Falling Stars (14 page)

"Maybe one of them." Ice said, nodding toward Steven and Howard. "Steven's too weird for me."
"I can't believe that," I said. "Why would he want our things
?"
"It's called fetishism." Cinnamon said. "We mentals know that lingo. Someone puts lust or love into an inanimate object related to someone he wants. I hate to tell you what he might do with your sweater. Ice, or your skirt and blouse. Rose."
We all stared at the empty hallway before us.
"But we shouldn't accuse anyone or think anything like that until or unless we know it's true," I said.
"You're right, of course," Cinnamon quickly agreed. "Who wants it to be true anyway?"
She started away.
"Boy. I hope I can get some rest tonight," Rose declared when we paused by our rooms.
"You will," Cinnamon said.
We hugged each other and went to our respective bedrooms.
Thankfully, there were no more incidents at Rose's window that night, or for the remainder of the week for that matter. And no one lost any other articles of clothing. We all became too involved with our classes and teachers to think about anything else anyway.
On Wednesday. I received a delivery of flowers from Uncle Simon, a beautiful mix of his favorites. The girls were all jealous. I immediately sat at my desk and wrote him a long thank-you letter, feeling guilty for being so busy I had written only one letter up until now. I told him how much the girls loved his flowers and told him I would call home to speak with him soon. too.
Meanwhile. Rose's brother Evan sent her another E-mail, claiming he was running into what he called "an unusual number of dead ends" regarding information about the Senetskys' tragedy.
"My brother believes there is something very strange here." she told us Thursday afternoon,
"Why?" I asked.
"He's very good at what he does on the computer. He's able to break into highly sensitive areas. He told me he once even broke into the Pentagon!"
"What does he suspect, that it wasn't a suicide?" Cinnamon asked.
"I don't know, but he promised me he would keep looking. Should I tell him to stop?"
Cinnamon thought a moment and then shook her head.
"No. Just don't print anything out and leave it anywhere. I'd like to know more. Everyone okay with that?" she asked.
I was nervous, but I didn't say anything. Ice just shrugged and looked as stoic as usual.
"Whatever pushes your buttons," she muttered.
"It's not much different from what pushes yours," Cinnamon said. "Only yours have to be pushed a lot harder. I guess."
Ice stared at her a moment.
I
held my breath. It was like waiting for a second shoe to drop.
And then Ice laughed, and we all did the same.

The weekend was as full and exhausting as it had promised to be. Laura Fairchild was our chaperone and guide. We were driven about in a van, which made us feel like younger, high school students, but it was a very convenient way to get around the city. It was nice having our van outside the theater waiting for us while the mobs of people fought for taxicabs. We were able to keep to the ambitious schedule.

I did enjoy all the performances, the lunches, and even the Saturday night dinner at the ChampsElysees. I had to admit to myself that it made me feel important to be at a big table with all the waiters, the maitre d', and Monsieur Rambaud himself fawning over us. I could see from the way people were staring at us that they thought we were some very important group, and of course, a number of people came over to say hello to Madame Senetsky, some to get her autograph. A well-known Broadway star and his wife stopped by as well, and we were all introduced to him as prospective stars ourselves. Howard beamed and looked most determined.

At the end of the evening, Madame Senetsky complimented us all on our behavior and what she called our social performances. Exhausted, we all looked forward to our comfortable beds. When we visited the museum the next day, we were all quite subdued. Steven looked like he was sleepwalking, in fact. A professional guide had been assigned to lecture us about the exhibition.

After we had passed through about half of the museum. Rose stepped up between Cinnamon and myself and said. "Cover for me. I'm going to tell Ms. Fairchild that I'm going to the bathroom, and then I'm going to get lost for a while."

