Dedicated to: My friends, classmates and everyone else that put up with me while I wrote, typed, edited and revised, you know who you are.

Inspired by: Kay Thompson (author of Eloise) and Willo Davis Roberts (author of The View From The Cherry Tree, amongst other books.)

(In order of appearance)

By Sara Berg

My name is Alex. My mother is an actress, a singer, a director and an altogether drama star. She is from England, but I was born here. My Dad left shortly after, smart man. Right now we are living in the Plaza Hotel, New York City, yet these days we are apt to be anywhere. I'm just glad that we're in the United States. Having a mother in drama, I travel a lot. Many people ask me what it is my mother does. I think her job is to smile and look pretty. But the newspapers rant and rave "She acts, she directs, she is theater." At least the local ones do. I say "Yeah, and she makes one lousy mother." I mean, she is nice enough but we're always moving and I have a tutor instead of going to school, so most of my friends are over the age of 30.

"Alexandra darling, come, come." There she is now. It must be time for tea in the tea room.

"Yes, Mother. Ready when you are." The door knob to the room where my mother had been turned and she emerged. She had her eyeglasses on and her script in one hand. She had been practicing her lines for hours, leaving me all by myself.

But now she came out, red boa and all. She had on a long, flowing white dress, which swayed in the wind from the open window on the balcony. She had on a big white hat and heavy make-up. When she saw me, my mother grimaced.

"What?" I asked. I didn't see anything really wrong with my appearance, no dirt or pen ink.

"Alexandra darling, what about that wondrous skirt I had laid out for you? Darling, you are not wearing overalls to a grand tea at the Plaza!"

"Mom, I hate skirts," I pleaded. Mother began to open her handbag. She rummaged for a moment before finding the Asian fan that she wanted. Though it was not hot i__™n the room, it was Mother's dainty way of showing frustration.

"Do you mean the velvet one with that lace all over it?" I cried not daring to hear her answer.

"It makes you look like an angel," she put in softly.

"Thanks but no thanks," I said.

"Alexandra darling, we are meeting with the director!"

"So," I said flatly. Let's see what she does now.

"Well now, come, come. Now, say that I hated the director which I certainly don't, do you think that I would still go to tea?" she asked. She stopped fanning long enough to give me a good eyebrow raising.

"Of course," I answered, looking her straight in the face, making it obvious that I was being utterly sarcastic.

"Indeed, and why?" she asked. Scout's honor, she sounded just like Mr. Robbins, my tutor.

"Because, it would be rude," I said with my best let me recite my multiplication tables voice

. Seeming pleased with her teaching she announced:

"Now, you will go and put on that skirt and the blouse because anyone who even says that they are the daughter of Vivian Manonka is never rude," she did not deliver this speech with the fire and gusto that most adults would have. She simply stood there, fanning herself all the while. Well, the battle had been lost, with many deaths. Mostly mine. So in and out of my room I marched in a plaid skirt and white blouse. From the many arguments that Mother and I had, I concluded that for a couple of reasons it was not good to argue with Mother. 1) I usually would up in a skirt or a dress or a fate worse that that. The second I came up with as we marched down the hall. When I was ready she would say "Indeed, go ahead" and I walked in front. However, when I lost a battle, without asking she would take the lead, leaving me behind to be asphyxiated by her perfume.

As we neared the elevator door, Mother slowed to a halt. As we waited for the

elevator she rummaged through her bag again looking to touch up her make-up, with the aid of the mirrored elevator door. Because she had got us a penthouse room on the 15th floor, it took forever to get an elevator. Most in the penthouse find it rather obnoxious, I on the other hand love it. If I'm late, I simple say that I was just waiting for an elevator. At that moment there was a loud "bing" and the elevator door opened.

There in a newly starched and ironed uniform stood the bellhop. All the bellhops ever did at the Plaza was smile at ladies like my mother and tip their little hats.

"Alexandra darling, would you like to press the button, or shall the bellhop?" she asked smiling and giving the bellhop her Miss America wave.

"I'd rather die," I mumbled under by breath. I rolled my eyes at her. Scout's honor, she treats me like I'm three again.

"Pardon, darling?"

"Why not let the bellhop?" That's what he's paid for, right? I wanted to add, however I couldn't

find my tongue.

"Very well then, the lobby please," she said pulling a one dollar bill out of her purse and flattening it with her two forefingers before handing it to the bellhop. If there is one thing about Mother that I'll never understand it is that she tips people for things that she could do herself. It is one thing to tip waiters, that's why you go out to dinner, to be waited on. However I'm sure that she can press her own elevator button without too much stress. If I were her I wouldn't pay the bellhop for pushing the elevator button and if he refused to do it without pay, then I'd push it myself! I was thinking with great joy when I felt a bounce and the elevator doors opened again. This time they revealed a unique lobby of marble floors and fancy wood work. Topping it off was an amazingly large desk that looks to me to be over three hundred years old. Mother said that the new fashion is old. I told her that was an oxymoron and she had her agent look it up.

"Come Alexandra, we mustn't be late," my mother said impatiently. "You have been dawdling all afternoon." At the way she pronounced all like she was highlighting it with her invisible marker, I wanted to protest. I wanted to remind her that as soon as Mr. Robbins had closed the door to our room, without getting my after school snack from room service as usual, I had begun my homework. However, I pick and choose my battles these days, so instead I took one more wistful look at the garden, where I was sure there were big, fat, juicy worms and turned my head and brain back to tea with the director of the play that was to open this coming Friday in which Mother was to star.

"Hmmm," I said in reply to my mother's anxious face. After that we went by the tea line for non-VIP's. Mother and I flashed our VIP cards at Bernard, who is the tea room seater at the Plaza. As a smaller child I loved to flash my VIP card at the seaters. For me the VIP always dissolved into FBI. 'Alex Manonka FBI' I would say and mother would say 'Alexandra, darling, that's VIP' and scoot me away, before my toothless mouth could open again. Now at the sophisticated age of 12, I still feel that scooting, followed by:

"I declare! Alexandra, darling if you walk any slower, then the snails in the garden will beat you and nobody is expecting them." Scouts honor, someday she'll be telling me how to breathe! So I quickened my pace and prepared myself for the director.

Mother led me to a table where a man sat. He had on a navy blue suit and a small hat somewhat like the bellhop's. His hair was grayish white and he had a few visible gold crowns. He stood as we approached. As he did he tipped his hat before saying,

"Good day Vivian and who is this lovely lady?" as he turned to me. From the way he was dressed, like a navy general, I wanted to say "Alex Manonka reporting for duty. Sir yes sir," but Mother beat me.

