Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [4]
The school bell sounded.
“Great. I can’t wait to see Kansas. You go in now, and I’ll be back at three to pick you up. As per usual.”
“Okay,” she said. “We can talk about what we’re going to wear tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, you can help pick out some fancy clothes for me. So I don’t embarrass you.”
Jane’s eyes met his squarely. For a split second he had an idea of exactly what she would look like as a grown-up — the serious face, her warm smile, those intelligent eyes that reached right into his soul.
“You could never embarrass me, Michael.”
She let go of his hand then and ran toward the school building. Michael didn’t blink until he saw her head of blond curls slip behind the door. He waited. Jane peeked out again, as she always did. She waved, smiled, then disappeared for good.
Suddenly Michael needed to blink. Several times, actually. He felt as if a giant had stepped on his chest. His heart actually hurt.
How was he going to tell Jane that he had to leave her tomorrow?
That was another duty of an imaginary friend, and possibly the worst.
Five
I WILL NEVER FORGET that day, in the same way that someone who survived the Titanic can’t just put it out of her pretty little head. People always remember the worst day of their lives. It becomes part of them forever. So I remember my ninth birthday with piercing clarity.
That day after school, Michael and I got ready. Then we went to the theater and sat in our VIP seats for the opening of The Problem with Kansas. I hadn’t seen Vivienne all day, so she hadn’t had a chance to wish me a happy birthday yet. But Michael had met me at school with flowers. I remember how grown-up that made me feel. Those apricot roses were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
I hardly remember the play, but I know that the audience laughed and cried and gasped in all the right places. Michael and I held hands, and I had a fluttering excitement inside my chest. Everything good was about to happen: It was my turn. A birthday party, hopefully a puppy, Michael was with me, my mother would be happy about the play. Everything seemed wonderful, everything seemed possible.
At the curtain call, Vivienne walked onstage with the cast. She pretended to be shy and shocked that everyone liked her new show so much. She bowed, and the audience stood and clapped. I stood up too, and clapped the hardest, and I loved her so much I could hardly bear it. Someday she would love me back just as much, I was sure of it.
Then it was time for my birthday party at our apartment. Finally!
The first people to arrive were the dancers from my mother’s play. I could have predicted that. Dancers don’t make that much money, and they were probably starving after dancing so much. In the front hallway with the black-and-white marble floor, a group of them were taking off their coats, revealing stick-figure bodies. Even at nine years old, I knew I’d never look like that.
“You must be Vivienne’s daughter,” one of them said. “Jill, right?”
“Jane,” I said, but smiled to show I wasn’t a total brat.
“I didn’t know Vivienne had a kid,” one of the other stick figures said. “Hello, Jane. You’re cute as a button.”
A flock of gazelles, they moved into the huge living room, leaving me to wonder if I’d ever seen a button that qualified as cute.
“Holy Stephen Sondheim!” one dancer said. “I knew Vivienne was rich, but this place is bigger than the Broadhurst Theatre.”
By the time I turned around again, it seemed as though there were a hundred people in the room. I searched for Michael and finally saw him standing near the piano player.
The room was as noisy as a theater during intermission. You could barely hear the piano over the chatter. Near the door to the library I saw that Vivienne had arrived, and she was talking to a tall, silver-haired man wearing a tuxedo jacket and blue jeans. I’d seen him at a couple of rehearsals for Kansas and knew he was some kind of writer. They were standing very close to each other, and I got a sinking feeling that he was auditioning for the role