"What?" I cried. "Don't, Rose. You'll get in terrible trouble."
"Your boyfriend's here, isn't he?" Cinnamon asked her.
She smiled.
"In the lobby," she whispered. "I told him where we would be and he and I planned a secret rendezvous. Cover for me."
"Rose, please don't take the chance," I urged.
She stepped back, muttered something to Ms. Fairchild, who looked displeased, and then hurried away before Ms. Fairchild could prevent it.
The guide concluded his comments on the artwork before us and we moved to another room. I kept looking back at the doorway. I was very nervous for Rose.
"Don't worry about her," Cinnamon said. "She'll get away with it. She's just as good an actress as she is a dancer. You've seen her in Mr. Marlowe's improvisation classes. If you keep looking after her, you raise the temperature of suspicion in Ms. Fairchild's thermometer."
"Where's Rose?" Ice whispered, coming closer. "Ms. Fairchild is growing very upset. She muttered. 'That girl,' twice under her breath."
"Bathroom," Cinnamon said.
"Terrible cramps." Ice smiled.
"Terrible cramps. Suddenly. huh?" She tilted her head. "Her boyfriend's here. right?"
"Boys don't usually give me terrible cramps," Cinnamon replied, and we laughed.
"If you're not interested, you can at least be courteous and quiet" Laura Fairchild admonished.
We straightened up quickly. Howard and Steven glanced back at us. Steven smiling wryly.
"Hey," he said. realizing Rose was not there, "where's Ginger Rogers?"
"Bathroom," I replied. but Laura Fairchild was staring at the door behind us, her increasing anger making her neck turn redder and redder.
"Excuse me. Mr. Longo," she said to our guide, and then turned to us. "You all continue-- and pay attention. I'll go look for our little lost lamb."
"I can go," Steven volunteered.
"You can go back to where you came from, too," she replied sternly.
Howard laughed at Steven's look of shock.
We watched Laura Fairchild march off, the fury stiffening her neck and turning her hands into small fists. Her heels clicked off down the corridor like an old clock ticking down to the launching of a rocket.
"I wouldn't want to be our beautiful Rose right now," Steven declared.
"Don't worry. You'll always be a weed," Cinnamon told him, and we all laughed.
"Ha, ha. You're a riot."
"Can we continue with the tour, ladies and gentlemen? I have another in about twenty minutes." Mr. Longo said, twisting his lips with obvious disgust.
"Oh. please do," Steven told him.
We subdued our giggles and followed along. His voice droned on, but our eyes went from the works of art to the door. Some other visitors came up behind us and listened to his lecture, but neither Rose nor Ms. Fairchild appeared until we were almost finished.
Just as Mr. Longo began his summary. there was Rose again, a great look of satisfaction on her face, her eyes full of glee.
"Did you see Laura Fairchild? She's looking for you," Cinnamon whispered.
"No."
A few moments later. Ms. Fairchild appeared, her face now as red as her neck, her eyes blazing as brightly as sunlight off a tin roof. Some of her perfectly obedient strands of hair were loose and curled like broken piano wires. She glared at Rose, but held back her rage so she could thank Mr. Longo for his tour on behalf of Madame Senetsky and the school. He bowed, looked a bit disgusted at Steven, and then walked off to begin his next tour.
Laura whipped around on her heels and practically lunged at Rose.
"Where were you?" she clamored. "I checked every women's lounge in the museum.'"
"I went to the bathroom, just as I told you I would, Ms. Fairchild. When I came out. I got lost and wandered through the wrong rooms." she added. "I was getting so desperate. I swear I could hardly breathe. Finally, some kind stranger put me on the right path. I'm so sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused you, ma'am."
Laura glared at her. but Rose held her innocent gaze. It served like water dousing a fire finally, and Ms. Fairchild relaxed her shoulders.
"You should have paid attention to where we were and how to get back. It's not very bright to get lost in a museum. You people are supposed to be special."
"The creme de la creme.'' Cinnamon declared. "The icing on the cake," Steven added.
"No," Cinnamon said. "We are the cake."
"All right. That's enough. Follow me out to the van and let's not have anyone else get lost," Ms. Fairchild warned, her eyes still shooting darts at Rose, who continued to look as innocent as a kitten.
We marched obediently behind her. Ice, holding that soft, smart smile on her lips. Cinnamon's eves full of mischief, and me alternating between holding my breath and keeping up with my pounding heart. Howard looked annoyed, of course. but Steven was suddenly very awake.
It was still quite a beautiful, warm day, with some dabs of white moving between the skyscrapers. On the way home. Ice led us in song. Someone would shout out a line from a show tune and she would pick it up and do the verses while we all sang the chorus. It was fun. Even Ms. Fairchild seemed to melt some of her cold facade. I know our driver loved it because he joined in from time to time. We sang right up to the steps of the mansion.