"This is my daughter, Alexandra. Alexandra darling, say hello to Mr. Collins," she gave me a nudge.

So I said, "Hello, Mr. Collins," and then we all sat down. Mr. Collins ordered turkey sandwiches with his tea. Mother ordered cucumber, she is a vegetarian.

"I think I'll have a Shirley Temple, no cherry please," I was hungry enough for a few tea sandwiches, yet I would order a meat and mother would have a fit.

After the waiter left, my fun was over. Until he returned that is. When he came back I could take some raisins from the center of the table and put them in my Shirley Temple. Then they would bounce up!

I never listen to Mother at tea. A lot of 'Indeeds' sandwiched in between words I can't understand, usually because of the accent.

The tea room is like a Monet painting, (of which my mother has many.) From far away it seems dead silent, except for the soft music of the live symphony, yet when you get near any table, there are small flourishes of noise. I like to drone out the noises and listen to the live symphony, with the hum of talking in the background.

I used to look for other children, trapped like me. Not anymore, now I know there is only one other child. Nigal Jacobs. And what a puny child he is. He is a carrot top with a bridge of freckles from one side of his face to the other, right over his nose. Also resting on his nose are a pair of brown rimmed, thick glasses. They are always falling down and he is forever trying to shove them up. Mother calls him a disgusting child, and for once I agree. He always has mucus coming out of one of his nostrils and sometimes both. After recent studies I concluded that there is not much hope for Nigal, seeing that he cried when I tried to show him a worm that I'd found in the garden. Crying at the age of 12, who ever heard of such a thing?

Since I had nothing better to do and because the symphony was on a break, I decided to listen in on the conversation that Mother was having with Mr. Collins and was I ever sorry that I did.

"Vivian dear, tell me how those lines are coming," Mr. Collins said, the laughter in his voice gone he was now quite serious. I could tell that Mother wanted the waiter to bring our tea at that moment so that she wouldn't have to answer that question. But I decided to be nice, and answer it for her.

"I think that she could definitely use more practice," I told Mr. Collins, as if Mother weren't there. She often did this when talking about me. Plus, I wanted to get Mother when it would hurt her most.

"Alexandra!" Mother couldn't fan out her rage this time.

"Sssshhh," I reminded her in a whisper. "Tea time is a quiet time." Now Mr. Collins couldn't keep from chuckling, but when Mother gave him an exasperated look, he stopped." I think," I started to voice my opinion even when I knew that it was unwanted. " That Mother's understudy should do the first matinee and then Mother could have opening night." Mother clenched her jaw and much to her dismay, Mr. Collins kept on quietly chuckling.

"Child certainly knows what she wants," he said, letting the chuckles out in a slow sigh. Mr. Collins had more of a cockney accent, more inner city. Like in My Fair Lady the musical (which I happen to adore!) I rather like Mr. Collins' accent, next to Mother's queen tone. Mother exhaled heavily.

"Yes, she certainly does. A bit head strong, if you ask me." She was to talking to Mr. Collins again as if I weren't there. Some people never learn. I'm very resentfully when she does that, it's not like I want to be here anyway.

" 'ead strong, eh," Mr. Collins mumbled to himself.

It was Lucky for me that our waiter came then and no one brought up my name for a while. I sat there, sipping my Shirley Temple and half tuning out the grown ups conversation until it was a lot of talking done in Mr. Collins' Cockney accent, with a few giggles on the side from Mother. Needless to say, I was nothing short of overjoyed when Mr. Collins stood to shake Mother's hand. Then he turned to me and bent down from his some six feet to shake my hand.

"Well, Alexandra, it was mighty nice meetin' you. You are really sophisticated for the age of 12." Hey! Maybe this guy isn't so bad after all, for a director. " 'ey! I 'ave a wonderful idea. Why not 'ave lil' Alex 'ere do the curtains at tonigh's re'ersle?" scratch that. From the suffocating look on mother's face, I could tell that she was just as excited at the invitation as I was.

"What about Claudia, our professional curtain lady?" Mother asked, accenting 'professional' with her exasperated her let's use the professionals voice.

"Yes Claudia, well she's got three little ones and she's been wantin' a day off for weeks, she 'as." Mr. Collins stuffed his hand into his pockets and smiled at Mother. He gave me a quick wink with his left eye. Oh brother!

Mother, who was standing in front of me, gave me a hard kick in the shin with one of her heels.

"Alexandra would love to do the curtains, right Alexandra darling?" Mother gave me her expecting look and a raise of the eyebrows.

"That would be just peachy," I replied with an iron on, artificial smile.

"We'll see you there. Bye now," with that he was gone. Not like the others, they stood there wistfully waving good bye. This guy just up and left and the funny thing is, he looked like he had wanted to the entire tea time. I wonder why.

"Come Alexandra darling, rehearsal is in a half hour at 5:30 and I've got to get into costume," Mother sighed and put a hand on my back to push me forward. Much to her delight, I walked on my own free will. I could tell that she was infuriated, with both me and Mr. Collins, unfortunately for me, I was the only one that she could get at.

Mother and I both swiped our VIP cards through the metal locks on our doors which are next to each other. Usually the suite is one room, because the door between us doesn't lock. It's like walking from your room to your brother's or sister's.

Mother let herself right in and slammed the door behind her. I for one, on the other hand, had the children's room. This room had the transportable lock. Wherever a child was staying, it would go. I had to fill in my mother's last name, to make sure I hadn't gone to the wrong room, or wasn't trying to brake into another room. I typed in M-A-N-O-N-K-A and a few second later the lock responded by flashing me a green light and a loud buzzer sounding. I let myself in quickly, in 25 seconds it would lock again.

Once in my room I prepared for solitude. Mother wouldn't be ready for a while and she had the computer and radio taken out of my room, just so I could get a taste of absolute boredom. I decided to change as soon as possible and deal with Mother's consequences later. After siting in my room for five minutes staring into space, I had an idea. I could play Star Wars! I got out my handmade model of the death star from the bottom drawer of my bureau. Then I got my Swiss army knife from my shelf and two square cakes of soap from the basket in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet. I carved a weapon out of one with my knife and with the other I carved a few different figures. Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leah and R2D2. I have always liked R2D2 a lot.

Now I had Darth holding the weapon to Leah's head.

"Eeeep beeep peeek sweeepp liooop liooop," I squeaked in R2D2 language, translation: "Master Luke there is Vader and the princess!"

"Talk," breath. "or,"breath. "your friend," breath. "gets it," I said in my deepest imitation of James Earl Jones, playing Darth Vader.

