At Your Service (21 page)

“There
will
be punishments for this, Chlo, but that part can come later. Right now, I want to make sure your ankle is okay. What happened?”

I give him the least dramatic version I can manage, but he still looks pretty upset and pronounces that we're calling in the hotel doctor as soon as we get back home. I nod and Dad sighs.

“Okay, now . . . I just want to understand what was going through your head. What I really don't get is why you didn't call me the second you realized Ingrid was missing.”

I drop my eyes to the ground and study the blobs of old, flattened chewing gum that dot the cement floor of the gift shop. “I guess I wanted to prove to you I could handle things.”

“Oh, baby. I know you did. But it's my job to take care of you, not the other way around. There were more than a few times today I wanted to call the whole thing off and collect you, but I let the king talk me down. Neither of us were aware of the true extent of your injury, though, or you can be assured I would have. Anyway, maybe I threw you into this junior concierge job without taking enough time to really show you the ropes.”

I think of the hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of hours I've spent standing next to Dad at his podium, watching him do his thing.

“No, that's not it, Dad. I just wanted to show you I was good enough to handle things on my own. Like your Capable Chloe. Like you.”

“But that's the thing, sweets. I
didn't
handle it on my own. How do you think we found Princess Ingrid so fast?”

I definitely want to know the answer to this one. I know in general grown-ups just always seem to be able to swoop in and solve stuff I can't figure out, like it's the easiest thing in the world, but in this case, I need to know exactly how that was accomplished.

I shrug. “I dunno.”

“Well, Ernio called me about two minutes after you left
his office. He recognized Prince Alex and Princess Sophie right away and couldn't understand why you introduced them with fake names, even though he played along.”

I bite the inside of my lip.

“And while we were talking, he found your cell phones in his drawer. Care to tell me what that was about?”

I let my eyes go anywhere but to Dad's face. “Um, we thought Frans and Hans might be able to track the signal they send out.”

Dad barks a half-laugh, half-snort kind of sound. “No more
Law and Order
for you, my little criminal-in-the-making.”

He studies me for a second, while
I
study the ground some more and dart tiny glances at him. Then he continues.

“Anyway, he searched the browser on his computer and found what you had printed. When Hans showed up in the lobby and told us about Princess Ingrid and the pennies at FAO Schwarz, we were able to connect the dots pretty quickly. Then it was a matter of making calls. I phoned all the concierges I know and e-mailed the princess's picture to just about every hotel in the city.” Dad closes his eyes and shakes his head with the memory. “Within about ten minutes we had people from whatever hotel was situated closest in place at every one of the penny machines. It only
took us a few more minutes to locate Ingrid leaving Yankee Stadium.”

If only I'd thought to go there first and we'd skipped the Plaza. We could have found her within thirty minutes of losing her. Like Dad had. This entire day could have been avoided.

Although I knew that wasn't the point.

“Then we just had to locate you,” Dad was saying, which snapped me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“The hotel doorman stationed at Yankee Stadium spotted you four just after he'd handed Princess Ingrid over. Of course, I knew you guys were perfectly fine on your own, but the king and queen wanted a bodyguard on your tail just in case, especially with paparazzi hanging around. . . .”

Paparazzi! My hand flies to my mouth as I remember the kiss in front of Ripley's Believe It or Not!
Please don't let Dad have seen the picture, please don't let Dad have seen the picture, please don't let—

Dad catches my wrist. “Had quite the day, did you? Not everyone can say they kissed an actual, flesh-and-blood prince, huh?”

I know Lady Liberty is a symbol of freedom and means a lot to a lot of people and all that good stuff, but right now
I would be totally fine with a giant sinkhole opening up and taking the entire island underwater, me included.

Dad just chuckles. “With Mom gone, it's just you and me, kiddo, so I guess there's no way I'm avoiding this stuff. Though I would prefer not to see your love life in such vivid color.” Dad turns his phone around and shows me the headline
BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG SMOOCHES
underneath a photo of Alex's hands at my waist and his face close to mine. I'm torn between horror and fascination. But mostly embarrassment of the toe-curling variety.

“Da-aaaaad,”
I groan, and push his phone back at him.

He laughs loudly now. “So, do you like him? Or do you
like
like him?”

“Da-aaaaad!”

“Okay, okay, you don't have to talk to the old man about it. But just remember, we're a team, okay?”

I give a tiny nod and resume examining the scuff marks on my patent-leather heels.

“And speaking of teams, if you want to be a great concierge, you're going to need to embrace our motto a bit better.”

“In Service through Friendship?”
What does that have to do with teamwork?

“That's right. It doesn't only mean the way we approach our guests. It also means our attitude toward others in the hotel industry. We may get competitive at times about who's the best—”

“You are,” I interrupt.

