don't you sit down?”

“Yes, sir,” said Annie, hopping up to sit in a huge maroon velvet wing chair next to the fireplace.

Mr. Warbucks stood for a moment scratching his head. What the devil did one do with a little girl on an evening in New York? Suddenly, he had an idea. “Would you like to go to a movie?” he asked.

“Gosh, sure, Mr. Warbucks, I'd love to,” said Annie. And she really meant it. “I mean, gee, I heard a lot about movies, but I've never been to one.”

“Never been to a movie?” Mr. Warbucks was thunderstruck.

“No, sir,” said Annie.