"Help me young Skywalker," I cried in my damsel in distress voice, but was muffled by Mother, our resident damsel's, voice.

"Alexandra darling, we must go now. Hurry up!" She called through__È the door. I could hear her knuckles banging against it.

"Wait!! Don't open the door!" I cried jumping a foot in the air.

"Alright darling, don't spaz. I'll wait." Thank goodness. You see I never ever let the maids in my room. It's against the cardinal rule of kid's living in hotels. So I locked the door to the hall. However, René, our day maid, kept coming. So I invented the anti-maidatron. It consists of a bucket and a chair. The bucket is hung in such a way that if René` enters through Mother's room the way she has been, seeing that the door doesn't lock, she will trip over a chair and have cold water dumped on her head and from the water stains on the rug, I can tell that she has tried. Now, Mother was about to get the same treatment if I didn't act fast. She'd be irate if that happened.

"Alexandra I'm coming in. We must go and I'm only going to count to ten before I come in. One... two... three....,

"Alright, just one second," I unlatched the bucket and put it on the floor of my closet for safe keeping. Then I replaced the desk chair at my desk where it belonged and flattened my 'girls kick butt' t-shirt, preparing for Mother's consequences.

Mother came strutting in, walking in small steps and swaying from side to side. She had to do this in order to walk daintily in her new outfit. This outfit consisted of a tight, black tank top, with spaghetti straps. Because it's only May, she also wore a lace shawl, tied around her neck. The tank top, too short for my comfort, was followed by and very short, bright red skirt. With that, plus her black lace stockings and platform shoes, she looked like a teenager. Her make-up was there but brighter than usual. In place of her dark lipstick and brown eye shadow, there sat bright red lipstick and gobs of blue eye shadow. From the aroma that followed her into the room I could tell that she had freshly painted nails before I could see them. When I did, they were neon red, (if there is such a color,) and shiny. However that was not the creepiest part, they were fake. In these fake finger nails she held a pair of black shades.

When Mother found me, on the other corner of my bed closest to the wall, she looked as happy to see my cloths as I was to see hers.

"Alexandra darling, you were wearing a great skirt. Why did you bother changing, when you knew I'd be mad?" She talked empathetically, which just made it worse.

"Because..." I paused to make it more dramatic. "Skirts are lousy," I whispered to her as if I didn't want to tell her but I had to.

"Alexandra! Don't use that tone with me!" Mother was so mad that the rest of her face was catching up to the redness her lipstick.

"Well your clothes aren't so proper either," I shot back at her. "You look like a punk rocker, or a...a... Spice Girl!." I cried using the best insult that I could think of.

Mother's eyes clouded over, as if she were a million miles from earth and a small smile came over her face.

"Alexandra darling, this," She gestured toward her clothes. "This, is a costume, one of the many props to the theater world!" Oh, No! Another one of those lectures straight from drama 101.

"They must dress pretty stupid in the theater world," I retorted and she gave me the evil eye for interrupting her sermon.

"Ah, Alexandra," She sighed. "When I'm out on stage, I'm no longer Vivian Manonka, I'm Juliet."

"Juliet in that?" I eyed her costume and crossed my arms leaning away.

"The 90's version any way." I tried to cut it short there before we entered Mother, daughter talk land.

"Well I still don't see why I have to wear a skirt to a dark theater."

"Alexandra darling, you know perfectly well that it isn't dark during a rehearsal," she looked at my panicked face. "But I'm not going to argue with you anymore. Wear that awful t-shirt, if you must," she sighed in a whiny voice.

"Yes, I must," I said triumphantly. Then I leaped from my bed, leaving R2D2 on the floor and Leah to fend for herself.

As we walked down the hall, I could tell that Mother was trying to pretend that I wasn't hers, her daughter that is. She wouldn't talk to me, or look at me for that matter. As she paced door 1508 she began to dial a number on the cell phone that she carried. I was so close that I could hear the ringing on the other end of the line. Ring, ring, ring.

"Hello. This is Vivian Manonka Speaking, may I talk with Gena?" She looked utterly bored and rolled her eyes while there was talking and a pause on the other end. "Oh, hello Gena." More talking. "Well I was on my way to rehearsal with Alexandra and it is so long, it's almost three hours," Then there was more talking and Gena, my usual sitter, must have asked what play because Mother's answer was: "Oh, Romeo and Juliet-the 90s version," then a long pause where I finally caught on that Mother was trying to get me a sitter and it became very important. "Well I was just wondering if you could sit for Alexandra." Pause. "We could pick you up," Mother pleaded into the phone. Pause. "Oh, they do always get in the way. Well thank you anyhow." Hang up.

Bing. The elevator had arrived. We stepped into the elevator and I said:

"You know, I don't need a sitter," Mother looked surprised that I knew of the conversation that went on directly over my head.

"Very well then," by the way she gave up I could tell that she was getting into character and that if I valued my life, I wouldn't bother her. We rode down in silence, except for the one loud smile that Jody, our bellhop, gave Mother when we stepped in.

When the elevator came to a jolt, the door opened and James, our limo driver, greeted us. Mother must have been finished being Juliet because her cone of silence ended.

"Ah, James. Right on schedule as usual."

"Yes mum. Where to today?" he asked, hands clasped behind his back.

"Rehearsal, you know in Yonkers."

"Righto I do. Shall I have the limousine up in front?" He asked wide eyed all except for the wink that he flashed me. Two in one day!

"Yes, chop chop, or we'll be late."

"Yes mum." and he was gone. It would be a while before he got back. James was pleasantly plump and even when he runs I can beat him.

"I am going to scavenge," I informed Mother's blank face.

"Be back in five," she warned, flipping her shades onto her face in one swift motion.

"Yes Mother," I replied, stuffed my hand in my jeans pockets and slouched away. I decided to check out one of the conference rooms. I picked the one with the open door which was the only half of an invitation that I needed to go in.

Once inside I realized, (with great delight,) that the place was a pit. Maybe, hopefully, there would be a treasure left by someone else.

As I walked through the room I realized that it was worse than I'd expected. Scout's honor, this place was messier than my room and the maids got in here every day. There were balled up pieces of paper, broken pencils and other wrappers strewn on the floor. I noticed a few whole pads of paper, but most of them had names on them and their owners would soon be back.

I crunched over wrappers until I felt something hard under my feet. Then I heard a loud crunch. Whatever was under my foot was not a paper. I got down on all fours to find it. In the midst of the white and yellow papers a black object caught my eye. I blew off the rest of the balled up paper.