Dad ruffles my hair, like he used to when I was little.

“Thanks, sweetie. But seriously. We're all a team. We each have our strengths, and we can help each other out when we need it.”

I'm not quite to a point where I can laugh about any of today, but I do have to hide a tiny smile as I picture the group of concierges I know as a superhero team, like the Avengers. Dad would totally rock Iron Man. He's the coolest one by far. Who would I be? Definitely not one of the superheroes. Not after today.

I think of my own motto: Go big or go home. It's pretty killer, but right now killer doesn't sound nearly as comforting as In Service through Friendship.

So, ask others for help. I think I can manage that. After all, a concierge is only as good as her contacts, and there are plenty of times I have to rely on someone else to help me put my plans for guests in place. I guess I just have to learn to reach out for it when I've messed up and not just when I'm trying to arrange something for a guest.

Then I think of something else killer. And I don't mean killer in a good way.

“Um, Dad, do we have to tell Mr. Whimpers, I mean
Whilpers
, about any of this? He totally has it out for me.”

“This one might be tough to keep a secret. You know how gossip works at the Saint Michèle. But I'll do my best to contain it. Though I have to warn you, that picture's probably already making the rounds in the break room. Don't worry—you just let me handle it.”

That sounds fine by me. See, I'm already learning to let someone else help with the problem stuff. After the day I've had, I'm pretty ready to let Dad fight my battles. For today, at least. I bet by next weekend, I'll be perfectly ready to take on the Whilps again. I already have a decent plan I've been working on involving the service elevator and the water from inside the lobby's flower arrangement, and I only have one or two kinks to work out.

But for now, I give Dad a hug.

“Is Ingrid
really
perfectly fine?” I know everyone's saying so, but I have to see it with my own eyes.

“Grab on.” Dad slings my arm around his back and helps me out of the gift shop and onto the pathway. He guides me to a spot where we have a view to the statue and points. On a
set of steps leading to the base of Lady Liberty is little Ingrid, “walking” her Barbie along the stone railing. Her father is a few steps behind. I exhale.

“King Robert was like a big kid at the idea of going up into Lady Liberty's crown. What is it with royals and crowns?” Dad grins at me.

I have another thought. “Do we get to ride back in the helicopter?”

“Yes, Chloe. Although I don't know if there are enough seats for everyone. And don't get any ideas about sharing one with your boyfriend.” He bumps my shoulder.

Oh. Holy. Yikes. Is this what it's going to be like with Dad from now on? Someone shoot me.

Even so . . . “You're pretty great, ya know . . . for a dad.”

Dad takes a tiny bow. “At your service, my sweet.”

Dear Mr. Buttercup,

I would like to personally thank you for the attention you and your staff provided during a particularly . . . interesting . . . time for our family. Please note, we do not hold you or anyone on your staff responsible for the events of that day, and in fact were quite impressed with the attention and care given to the situation by your concierges.

In particular, I would like to commend your younger concierge, Miss Turner, for her grace under pressure, for shepherding my two older children through the city, as well
as for taking care of them during what I know was a stressful situation. I do so apologize again for my actions that day causing her to suffer more than was strictly necessary, but I also hope she understands my rationale. Despite a bumpy go of it, she is a credit to your hotel. I hope her injury has thoroughly healed.

If you would be so kind, I'd like to request you pass along some personal messages from my children to Miss Turner:

A. Ingrid wanted me to let Chloe know she found a machine in the London airport that presses euros, and she now has a whole new collection to start. She thought Chloe would be quite excited for her. I'm not sure the rest of us share this enthusiasm, but we shall muddle on.

B. Sophie is hoping Chloe will be pleased to have us stay at the St. Michèle on our next visit to New York, though I can't say for sure when that will be. Chloe made quite an impression on her, and Sophie thinks she's, and I quote, “really cool.”

C. Alex requests that you allow us to set up a Skype account for Chloe ASAP, so that they might continue to chat online. We will, of course, make certain it is a secure line, safe from those pesky tabloid reporters.

D. Well, I really don't have a D, but I rather feel lists aren't complete with only an A–C. Wouldn't you quite agree?

Yours in service,

His Royal Highness, King by the Grace of God, Grand Duke of Shenkenburg, Duke of Astoria, Count Palatine of the Rhine, Count of Sasr, Romitostein, Westlundair, and Chern, Burgrave of Galenstein, Lord of Rewerberg, Maculbaden, Bergerstein, Roslinberg, Lumburg, and Appelstein.

a.k.a. your humble servant,

King Robert

Chlo–

I can't stop thinking about Sadie the Bearded Lady! Think you might be game for another visit to her when I return to town? Sophie and I are already nudging Father for a summer visit. In the meantime: Skype!

XOXO,

Alex