Alice on Her Way

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  “Is she mad?” asked Gwen.

  “She doesn’t know it yet,” Pamela said. “She probably thinks I’m coming back!” She walked toward our window, her arms spread wide. “Bring on New York!” she said. Then she saw the air-conditioning units on the neighboring roof. “Well, at least you get a piece of sky from your window. All Mom and I can see is a wall.”

  Sort of a metaphor for the two of them, I thought.

  Sam stayed glued to me on the ride to the Tenement Museum. We’d each chosen a different boxed lunch, and I didn’t like my ham and cheese, so he fed me bites of his chicken salad.

  “I make great chicken salad myself,” he said. “I’m trying to learn to cook at least seven good things so that I can make something different every day of the week.”

  “You planning to do your own cooking in college?” I asked. “No dorm food for you, huh?”

  He just smiled. “Maybe I’ll cook for you sometime. I cook once a week for Mom and me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We took a class together in Chinese cooking. Now she wants me to go out for wrestling in my junior year.”

  “Wrestling?”

  “Says it’ll balance me out. You know, photography… cooking… wrestling…”

  “What do you want to do?” I asked.

  “You don’t like wrestling? What would you suggest?”

  “It’s your life, Sam. Nobody else should decide that for you.”

  Mrs. Jones came down the aisle just then holding a large trash bag for our empty cartons. I hadn’t realized until now that Pamela was on the other bus and wondered if this is the way it would be all weekend—Pamela waiting to see which bus her mom was on, then taking the other one.

  The driver made a few detours to show us Rockefeller Center and the Empire State Building, then went on to 97 Orchard Street on the Lower East Side. When we got out, a tour director for the Tenement Museum divided us into groups of fifteen. She signaled me to go on in with the first group, but Sam wanted us to be together, so he held me back for the second group and Liz went in my place.

  I think we were all impressed. The museum was an actual tenement building from 1863, and we got to see three of the tiny apartments that had been preserved and furnished, as nearly as possible, with the actual possessions of the families who had lived there. The guide told us their stories. The husband who found he could not provide for his family and, in disgrace and despair, simply disappeared. The mother who supported her family as a seamstress, turning dresses inside out or back to front to preserve them, as most of the women had only a dress for Sunday and an everyday dress, passed down from one family member to the next. The children who had no other place to play except the dimly lit stairs….

  None of us was prepared for just how small the rooms were—and so many people per room! Since each apartment stretched from front to back, only the room at the front had a window generally, and large openings were often cut in the walls between rooms so that light and air could travel from one to the other. A bedroom was scarcely big enough for a double bed, and there were, of course, no closets.

  “Where did they put all their stuff?” Pamela asked in amazement.

  The guide gave us a patient smile. “What stuff?” she asked. “All the possessions they owned could be stored beneath their beds.”

  I tried to imagine Liz and Pamela and me sleeping in one bed and storing all our stuff underneath. We wouldn’t even be able to store all the stuff we’d brought for this trip, much less the things we had back home.

  We asked about fire in the buildings. About sanitation. It was Gwen who asked the most questions about disease, and it was frightening to hear how easily measles and scarlet fever could spread from one tenement to the next.

  Sam was running his hand up and down my back underneath my jacket. Then it inched its way above the waistband of my jeans and under my top. His fingers almost reached my bra in back. Then they stopped. It’s hard to concentrate on immigrants when a guy’s fingers are roaming around your back.

  The buses took us to an Italian fast-food place for dinner, and then we had two choices for New York at night. We could walk with a group to Times Square or head in the other direction for a walk through Central Park, stopping to look at a landmark restaurant called Tavern on the Green.

  Pamela, Liz, and I huddled in a restroom to talk it over.

  “I heard someone say we’d be getting back to the hotel early tonight because we have to be up early tomorrow,” Pamela said. “So let’s not break away till we’ve checked in back at the hotel later. If we ditch too early, they’ll send us home.”

  “Let’s see if we can get Gwen to go with us,” I said. “Molly, too.”