"A tape recorder!" I accidentally cried out what I'd been thinking. I covered my oath and stood very still for a few minutes, hoping that no one had heard me. There

it was a _shiny black tape recorder, with a tape inside it. Quickly, I opened it to look at the tape. To my extreme joy, the tape was unused. Lucky for me there was a rope attached, so I untied the knot that the parcel's previous owner had tied and slipped the rope through one of the belt loops on my L.E.I jeans.

While tying the knot to my belt loop, I saw my watch. I had it set to time how long I'd been gone. Already I'd been gone seven minutes and counting. So, I gave the room one last scan and headed for the exit. As I did I caught a glimpse of the white board in the back of the room. It read: PRESS CONFERENCE 5-15 @ 9:30. I checked my watch again and sure enough it read that the date was the 15th. Well that explains the paper on the floor. I'm lucky that I got here before they cleaned up. The recorder must have been dropped in the hurry of the press.

I heard high heeled footsteps coming down the hall. In one swift action I had closed the door and I was out of the conference room.

"Oooh, Alexandra darling! Where are you," Mother's voice cooed. I followed the sound of her voice, rather than calling out 'oh here I am mummy', like a two-year-old. I snuck up on her from the back. Before she had time to call again, I had planted both my hands on her shoulders.

"Save your life!" I screamed.

"Aaaahhh!!!" Mother yelled and scout's honor, she jumped a foot and a half. She collected herself before beginning her lecture.

"Now Alexandra darling, was that really necessary?" Scout's honor she was doing the Mr. Robbins thing again.

"Not really, but it was fun," I informed her, giggling in the slightest way. "You should have seen your face. Man you jumped a foot and a half." I would have added a 'scout's honor' to prove my point, but Mother would have lectured me on how I wanted to become a boy scout, even though I'd have to be a girl scout, if she ever decided to let me try.

"I am a woman and this woman thought it was stupidity at it's best." She answered with crossed arms.

"It's an expression," I retorted and my smile faded into a teeth clenched, narrow eyed frown.

"James is up font with the limousine. Come, come Alexandra darling." She replied without much answer to my retort and she led me off in a huff, once again leaving me behind to be asphyxiated.

As I walked outside I startled a large flock of pigeons. When I walked nearer to the circle they scattered into the air and flew off to the Sherry Netherland to see what the people there were doing and what they had to eat.

Sure enough, James was out front and he waddled as quickly as he could to open the door for us. I slid past my regular seat, all the way to the left of the first row, right by the window, instead, I slid into the back row where there are no windows, but I would rather sit alone. Mother flashed me such a look that we both knew that we were in the midst of yet another mental argument. As she slid into her seat she said:

"Suit yourself," as if to end our non-existent argument.

From the way he walked and attempted to run, you would have expected a jolt ride from James, however the truth is quite the contrary. Our ride is always graceful and enjoyable . The tinted windows made it so that I wasn't dizzy from the rays of sunlight that shown brightly outside the car. With the aid of James' smooth driving, I had almost dozed off, when we hit traffic and horns from other cars went off like fireworks.

"Wh-what?" I asked, feeling groggy and out of it.

"Oh, Alexandra darling, glad to see you awake," Mother sighed scanning the traffic lined streets. After that, we rode in silence. Five minutes later, we had reached the theater.

It funny, though I've now learned almost every one of Mother's lines, (and I can rap them better than she can, the play is a rap and has a new age of art in it.) I've never been to the "sacred" theater, usually Gena comes, but my Mother forgot to reserve her for today. We pulled up to an extremely large, brick building. So large in fact that I couldn't see the roof of the build until I was on the edge of the sidewalk.

There was a granite walkway that led toward the entrance. At the end of the walk there were three glassed over marble steps. As I stood there, looking the place over, Mother got impatient.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" She asked, dropping a rhetorical question . She grabbed me by the wrist as if I were a small child and lead me into the theater.

Once we were inside we were in a glorious lobby, one that was even nicer than the Plaza's. The large chandelier in the center of the ceiling looked as if it held thousands of glasses, instead of crystals. The vast room's walls were covered in murals by a famous Italian artist.

Mother continued to drag me by the arm To the other side of the room. There she let me go to open two huge doors. As she did the light from the chandelier hit the glass knobs and they sparkled.

The instant that she did, the ominous silence was broken and I heard noise. I also saw the chairs for the audience. The cast members had seated themselves in the rows nearest the front and were chatting amongst themselves like school children at recess. Mother and I took seats in the back of the crowd as a man took center stage. I recognized him as Mr. Collins. For the first five minutes that he was on stage, Mr. Collins tried, unsuccessfully, to quiet the cast. Scout's honor, they wouldn't shut-up. I think it's hilarious the way grown-ups can be hypocrites with all the things they say about us! I decided to record this 'Kodak' moment, with my Sony tape recorder. I flipped the on/off switch and hit the record button and from that moment on the recorder heard everything that I did.

After a short briefing and a lot of yelling from Mr. Collins, the rehearsal began. I was pushed backstage with the stage manger and other backstage workers. I walked into a dark corner to avoid working the curtains, when Mr. Collins caught me.

"' 'ey Alex, might' nice of you to be 'ere and work the old curtains for me," he smiled as if he knew that I didn't want to be there. "Claudia was so 'appy to get the day out that she wanted you to 'ave this for today, to play on." Mr. Collins handed me a large box with three smaller boxes on top. I went for the big one first. Inside I found a Nintendo game boy and proceed to find the smaller boxes to be games. "It's 'er lil' boy's, Billy. 'e's about five. Owns every toy in the world."

"Tell her that I said thank-you," I said with my spirits rising.

"Sure thing. Leave it 'ere when re'ersal is over." He walked away with his hand behind his back. And though I couldn't see his face, I saw sure that he was smiling. He must have resumed his directors chair, because he started to direct.

"Curtains open!" he called and as if he'd said "open sesame!" I tugged on the curtains and they opened. "Lights," they went on, so bright that the lit up parts of backstage that were nearly pitch dark. "Camera," nothing happened, it's a dress rehearsal. "Action!" he cried with visible delight. Again nothing happened. He went from visible delight to being infuriated.

"I need Juliet out here for the first seen!" he called to the empty stage. A few seconds later both my mother and Monica her understudy appeared on stage. This ought to be good I thought, switching off the game boy.

I can see why they cast Mother first and Monica as her understudy. Mother stood broad shouldered with her chin length chestnut brown hair swaying slightly in the breeze of the stage fan. The ends, all pointed in different directions, this being the loose style of the times. Mine was the same color, but in a pony-tail that when let loose, could reach my waist.

