Suzi, glad to be needed after all, joined her brother by their wagon. She picked up a broom. She tied an apron around her waist. Then she sagged against Buddy. She nearly slid to the ground.
Buddy adopted an announcer's voice. Speaking into an imaginary microphone, he said, "Does everyday housework make you feel tired and rundown?" He looked at Suzi for a moment, then nudged her.
"Oh!" cried Suzi. "Um, goodness, I am so tired. How will I finish my everyday housework and go to the office?" "You could try Mother's Helper," said Buddy brightly. "It takes the work out of housework." Buddy glanced at his mother to see if she appreciated the creativity of that line. "Just slip Mother's Helper onto your hand - " (Suzi did so) " - and cleaning becomes a snap." Buddy waited a moment, then had to nudge his sister again.
"Oh! Um - goodness, I feel so much better. With Mother's Helper I can finish my housework in half the time, and it doesn't even feel like work!" Buddy and Suzi took bows, indicating that their performance was over.
Their mother clapped her hands. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed. She handed dimes to Buddy and Suzi.
Buddy held the Mother's Helper toward Mrs. Barrett. "Just sixty-nine cents," he reminded her hopefully.
"Well," she replied.
The triplets handed her Buddy's stamp-licker. "Just a dollar-fifty," said Byron. "Cheap at twice the price." "Well. ... I guess not," Mrs. Barrett admitted. "But I loved the show." "You did?" said Buddy. "Honest?" Mrs. Barrett nodded. "It really is wonderful." "Let's go to my house!" said Vanessa, a gleam in her eye.
So the road show organized itself into a caravan of red wagons. The kids walked along the sidewalk to the Pikes' yard and up their driveway. Margo rang the bell.
"I hope someone's home," Mal whispered to me. "Most of us Pikes are out here with the show." But a moment later, both of her parents had opened the door. (I suspected they'd been watching us from a window.) "Heavenly days!" exclaimed Mal's father, as if he knew nothing whatsoever about the road show.
Mal put her head in her hands. "I can't believe he just said that," she muttered, and I replied, "My father says 'I swan.' " "What have we here?" asked Mrs. Pike.
Immediately, the triplets were in action. Byron held up a small glass jar and he and his brothers chanted, "Get, get, get Wrinkle-Away. Yo, yo, get Wrinkle-Away." I stifled a giggle.
When the rap song ended, Mr. Pike was grinning. He gave each of the triplets a quarter. Inspired, Matt and Nicky performed a commercial for Lawn Buddy, a product hailed as "the answer to all your gardening problems." Mrs. Pike gave each of them a quarter.
But nobody actually wanted to buy the Wrinkle-Away or the Lawn Buddy.
All morning long, this happened. We trooped from one house to the next. The kids gave memorable performances, for which they earned money. But they could not unload any of the products.
We stopped at Mary Anne and Dawn's house. Dawn's mom rewarded the kids for their inaccurate but humorous play about "bust development." As we were leaving, Dawn decided to join our caravan.
We went to Bradford Court where, before we could even approach the Kishis' house, we attracted an audience right on the sidewalk. We were surrounded by kids - including the Perkins girls, the Hobart boys, Jamie Newton, and several other clients of the BSC.
Of course, they didn't want to buy anything - until Jake brought out his vial of moondust. Before he could even perform his elaborately choreographed Moondust Walk, James Hobart cried, "I'll buy that! I'll pay three dollars for it!" "Sold!" said Jake.
Buddy held up his moondust. Myriah Perkins bought it.
"I want moondust!" exclaimed Jamie Newton.
Mar go sold him hers.
"I want moondust, too!" cried a kid I didn't even know.
We all looked at Suzi.
"Where's your moondust?" Buddy asked his sister.
"Hiding," she replied. "It isn't for sale. I am one of twenty special people. I am keeping my moondust." And that was the end of that.
Not long after lunch, the youngest children - Claire, Suzi, and Patsy - grew whiny, so Mallory took them home. The older kids continued their traveling road show. They kept going until I told Matt and Haley it was time for them to go home, too. Their parents would be back soon. So the show came to an end. The kids were stuck with most of their products but they had earned enough money for plenty of yo-yos. They decided to take the show to a different neighborhood the next weekend.
