Her Winning Ways by J.M. Bronston (16)

 

Back in their hotel room, the telephone light was flashing. Its mechanical computer voice announced, “You have three new messages.”

The first, it turned out, was from Craig and the boys, wanting to know how they were doing.

“I’ll call on my cell,” Liz said. “And give them a full report.” She retreated into the bedroom.

The second call was a rapid-fire message from Mitzi. Annie was getting used to listening fast when Mitzi talked.

“Annie, sweetie. We’ve had a look at the TV coverage. Everyone just loves how you come across on camera. You were born to be on TV. Now here’s the thing. We’ve decided to follow up today’s coverage with an expanded piece for the magazine and we need shots of you in the outfits you picked out today. But that’s just part of it. We’d already been booked next week on Good Morning America, doing a regular summer fashion segment, and now we’d like to include a bit about you and your spree things on that show. Lady Fair will pick up the costs for you and your sister to stay the extra days. Also, the clothes you picked at Galliard’s may need some altering, so we’ve scheduled you early tomorrow at Lady Fair for fittings. Our tailors and dressmakers can have everything ready in time for the show. Pick you up at eight thirty tomorrow. Any questions, call me back. Ciao!”

Annie looked toward the bedroom. She could hear Liz’s voice in the next room, muted behind the closed door, rising occasionally to an excited level. She and Liz would have to plan around this new development, but she wouldn’t interrupt Liz’s phone time with Craig and the boys.

And, also, there was the third message. She clicked it on.

“Change of plans.” It was Bart’s voice. “I have to stay on tonight. One of the guys got sick and I’ll be doing his shift in the park. So instead, meet me in front of the Tavern on the Green at six thirty. I’ll buy you a hot dog. With sauerkraut, even. Best hot dogs in the world. And a Coke. Or whatever. Get a pencil.” He waited a few beats, Annie grabbed a hotel pencil off the desk. “Sixty-sixth Street entrance into the park from Central Park West. Can’t miss it.”

End of message.

She stood there, dead phone in her hand, transfixed. She spoke aloud to the empty room.

“Does anyone ever say ‘no’ to that man?” She waffled for a minute. “He just assumes I’ll be there.”

She could hear Liz talking to the boys. She opened the door, stuck her head in, and signaled she needed a brief consultation.

Liz told Brandon to wait a sec—“Just hold on”—and covered the phone with her hand. “What’s up?”

“I have a date,” Annie said. “Do you mind? Just a quick dinner—with that cute cop—and I’ll be home early.”

“Oh, no. Go, go. No problem. I really like these quiet evenings here after all the hurry-up stuff all day. I’ll watch TV here. Go. Have a good time.”

“Thanks, Liz. You’re a peach. I’m going to take a quick power nap. Wake me at five thirty.”

And she closed the door.

In her own bedroom, she sat on the bed and took a couple of moments to savor the fact that this had, indeed, been quite a day. Then she pulled off her boots and dropped them on the floor. She closed her eyes and fell back on the bed. She did not have another conscious thought until Liz came in to wake her up at five thirty on the dot.

Ten minutes in the shower. Then another five to decide on the proper outfit for a hot dog in the park, definitely with sauerkraut—dinner al fresco – – and decided on the little sundress and sandals. A few quick strokes of a brush through her hair, a dab of lip gloss, and a wave to Liz.

“I’ve got my phone. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” And she was out the door.

At the concierge’s desk in the lobby, she paused to get directions.

“Tavern on the Green?” He selected a map from his assortment. “Right here,” he said, his pen circling the location. “You won’t have any trouble finding it.”

“Is it far from here? I have to be there at six thirty.”

“Just across town. You’d probably prefer to take a taxi. But you have plenty of time. I’d suggest you ride from here just as far as the entrance to the park here”—with his pencil he indicated an entrance along the southern edge of the park—“and then go by foot the rest of the way.” He marked the route for her. “The weather’s so mild this evening and it’s a lovely walk. Visitors to the city always enjoy it. So much to see.”

“And is it safe?” She’d heard stories.

“Yes, Miss Cornell. Perfectly safe. Not, perhaps, at three o’clock in the morning, but at this hour, you are entirely safe. Nothing dangerous could possibly occur. Trust me.” He handed the map to her.

