Part 3 (2/2)
”How do I look?” she asked.
Mary Anne glanced at Myriah who shrugged.
”Lovely,” Mary Anne told her.
”I'm all dressed up,” she announced.
”I see. Are your dolls ready?” It was hard to tell. One of them was wearing sungla.s.ses. Another was wearing a bathing cap.
”Yes,” replied Gabbie, ”but the bears aren't.”
”Show us how to dress the bears,” said Mary Anne. ”Myriah and I will help you.”
Gabbie instructed them to put unders.h.i.+rts and socks on the three bears, and then they carried the dolls and bears down to the kitchen, and sat them around the table.
”This is beautiful,” said Gabbie, looking at the tea party and trying to sound grown up.
”It is too, too diveen,” added Myriah.
Mary Anne giggled.
She and the girls drank their tiny cups of punch and ate their cookies. Then they drank the bears' and the dolls' punch and ate some of their cookies, too.
”Did you like the party?” Mary Anne asked Gabbie when it was over.
Gabbie nodded. ”I loved it. It was too, too diveen.”
Mary Anne smiled. The crisis was over.
Chapter 6.
Linny and Hannie were right. The Delaney children are awful. They are nasty and bossy and everything Hannie said they are. I know because I baby-sat for them. Mrs. Delaney called the Baby-sitters Club, and of course my friends urged me to take the job since it's in my neighborhood.
I arrived at the Delaneys' after school on a Friday. (What a way to start the weekend.) Their house is the opposite of the Papadakises' or Watson's (I mean, mine). Last year, one of my spelling words was ”ostentatious.” (I'm a good speller.) And that's what the Delaneys' house was. Ostentatious. It was showy and show-offy and ornate. Guess what was in their front hall - a fountain. No kidding. There was this golden fish standing on its tail, fins spread, with water spouting out of its mouth and running into a little pool surrounding it.
Guess what's in our front hall - two chairs and a mirror.
Guess what's in the Papadakises' front hall - two chairs and Myrtle's box.
In the Delaneys' gigantic backyard are two tennis courts. In their library and living room are gilt-framed portraits and Oriental rugs, and the kitchen looks like a s.p.a.ce control center with gadgets and b.u.t.tons and appliances everywhere. I hope I never have to give the Delaney kids a meal. I wouldn't even be able to figure out how to toast a slice of bread. (I think the Delaneys' have a part-time cook, though.) But I could have handled all this stuff okay. It was the children I couldn't take.
For starters, they weren't even interested in meeting me. Their mother answered the door, gave me instructions and phone numbers, and put on her coat, and still I hadn't seen the children.
”Where are Amanda and Max?” I finally asked.
”Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Delaney, sort of breathlessly. ”I suppose I ought to introduce you.”
She led me into a room that I guessed was the family room, but it sure didn't look like ours. Our family room is always on the messy side - a newspaper strewn around, Louie lounging on the couch, Watson's cat, Boo-Boo, asleep on the television set, maybe a coloring book or some homework left out.
This room was not only tidy, it was clean. And it was all white. White s.h.a.g rug, white leather couch, even white lacquer tables and a white TV set. Priscilla (fluffy and white, of course) sleeping daintily in a white wicker cat bed, looking as if somebody, maybe the director of a play, had posed her just so, to be the perfect complement to the perfect room.
Posed on the couch were two perfect (looking) children. Amanda, the eight-year-old I'd met with Shannon, her Mary Janes polished, her blond hair parted evenly and held in place with a big blue bow, sat primly on one side. She was wearing a blue corduroy jumper over a white blouse. Her jumper matched her hair ribbon exactly. Next to her was Max, the six-year-old, a blond-haired, blue-eyed angel of a boy, dressed in corduroy pants, an unwrinkled alligator s.h.i.+rt, and docksiders.
”Children,” said Mrs. Delaney, ”this is Kristy. She's going to baby-sit for you this afternoon. I'll be back in a couple of hours. You do what Kristy tells you, all right?”
Amanda and Max merely nodded, their eyes glued to the TV. Amanda didn't give any sign that she'd met me before.
Mrs. Delaney left then, and I sat down in a white armchair.
”Don't sit there!” Amanda squawked, and I leaped up.
”Why?” I asked.
”It's Daddy's chair.”
This didn't make any sense to me, since Mr. Delaney wasn't at home, but I moved over to the couch anyway. Neither Max nor Amanda made any room for me, so I squished into a corner.
”What are you watching?” I asked the kids.
No answer.
But when a commercial came on, Amanda said, ”Get me a c.o.ke, Kristy.”
”What do you say?” I replied in a singsong voice. When you have a little brother, a little stepbrother, and a little stepsister, you find yourself repeating this all the time, as a reminder to say ”please” and ”thank you.”
”I say, 'Get me a c.o.ke,' ” Amanda repeated dryly.
”Get me one, too,” said Max.
My mouth dropped open. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't very well scold Amanda and Max during the first fifteen minutes of my job. So I got up, went into the kitchen, found the c.o.ke in the maze of appliances, and poured some into two gla.s.ses.
When I handed Amanda her gla.s.s, I didn't expect her to say ”thank you” (I was too smart for that), but I also didn't expect her to say, ”Where's the ice?”
I rolled my eyes, took the gla.s.ses back in the kitchen, dropped three ice cubes in each gla.s.s, and gave the c.o.kes to Amanda and Max. Amanda accepted hers and began to drink, but Max looked from me to his gla.s.s and back, and said, ”I hate ice. Take it out.”
Now if David Michael had said that to me, I would have replied, ”Take it out yourself.” But the Delaneys were new clients of the Babysitters Club, and I didn't want any unhappy children on hand when their mother returned. So I went to the kitchen for the third time and fished Max's ice cubes out of his gla.s.s with a spoon. When I handed the c.o.ke back to him, he and Amanda drank in silence until their show was over.
”Well,” I said, ”let's go outside and play. There's nothing good on TV anyway.”
Amanda shrugged. She handed me her empty gla.s.s and said, ”Can you put this back in the kitchen? We're not allowed to leave stuff in here.”
Max handed me his gla.s.s, too.
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