New York, New York! (3 page)

Dawn.
Chapter 4.
What on earth had I been thinking? The last time I visited New York (I mean, apart from day trips we'd taken to the hospital when Stacey was sick) I'd been scared to death. I don't know why I'd thought this time would be different. You know what's wrong? I keep remembering all those horror stories I read about crime and danger in New York City. Stacey says that's not fair. She says we can find crime and danger anywhere, even way out in the country (thanks a lot, Stace), but that New York has a bad reputation.
Well, I'm sorry. Maybe good old NYC wouldn't have such a bad reputation if so many awful things didn't go on there . . . and if newspaper reporters didn't eat up each grisly story as if it were a piece of candy. I just couldn't help reading news about New York for a few days before we left on our trip. I had to know what was going on in the city. And what did I read about? Robberies, snipers, muggings, bank holdups, that's what.
"Not fair!" exclaimed Stacey. "Didn't you read about any of the culture? The museums or the theater or street fairs — " "There was an article about a street fair," I interrupted her. "It said how this gang of pick- pockets ripped off fifty-nine people. They're just like the Artful Dodger in Oliver Twist. They can take a wallet out of your pocket, or even a watch off your wrist, without your feeling it." Sta'cey sighed. "I'm not going to argue with you, Dawn. I'll just ask you this. Did anything bad happen the first time you visited me in New York?" I grinned. "We all got into a huge argument." "How about when you visited me when I was in the hospital?" (Not long ago, Stacey was at her dad's for a weekend and got really sick with her diabetes and wound up in the hospital. That's when the rest of us came to visit her.) "Nothing happened," I admitted.
"Okay, then," said Stace, as if she had solved all my problems.
"But something could happen. Anytime. Anywhere." "You mean like something could fall off a building that's under construction and conk you on the head?" Kristy asked.
"Let's stay away from scaffolding and construction," I said.
Stacey had given Kristy a Very Mean Look.
Anyway, I was pretty proud of myself when I got on the train in S.toneybrook without hysterics, and then actually enjoyed the ride — until we got to Grand Central. Mary Anne was chattering away about Little Italy and Chinatown, and I was getting excited. (At least, I thought I was.) The next thing I knew, we were in that dark tunnel. The tunnel makes New York seem like some other-worldly place that you reach by hurtling through space and time. Then you step off the train and into hordes and hordes of people — including police officers, and men and women sleeping on the floor or on benches in the waiting room. That's what / saw when we reached New York. Claudia saw every ice cream stand and every possible source of junk food. And Mary Anne kept thinking she saw movie stars.
As we made our way to the information booth, where we were supposed to meet Mr. McGill, I looked down at the floor. And that was when I spotted ... a cockroach the size of a dollar bill.
"Aughh!" I screamed.
"Grab your pocketbooks!" cried Mary Anne.
"What's wrong?" asked Stacey.
"It's not my pocketbook, it's — it's that." I pointed. "That roach. It's the biggest one I've ever seen. I am not walking by it." "Dawn, get a grip," said Claud. "That's a candy wrapper." Leave it to Claud to identify a candy wrapper from ten feet away.
"Are you sure?" I was trembling.
"Is this enough proof?" asked Claud. She marched over to the roach and picked it up. "See? Three Musketeers. . . . Boy, I could do with a Three Musketeers bar right now." We met Mr. McGill and emerged into the sunshine unscathed.
I drew in a sigh of relief. "Made it," I muttered, just as a POW rang out and reverberated off the buildings around us.
"Duck!" I shrieked. "It's a car bomb!" I heard laughter next to me. "Dawn," said Claud, "would you relax? You're going to give me a coronary. And we've only been in New York for five minutes." "Well, what was that?" I asked shakily.
Stacey pointed across the street. "Construction. Those workers just blasted something open. And they — " "Aughh!" I screamed again.
"What now?" asked Mr. McGill, but he didn't sound impatient.
"Look! Look at that guy at the magazine stand." "The guy with the glasses?" asked Jessi. Everyone was peering at the stand.
"No, not him. The one with his back to us/' I said.
"What about him?" asked Mal.
"He is on New York's Ten Most Wanted list. I saw something about him on TV last week. He escaped from prison." "How can you tell it's him?" wondered Kristy.
"I just can. See that cap he's wearing? It's — " Just then the man turned around.
"It's a police officer's hat/' Kristy finished triumphantly.
Sure enough, The guy was a policeman.
I decided to keep my mouth shut for awhile. And I did. I didn't comment on our taxi ride to Mr. McGill's apartment. I didn't say how relieved and surprised I was when every one of us and every piece of luggage was safely inside the apartment.