 

She got out of the cab and turned right, into Central Park. With map in hand, she made her way, choosing among a dizzying assortment of paths, keeping herself on a northward heading. The hotel’s concierge was right: it was indeed a lovely walk, past bridges and stone arches, a pond and playgrounds, a zoo and a skating rink, countless statues of famous people, and numerous enticements that deserved far more time to explore than a single evening would allow. Unlike Wyoming’s sere, spare growth—its beige palette of sage and scrub oak and aspen—here all was rampant lushness, well watered, rain-abundant greenery, great swaths of verdant lawn and a numberless variety of trees, none of which she could identify.

And in this green haven, she made a discovery. The stereotypical fast-moving, fast-talking, hard-working go-getter New Yorkers who seem to suck up energy out of the very sidewalks they strode along all day were magically transformed when they entered the park. Men slipped off their jackets, stuck their ties into their pockets, opened their shirt collars, and slowed their pace to a leisurely amble. Mothers chatted with each other as they pushed baby strollers along the paths. Nannies walked little ones home for dinner, friends sat on the grass, shared a picnic supper, a bit of wine, reviewed the events of the day, and old folks whiled away a peaceful hour or two in the late-afternoon sun. On the roads, streams of joggers jogged, cyclers cycled, and online skaters skated in an unending flow of motion along the many paths and roads, a ribbon of motion through the lassitude of the day’s end. Miraculously, despite the thousands of people enjoying this lovely early evening in the park, there was no crowding. There was room for all within the beauty of an extraordinary urban treasure.

The charm of this urban oasis was seductive. Surely, only good things could happen in this idyllically peaceful place. With cell phone in hand, she took photos as she walked, making a record to be treasured back home.

She was just crossing the bridle path at the place where, her map told her, the Tavern on the Green should appear ahead of her, and, indeed, there it was, an inviting sprawl of elegant brick and glass, trees draped and summery, with black-coated waiters moving smoothly among the outdoor tables. Her watch showed six thirty exactly. She looked to her right, and right on schedule, there was Bart. Not mounted, holding Lindy’s reins, while an enthusiastic cluster of kids surrounded him, asking questions, asking if they could pet the horse, asking if Lindy does tricks, getting teased lightly by Bart, who seemed to be drawing the kids magically from the nearby playground and from the pre-dinner strollers along the paths. Mommies and daddies and nannies stood around, watching, enjoying the show, enjoying this friendly break in the day’s activities.

And Annie watched, too, enjoying the unexpected side to this man. Obviously, he was naturally comfortable in this press of children and she found herself wondering about his family. Is he an only child? Or one of many siblings? Is he the oldest? Or is his bossiness the pampered self-confidence of the baby of the bunch. What sort of parents does he have? What sort of parent would he be?

Just then he looked up, saw her, and waved. He detached himself from the little crowd of admiring kids and led Lindy across the path to join her.

She snapped a quick shot of them as they approached—the two of them, man and horse, so striking, he in his uniform, boots polished, his trim blues emphasizing his good body, and his horse, so powerful and regal, so perfectly groomed, with the late afternoon sun falling across them, lighting them up dramatically—it would be a great Insta-gram for the folks back home: “My dinner companions for tonight.” And slipped the phone into her bag.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m glad you got my message.”

She realized people were noticing them. Not staring—New Yorkers would never do that—but heads turned a bit as folks strolled by and expressions warmed. She also realized that Bart was used to the kindly regard and paid it no attention.

“I’d planned something a little different tonight,” he was saying, with a gesture toward the Tavern, “but a hot dog in the park on a great night like this—that’s pretty good, too. I wouldn’t let you go home to Laramie without having had at least one hot dog from a street vendor.”

“I couldn’t resist your gracious invitation.”

Her light sarcasm went right past him.

“I’m patrolling now, so I’ll have to mount, but no problem if you walk along with me and I can show you the sights. We’ll take a dinner break in a little while. ”

“That’s fine with me. I’ve had such an incredible day—and I’m so bushed, I’d planned to just fall into bed. But your offer of a hot dog sounded better than room service, so—here I am. As long as we don’t make it a long trek. I’m going to need to get back to the hotel soon. I left my sister alone—again—and I need a good night’s sleep. Lady Fair has more plans for me early tomorrow.”

“No problem. A little walk, a little dinner, an hour to see the park, no excitement, I promise you. And I’ll put you in a cab back to your hotel in an hour.”

