Chapter Five
The Green Parrot
Sunday Evening
Their town car was caught in traffic along 57th Street, so the reception had already started by the time they arrived. By some magic trick of design, the Green Parrot managed to be both cave-dark and brightly lit at the same time, and the effect was deliciously festive. Past the hostess’s desk, Mitzi steered them into a softly buzzing mass of sleek guests, all bejeweled and beautifully coiffed and elegantly clad, women in little black dresses and men in dark suits. Lively chatter and the clink of ice in glasses mixed engagingly with the soft background music. Tuxedoed waitstaff moved unobtrusively about, bearing silver trays of the tiniest canapés and glasses of wine. Here and there, an overheard bit of French added an international edge to the party atmosphere.
“Oh, Annie.” Liz glanced down nervously at her navy dress and pink jacket.
“All the women are wearing black.”
“I noticed.”
“Do you think we look out of place?”
“Maybe. A little.” Annie felt an uncomfortable cloud of self-consciousness darken her mood. Maybe her pale peach dress, with its fitted bodice and flared skirt and the little cropped jacket, which had looked so festive in the shop on Grand Street, wasn’t quite what the upper crust was wearing in New York. But she quickly shooed the cloud away. She was determined to enjoy this evening and she wasn’t going to let a bunch of big-city sophisticates spoil it. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial mutter, only loud enough to reach Liz’s ear. “I came to New York to have a good time. I’m just not going to put myself down.” She picked a wee bite of carpaccio from a passing plate. “And I think we both look just fine. What’s more, I don’t think anyone here cares at all.”
“Absolutely right.” Liz joined in with a bit of whispered defiance. “It seems to me no one in New York pays much attention to anyone else.”
“Right. You could probably rob a bank and nobody would notice.”
“But they’re going to notice you, Annie. There’s the meeting at Lady Fair tomorrow and the ribbon cutting Tuesday, and then the spree. You’re going to get plenty of attention. You’ll get so swellheaded, I’m going to have to rope you in once we get back to the ranch.”
“Don’t worry, big sis. After this week, no one will know who I am anymore. There are eight million people in this city. Do you think anyone cares about one little librarian from Laramie?”
Back at the stables, Bart was settling Lindy down for the night. Checked his water and the feed in his bin. Checked his hooves. Ran his hands up and down the horse’s legs, feeling for any tenderness, muscle knots, scrapes. And as always during this daily ritual, Lindy was his closest confidant. Silent and attentive, the horse was the best listener.
“Hey, dude. You saw that girl today? At the demonstration at the UN?” He ran the comb through Lindy’s mane and smoothed the light hair away from the horse’s eyes. “Cute little thing, wasn’t she? What did you think? She could have been really hurt, getting caught up in that mob. Good thing we were there. A girl like that, innocent, new to the city, doesn’t know her way around.
“Funny about that—her coming from Wyoming. That’s where you were born. That’s where your whole line was bred, on Grandpa Malone’s ranch. We used to spend all our summers out there, when I was a kid. And I remember, we used to drive through Laramie to get to Grandpa’s ranch. There’s nothing there but a couple of streets and a lot of wind. I bet this girl’s never seen anything like a big city before. She must be blown over—maybe scared, too. Yeah, probably scared. I saw how she looked when I pulled her out of that crowd of bozos. All that noise and yelling and a million guys pushing up against her. Little girl from the big sky country, doesn’t know her way around, she could get lost—or get herself into trouble. She should have someone to protect her. Someone who’s trained to handle trouble. Someone who knows New York.”
He gave Lindy a big, proud smile.
“Someone like me?”
The reception was winding down and the slightly tipsy guests were disappearing into the night. Mitzi suggested dinner at a nearby bistro, but the exhausting day had worn them out.
“Thanks,” Annie said as they paused on the sidewalk outside the Green Parrot, “but we need a rest. Tomorrow’s going to be very full. And I have to be up early for the meeting at Lady Fair.”
“Okay. No problem. I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe I’ll have some news about your bag by then. You get a good rest in the meantime. And, oh, for the meeting and the photo shoot tomorrow, wear those cute western clothes—the jeans, the boots, that fabulous jacket.” Mitzi walked with them to the waiting car. “You’ll be such a hit in that outfit.” She stuck a couple of air kisses on their cheeks, called a happy “Ciao” in their direction and was off.
