Chapter Three
Whew!
Sunday Afternoon
She wasn’t used to elevators and she teetered a bit as it began to rise.
Forty-four floors! The tallest building back home is only twelve stories. And that’s the tallest building in all Wyoming! This whole day has been a jolt. Never saw anything like this city. How do people live like this? How are they not all crashing into each other? Big and noisy, and everything so fast! And what am I going to do about my bag? Here in New York, without my wallet, my ID. What a mess! Maybe Mitzi can help. Glitzi Mitzi! I’ve never seen energy like that. And that insane street scene—what was that all about? And now Liz is going to scold me. “I told you so!” I’ll never hear the end.
The elevator arrived. She stepped off into a long hallway, thick-carpeted and silent.
I was really scared. If it hadn’t been for that cute cop—it was like magic, how he just came out of nowhere. And on a horse, of all things! Never expected to see that, in New York City. And what a horse! He really knew his business—the way he worked that crowd—I‘ve seen cutting horses couldn’t handle a herd any better than that horse right there on a crowded city street. A good looking horse, he was. Really good looking.
The cop was kinda cute, too!
So her head was a jumble of visions, but no way was she prepared for the one that waited for her when she opened the door to her suite. There was Liz, standing stock-still in the middle of the living room, caught in midstride. Her hands were frozen in the act of removing curlers from her hair, and her eyes were riveted to the flickering television, to a report of breaking news. Her mouth was open in astonishment and she didn’t even turn as Annie came through the door.
“Come quick!” she squealed. “Come quick! Omigod! It’s you! Annie, that’s you!”
Sure enough, there on the TV, big as television life, her very own self was looking back at her, being scooped efficiently out of danger by a handsome mounted policeman. The reporter’s voice was explaining the action:
“—and New York’s finest were on hand to quell the demonstration. Here we see a passerby as she is plucked from the crowd by police Sergeant Bart Hardin. New Yorkers will recognize Sergeant Hardin and his horse, the legendary and highly popular Lindy. It was just last February that Sergeant Hardin was honored by Mayor Walter Gideon for his bravery in the daring rescue of four children when their apartment on West 38th Street was engulfed in the flames and choking smoke of a three-alarm fire.”
Here, the TV image switched to file footage of the sergeant smiling as the grateful children placed a garland of flowers around the horse’s neck and presented him with an extra bag of oats.
“Lindy is well known around Times Square. Theater people there say they consider him one of their own and claim to be his greatest fans. This horsey veteran of New York’s Great White Way has been a crowd pleaser for years, and his repertoire of tricks together with his raffish charm have made him a favorite of New Yorkers and visitors to the Big Apple ever since the days when Sergeant Hardin’s father, Lieutenant Des Hardin, rode him.”
The newscaster moved on to the next story.
And now it was Annie’s turn to stand openmouthed. She and Liz stood there like bookends, stiff and soundless, staring at the television as it reported Dow Jones averages and last night’s baseball scores.
That was me!
She could hardly breathe.
Not more than an hour in New York City and I’m on the local TV!
Liz’s voice ended the stunned silence between them.
“What’s the matter with you?” She was registering outrage as only a big sister can. “I tell you to stay out of trouble and look what you do. You go out to ‘take a little walk’ and right away you get mixed up in some crackpot demonstration.” The sound of her own voice set Liz back into motion and she remembered to attend to the curlers in her hair.
“Honestly, Annie, am I going to have to put a harness on you?”
She continued muttering to herself as she disappeared into the bathroom. “And needing to get rescued by the police, for goodness’ sake—”
But Annie wasn’t paying attention. The TV image was locked in her brain, added magically onto the screen of her fantasies, as though some cosmic finger had hit the pause button and the scene flickered there irresistibly, with a force of its own. She couldn’t turn away from it. It was the TV image of her own self—her very own, recognizable self—being lifted to safety by the strong arm of a mounted police officer.
“It was an adventure, Liz,” she whispered into the empty room. “And when he pulled me up out of that crowd, he just took my breath away!” The story was taking shape in her imagination: “Annie Cornell, just a simple college librarian from Laramie, Wyoming, was scooped up by the dashing young officer, who reached down from his powerful mount, and she felt the strength of his arm around her. His seat in the saddle was sure and as he held her out of harm’s way, she could smell the familiar scent of good leather and horseflesh—”
Liz’s voice from behind the bathroom door brought her back to earth.
“We have to get ready for that reception. Mitzi said five o’clock. Better get dressed.”
Annie smiled a private sort of smile—just to herself.
An adventure! Yes. Definitely. First day in New York City. A brush with danger. A cute cop. A handsome horse. Oh, I love this city!