And so they strolled. And so they melted into the peaceful flow that surrounded them, accompanied by the clip-clop of Lindy’s hooves, the muffled background sounds of playing children, birdsong from the treetops, the light swish of leaves lifted by an occasional breeze. Bart was a good guide and explained points of interest, while never forgetting that he was on patrol, keeping his eyes scanning as they walked. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

“I wanted you to see this,” he said. “Take a look.”

She looked around her. All she saw was great, tall, rock outcroppings, thick trees, and a rather empty path.

“See what? I don’t see anything.”

Bart just smiled.

“Keep looking.”

She looked.

Still nothing.

Bart still smiling.

Then she saw it.

“Oh, my God!”

A cougar, crouching on the rock above her, ready to pounce.

Her heart had jumped and she needed a few beats and at least two deep breaths to realize the cougar was bronze but so naturally executed, so skillfully placed, it could not have been more realistic.

“He’s called ‘Still Hunt,’ and if you’re not prepared for him, he’s a shocker.”

“A shock is right. When I see a cougar, I prefer to have my twelve-gauge with me.”

“I figured a western girl like you would appreciate him.” Bart was smiling mischievously.

“And you promised me no excitement tonight.”

“I did,” he said as he dismounted. “And I apologize. Let me make it up to you by stopping now for dinner. There’s a hot dog cart down there,” pointing to a vendor’s umbrella ahead of them, “out in front of the boathouse. May I escort you to a quiet dinner on a park bench?”

“You sure can,” Annie said. “I’m starved. And I’m dying for a hot dog.”

And together, with Bart leading Lindy, they walked toward the hot dog stand, where the vendor greeted Bart like an old friend.

“This is Sergei,” Bart said. “Sergei here makes the best hot dogs in the whole city.”

Sergei laughed. “Yeah, sure. Like the water I boil them in is different from all the other carts.”

“I’ll take two of them now, with the usual, mustard and sauerkraut. And whatever it is, water or whatever,” Bart said, “yours are still the best.” He turned to Annie. “How many?”

“One will be enough. But I’d like one of those soft pretzels, too. And a bottle of water.”

“And maybe take some chips, too?” Sergei said. “For you, miss. With my compliments. To go with your drink.” He said it as though he was addressing a duchess. “And who is this pretty lady, Sergeant Bart?”

“This is Miss Cornell. Visiting from Wyoming. That’s out west.”

“I know where is Wyoming. I know where is every state in America. I studied the map before I come to America.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Poltrovnea—little village you never heard from—in the mountains. Very high. Very far away. Famous for our riders—great warriors long ago. Best horsemen in the world.”

“Annie knows horses, too,” Bart said. “She should show you the trick she taught Lindy.”

“The trick?” These days had been so full, she needed a moment to remember. “Oh, yes.” She positioned herself in front of Lindy. “Okay, Lindy. Let’s see how smart you really are.”

Lindy was all attention.

She puckered up and whistled the fight song.

And Lindy tapped the ground three times with his right front hoof. And, for good measure, he tossed his mane as though asking for applause.

“See?” Bart said, as proud as a prodigy’s daddy. “See. Is that a smart horse? He learned it after only one try. And now that fight song is going to be how he knows you, Annie. I bet he never forgets it.”

“Ah, yes,” said Sergei. “Lindy is very special horse, very strong, very handsome. And you are very special lady, I see. You should know, Miss Cornell, this is first time this young man brings a lady to dinner here at my hot dog stand. So I am very happy to meet you.”

Bart was one of those men who blush when they are embarrassed. And Sergei had just embarrassed him. So he was in a hurry to change the subject.

“This guy has been selling hot dogs here since I was a kid.”

“Yes,” Sergei said. To Annie, he added, “His papa used to bring him here for lunch every Saturday, when he was young like little toad.”

“That’s enough, my friend.” Bart’s color deepened further. “If she’s going to hear my life story, she’s going to hear it from me.”

“Of course. Of course. I talk too much. Go now. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thanks. We’ll do that. We’ll find a place in the Ramble. Maybe up by the lake.”

“Just be careful.”

“Of course.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Annie nodded. “And thanks for the chips.”

“Any time. Come again.”

Hot dogs, pretzel, chips, and drinks in hand, with Bart leading Lindy, they left Sergei and walked on past the boathouse.