Monica was very different than Mother. Her short, frail looking build slumped next to Mother's. Her shoulders seemed to cave in standing there and he hair was not tied up because there was a lack of need. Her blonde hair was shaped into a small wedge, leaving only a few side pieces hanging off, these were either in her face, or held back by clips and black bobby pins. Born and raised in rural Idaho, her personality seemed oblivious to city life and focused on not being stage fright, she was Mother's direct opposite alright.

"No! The real Juliet!!" Mr. Collins sighed and I heard him mumble, under his breath . "Shakespeare would cringe." Monica marched off the stage in a cloud of fiery, toward the right wing, my wing. As she came she hurled her platform shoe, much like Mother's, but only a size three, which landed with a thud, just short of the wall.

"No, I want the real Juliet!" She stormed, mimicking Mr. Collins. That was followed by a bunch of curses. By the time her agent got to her, her right platform had flown off.

Monica's agent, Mr. Hampton, a large man had been a football star in high school and college. He's older now, 50 some odd years, I think, with gray hair and a huge double chin. But most memorable, he stutters when he talks.

"N-n-n-now Monica, pl-pl-please please st-stop st-stop be-being angry." I couldn't hear the rest of the conversation because they stormed off.

During most of act one I listened over my game boy. During act two I got so thoroughly bored that I began to scavenge backstage, Scout's honor, everything backstage was better than anything on stage.

I found a closet and pried it open. Inside the closet was full of wigs. So I thereafter spent the rest of act two and most of act three goofing around with them. Sometime in act four the actors must have gotten a break because I heard Mother's voice coming down the hall. From my perch on my chair I could hear her conversation with her mall-rat, just out of U.C.L.A and proud of it, agent and another man with an accent that sounded French whom I'd never met before at the cast parties.

"Now madam Vivian, you must dine with us this evening and see my portfolio of your costume, it will not be the same without you," he gestured, holding out a hand.

"Yes that would be lovely," Mother replied and I saw her curtsy.

"Wonderful. Monsieur Collins has already consented," he said again gesturing, this time to Mr. Collins in his black directors chair.

"Well, I have to come too!" Veronica shirked, inviting herself.

"I suppose that she could come too," the man sighed. As he said that Mother noticed me. Veronica and the other man were gabbing a mile a minute so it was easy for her sneak off.

"Alexandra darling, how are you?" she asked rubbing her temples in frustration.

"Oh, I'm just peachy," I retorted.

"Well, here's two dollars, there's a vending machine in the back," she let out a heavy sigh as she handed over the money.

"Finally, food. Scout's honor I though that you were going to starve me!"

"Alexandra darling, language."

"Sorry." Then Veronica, Mother's mall-rat agent came to grace our presents.

"Hi Viv!" She cried directly in Mother's ear. Mother jumped and then collected herself again.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Well, I was thinking-" Mother cut her off.

"You were?" She asked in fake surprise. Way to go Mother!!

"Yeah whatever," Veronica sighed brushing off the insult. Veronica knew, as I did, that after this production, Mother would be finding a new agent, Mother could barely stand Veronica and she knew it.

"You have to come to dinner tonight! I've seen Jacques' designs and they're great! You'll love them. So you gotta come!" She shrieked. It seems like she's always loud, just like her clothes. Tonight she wore a bright orange skirt, which had turquoise stretch pants under it. And on top, a white, short sleeved blouse with large hippy flowers.

"Well even though I told Jacques I could go, I've had a snap of reality and remembered I can't go with the others as planned," Mother said pretending that she was going to miss having dinner with Veronica and company. Even I knew that whenever you had dinner with agents, all they talked about was what deal, or money scams they'd made in the past months, how big their houses were and usually they asked how much more money they could squeeze out of you. But Veronica was just a beginner, so she was just plain obnoxious.

"Why?" Veronica asked remorsefully.

"What about Alexandra?" Scout's honor, she'd try anything to get out off this, usually she'd leave me in the kitchen of the restaurant before she would let me hinder dinner plans, hey, it has happened before.

"Who is Alexandra?" Veronica asked snapping her gum in a Madonna like fashion. Mother grimaced at her childish manors.

"Alexandra is my daughter." I stood and bowed my head, while pretending to curtsy with my T-shirt tails.

"So? Get a babysitter."

"Can't. Tried." Mother heaved a large sigh, she wasn't even using complete sentences, the queen of grammar.

"Well, bring her then," sighed Veronica, Scout's honor, did they really think that all this was going over my head? Gosh, people these days!

"Why not?" sighed Mother, desperately trying to move Veronica along, and it seemed to be working.

"Great! Chow babe!" she yelled in my direction "TTFN Viv," She said to Mother and flapped her hand, batting her eyelashes a mile a minute.

"T...T...F...N.?" I questioned, squinting my eyes and trying not make eye contact. In response Veronica turned over her left hand and rolled her eyes, along with the rest of her head and neck from Mother to me.

"Ta, ta for now," she answered in her best,(not very good,) let me recite my multiplication table voice. After a small, plastered on artificial smile from me, and a more real looking one from Mother, Veronica vanished. Then, I saw the man that Mother had been talking with and he was headed straight for us.

"Ah, Madam Vivian, so this where you've been hiding. I was looking all over the theater for you," he gave her a sad puppy face.

"Who is this guy?" I demanded of Mother. I'm always very quizzical of any of my mother's friends that I haven't met and approved and even more critical of those that I have met but haven't approved.

"Whom is this, Alexandra darling. This is Jacques, our new costume designer," Mother announced with a toothy smile. "After Frank disappeared..."Mother's smile faded as she trailed off.

"I might ask the same question of you little one." Jacques said changing the subject to try to lighten the mood. He winked at me, hey Scout's honor, I'm nearly as tall as you, who you callin' little one? I though, scowling in his direction.

"This is my daughter Alexandra. Alexandra darling, this is Jacques," Mother decided to go for the formal introduction, while answering the question for me.

"So this is the daughter that I heard so much about," Jacques said taking three steps closer to me. That was all he needed at do the unthinkable. He came over and pinched my cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

"What a darling! Look at la petite enfant."

"Charmed I'm sure," I replied, my cheeks in serious pain. Mother noticed my agony and dragged Jacques away. But I still heard the end of their conversation

Mother: "Isn't she wonderful?"

Jacques: "She is simply fantastic, she must dine with us tonight." Then;

Mr. Collins: "Righto, the lil' chap is great." I sat there rubbing my cheeks and trying to recover the blood that once flowed through them.

