At Your Service

by Jen Malone

  “Um, so, Pay, just save the receipt, so I can reimburse you when we get back to the hotel.” I try to make my voice all casual sounding. “Incidentally, how much money do you have left, exactly?”

  “Well, Mom gave me some cash for today, so I wouldn’t be expecting the hotel to cover my stuff. I have . . .” She flips through bills in her wallet. “Twenty-seven dollars. Plus a bunch of change.”

  Twenty-seven dollars. That is not so much. Not in New York City money anyway. Things here always cost more than they do everywhere else. But, if we’re careful, maybe we can make it stretch. If we can find Ingrid at the Empire State Building, we’ll definitely be able to make it work, but if our wild-goose chase goes on much longer, I don’t know. Hopefully, Pay’s subway card has enough on it so it can keep covering our fares. I can’t imagine Alex will be able to carry me too far.

  Honestly, is the universe trying to send us a sign? I peer up at the sky, like I expect to see the bat signal or something. Or maybe one of those skywriting airplanes scrawling, Chloe, just call home.

  But all I see are a few puffy clouds and the tip-tops of buildings, including the spire of the Empire State Building, where we’re headed next.

  Alex fills Paisley and Sophie in on our dwindling funds situation while he wraps my ankle. Not gonna lie. I can barely feel anything beyond the throbbing in my foot, but when Alex props my leg on his knee and cradles my ankle in his hand, it feels a lot more tingly than sharp, splitting pain-y.

  “Hey, so where’d you learn how to do this?” I’m thinking a prince probably doesn’t have to spend much time practicing first aid.

  “I’m quite hands-on with our polo ponies. Once you’ve wrapped a Thoroughbred’s leg, a girl’s ankle is quite simple. And as a bonus, you aren’t likely to crush me under you if I bungle things.”

  Probably not.

  Anyway, it helps. I scarf down the PowerBar and swallow the maximum dose of pills it says on the bottle and, with my ankle wrapped tight, I feel pretty okay(ish). I still don’t want to put too much pressure on it, but it’s bearable to hobble along.

  “I’ll hang back with Chloe, if you girls want to run ahead to the building,” Alex offers. I’m not sure if he’s a prince or my knight in shining armor, but either way, I’ll take it. He smiles at my grateful grin. “What, did you think we were just going to leave you behind?”

  “It might make more sense.”

  “Don’t be daft. You’re too much a part of the group. Come on, Gimpy.”

  Hmm . . . I definitely prefer Chlo.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Paisley and Sophie backtrack to intercept us as Alex and I round the corner of Thirty-Third onto Fifth Avenue.

  “Bad news. The guy at the information desk inside says the penny machines were taken out of the lobby, but he isn’t sure if they’re gone or if they’ve just been moved. They could be out of service or they could be up on the observation level. And no one else has asked about them today. I checked.”

  “So we need to go up, then?” Alex asks.

  “Well, that’s just it. It costs twenty-seven dollars to go up there.” Paisley looks like the Yankees just lost the World Series.

  “That’s the kid’s price?” I ask. See? New York equals megabucks.

  “No, the kid’s price is twenty-one, but it’s only for twelve and under.”

  Sophie hesitates, then raises her hand. “I’m twelve.”

  We all turn to look at her. Of the four of us, I’d choose any one of us over her to send up there alone. Not that she isn’t capable . . . probably . . . but, unlike Paisley, she’s definitely not so good in a crisis. And if she gets up there and doesn’t find Ingrid, who’s to say she doesn’t lose it eighty-six stories up in the sky, with none of us there to comfort her?

  Then again, having six dollars to our name is somehow more reassuring than having zero, and I feel like any of the rest of us lying about our age would just be bad karma. We don’t need that right now.

  “It’s a plan,” I say. Alex and Paisley nod too.

  Please, please, please, PLEASE let Ingrid be there. I’ve been able to pretty much shut out worry about her and stay focused on how we’re sure to find her, but it’s been over two hours now and that’s a lot of time for a little girl to be missing in a city this size. We have to find her here. We just have to.