And I certainly didn't ask Stacey's father why his apartment wasn't protected by an alarm system.
Then came the time to decide who was going to stay at Mr. McGill's and who was going to travel across town to Laine's. I almost asked, "Does Laine's apartment have a burglar alarm?" But I didn't. I knew the Dakota had excellent security — guards and all — and that Mr. McGill's building didn't even have a doorman. But I was afraid to go out again. Besides, I wanted to stick with Stacey. I felt safer with her.
Wouldn't you know — just my luck — everyone (except me) wanted to go to Laine's to help Kristy, Mary Anne, Jessi, and Mallory settle in. I thought about asking Mr. McGill if he wouldn't mind a little company that afternoon, but before I could say anything, he announced that he needed to run errands. I quickly decided to go with my friends to the Cummingses.' We were probably safer in a pack.
Boy. It seemed that all during Saturday I would just start to feel sort of safe somewhere — and we'd leave. After my friends had unpacked their things at Laine's, we returned to Mr. McGill's apartment. We were there long enough to gulp down sodas (or in my case, orange juice with seltzer in it; I like to eat healthy), and then Mr. McGill took us out to dinner. The restaurant seemed reasonably safe, especially since I positioned myself against a wall, facing the door, and watched who came in and went out. But of course we couldn't stay there all night.
"How about more coffee?" I kept saying to Stacey's father.
After his third cup he smiled and said, "I'm going to float away. Stacey, do you want to signal the waiter for our check?" (Stacey just loves doing that. It's as if she and the waiter know a secret code.) Ten minutes later we were outside again. And soon Stacey, her father, Claud, and I were back at Mr. McGill's.
"Where do you guys want to sleep?" asked Stacey. "There's a futon in my room that unrolls into a pretty comfortable . . . bed. Well, mattress. And the couch in the living room opens into a double bed." "I'll take the futon/' said Claud. I knew she thought that she was doing me a favor. But I didn't want to sleep alone in the living room.
"Oh, that's okay. I'll take the futon," I told her grandly.
"No, really. You sleep on the bed." "Come on, guys, don't argue about it," spoke up Stacey.
So I ended up on the sofa bed. All alone in New York City. Sleeping right next to a window that opened onto a fire escape.
When I had stayed in Stacey's other apartment — the one she and her parents lived in before the divorce — I hadn't been nearly as scared. That apartment had been in a nice, big doorman building, on a very high floor, with indoor fire stairs. There were no fire escapes at the windows, which in my opinion was a blessing. As far as I'm concerned, a fire escape is an open invitation to a burglar. It says, "Hey! Come on in. Crawl right through the window. Take our VCR and our CD player. Help yourself." I glanced uneasily over my shoulder at the window. I nearly screamed. Was that a figure standing outside? No. Just a shadow.
Ker-thunk. What was that? I listened. I heard crashes and banging in the street' below. I could hear everything: voices, car horns, sirens, a screech of brakes, a car alarm going off. The alarm didn't ring like most normal alarms. Instead, a mechanized voice growled over and over, "Burglar, burglar, burglar." (The crashes and banging turned out to be a garbage truck.) What a dreadful night. I barely slept.
And guess what happened in the morning. My friends deserted me.
When breakfast was over, Stacey jumped up from the table and said, "Well, gotta go. Ro-wena and Alistaire are waiting." Claud jumped up, too. "I'll ride over there with you. I think I'll see what Laine's up to today. Are the stores open on Sunday?" Stacey giggled. "Some of them are. Shopping already?" "I've only got two weeks — and a whole city full of stores. Besides, starting tomorrow, I'm going to be really busy with classes." "What about you, Dawn?" asked Stacey.
I glanced at Mr. McGill. "Urn, I don't know." "I've got to put in a few hours at the office," said Stacey's father. (He's a workaholic.) "So come to Laine's with us, Dawn," said Claud.
"Oh . . . that's all right. I think I'll stay put." I couldn't bear to go outside again.
In the end, I was left alone. But not for long. Kristy took pity on me. Around lunch-time she appeared at Mr. McGill's, saying, "Okay, Dawn. Here I am. Your personal babysitter." Stacey.
Chapter 5.
I just love waking up in New York City. I love the noise. I love the sound of dogs barking and the breeze rattling the Venetian blinds. I love trucks rattling down the street, and children calling to each other and laughing. I'm not being sarcastic. I really do love these sounds. When I'm in Connecticut, I like the quiet. But when I visit New York, I appreciate the noise.
Swish, swish, swish. I opened my eyes just as a street cleaner whooshed by Dad's apartment building. I ran to the window. "Good morning, New York!" I called.
