New York, New York!

by Ann M. Martin

  The loudspeaker was turned on then, and a tinny voice announced, “The train bound for New York is approaching the station. Two minutes to boarding time.”

  My mother burst into tears.

  Dawn’s mother said, “I hope all the dishes and pots and pans were washed after those exterminators sprayed their poison around.”

  Mrs. Ramsey hugged Jessi protectively.

  Emily fell off my suitcase and skinned her knee.

  In the midst of her tears, I spied the headlight on our train, and soon the engine was roaring into the station. “Here we go!” I cried, but I was caught first in an embrace by Nannie, then by Mom, and then by Watson. All around me, the other parents were hugging their kids. Half of the parents were crying. (None of my friends was. Although Mary Anne was poking her fingers into the cat carrier, and saying, “ ’Bye, Tiggy-Tiggy-Tiggy.”)

  “Okay, Watson, I gotta go,” I said, pulling away. I stepped onto the train, followed by Claudia, Jessi, Mary Anne, Mallory, and Dawn. We struggled with our luggage until I noticed that Stacey hadn’t boarded the train yet. She was still outside, saying things like, “I promise I won’t let them ride the subway alone,” and, “I don’t think anyone would want to buy a hot dog from a street vendor.”

  “I would,” said Claudia, but luckily her parents didn’t hear her.

  “Come on, Stacey!” I cried. “The train’s going to leave without you.” I made a grab for her just as the doors started to close.

  When Stacey was safely on board, the seven of us waved and called, “Good-bye! Good-bye!” Then we found an almost empty car. This was a good thing, since we and our luggage took up fifteen seats.

  “We made it!” I said, as if we’d just escaped from prison.

  “Okay, lunchtime,” was Claudia’s reply.

  “Lunchtime? It’s only ten o’clock,” Mary Anne informed her.

  “Well, I’m hungry.”

  The rest of us decided we were, too, so we ate the snacks we’d brought along. Then Mary Anne returned to the stack of maps and guidebooks she brings along on every trip we take.

  “Does anyone else have a sense of déjà vu?” I asked, glancing at Mary Anne.

  “Me!” cried Claudia and Dawn, who’d been with Mary Anne and me when we’d visited Stacey for a weekend during the time she was back in New York.

  “What could she possibly not know about New York by now?” I wondered aloud.

  “That there’s a Hall of Chinese History at some place called the Bowery,” Mary Anne replied.

  I shook my head. Then I gazed out the window.

  An hour or so later, a deep voice was saying, “All out for New York. This is Grand Central Station. Last stop!”

  The train jerked to a halt.

  “Ooh, we’re here,” whispered Mary Anne.

  Somehow we managed to get all of our stuff — suitcases, backpacks, duffel bags, tote bags, pocketbooks, and cameras — off of the train. Then we followed Stacey through thick, stuffy air and into the crowded station.

  “Dad!” Stacey shouted, waving her hand.

  I looked up and saw Mr. McGill running toward us.

  “Oof. That weighs a ton, honey. What did you pack? Anvils?” Mr. McGill said to Stacey as he lugged her suitcase through the door to his apartment. He stood for a moment, just holding it. Finally he said, “I’m afraid to put it down. I’m afraid it will go through the floor and land on the Magnesis’ dining room table. Or worse, on one of the Magnesis.”

  I laughed, but Stacey barely heard her father. She was standing at a window, breathing in deeply. “Mmm,” she said contentedly. “I can almost smell —”

  “New Jersey?” suggested Kristy.

  “No, Bloomingdale’s. Dad, I am forever grateful to you for getting an apartment within walking distance of Bloomingdale’s.”

  We were all laughing by then. Mr. McGill finally put the suitcase down and told us to put our things down, too. We did, heaving sighs of relief.

  “Now, who’s staying where?” asked Stacey’s father.

  “Well, I’m staying here, of course,” replied Stace.

  “Me, too,” said Claud. (Best friends stick together.)

  “I don’t mind going to Laine’s,” spoke up Kristy.