  “All right. But keep it tight. We don’t want it to get around,” said Pamela.

  We had to sign up early for the evening activity. No one had the option of staying back at the hotel. I’d seen the silver ball descending at Times Square on New Year’s Eve so many times on TV that this didn’t much interest me. Besides, Sam wanted to do the walk through Central Park at night, so we signed up for that. The air was balmy for April—especially mild for New York, we’d been told—and it felt good to be out walking after a long day on the bus.

  Some of the stage crew were in our group—Harry and Faith and Chris. Sam and I hung back at the end, our arms around each other, kissing when we got the chance. I liked listening to the soft clop-clop of horses’ hooves as carriages passed us, pulled by horses wearing hats decorated with flowers.

  Maybe it was the couples cuddling under warm blankets in the carriages that made me want to be closer to Sam. Some of the tops were up on the carriages, so the couples were barely visible and you could only imagine what was going on under that flimsy top. Under the blanket, maybe!

  Even before we got to the restaurant, we could see why Tavern on the Green was so popular. Sitting on the western edge of Central Park, the trunks of its trees were decorated with hundreds of tiny lights. Lanterns hung from the highest branches to the lowest, so you felt you were approaching a fairyland. It was booked solid for the evening, and all we could do was walk around outside, where the bushes had been sculpted into birds and animals. The lights, the breeze on our faces, Sam’s arm around me… I almost felt guilty for planning the rest of the evening without including Sam.

  We followed a lighted path down into the park for a short walk, all staying together in one group. Past the night joggers, the dog walkers, the police officers on horseback, the homeless. Once, stopping at a large outcropping of rock, Sam backed me up against it and pressed against me as we kissed. My whole body seemed to want him. I guess this is how Gwen felt when she let Legs, her old boyfriend, do IT. How Liz felt when she let Ross touch her. How we were supposed to feel when we were making out. Too bad that wasn’t on the agenda.

  When we got up to the street again, carriages were lined up along the curb, waiting for new passengers. The drivers, in top hats, called out friendly greetings, and one of them asked Faith if she wanted to feed his horse a sugar cube.

  “If the horse won’t take it, you can feed it to me,” he joked, flirting with her, and when Faith smiled, her teeth shone pure white in the moonlight. That girl should smile more often, I thought. She should have more to smile about. Funny how you focus on teeth when your own have braces.

  I liked to see the way she blossomed when Ron wasn’t around. She had changed from black clothes to white, as she usually did in summer, so she looked more like a bride than a widow. I think she buys vintage clothes at thrift shops, and she was wearing a long rayon dress with a matching stole and little lace-up granny boots.

  The driver, a young man around twenty, put a sugar cube in the palm of Faith’s hand and kept hold of her hand when she offered it to the horse. The big brown and white animal with the chestnut eyes swooped its head down toward her, noiselessly grazing her palm, took the sugar, then sniffed at her hand once more.

  “Oh!” she cried, stroking its long muzzle.

  �
��Here!” Chris said, and produced an apple from a jacket pocket.

  “He’ll eat it? The whole thing?” Faith asked the driver.

  “Well, not unless you peel it first,” the driver teased, and we all laughed.

  Faith held the apple out and watched the horse take it and stand chewing, little bits of pulp and seeds dropping from its mouth.

  “Oh, I love you,” Faith whispered to the horse, and it rewarded her with a quick buss on the side of her head.

  “I’m so glad she came on this trip,” I told Sam.

  18

  Breaking Out

  We got back to the hotel about nine thirty, and the teachers reminded us that there would be a “lockup” of all rooms at ten o’clock.

  “I think it’s all talk,” said Elizabeth. “How can they possibly do it? Lock us in from the outside?”

  “I think it just means they check us off at ten, and we’re on the honor system after that,” said Gwen.

  “No way,” said Pamela. “Can you imagine the guys staying in their room all night? Brian?”

  Molly agreed. “But they did say ‘lockup,’ not ‘check up.’”