  • • •

  When Sophie steps off the elevator exactly twenty-three minutes later, she looks dazed. Actually, she looks like I must have when Alex took my hand on the subway. Too bad he hasn’t tried any more of that, but I’m guessing the fact that Pay is with us has kept him from making any moves.

  Which isn’t to say he hasn’t been totally adorable, because he has. He tried to kill time by showing us how he can juggle, using our shoes. Or maybe I’m just finding it hard to see anything he does or says as the least bit less than perfect because I’m seeing him in such a new light.

  Amazing. I’m not even worried about the professional ramifications of falling for a hotel guest anymore. I think we’re all way past worrying about trivial stuff like that. Whoa. Did I just say that? Except, I don’t have time to think about my love life or my career right now. Sophie isn’t dragging a little sister behind her, and that’s bad.

  She plops down beside us. “No machines,” she says. “I did the whole loop of the observation deck inside and out and showed her picture to a slew of the guards up there. No one has seen a penny machine or Ingrid.”

  So Ingrid is still out there somewhere, and we have no clues left now.

  “If you didn’t find out anything about Ingrid, how come you look all loony?” Alex asks the same question I want to.

  “Oh—um—well, it’s just that . . . Uh, I think I might owe you an apology, Chloe.”

  What? Did I sprain my ears along with my ankle? Because it sounds like the Ice Princess just said something about an apology, but surely my hearing isn’t working right. I cock my head and examine her. She looks me straight in the eye. Points to her for that.

  “It’s only that, well, I was looking so hard for Ingrid, I swear. But I couldn’t help glancing out at the views a couple of times and . . .”

  We all wait for her to continue.

  “And it was beautiful! I mean really, really breathtaking. I know we have the Alps and all the ancient buildings around us, and they’re quite amazing too, but this was just so . . . so . . .” She throws her hands up. “And the skyline goes on for ages!”

  AHA! I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. You give me the biggest NYC hater on the planet, and somewhere, somehow I WILL find something to change her mind. Okay, granted, this wasn’t really my own doing, but so what? I knew it! I want to do a little happy dance, but it would have to be a one-legged jig and I don’t know any of those.

  “It is pretty special,” I say, all demurelike. I can afford to be modest now that I’ve won my case. But inside I’m still rocking a ginormous Ha-ha, I told you so!

  Mission accomplished. Just happened to be the wrong mission.

  Paisley brings me crashing back to reality. “What now?” she asks.

  I tug out the list of penny machines again and spread it out on the floor in front of us. It’s fairly crumpled by now.

  Alex studies the paper. “Well, I imagine at this point we need to start playing the odds. Times Square has six machines and it’s the closest to us, so it makes sense to go there next. I know you didn’t want to, Chlo, but if we split up, we can cover a lot more ground.”

  “I don’t know. With Chloe in her condition . . .” Paisley jumps to my defense.

  “That’s partly the reason we need to. We can’t make her walk all over, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Soph, maybe you should stay with Paisley since she knows the area.” Alex examines the list. “If you girls can take the Toys ‘R’ Us, M&M’s World, Bubba Gump’s, and Ellen’s Stardust Diner, Chloe and I can visit Madame Tussauds wax museum and Ripley’s Believe It or Not! The addresses are right next to each other, so it
shouldn’t be too much walking for Chloe. And Chlo, I can carry you if you need me to.”

  I turn the bright red color of the TKTS booth that sells half-price tickets to Broadway shows. Being carried up the subway stairs is one thing, but riding piggyback through a swarm of gawking tourists in Times Square would feel totally ridiculous. Then again, there is the Naked Cowboy there and about forty bajillion flashing lights and TV screens. Probably no one would even notice us.

  “We’ll see. I think I’m okay hopping if I can lean on your arm again. I can tell the medicine is starting to kick in, and it’s wrapped so tight, it really doesn’t hurt to put a little pressure on it.”

  “You’re quite brave,” Alex says, and his eyes lock on mine.

  We have a total moment.

  Yikes, I hope Paisley and Sophie aren’t paying attention. So embarrassing. Still, no chance I’m looking away first. He finally smiles his lopsided grin and drops his eyes. Whew. My heart starts back up.