"Be sure you are all down to set the table in time," Laura Fairchild called as we hurried up the steps and into the building.
"I'm exhausted," I admitted.
"It was easier in public school," Steven cried.
"Can't wait to hit that shower," Cinnamon said.
However, when we got upstairs, we waited until the boys disappeared into their rooms and then grabbed Rose and pulled her into her room.
"Tell us what you did." Cinnamon ordered.
"I couldn't believe how long you dared stay away," I said. Rose smiled and sat on the edge of her bed.
"It was wonderful." she said, embracing herself and closing her eyes. Then she opened them and looked excitedly at us, her attentive small audience, far more attentive than we were in the museum.
"What was?" Cinnamon asked, impatient.
"Even after just this short time. Barry somehow looked older, more mature. And much more handsome!
"He was happy to see me. We didn't care. We kissed right in front of a crowd of people and then we snuck outside to the side entrance. We were both talking so fast, trying to act so much in, that we finally both stopped and laughed and just kissed again and again.
"He's enjoying college, has a great roommate and some great new friends. He wants to bring them around to meet y'all. I told him you were taken. Honey, so he'd only bring two. Unless you want me to tell him otherwise," she added, looking at me.
Cinnamon and Ice waited to hear my response.
"You should have agreed to see other people while you're apart, maybe," Cinnamon said when I hesitated.
"I guess that's all right, but I'm not gonna to fall in love with anyone else," I insisted..
"Famous last words." Cinnamon said.
"Those aren't last words," I asserted. I looked at each of them. "They're not!"
"Okay, okay. Don't get your strings in an uproar. Besides, we're being a bit optimistic here. We can't all ask to go to the bathroom and sneak away, and you can't do it again. Rose." Cinnamon warned. "I'm sure she's reporting you to Madame Senetsky as it is.
"Although,' Cinnamon added with a small smile. "I think you pulled it off. I must admit. I was quite impressed with the performance."
"All the world's a stage for us now," Ice declared with exaggerated emphasis. "Remember?" Everyone laughed.
Then we heard a ding. I think our collective hearts went on pause.
"What was that?" Ice asked in a deep whisper. We were all quiet for a moment, listening keenly.
"Did the noise come from the fire escape?" I asked, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hear myself speak.
Cinnamon started to turn to the window to see when Rose jumped up.
"Oh," she cried. "It's my computer! I forgot I left it on. It means Evan has sent me something."
She sat at her desk and we all gathered around her as she brought up the E-mail.
Dear Rose,
I have retrieved what you wanted to know, I think. It is too weird to send over a computer or talk about on the phone. It would take a long explanation, also.
I've decided to leave the house and make the trip we talked about me eventually making. I'll just make it sooner than I had expected. It's too quiet around here to suit me these days, anyway. You can blame yourself for that. You know, how you gonna keep them down on the farm In other words, I'm coming to New York. Aunt Charlotte is not happy about it, of course, butI'm
^-
working on the
arrangements. I'll let you blow when. And don't worry about me. I can do it. Actually, this is the most exciting thing I've ever done, and don't forget, you were always lecturing me on my not getting out enough.
Of course, going to New York City is a bit like jumping from a bathtub into a pool or even ocean, but what's the good of it not a challenge? Right?
As to your inquiries and some of the things happening at your school that you've described to me... for now,I'll just use our
_.
favorite line: "Something's rotten in the state of Denmark."
I'm sure you know what I mean
Love Evan
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It's from Hamlet," Cinnamon said. "It just means that there's something very wrong, something deeply troubling, some stream of horror running under the surface,"
Rose nodded.
"Exactly."
"Well, why didn't he just tell you?" I asked. frustrated.
"You can see he wants to come here to see Rose very much. He's using it as a reason," Cinnamon said. "I don't think any of us can blame him, from what you told me about his life with his aunt. Rose."
"No. I hope he'll be all right though. It's not like taking a trip down to the market or mall.'
"It sounds to me like he's very smart and knows what he's doing," Cinnamon said. "It also sounds like he has something that will knock our socks off."
We all stared at the screen and then looked at each other, thinking the same thing.
None of us would get a good night's sleep tonight. Maybe not tomorrow night either.
And once Evan came and we learned what he had discovered through his computer searches, maybe not ever again, if we continued to sleep here.