  “Neither do I,” I said.

  “Neither do I,” said both Jessi and Mallory.

  Dawn was the only one who didn’t say anything, and I realized she’d been sort of quiet ever since we’d reached Grand Central, and especially ever since an ambulance had gone screaming by the cab we were riding in, and then a second cab had almost broadsided us and our driver had leaned out of his window and screamed something unrepeatable at the top of his lungs.

  “Welcome to New York,” Stacey had whispered.

  I’d laughed, but Dawn had sat next to me like a statue.

  Now Stacey spoke up. “Dawn, why don’t you stay here with Claud and me? I don’t think we can ask the Cummingses to take five houseguests for two weeks.”

  So it was settled. Dawn looked extremely relieved at the idea of staying where she was. But she looked less relieved when Stacey had gone on to say, “Okay, Dawn, you and Claud dump your stuff in my room. Then we’ll go over to Laine’s with everyone else.”

  A few minutes later we were out on the street again, hailing cabs and then stuffing people and luggage inside them and heading to the Upper West Side. The Cummingses live in one of the most famous buildings in all of New York City. It’s called the Dakota, and the apartments in it are huge and expensive. I think Laine’s parents are millionaires. (I was beside myself with the thought of actually staying in the Dakota for two whole weeks. The old movie Rosemary’s Baby was filmed there. Famous people live there. Famous people have died there, too.)

  I hoped I was dressed properly for the Dakota. Stacey had done a suitcase-check in Stoneybrook and told me that I had packed well. Still …

  I felt better, though, when Stacey had led us to Laine’s apartment. Laine had let us in, and I had found both Mr. and Mrs. Cummings dressed in jeans, and Laine dressed in a black-and-white Stacey-like outfit.

  “Hi!” cried Laine, and then the introductions and the reminders of who was who began. Jessi and Mal had met Laine before but hadn’t met her parents. The rest of us knew Laine pretty well but her parents less well.

  I was glad when the Cummingses seemed to have gotten our names straightened out and Laine said, “Come on back to the bedrooms, you guys.” (I hated for our luggage to junk up the grand living room.)

  We picked up our belongings and followed Laine down a hallway. “Here’s my room,” she announced. I peeked in and saw a pair of twin beds. “There’s a trundle bed underneath one,” Laine informed us, “and there are two more beds in the guest room.”

  With no arguing at all, it was decided that Kristy and I would stay in Laine’s room, since we knew her better than Jessi and Mal did, and that Jessi and Mal would sleep in the guest room.

  “Gosh, this apartment is beautiful,” I could hear Mallory say as we were stowing our stuff in out-of-the-way places.

  “Yeah, look out the window,” Jessi replied. “Look at all those trees and the grass. Who says New York is just a mass of buildings?”

  “That’s Central Park!” I called from Laine’s room. I thought I heard someone say something about a “talking guidebook,” but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, at that moment the doorbell rang. (Dawn screamed.)

  “Who’s that, Mom?” yelled Laine.

  “Probably the Harringtons,” was the reply.

  “Oh.” Laine turned to Kristy and Dawn and me. “The Harringtons are going to be staying in the Baickers’ apartment upstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Baicker are friends of my parents. They had planned a trip to England and Mrs. Baicker knew that her cousins, the Harringtons, were going to be traveling over here, so they just traded apartments with the Harringtons. Isn’t that cool?”

  “Chilly,” replied Kristy.

  Laine grinned. “Let’s go meet them. I think Mom said the Harringtons have kids
. I wonder if they brought them along.”

  The Harringtons did have kids. When Laine and I and the members of the BSC trooped back into the living room, we saw Mr. and Mrs. Cummings talking to a couple — and a little boy and girl standing around, looking bored.

  Introductions started all over again. In the middle of everything, Mr. Harrington rested his hand on the boy’s head and said, “This is Alistaire.”

  Alistaire smiled politely. “Hullo,” he said, “I’m seven.”

  “And this is Rowena,” Mr. Harrington went on, placing his hand on the girl’s head.