On the floor beside me, Claudia stirred. "Close the window," she mumbled.
"It's too hot. You'll melt," I told her. "Go back to sleep." And she did. I tiptoed out of my bedroom, down the hallway, through the living room (where Dawn was sound asleep, even though she said later that she hadn't slept a wink because of the fire escape), and into the kitchen.
"Morning, Dad," I said.
His face lit up. "Morning, Boontsie." "Ugh. Dad, I'm much too old for that baby name." But I gave my father a hug. "How long have you been up?" I asked him.
"Just long enough to make coffee," he answered.
Dad and I sat down at the little table in the kitchen.
"This is nice," I said.
"What is?" "This." I gestured around the room. "Everything. It's early, we're the only ones up, the coffee smells great. . ; . We can have a private visit now." Dad smiled. "What are you and your friends up to today?" "I'm not sure about everyone else, but Mary Anne and I are going to take care of Alistaire and Rowena." "So you'll be busy most of the day?" "Probably. Why?" "I thought I'd go to the office for a few hours." "Again? On Swnday? Dad, can't you take some time off? You work too hard." Dad was pouring himself a cup of coffee, and I was slicing a bagel.
"I only went in for a few hours yesterday," he replied." "I need to make up for that." "But yesterday was Saturday. Most people don't go to work then.'' "I do." "Would you go if I didn't have any plans today?" "Of course not." Well, that was something. But I had the vague feeling that Dad was glad I had plans so he wouldn't have to entertain me. I sighed. I think this must have been one of the problems between my parents. Now I understood how my mother had felt when she was married to Dad.
I knew Dad loved me, though, and that in the end I (not his work) came first. He'd shown me that the last time I was in the hospital. So I set aside my worries and got ready for my first job with the Harrington children.
"What are you going to wear?" Claud asked me later, as she and Dawn and I were getting dressed in my bedroom, "For a day in the city with two little kids? My grubbies." Claud laughed. "I didn't know you owned grubbies. Besides, do you really think Rowena and Alistaire will be dressed in grubbies?" Good point. "No," I admitted, and opted for casual clothes, something between grubbies and matching, spotless sailor outfits.
Not much later, Claudia and I headed out of Dad's apartment, reluctantly leaving Dawn behind. After my father left, Dawn would be on her own.
"What's she going to do all day?" Claudia wondered.
I shrugged. "She's got Laine's phone number. She can reach you guys if she decides to venture outside." "Hullo! Hullo!" called Alistaire.
Mary Anne and I were standing in the foyer of the Harringtons' borrowed apartment. The housekeeper had let us in, and now Alistaire was running toward us, followed closely by Rowena. Once again, the kids were pretty dressed up, but I was relieved to see that at least they weren't wearing white. White is not the most practical color for New York, especially if you are four or seven.
"Good morning, Stacey. Good morning, Mary Anne." Mrs. Harrington joined us in the foyer. Talk about dressed up. What were she and her husband doing? They'd said they had to work.
Mrs. Harrington smiled. I must have been gaping at her outfit. "Lots of events today," she said. "Since we're here for just two weeks, our schedule is quite full. We may be able to spend some time with the children next week, though. For now — show them the city. They're very excited." "I read about New York in a book/' said Alistaire. "People call it the Big Apple. I want to see the tall buildings." "I want to see the apple," said Rowena, and everyone tried not to laugh.
Mrs. Harrington handed me a wad of bills. "For expenses/' she said. "I know Rowena and Alistaire will have much more fun with you two than with some stuffy grown-up." She smiled. "Don't give them too many sweets," she warned. "But show them the city the way a child would want to see it." Mary Anne and I grinned.
"No problem," I said. "I grew up here." "And I know all about New York," added Mary Anne.
"All right, then. Can you bring the children back by four o'clock?" (Mary Anne and I nodded.) "Lovely." Mrs. Harrington turned to Alistaire , and Rowena, who were waiting patiently by the doorway. "Be good," she said to them. "Mind Claudia and Mary Anne. And have fun!" Mrs. Harrington kissed the children. Before I knew it, Mary Anne, Rowena, Alistaire, and I were leaving the Dakota. We came to a stop on the sidewalk.
"What do you guys want to do today?" asked Mary Anne. "See tall buildings?" "Oh, I can see tall buildings right here," Alistaire replied solemnly, looking up. "Ro-wena and I would very much like to go to Central Park, though." "We saw pictures of it in Alistaire's book," added Rowena. "We saw a lovely carousel and animals in a zoo — " "And a man selling toys that were tied to sticks!" interrupted Alistaire.