"Please let la petite enfant not mean in French what el dorko means in Spanish," I murmured half aloud.

"Actually it means, the little baby and el dorko is not really Spanish." I turned, shocked to hear that the speaker was James.

"What?" I asked and stopped in mid rub.

"I said it means-"

"I heard what you said," I snapped back, cutting him off. "What I wanted to know is where you came from and how you knew that." he seemed unfazed.

"Easy. I like to watch your Mother so, when your Mother starts to gab in the car, I can relate," he said with his hands stuffed into his pocket and leaning back.

"Smart. And second?"

"French class, 7th grade. La petite enfant was only the second lesson. You don't have to be born in old Paris to know that."

"Obviously," I sighed and rolled my eyes, slouching down the hallway and toward the vending machines.

For the rest of the rehearsal, I ate, drank, walked and did anything but pay attention to the play. For a while I hung out with James. It turns out that James plays a mean hand of poker. Almost as good as mine. We were playing five card stud when I began to get thoroughly bored. I was about to "read 'em and weep" and lay down my royal flush, when Mother took center stage for the famous scene, for about the 15th time.

"Yo Romeo, hey where are you?"

"Ahhg," I groaned. "Hopefully in kingdom come," I whined and laid down my hand. James grimaced, before paying me the 27 jolly ranchers that he owed me for the game. And for the remaining time I sucked them and painfully listened to the play.

Finally at 8:00 pm Mother came over and tapped James on the shoulder.

"James, I shall be needing my bag from the car. I shall be dining out tonight," she sighed, out of breath from the last scene.

"Yes mum," he replied putting his hand face down. And as he trotted out of the room I heard him grunt:

"And I was just about to beat her too," that's what he thought, I smiled to myself. Out of curiosity I turned his cards over to reveal a royal flush, very similar to mine. I snapped back reality.

"Don't you mean we will be dining out tonight?" I asked, already on Mother's case.

"What do you mean we, kemosobi?" She contradicted, quoting from my favorite T.V. show, The Lone Ranger, to make me understand.

"I mean, that even though you didn't want me to, I heard what Jacques and Veronica and Mr. Collins said. They wanted me to come and you know that I never resist an invitation," I sighed, checking my fingernails, as Mother often did when she was trying to show off.

"Fine," Mother scowled. "However if you are not on your best behavior, you will be out of that restaurant before you can say babysitter," she warned with monotone sourness.

"Fair enough," I admitted and we were in agreement.

James returned, and as luck would have it along with her clothes, in her bag Mother had packed the science fiction book, A Wrinkle In Time, which I'm currently reading. So I got to read while I waited outside Mother's dressing room, while Mother piled on make-up and tried to pull off a few of her 38 years. When she reappeared she had changed into an outfit that looked almost...motherly. Well, almost.

Tonight's evening attire consisted of a long baggy white sweater, with large visible holes and an almost visible black T-shirt underneath, then a longer jeans, black skirt. I noticed that her black stockings were still there, but in place of her platforms were flats with a silver buckle on each one. Now she stood impatiently waiting for me to put my bookmark back in my book. Scout's honor, I had waited for her, I believe that I'm entitled to finish my chapter. Mother purposely cleared her throat in frustration, I guess the fan wasn't handy.

"Alexandra darling, the gentlemen are awaiting our presence at the restaurant," she said raising her eyebrow at me.

"Gentleman," I snorted, closing my book, keeping the tip of my finger in to hold, my place.

"Pardon darling?" Mother corrected by asking what I'd said.

"Where are we eating tonight?" I asked of her and myself. But she gave me a look like, yeah right. "Scout's honor," I lied through my teeth.

"Language darling."

"Sorry," I mumbled, fumbling through the written pages of Madeleine L'engle.

"Anyway, the name of the restaurant. On now come, come I must remember......" she sighed.

"Nathan's?" I probed her memory, even though I knew that not only would Mother never be seen there, but there would be nothing there that she would ever eat, not even try.

"No! Goodness forbid. It was some little Italian place. Piffle, James knows his way around New York. Come now Alexandra darling, James is waiting," she scuttled me out of the theater. Sure enough there was James' limo right in front.

We shoved in quickly and the ride was silent for Mother. I on the other hand, played the vocal stylings of MA$E on my Disk man and James winked at me, a sign from our poker games.

When Mother says little. We never envision the same things.

The restaurant was huge. When we walked in we were greeted by a tall, thin man with a thin mustache that seemed to fit for his weight.

"Right this way," He said, chauffeuring us to a round table. It was rather small to accommodate all five of us. Veronica, Mother, Mr. Collins, Jacques and I.

In addition to being enormous, the restaurant, (which from the menu I found out was named La restaurant,) was elaborate. In the center of each table lay a large candelabra, which held tall, thick candles, that each had dozens of small rivulets of dripping wax, protruding onto three holders.

There was no one there yet, so Mother chose a random seat and I chose the seat one away from her. It's really the best seat you can get, close enough for protection, but you should never, ever sit next to her. Veronica was the next to arrive. She appeared to have already been there and made a pilgrimage to the lady's room to do her make-up. Figures. And she, being the tag along that she is, took the seat to the left of Mother.

No more than five minutes after Veronica had begun to gab a mile a minute (which is all Mother and I could stand in one sitting.) when Jacques arrived in a new gray suit and red neck tie.

"Good evening, Ms. Vivian," he said to Mother while hanging his gray, button up dress jacket on the back of his chair. "And how lovely you look petite enfant," he said at me, rather than to me. I was so overjoyed that I took my face in my palms and pushed into a fish face, until Mother notice and shoved my hands down to my sides.

After we had gotten our menus, and had been informed of the specials, Mr. Collins slumped in.

"Good evnen' to y'all. My apologies for bein' late," he said bobbing his head in our general direction. When he sat down I realized what a big seating mistake I had made. Veronica and Jacques sandwiched Mother, so Jacques was on my right and when Mr. Collins came in he had no choice but to sit next to Veronica and me- of course, I was stuck.

After about 30 seconds, which is 300,000 nanoseconds, (all of which I counted,) off uneasy _silence, Mr. Collins broke the ice.

"Lovely re'ersle we 'ad-eh?" he rested his jaw in a crooked way and waited for a reply. But there was no reply because just then the waitress came around to our table.

She was blonde with thin, round glasses. Her eyes were wide and were a shallow watery blue. Her white shirt was stained with food oils and her cheeks were rosy from being inside the tropical kitchen.