“What’s ‘the Ramble’?”

“It’s where I’m taking you for dinner.” Bart pointed into the thick tangle of growth that stretched out ahead of them. “Thirty-six acres right here along the lake—all wild and very beautiful. It was designed that way right from the beginning, to be like a wilderness, all dense and tangled. You can walk through here for hours, paths in all directions, and feel as though you’re almost in a jungle. No monuments here, no attractions, just some benches and raw nature. Not many people come through here, maybe because of its reputation. Except the birdwatchers, of course. Birdwatchers love it. Trouble is, it also attracts unsavory types, bad guys who—well, who want to do bad things. It’s safe enough during the day, but I wouldn’t let you come into the Ramble after dark.”

Annie smiled.

There he goes again, she thought. He wouldn’t let me! Who does he think he is—my daddy? Still, she felt the protectiveness and it pleased her. It’s true—this guy really would protect me—if I needed protection.

“But it’s safe enough now,” Bart said, leading her into the woods. “It’s still light, and you’re with me and Lindy, so you’ll be okay. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

In moments, they were in a kind of alternate universe. Who knew, in addition to all the attractions the city offered, it was also possible here to disappear into a sunlight-dappled woodland, a tangle of trees and harsh rock outcroppings and a network of dirt pathways? With Bart guiding her, choosing their course, they walked silently through this magical forest, with only an occasional bike rider or jogger passing them, and accompanied only by the whisper of the breeze through the trees, the distant birdsong from the green canopy above, the sound of their own footsteps, and the muffled beat of Lindy’s hooves.

After about ten minutes, the path led them along a lake’s edge, and a broad vista of sunlit water appeared before them. An enormous willow tree curtained one side of the view, a couple of rowboats moved lazily along the surface, and beyond, the towers of distant skyscrapers peeped hazily through the trees. To complete the scene, a rustic bench, fashioned of tree limbs and deep enough for them to make a table for their meal, had been set to face out toward the lake.

“This is where I wanted to bring you,” Bart said. “It’s always quiet here, and I wanted to be sure you got to see it.”

Annie smiled to herself. The setting was lovely and it didn’t take a genius to know why he brought her here. But they wouldn’t be totally alone—there were the occasional bike riders, the joggers, the arm-in-arm couples—and she was curious to see what would develop.

She settled back comfortably and let the beauty of the place record itself in her memory, something to add to the memories going back to Laramie with her.

Bart unwrapped her hot dog and handed it to her.

She took a bite—and a pungent blast of mustard and kraut and garlic and salt hit her palate and filled her sinuses. Probably unhealthy. Instantly she forgot the idyllic scene around her.

“Oh, wow! That is good!”

Bart grinned. “Yeah. Isn’t that something? I told you—the best in New York.”

She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her mouth. “I’m impressed. You really know this city. You could write a guidebook. ”

“That’s because my dad and I spent a lot of time together. He took me all over, used to show it all to me.”

There it was again—another mention of his dad, along with that faraway look and a sudden quiet. If she really wanted to get to know Bart better—she knew she might be probing a difficult place—but she asked anyway.

“Tell me about your dad,” she said.

He didn’t answer right away. She watched him think it over. What was he struggling with? She saw the jaw muscles work, she wished she hadn’t asked, but it was too late to take it back.

“My dad was killed in the line.”

She saw it was an angry memory—not yet healed. She was about to say she was sorry she asked, but Bart stopped her.

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “It was five years ago.” Then he paused. He studied her face, looked deeply into her eyes, as though trying to answer some unasked question. Then he smiled, changing the subject. “I’ll tell you about it someday. Not now. Right now, we’re going to enjoy our dinner. Enjoy this great view.” He gestured out toward the lake. “And tomorrow, I’m going to take you somewhere more formal. Some place you’ll have to get dressed up for, maybe in one of those fancy outfits you picked out today. And if those handlers of yours let you out of their sight for the afternoon, I’m going to take you on a tour, show you some of this city—the real city.” He took a man-sized bite out of his hot dog. “And I’m going to get to know you better. Starting right now. So you tell me, Annie Cornell, tell me about yourself.”

Now what was it about this man? She felt perfectly comfortable and didn’t hesitate at all.

“I think you already know everything about me. You’ve been all through my handbag. You saw everything in my wallet. You saw me being a jerk the other day, getting caught in a mob scene. Losing my bag. Scared out of my wits.”