  “Maybe there’s a guard at all the exit doors taking names,” I suggested.

  “That’s not the problem, Alice,” said Molly. “What if nobody wants to go out? What if all a guy wants to do is get in a girl’s room?”

  I immediately thought of Sam.

  “Does your mother know where you are, Pamela?” asked Gwen. “Somebody better tell her.”

  “I left her a note,” said Pamela. “I said that since she decided to come along as a chaperone without asking me if it was okay, I decided to room with you guys without asking her if it was okay.”

  “Won’t she tell someone?” asked Molly.

  “No. Can you imagine her telling the teachers that her own daughter doesn’t want to stay in the same room with her?”

  I studied Pamela for a moment. “Are you ever going to forgive her?” I asked.

  Pamela just tossed her head, and I could tell it wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss. Instead, she told Gwen and Molly about the clubs we were going to look up once we found a way to get out. “You want to be in on it?” she asked.

  “Sure!” said Gwen.

  “I’d better not,” said Molly. “I’m trying to get into Oberlin next year. I’d be upset if anything went on my record.”

  It wasn’t long before we found out what “lockup” meant. Karen and Jill called us from another room. “They came and put tape on the door!” Karen cried. “Can you believe it?”

  “Tape?” I said. “They think tape is going to keep us in?”

  “No, but they said they’ll be making rounds throughout the night, and if anyone’s tape is disturbed, they’ll know somebody went in after lockup,” she answered.

  Maybe teachers were smarter than we thought.

  Just then we heard tapping on the door next to ours.

  “Hide Pamela!” Gwen instructed us. “They’ll be here next!”

  Pamela slid off the bed and tried to crawl under it, but the space was too narrow.

  “The closet!” Liz whispered frantically, and we got her in the closet and threw our backpacks in on top of her. A couple of minutes later one of the chaperones knocked on the door. A pleasant-faced woman with little black-framed glasses stepped inside, holding a list.

  “Hi, girls,” she said. “This is… 714, right? Am I looking at Gwen, Alice, Elizabeth, and Molly?”

  “Yep,” we said.

  She looked around. “Everything okay? Nobody needs any ice or anything? Once I tape the door, kiddos, you’re in for the night. Unless there’s an emergency, of course.”

  “We’re fine,” said Elizabeth.

  “Okay. Have a good sleep. Breakfast at seven. There will be cereal and muffins in the hospitality suite on the sixth floor.”

  “Good night,” we chorused as she went back out and closed the door after her.

  Pamela came out of the closet.

  “Now what?” I said.

  “I guess that about cooks it for us, doesn’t it?” said Liz disappointedly. “They’ve put us all on the sixth and seventh floors. Even if we could open the window, we couldn’t crawl out.”

  “I’ll think of something!” said Pamela. “Back to the robes and the smoke, maybe.”

  Gwen turned on the TV, and what did we get? Previews for adult entertainment. “See what we’re missing?” she joked.

  We flipped channels while Pamela paced. Molly got ready for bed, but—ever the optimists—we didn’t. Ten fifteen became ten thirty. Then the phone rang. I reached over and picked it up.

  “Room 714?” came a pleasant-sounding male voice.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “There’s a delivery down at the front desk. You’ll need three or four girls to pick it up.”

  “What?” I said. “What is it?”

  “I… can’t quite tell,” said the voice.

  “We can’t leave the room. You’ll have to deliver it,” I said.

  “You have permission to come down and get this,” the man said. “But you might want to check the hallway before you come down in case there’s a misunderstanding.”

  “Well… all right,” I said, and put the phone down.

  “Who was it?” asked Pamela.

  “The front desk!” I said, puzzled. “We’re supposed to go down and pick up a delivery. He said it would take three or four girls to carry it.”

  “What? What is it?” asked Elizabeth.

  “He said he couldn’t tell. I’ll bet it’s just cumbersome or something. A huge order of balloons, maybe.”

  “How did he know we were all girls in this room?”