"Would you like something to drink with your meal?" she asked sweetly. It was obvious by her non-accent that she wasn't born and bred in New York. She proceeded to get everyone's order. First was Veronica.

"I'll have a coke," she said, as if everyone should have guessed. Next she came to Mother.

"Just a cola water for me please," she sighed. The waitress looked stunned to hear her accent, but kept going, which meant she was on to Jacques.

"For moi? Just a glass of your finest Pinot Noir." I was up next.

"I'll have a Roy Roger's, straight up," I said laying a firm hand down on the table. Mother and Jacques stared in the same shock and anguish. Mr. Collins chuckled uncontrollably. Mother, who had a tendency to try to lean up my act, spoke next, to the table, the waitress and world she thought was listening. From the way she straightened up, you would have thought she had a press conference on C-SPAN.

"Alexandra watches too much television." That comment was followed by a few of the usuals. Mother's daily:

"The rubbish on the television these days is incredible. And Alexandra doesn't even watch one show, she 'channel surfs.'" This was followed by Mr. Collins:

"Kids these days!" But that comment, (lucky for me,) was the last because our waitress was growing impatient.

"Is there anything else I can get you to drink?" she asked. Mr. Collins took his turn next. He seemed to have been in his own world since the end of rehearsal. Rubbing his temples, he replied:

"Martini please, on the rocks, oh and shaken not stirred."

I watch too much TV!! Huff!! Scout's honor this guy must have watched every James Bond movie ever made.

The rest of the evening droned on and I was beginning to think that a sitter wouldn't have been the end of the world. Then, after Jacques had ordered for the adults, (seeing that he was paying,) and Mother had ordered for me, he pulled out the legendary portfolio.

In the portfolio were pictures of the costumes that Mother had been fitted for last Tuesday. I was present for this blessed occasion and now I have a good reason never to be in a play of any sort-enough said. Anyway, after Frank disappeared, we, (somehow I'm included in this saga, if you find out how, let me know,) thought that the costumes would never make it. So in a moment of desperation the actors and actresses went to the mall. Then Jacques appeared saying that he had been sent by the costume company to fill in for Frank. And that's why they all treat him like a g-d. See I do listen! And now we're going to see the picture's of Macy's' replacement.

Jacques pulled back the zipper around the portfolio from under the table where I'd barely seen him slip it. While he pulled it out I noted it's size. He immediately snapped his fingers. Waddling at a steady pace, came the man that had seated us, in a larger form. He wore the same tux and funny bow tie. His red cumberbunn glowed in the candlelight. Even his dark hair was done in the same suave way, plus the same thin mustache accompanied his nose.

"José, if you please, a stand," without hesitation José went to the cloak room and came back with a stand. He smiled at Jacques as if he had waited all night to serve him.

"Let's see," Veronica snapped her gum hard. I'll bet it was the same piece.

"Yes," Jacques was obviously going to take his time, making it dramatic. The first photo he pulled out was of as man in a combination of baggy cargoes, a frilly white blouse and a baseball hat with a white feather streaming out. Mr. Collins muffled a laugh. But Jacques was all business.

"This costume is for Romeo. The blend of the teenage-American bottom and the top with feather cap to remind us of William Shakespeare." Lot's of ooooing and ahhhhing from the table.

The next drawing had a model on it with Mother's figure. She wore an indigo blue, sequined dress, that fells just a few inches above the knees. On her feet she wore a black buckle around platforms. Her face encased in heavy make-up and her hair was French braided very tightly.

"This is for Juliet," he announced smiling at Mother, as did the rest of the table. The table received this photo better than the previous one and when they began to clap he replied:

"Ohh la la, is it not?"

"I can't wait to try it on tomorrow. Thank goodness for UPS 8:00 am delivery!" Mother cried, sipping her seltzers before deciding to squeeze in more lime.

"It is magnificent." Jacques said in his strong French accent.

"Alexandra darling," oh, no! My opinion was about to be summoned. "What do you think of Jacques' costume designs?"

"There quite a work of art," I replied, nodding my head at him.

"Merci beaucoups, merci beaucoups petite enfant." No one had anything else to say, but that was okay because our waitress was back.

My food was sick, as I may have guessed, so I went back to the limo for refuge. For the rest of the time I played Ma$e and read. Because I was terribly hungry and Mother was terribly late, James and I stopped at the Nathan's, down the road. I fell asleep after that, but woke up again when Mother returned.

"Hello all. Home James, please," she said waving to the crowd of people leaving the restaurant and hunching over to climb in. So off we rode off into the night.

Once we were back at the Plaza, I typed in M-A-N-O-N-K-A, got the green light and flopped wearily onto my bed. After a few blank minutes I decided that my calligraphy could use some work and got out my kit, only to find that the pen needed more ink.

"I guess I could fill it," I murmured and set to work. I was nearly finished when it happened. I heard a muffled cry, then a thud.

"Uhh! More line practicing, you'd think that three hour rehearsal would be enough for one day," I sighed. But then, I heard a delirious groan, somewhat like what they have in the horror movies that I love to watch. Then footsteps, big, heavy footsteps, not at all the way Mother walked. Someone was in her room. A man? In Mother's room? Then a slam. A door? A window?

Quick as a flash I dug into my previously opened sock drawer. There in the upper right hand corner, right where I had left it was the key card to Mother's room.

I was so jumpy that it took me three tries to successfully _capture the door handle and pull it open. I tore down the hall to her room, on the other side of a large service elevator. I slashed the card through at lightning speed. I pushed the door open to reveal a messy, empty room. The eerie emptiness sent a shiver up my spine. She was there, somewhere, she had to be. "Are you on the toilet- I mean the lavatory?" I asked and I thought I heard something, but I was hallucinating. Even so, I found myself running to the suite's master bathroom. In lack of Mother's response I answered my own question. "Nope not here. Mother!" but she was gone. I could feel the icy wind from the open window, over the fire escape. Someone in New York had my Mother and they weren't about to give her back-dead or alive.

Tugging at my collar, to get rid of the lump in my throat, I thought that I should find someone reasonable to tell. I zombied down the hall, to the elevators. As I nervously waited for the door to open I tapped the metal do_or with my fingernails. Suddenly, I realized I'd been tapping the doom song. Dum, dum, dee-dum, dum, dee-dum, dee-dum, dee-dum. I stuffed my hand in my pockets and didn't bother to wait any longer and took the stair. Down all 15 flights I thumped my one two motion.

Finally I opened the door and it revealed the marble lobby. I flew to the front desk. However, to have the vision I needed, I had to stand back about a yard.