“Yeah. I saw that.”

How odd. He hadn’t made a move, but she felt as though he’d leaned closer to her. Funny about that.

“And I grew up on the family’s cattle ranch just north of Laramie. Been around cattle and horses all my life. Went to Wyoming U, got a master’s in library science, and I’ve been a librarian in the veterinary school at the university for the last three years.”

“Is there a boyfriend?”

“Not anymore.”

He didn’t even try to conceal a smile.

“And no, it’s not a tragic story. His name was David. We’d gone to high school together, everyone figured we were destined for each other. Only, the truth was, we really weren’t. And after a few years of being an item, we both realized it, and that was the end of that. No tears, no fuss. He’s married now, has a little girl, they moved to Grand Rapids and we send each other Christmas cards. I have a bunch of friends, done some dating, of course, but no serious man in my life. I’m afraid, even at a big university, I haven’t been much attracted to anyone.”

Funny. There was that feeling again. That he’d moved closer, when he really hadn’t.

“And what about you? Anyone special in your life?” She felt herself getting light-headed.

“No. No one at all.”

This time, he really did lean toward her, just a little, and he was not smiling. He was concentrating on her face, examining her eyes, her hair, her mouth.

A confusion of feelings was slithering all through her. She took another bite of her hot dog.

He was closer.

“You know I want to kiss you, don’t you?” he said.

“I’m all garlicky.”

“So am I.”

“You look so serious,” she said.

“You have the prettiest hair.” His eyes were locked on hers. His finger lifted a strand away from her forehead. “It’s the color of butterscotch.”

“That sounds sticky.”

“I know. But still . . .”

. . . and closer . . .

And then he did kiss her.

And she closed her eyes. And it was the motorcycle ride all over again.

When she opened her eyes, he had his arms around her and he was staring at her, as though he was stunned.

“I never felt anything like that,” he said. “Like yesterday—”

“I know,” she whispered. “On your bike.”

He looked as though he couldn’t breathe. And this time, he closed his eyes first. And he kissed her again, holding her close as though he wanted to drink her all into himself, and she felt his heart beating against her chest.

And then, something happened. She felt a change in him and she pulled away a little. His eyes were opened and he was looking puzzled. He was looking past her and he’d moved back a little. A tiny lift of his head, like an animal testing the wind.

“What is it?” she said.

He didn’t answer. His attention was focused out beyond her. Into the trees.

Lindy was fidgeting. Pawing lightly, ears erect, nervous.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t see anything.”

He stood up. “It’s time to leave.” He crumpled up their dinner detritus and tossed it into a trash bin. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Trouble?”

He didn’t answer. He had Lindy’s reins in his hand. He flipped them up over Lindy’s head, had his foot in the stirrup and was up in the saddle, all in one gesture. “I want you up here behind me. Hop on. We’re going to ride out together.”

He reached a hand toward her. She asked no questions. He cleared his foot out of the stirrup, she took his hand, put her foot into the empty stirrup, and he had her up behind him onto the saddle pad, all in one smooth motion. A few minutes and they’d passed silently through the Ramble, with Bart scanning the forest right and left as they rode.

Once out onto the busy roadway, Annie slipped down quickly.

Bart said, “I’m going to leave you now. Walk straight out to Fifth Avenue,” he indicated the direction, “and get into a cab. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” He was all business now and she knew he must have seen something in the woods. And would be going back to investigate.

There was no flourish. He merely turned Lindy back toward the Ramble and disappeared into the trees.

Ten minutes and she was back at the hotel. Liz was curled up in the corner of the sofa, glued to a reality show on the TV.

“Have fun?”

If she told Liz about her evening, she’d have to answer a million questions—maybe get a scolding for who knows what?

“Yes. It was a nice evening. But this day has been too much for me. I’ve got to get some rest. And Lady Fair needs me early tomorrow. Want to come?”

“No. You don’t need me along, and I decided to be brave.” She barely took her eyes off the TV. “I might sign up for one of those bus tours around the city, so I’ll just go off on my own, if you don’t mind.”

“No, but are you sure? You’ve been kind of neglected. I want this trip to be fun for you, too.”