  The girls seem oblivious, thank goodness. They’re comparing the list to a fold-out city map Paisley snagged from an information desk and circling the locations of Times Square penny machines.

  “Okay, let’s get a move on. Should we walk or take the subway?” Pay asks when they finish. She looks to me for an answer.

  “Walk. By the time we get back to the station and down to the platforms and then back up at Forty-Second Street, it’s probably just as much walking as sticking to the streets. Plus, we won’t have to worry about encountering Officer O’Brien.”

  The four of us take off at a decent pace up Fifth Avenue, sticking together long enough to stop at a copy center and make another flyer of Ingrid’s photo, so each set of us will have one to show around. Five dollars and thirty-five cents left.

  When we get to the New York Public Library, we turn left and cut through Bryant Park, where Alex and I wish luck to Paisley and Sophie. They’re headed up to Fifty-First Street to Ellen’s Stardust Diner. Then they’ll loop back to Times Square to hit the other spots and meet up with us.

  Paisley says, “Okay, forty-five minutes, in front of Gap. Sound good?”

  “Oh, I love Gap!” says Sophie.

  I hang my head. Of course she does. Most down-to-earth royals EVER.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex gestures to his back. “Your chariot awaits.”

  “You’re not allowed to make that joke if you actually own a chariot, you know.” But I’m too tired to protest, and I know we’ll move much faster this way.

  “Are you sure you’re all right with this?”

  “It’s fine. No sweat.”

  Le sigh. He really is a prince. Fortunately, it’s only a couple blocks before we get there, though the crush of tourists gawking at all the pretty, pretty lights slows us down a lot.

  Madame Tussauds wax museum is usually a super-fun place. Dad had a guest a couple of years ago who wanted to see behind the scenes, so I got to go with them to watch how they make the molds for the wax figures. It was seriously wild. Someone’s actual job is threading every single piece of hair into the wax head, and someone else hand paints all the eyeballs. Imagine that phone conversation with her parents: “Mom, I got a job today! I know, I know. I’m really excited. I’m going to be painting celebrity eyeballs. What? No, I didn’t hit my head.”

  The outside of the museum is pretty outrageous too—all red and gold with this spaceship-looking silver thing as an awning at the opening and a creepy-looking giant sculpted hand holding the MADAME TUSSAUDS sign. As if otherwise you might not know you were at a wax museum.

  Only today there’s a huge crowd blocking the entrance, and red velvet ropes are keeping everyone out.

  Figures.

  We’re at a standstill anyway, so I slide off Alex’s back, making sure to land on my good foot.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” I ask the frizzy-haired woman standing next to us. We’re still a good distance down the sidewalk, but I assume she knows something because she has an autograph book and pen in her hand, and she’s on tiptoes trying to see over the top of everyone’s heads.

  “They’re unveiling Ben Matthews’s wax figure.”

  “The basketball star?” Duh. I mean, how many other Ben Matthews famous enough to be in a wax museum are there in the world, but it just sort of tumbles out.

  The woman snorts. “Yeah.”

  Well, she doesn’t have to be rude about it. I was going to be helpful and tell her she won’t need to be on tiptoes to see him, since he’s seven-foot-something and pretty unmissable, but now . . . pfft.

  Besides, I have more important things to worry about. People keep pushing against me. It’s only a matter of time before someone steps on my foot or jostles my ankle, and I cannot be held accountable for my actions when that happens. Plus, if we can’t get through, it’s not looking likely that Ingrid could have fought her way to the front and talked her way under the ropes.

  “How long have people been lined up?” I ask Frizz.

  “I got here Thursday.”

  O-kaaaaay. Really? Just to see a basketball player walk a red carpet? Call me crazy, but wouldn’t tickets to a Knicks game get her just as close to him? I know those stadium seats aren’t all that comfy, but compared to a Manhattan sidewalk for two days? Plus, the stadium is heated. And there are nachos.

  Well, whatever. She answered my question. If this crowd has been here that long, Ingrid definitely wouldn’t have been able to get any penny from Madame Tussauds. Now we just need to find a way around it, so we can check out the scene at Ripley’s Believe It or Not! It’s right next door, but I definitely don’t think my ankle can handle crowds like this. We’re better off crossing the street, going down a bit, and coming at it from the other direction.