  “It’s the way we’re registered,” I said. “C’mon. Let’s all go.”

  Molly was already in her pajamas. “He said three or four girls. You don’t need me. I’m pooped.”

  Gwen was skeptical. “I don’t trust this,” she said. “Who did he say he was?”

  “He didn’t. He just said, ‘Room 714?’”

  “I knew it!” said Gwen. “The front desk wouldn’t repeat the number of the room they just called! They can tell from their computerized phones what room they’re talking to.”

  “Oh, Gwen, you’re paranoid,” said Pamela, excitedly pulling on her shoes. “All we’re doing is going down to the lobby. We’re not meeting someone out in an alley or anything. What can happen? There are four of us, and we’ve got a perfect excuse. If Mr. Corona stops us, we’ll tell him the front desk called and said there was a delivery.”

  “Well, retape the door after you go out,” said Molly. “We can’t have somebody knocking on the door, wondering where you are.”

  I peeked out the peephole to be sure there wasn’t a sleazy man in a trench coat waiting to push into the room as soon as the door was open. The corridor appeared to be clear.

  I turned the handle and slowly inched the door open a crack. I heard the adhesive give and, looking up, saw a wide piece of duct tape hanging loose near the top of the doorway.

  The four of us went out and carefully pressed the tape back in place. Then we walked quickly down the hall to the elevator, pushed the button, and got on.

  When we got to the lobby and stepped out, Brian and Tony Osler and a guy I’d seen around school, a senior, I think, were waiting for us.

  “Room 714?” said the senior, grinning, and I recognized the voice on the phone.

  I started to laugh, but the guys grabbed our arms and ushered us across the lobby to a side entrance, away from the front desk.

  “What’s going on?” asked Liz, as if we didn’t know.

  “Party time!” Brian sang as we stepped outside.

  “Hey! How are we supposed to get back in our rooms?” Gwen asked.

  “No problemo! I’ll follow you up and retape your door,” Tony said.

  “Then how will you retape yours?” I asked.

  “I’ll tip a bellhop,” said Tony. “In fact”—he paused
and grinned—“it’s all arranged.”

  “Absolutely brilliant!” said Pamela.

  More than that, the guys had brought sweatshirts for us since we had come down without jackets, so we put them on and followed them down the sidewalk.

  “I’m Hugh,” the senior said. He had dark curly hair, a jacket thrown over one shoulder, a huge chest and broad shoulders. Pamela hardly took her eyes off him. He laughed at the way we looked in their oversized sweatshirts, my maroon and gold Terps shirt coming halfway down my thighs. I laughed too, at the sight of us, at the way things were working out, at being outside in New York on a mild April night with my three best friends and three guys. I mean, this was even better than we thought!

  “So where are we going?” I asked.

  “First the subway,” said Hugh. “Then we’ll try a couple places, see if we can get in.”

  If Sam could see me now, I thought, he’d freak out. I refused to even think what Dad or Les would say.

  We went down a flight of concrete steps to the subway, and Hugh bought some MetroCards. Once on the train Gwen asked, “Where did you learn so much about New York?”

  “Used to live here,” Hugh said. “I know some bars over by NYU. My brother used to go there, so he told me some good places.” He smiled at Gwen and nodded toward her sweatshirt. “You’re a natural,” he said. NYU was on the front. He was probably right; Gwen could have passed for a freshman.

  The subway cars rattled along the track, and we swayed this way and that, our upper bodies leaning against each other as the train tipped from left to right. We were seated three on one side, facing the three on the other, and Pamela was odd man out. So she sat down on Hugh’s lap rather than sit on a seat by herself. As the car shook she wiggled around with a slightly exaggerated movement. “Lap dancing,” she said, and the guys laughed.

  Hardly anyone stares at you in New York, even on the subway. In our car there were two Latino women talking with each other, an elderly man with his eyes half closed, a student reading a textbook, a student reading a newspaper…. You get the feeling after a while that you could get on the subway stark naked and people would just glance your way and go on reading.