“Are you kidding? First of all, this trip is your treat and I’m just along for the ride. Second, I’ve already got enough memories to fill a big suitcase. And third, I’m beginning to feel a little less skittish about getting around here. The city’s not really so scary, the way I thought it was. I’ll be fine. You go. Have a good time. And I’ll get lots of pictures to take home.”

Liz’s attention was already back on the TV.

“That’s good,” Annie said. She was in the bedroom by now. She called back to the living room, “You do that. Take your phone and I’ll keep in touch.” She yawned, she tossed her bag onto her bed, she sat down in the deep armchair in the corner and kicked off her sandals. “I’m so tired, I may fall asleep right here.”

What a day this has been.

The ribbon-cutting, with all those cameras, her little speech, the spree though the store. And then Bart and Lindy and their stroll through the Ramble. His arms around her, the extraordinary physical connection between them. And oh, that kiss. She’d have let it go on forever. The memory took her breath away.

She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She washed her face. She left a wake-up call for seven thirty. The night was warm. She tossed her PJ’s onto the chair and chose to sleep naked.

In twenty minutes, Annie was in bed, totally worn out by her most extraordinary day.

 

Bart, however, was not in bed. By the time Annie reached her hotel, Bart had turned Lindy back into the Ramble and loped quickly to the spot he and Annie had just left. He dismounted and led Lindy into the woods that rimmed the cleared space where they’d been sitting. He tethered Lindy to a tree off to one side so hoofprints wouldn’t compromise any useful evidence. But evidence of what? His instincts told him it wasn’t just a random peeping Tom who’d been watching them, some weirdo park denizen or curious bird watcher. Maybe teenagers, out for an evening of adventure. No, his gut feeling, reinforced by years of experience and good training, told him to check this out carefully. He examined tree branches, up close and up high, and scanned the ground closely. And found what he was looking for.

Back at troop headquarters, he made his report and forwarded to forensics a plastic evidence bag that held a small cluster of red-and-white feathers, stitched together. A couple of trailing black threads suggested it had come loose from whatever it had been sewn onto. A black cap, perhaps? With an embroidered design of bright colors? He hadn’t forgotten that weird note and he’d not written it off as a prank or empty threat. The cluster of feathers convinced him this Buljornia bunch was following him. He decided they needed to be taken seriously, and he included that analysis in his report.

What he didn’t include in his report was how mad he was. Mad that those creepy stalkers had shown up when they did. What was happening to him with Annie was a first-time-in-his-life experience. There’d been some magical connection. He’d sensed it from the first moment he’d seen her during that street demonstration, felt it when he’d grabbed her up from out of the crowd. Felt it as he watched her disappear up First Avenue, so unprotected and at risk. And felt it, for sure, on the motorcycle, with her body against his, a kind of sweet, gentle electricity. No, it was more mystical even than that. More like an angelic message, telling him, telling them both, “This is special. Pay attention.” And in the park, in the moments of their first kiss, he knew the magic messengers were right. Now, here at his desk at troop headquarters, he could still feel her in his arms. He could still feel her mouth against his, remembered how he’d felt his breath leaving him, felt time stopping. His heart had been racing and he’d needed to catch his breath and so he’d paused, and as he’d opened his eyes, he’d seen through the trees’ camouflage what seemed to be watching eyes, a couple of bodies, and he felt their menace. His immediate thought then was not to keep holding Annie in his arms, not to keep kissing her forever; he needed to get her out of there right away, and only then come back as soon as possible to investigate.

But now, with his report and the evidence forwarded on to forensics, he could put that aside and think about tomorrow.

He picked up the phone and dialed Max.

“Listen, buddy. How would you feel about swapping a day tomorrow? Something’s come up.”

“Yeah, I saw what came up. She’s a cutie. But remember—we have tickets for the three of us, you, me and Chloe. For that show at the Booth.”

“I remember, Max. But here’s what I was thinking. Your shift would end at three thirty. Annie’s sister has been pretty much left on her own with all that attention on Annie. I’d gladly give her my ticket if you’d be willing to offer to show her around for the afternoon, after your shift, and then have her join you and Chloe for dinner and the show. I bet she’d appreciate the chance to see a Broadway show and get a little attention for herself.”

“That show is the hottest ticket in town. You know how much trouble we had getting good seats.”

“I know, Max. I’ll see it another time. It would mean a lot to me—”

“This girl must be something really special.”

“Yeah. Something really special.”