  I lean in to tell my plan to Alex, but the sudden roar of the crowd makes that impossible. A limo has stopped in front of the red carpet. I can’t see much over the top of the crowd, but sure enough, a second later there’s a head bobbing along a full foot above everyone else, and Ben Matthews smiles at his fans. About a thousand flashes go off. The other entire side of the red carpet must be lined with professional photographers.

  In less than five minutes, Ben is inside and it’s over. Frizz pushed forward the minute Ben appeared, and I hope she at least got her autograph after all that waiting.

  The crowd starts to break up, so I lean on Alex as we move against the stream of fans.

  “Have you been in there before?” Alex asks, gesturing at the museum.

  “Yeah. You? I know not here, but anywhere?”

  “Once. We went to the unveiling of Mom’s wax likeness at Madame Tussauds in London, but we skipped out on Dad’s.”

  Of course. Of course his parents are in the museum. And he probably will be too one day. That must feel so weird, to know a whole bunch of strangers are going to pose for pictures with your waxy likeness. Eww. Someone’s going to paint his eyeballs someday. Not that they’ll ever capture the right shade of navy.

  Well, anyway, it’s a good reality check. We may have had a “moment” (I don’t know, did we? Felt like it, but maybe he holds girls’ hands everywhere he goes), but we are living in two totally different worlds. At the very least I should just appreciate that, as much as I love handling things and being the one in charge of my guests, sometimes it’s nice to have someone else to lean on, and Alex has been great about that this afternoon.

  I let my grip on his arm slip a little, but then my ankle kills, so I grab tight again and hop along next to him. His arm comes around my shoulders to help hold me up. I’m sure he’s just being nice. Different worlds and all.

  We have to hobble into the street to get around the velvet ropes blocking the museum entrance. Even though I know I’m not going to see Ingrid, I can’t help but steal a few peeks at the doors, just in case. But there are only a few official-looking people with walkie-talkies clipped to their waists moving the rope line. I don’t even spot the penny machine, much less Ingrid.

  Luckily, Ripley�
��s is right next door. They even share a wall. I’m really grateful Alex claimed these locations for us, because I know Sophie and Paisley have a lot more walking to do, and my ankle is just about shot. I feel bad asking him, but I’m gonna have to ride piggyback to our meeting spot, no doubt about it.

  Alex’s voice is in my ear. “Ah, Chloe. Don’t look now, but I think we’ve picked up a parasite.”

  I fake stumble (not easy on a twisted ankle) and look back as if I’m trying to figure out what tripped me. As I ever-so-casually raise my head, I’m greeted by a camera flash right in my face.

  The heck?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Alex tugs my arm and orders through clenched teeth, “Turn back around!”

  “Ow! I might be blind now! Who’s taking my picture?”

  “I think it’s one of the paparazzi from the wax museum. He must have recognized me.”

  We’ve crisscrossed the city all day long without so much as a hint of a photographer or a single autograph request. The woman at the Plaza hadn’t even recognized Alex when he’d outright given her his (ridiculously long) name.

  Now? Now he gets spotted? Great. We have to meet the girls in twenty-two minutes, and we haven’t even checked out Ripley’s yet. The last thing we need at this point is a tagalong.

  “Just stay close to me,” Alex says. Like he has to ask twice on that one.

  “Do you get this a lot?” I whisper.

  “At home, yes. Outside of Europe, far less. Especially when we’re not with Dad. But a little more in the last year, I suppose.”

  Makes sense. Alex is getting to an age where most kids in the public eye begin to get interesting. Usually because they start doing stupid things. I’m guessing losing a kid sister could qualify him for idiot status in the newspapers.

  “How are we going to get away from him?” I ask.

  Alex heaves a ginormous sigh. “I don’t know. I need to think. For now, let’s do what we came here for. I doubt any newspaper will find a photograph of us examining a penny machine all that caption worthy. But we can’t be obvious about looking around for Ingrid, all right? I don’t want him to catch on that we’re doing anything besides being tourists.”