“I just want to drop on my bed,” Liz said, from the depths of the car’s leather seat, “have room service bring me a hamburger and some fries, turn on the TV and just chill for the rest of the evening.”
“Mmmm, I don’t know if I can even make it that far. I’m so tired I may fall asleep before we get there.”
And sure enough, Annie was practically staggering with fatigue by the time they got through the lobby, up the elevator, and through the door. She kicked off her shoes, peeled off her little jacket, and fell plop on her bed. She didn’t notice the blinking light on her phone, but when Liz came in to ask about her room service order, she saw that a message was waiting.
“Should I answer it?” she asked.
“Oh, sure. But who’d be calling me?”
Liz picked up the phone. She punched a button, listened for a moment, then broke into a big smile.
“Oh, thanks so much.” She was writing something on the notepad. “This is her sister. I’ll tell her right away.”
“Mmmm?”
Annie was too tired to speak
“That was someone at the police precinct. They found your bag. You can pick it up at Troop B Headquarters. I wrote down the address.”
“Oh, thank God! That’s a huge load off my mind.” Her eyes remained closed. Her head remained on the pillow. “I’ll have to let Mitzi know.” And she was out.
A little later, when the food arrived and Liz poked her awake, they both stayed up long enough to eat, but were too tired for TV. They brushed their teeth, they said good night, they each closed their windows against the unfamiliar nighttime racket from the streets below, and then they both slept soundly until morning.
So they never got to see the rerun of the earlier news story about the demonstration, and the bit about the rescue of the “bystander,” as she was rescued by Sergeant Bart Hardin.
But others’ eyes were fixed intently on that report.
In the shabby walk-up apartment on the far West Side, three men stood glumly in front of a black-and-white television screen, each one pulling morosely on his mustache.
“Is crazy,” Leon said. “Is saying more about some foolish horse than about our demonstration. I don’t understand.”
“They don’t even say about Buljornia or how our leader is in jail. Only is ‘a demonstration,’ they say.” Leon sagged his fat body into the nearest chair. “All this long way to America we come, and they don’t even notice us.” He and Hugo turned to Boksmer, who had taken his seat at the head of the table and was passing his hand contemplatively over his shining bald head as though it were a crystal ball, full of portentous messages.
“What we do, Boksmer?”
Hugo slapped his hand against Leon’s shoulder.
“Barry!” he reminded him angrily. “And you call me idiot!”
The tall man looked wearily at his two compatriots.
“What we do? I tell you what we do. We think of something to make them pay attention to us, these people—” he waved his hand at the TV screen, “—these imbeciles here in New York, and all those idiot diplomats—” here he waved toward the window, “—those irresponsible fools at the United Nations. We must think of something they will have to notice. Now, quiet, all of you.” He included his little wife, who instantly stopped clearing the teacups. With a spoon and saucer in her hand, she sat down timidly in a stiff wooden chair in the kitchen, making herself as small as possible. “Be quiet, and think!” her husband ordered.
For many long minutes, the room was silent. A fly explored the cord that hung from the ceiling light. The curtain at the window moved lightly in the soft spring breeze. Dust settled on the furniture. Hugo made his face look as intelligent as he could. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Leon tried to think, but he forgot what he was supposed to be thinking about. With the soup and dumplings simmering in the kitchen, he could think only of dinner.
Boksmer stared at the TV screen, now blank.
“This horse,” he said. “The way these people love this horse, this gives me idea. Be quiet, all of you.” No one had said anything. “Be quiet. I am thinking of something—”
And Bart Hardin, getting Lindy settled in his stall, poured an extra measure of the troop’s specially mixed feed into the horse’s bin.
“Like buttercups,” he murmured, stroking the velvet-soft hair along Lindy’s cheek. “Hair the color of buttercups, growing wild on the mountain. And light as a feather when I held her. Like a bunch of wildflowers off the mountainside. Like a soft, western breeze blowing across the valley—”
And in the shabby tenement walk-up, plans were being made. By people who had watched the evening news on the TV and had noticed a man and a horse . . .