Chapter 15.
"Claud, what's that?" I asked. I pointed to my friend's dressing table.
"That? It's just lipstick," she replied.
"No, what's next to it? That little pink tube?" Claudia blushed. "Well, if s this stuff to get rid of crow's feet. I bought it from Haley Braddock." "You don't have crow's feet!" "Well, actually, I think I might. Look right here." I peered at Claud's face. It was as smooth as glass. "Not a wrinkle in sight. Claud, you're only thirteen. . . . Hey, what's that!" "Oh, it's Wrinkle-Away." "Claudia! I suppose you bought it from the Pikes?" "Yeah. The traveling road show came through the neighborhood again yesterday and I couldn't resist. Anyway, I'd been looking in the mirror the other day and I noticed that when I smile I do get wrinkles around my eyes. Real wrinkles. Or crow's feet. I wasn't sure which. See? Watch this." Claudia smiled (not very convincingly) and I could see what she meant. "Those are called laugh lines," I informed her. "Even babies get them. Your skin has to go somewhere when you smile. It's, like, a law of physics." "I didn't know you could apply physics to cosmetology." "Don't change the subject, Claud." "Well, I don't want to look old, so when that road show came by again - right to our door this time - and I heard that song about crow's feet and that play about Wrinkle-Away, I decided not to resist anymore. I just couldn't. I felt I was putting my face in danger." It was a Friday afternoon. The BSC meeting wouldn't start for about half an hour, and Claud and I had no sitting jobs or other plans. So we were just hanging out in her room.
"It's nice to have you here," Claud said several moments later.
"What?" "Well, when your mom was sick you were so busy we only saw each other in school and at meetings. You didn't have time to relax. You couldn't come over just to visit." "Yeah. Those weeks were kind of rough." "But they're over now." "Yup." My mother had fully recovered. The surest sign of this was that our house was back to normal. Not just clean, but orderly. I may never understand Mom's knack for keeping things running smoothly. Maybe it's a talent that develops with age. Or with parenthood. At any rate, I was a kid again, concentrating on school and baby-sitting. And Mom was my mom again, looking for a job, temping, and holding our little family together. Mrs. Pike still dropped by for visits, but the Mom-sitting chart (which I had located behind my desk where it had fallen) had been thrown away. My mother wasn't even taking medicine anymore.
By 5:20, the other members of the BSC had arrived for the meeting. Kristy, the last to show up, since she's at the mercy of Charlie's schedule, was grinning at me. She continued to grin at me as she settled into the director's chair.
"What's so funny?" I asked her.
"Nothing. . . . This meeting of the Babysitters Club will now come to order." "Kristy! You keep smiling at me," I exclaimed. Honestly, sometimes she can be so immature. Or at least frustrating.
Kristy stuck a pencil over her ear. "I just found out Sam's plans for Saturday night," she said. (Sometimes Kristy does this annoying thing where she only tells, like, half a story so her listeners are forced to ask her questions.) Mary Anne played right into her hand. "Saturday night?" "Sam has a date," said Kristy.
"With?" prompted Jessi.
Kristy looked at me.
Suddenly everyone was punching my arms and crying, "Ooh, Stacey!" Now I was grinning. "He finally called," I admitted. "I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid it would jinx our da - our night. I mean, when Mom was sick, and I couldn't walk home with Sam that time, and we barely talked on the phone, I thought I'd blown it. But tomorrow night we're going to a movie." "Cool," said Dawn.
The phone began to ring and we arranged a few sitting jobs. After Mal had finished talking to Mrs. Barrett she said, "Um, Claud, I couldn't help but notice. Isn't that Jordan's Wrinkle-Away? That jar on your dresser next to the - the crow's feet remover?" My friends and I began to laugh.
"Okay, okay," said Claud. "So the kids are good salespeople." "How much of their stuff have they gotten rid of?" asked Kristy.
"Just a little," said Mal. "But they've earned back most of their money. They're good performers, too." "Have they bought their yo-yos?" asked Dawn.
Mal nodded. "Yup. And not just my brothers and sisters. So did Matt, Haley, Buddy, Jake, and a few others. They bought the light-up kind, like David Michael's." "Yesterday," spoke up Jessi, "I was sitting at the Kuhns' and Jake said something about a neighborhood yo-yo tournament." "The next big project," commented Mary Anne.