  “I’m this many.” Rowena held up four fingers.

  Everyone smiled. I was absolutely enchanted. Rowena and Alistaire looked up at the adults from under perfectly combed, dark brown bangs. Their eyes were round and green. And they were dressed like … well, certainly not like many kids I know. Alistaire was wearing a white sailor suit with navy blue trim, white knee socks, and black shoes that buckled at the sides. They looked a little like Mary Janes, only they weren’t shiny. And Rowena was wearing a white sailor dress, similar to Alistaire’s suit, white tights, red Mary Janes, and a red hat. I don’t remember the last time I saw a child wearing a hat that wasn’t dripping with melted snow and smelling of wet wool. Perched on Rowena’s head was a round straw hat, held in place by an elastic band under her chin. Red ribbons trailed from the back of the hat.

  “We’re visiting America for two weeks,” Alistaire announced proudly. “Only Mummy and Daddy have to work.”

  It turned out that both Mr. and Mrs. Harrington were dignitaries. Or maybe diplomats. I’m not sure. They had something to do with the government, though, and apparently they were very important and extremely wealthy.

  “We’re lucky to have found a housekeeper while we’re staying here,” said Mrs. Harrington, “but we would really rather that the children weren’t cooped up all day while we’re busy. We’d like them to see New York. And anyway, we can’t expect the housekeeper to be a nanny, too.”

  “In fact,” added Mr. Harrington, “we were wondering if you” (he meant Laine’s parents) “would know where we might find someone who could not only entertain Rowena and Alistaire, but who could show them New York. Take them to the zoo, go sightseeing —”

  “Go to the big toy store!” exclaimed Rowena.

  “FAO Schwarz?” said Stacey. “Oh, that’s a neat place.”

  “Yes, Rowena has been asking to go to FAO Schwarz, and Alistaire would like to see the dinosaurs in the Museum of Natural History.”

  “The dinosaur skeletons,” Alistaire corrected his father. “Not dinosaurs.”

  “Right,” agreed Mr. Harrington cheerfully. He turned back to the Cummingses. “Do you know a good nanny service?” he asked.

  Well, of course by now my friends and I were looking at each other excitedly. We would be perfect tour guides. And we know how to entertain kids. But did we dare suggest that? Laine took care of the problem for us.

  “My friends are baby-sitters,” she announced. Then she told the Harringtons about the BSC. They seemed impressed.

  Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke briefly in the kitchen. When they returned, Mrs. Harrington said, “If you’re interested, we would like to engage two of you to watch the children and to show them around the city.” Then she added how much we would be paid, and the seven BSC members nearly fainted.

  Even so, when we stepped into the kitchen to discuss the offer, not everyone jumped at it. Claudia and Mal couldn’t take it because of their art classes. Jessi and Kristy wanted to sightsee, but not necessarily with kids. They both do their share of baby-sitting for their brothers and sisters, and they wanted a break from that while they were on vacation. Dawn never opened her mouth, but that turned out to be okay because Stacey said, “If you guys wouldn’t mind, I’d kind of like the job. I know tons about New York.” So I said, “I’ll do the job with you, Stace. I can’t believe the Harringtons are actually going to pay me to do one of the things I love the most — be a tourist!”

  “Is this okay with the rest of you?” asked Stacey. “I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you. Anyway, Laine will be around.”

  “It’s fine,” chorused Claud, Jessi, Kristy, and Mal.

  “Dawn?” I asked. She was sitting at the table, looking miserable. “Hey, are you feeling all right?”

  “Sure,” Dawn answered quickly. “Go ahead and tell the Harringtons they’ve got two experienced nannies for the next couple of weeks.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I glanced at Stacey, because Dawn wasn’t convincing me that she was happy with the arrangement.

  Stacey just shrugged.

  “Okay,” said Kristy, taking charge (which she was born to do). “Let’s go give the Harringtons the good news.”

  So we did. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington asked us to begin the next day.

  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 pickpockets 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.”

  Stacey 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 Stoneybrook 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 I 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.