"Children," said Kristy, "are never boring." "Another Deep Thought from Kristin Amanda Thomas," I said.
When the meeting ended a few minutes later, my friends left Claud's room. Claudia stood at the front door of her house and waved as the rest of us headed for our bicycles (except for Kristy, who headed for Charlie's car). Then Jessi rode off in one direction, and Mary Anne, Dawn, Mal, and I rode off in another. By the time I reached my driveway, it was almost dark.
Mom was waiting for me at our door.
"Hi!" I called to her. "See you inside!" I locked my bicycle in the garage and entered our house through the side door.
"Hi, honey," said Mom.
"Hi. Yum. Dinner smells good. Hey, the dining room table is set. How come?" (We use the dining room only for special or fancy occasions.) "You'll see." Dinner that night was salad, vegetable stew, and cornbread. Mom and I ate at opposite sides of the table, two lighted candles between us.
"So? Are we celebrating something?" I asked.
"Maybe." "You got a job?" I exclaimed. "Is that it? You got a job?" "Maybe." "Mo-om! Tell me. You're acting like Kristy." Mom smiled. "I mean that maybe I got a job. Remember when I was interviewing for the buyer's job at Bellair's Department Store?" "Yeah." "And another interview had been scheduled, but I missed it because I was sick?" "Yeah? . . . Hey, wait Mom. You didn't faint during the Bellair's interview, did you? That's not where you were when you collapsed, is it? I mean, because I don't think that would be a very good recommendation for you as a future employee. Fainting on your boss's floor." "No," said Mom, laughing. "I missed the Bellair's interview entirely. And later, when I called the woman to tell her what had happened and that I'd be laid up for awhile, I really didn't expect to hear from her again. But she called while you were at Claudia's, and she was delighted to hear I'm all well. She set up the interview for Monday, and she even asked me how soon I'd be able to start working." "Oh, Mom, that is so fantastic!" I cried. "Hey, find out about the employee discount. I'm sure you get one, even if you aren't a salesperson." I raised my glass to Mom. "Congratulations," I said seriously.
"Thank you," she replied.
"When are you going to tell Dad?" "As soon as it's official. . . . Speaking of your father, have you talked to him recently, Stace?" "Me? Well, no." "Not since you saw him in New York?" "No." "A lot of time has passed, honey. Maybe you should call him." "I guess. I do have something to tell him." "What's that?" "What I learned when you were sick. I didn't figure it out at first. But later I realized something about my decision not to make a decision. Remember that? Remember when I thought not choosing between you and Dad would be easier than making a choice? So I decided to please both of you that weekend. Only you know what? That turned out to be even more complicated. I was in a huge rush. I ruined Dad's evening. I scheduled your Mom-sitters sloppily and they all showed up at once. Then I sent them home and I fell asleep and you had to ask Mrs. Pike to come back. I didn't even pack well. My outfit got smushed and Dad and I arrived late to the dinner because I had to iron everything." "You know, Stacey, Dad and I appreciate that you try to do what's best," said Mom, "but don't always try to please us. Remember to please yourself. I don't mean you should act selfishly, but don't forget about Stacey McGill. She's an important person, too." "I know. It's just that after a divorce, the rules change. I don't always know what to do. The game is different now." "It's different for your father and me, as well," said Mom.
I would remember that. When I wrote the Divorce Handbook I would title one of the chapters "Different Rules," or something like that.
"Well, maybe I will call Dad tonight," I said finally.
"Good. I know he'll like that." I was going to phone my father right away, but as I was dialing, I got an idea. I stopped dialing. I hung up the phone. I opened my calendar and located my next free weekend. I hoped it was free for Dad, too.
Then I picked up the phone again, only I called Claudia. "Hi," I said. "Can you help me with something? Could you design a certificate? . . . No, bigger than that. One you could frame and hang on your wall. I want to make an award for my father. The Fantastic Father Award." I had decided to plan an award ceremony all my own for Dad. I would fix him a dinner and make a speech about him and give him the first annual Fantastic Father certificate.
I would be sure to tell him how much I love him.
I dialed a number on the phone. "Hi, Dad?" I said. "It's me, Stacey." About the Author ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College.