"Hehem," I cleared my throat and a semi-middle aged lady turned around. It was Mrs. Clark, whom the Plaza had hired two weeks before.

"May I help you?" she asked, replacing her glasses on her face, to see me better. "Oh! Hi there Alex. These old eyes didn't recognize you without their glasses."

"Well, there's been a kidnapping," I said, my lump returning, I tried to stay calm. Mrs. Clark's complexion shifted.

"Eye eye Sherlock, was it Barbie or Ken?" Scout's honor she wasn't taking me seriously, she thought_" I was just like her granddaughter.

"No it was my Mother," I said with a large hint of emergency in my voice.

"Your Mother kidnapped?" Mrs. Clark smirked.

"Okay, adult napped, anyhow she's gone and I need your help," I pleaded desperately.

"Someone has finally got the old hag, and a good thing too," I jumped at the voice of Joe Jr. a bell hop. Before I could answer, Mrs. Clark cut in.

"Oh, now stop that. I'll bet I can get old Joe out, one moment please," she waddled to the back, dragging her ankle length skirt behind her. I wearily took a seat in an overstuffed arm chair near by. In yawned sleepily and turned my head to the TV set in the corner that was playing The Tonight Show.

I was painfully watching the set when Joe S. tapped me on the shoulder. Joe S. was a legend around the Plaza. Some say that the 'S' stands for Salma, his last name, other say that he's so proud to be from the South, that it stood for Southern, Joe Southern.

"Howdy there lil' lady. I heard there was some trouble a brewing' near your place, I thought I might cheek it out," he said tipping his hat. I was starting to believe the 'S' stood for Southern. Scout's honor, I'm proud of the red, white and blue, but this guy sounds like the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Though I wanted to laugh, I cleared my throat in all seriousness.

"Yes, that's correct. My mother was kidnapped," I sighed heavily.

"Kidnapped ma'am?" he asked, placing his hat over his heart.

"Yes," I said mimicking the far-away look that Mother often got.

"With all due respect ma'am, that's not possible," he said.

I let out a long extended groan. Would everyone stop being so literal?

"Adult napped," I corrected myself.

"That's not exactly what I meant, by impossible. I meant that I believe that your makin' a fib for fun," he put his arm around my shoulder. "Look I know that a hotel is not a place for a youngin' to grow up, heck, if I hadn't grown up on a farm myself, I'd have drivin' my folks crazy, but this is not a thing to joke about. It ain't funny neither." He frowned solemnly.

That's it! I've had enough. Just because I'm a somewhat adventurous 12-year-old does not mean that I'm going to be pushed around. I pushed off my chair and stood tall and proud.

"It is too true!" I said in a stern, mild mannered, level-headed voice. Then I shed a tear. I didn't cry per say. I just shed one tear, one rain drop from the heavens of my face.

You would have thought that Babe Ruth had just walked in the way Joe S. stared. He stared at the wet spot on the marble floor and the red stream down my face. Scout's honor, you would have thought he never seen a tear. Well, on my face, he hadn't.

"Really?" he asked, as if the director said that he should try his response a different way. We'd just take the scene over. I nodded. "Hot dog! I did never think nothin' was gonna happen 'round here," he exclaimed. That began the ruckus. And can you guess you started it? It was none other than, three time winner of the nerd-of-the-year award, the one, the only (thank goodness!) Nigal Jacobs.

"Wh-what?" His still high voice shrieked. "Did you say kidnapped?" he asked removing his glasses to dust them.

"That's what she said," Joe S. replied.

Well that was smooth! Now, in the midst of my problem, Nigal was going to throw a temper tantrum.

"B-but," his lips quivered.

"Here comes the flood," warned old Joe.

"Take cover!" I added.

"What if he takes me? I'm too young to die!!" burst Nigal.

"Don't worry, nobody can put up with you long enough to "Kidnap you," he called as he paced back and fourth in front of us.

"You're darn right," Joe sighed, holding his sides from splitting laughter. Then Nigal ran to the only thing he'd even known to comfort him.

"Mommy!" he shrieked. "Th-th-there's a kidnapper and he's going to get me," he wailed, now sobbing so hard he could barely speak. Meri Jacobs came running out of the office where she worked and flung herself in Nigal's direction. Joe S. stopped laughing, at the site of his boss.

"Howdy there, Miss Jacobs," Joe straightened from the waist up. But Meri wasn't watching.

"Oh, it's all right darling. Here, I brought you Theodore," she coaxed, sticking a poor, worn, brown bear's arms open for Nigal to hug. "I'll protect you from that boogie man of yours," she added. She wiped the tears from the lenses of Nigal's glasses and patted him on the back, whisking him away in her long skirt.

After our short tantrum break, Joe and I returned to our prior state of panic.

"Well, there ain't nothin' I can do for you at this time of night. I suggest that you get some sleep and I'll see what I can do in the mornin'."

On that note, I sagged back to room 1288, by way of course, of Joe Jr. and the elevator___.

It wouldn't be the night of my Mother's alleged demise, if I didn't toss and turn. Finally I semi-enjoyed all the things I had always wanted to do. I sat 'way too close' to the TV , eating orange food products. I sent for the 24 hour room service at three in the morning. The service attendant, who appeared to be half asleep, opened his eyes wider when I signed Mother's account number to the bill. Scout's honor, the news of Mother's napping had spread fast and to a vast number of audiences. I also rummaged through the fridge to find cold Chinese food, two days old, and when I needed to wipe my mouth, I did so on my sleeve. After watching cartoons that were so bad, I was ashamed to be a citizen of the country that they were invented in. I went to the normal box. In it I kept all the things I would have in my life if I were normal. I dragged out the smaller box that contained all the taped Oprahs, that I had missed because of rehearsals or opening nights, o_r premieres.

I watched Oprah for about three hours, but around 6:00, I noticed something. Every time I did something, like wipe my mouth on my sleeve I would pause and hear Mother's voice. 'Alexandra darling, sit up straight, don't slouch' 'What's the proper thing to do?' 'Oh, why do you have to act so much like Henry, (my father,) when you could have had my genes?' At the sound of her voice I disobeyed more. I ate pickles, even though they give you bad breath.

Then it hit me. Mother's voice wasn't haunting me, I rather missed her nagging, it kept me interested. Now I had nothing but my conscience to help me decipher right from wrong, swan, from slob. I missed quarreling and bickering with her, because that was how we had fun together, that was our bond, right in front of our faces the whole time and we never knew it. And even when she put me in skirt and dresses and styled my hair, curled, crimped and cut it, even when she dragged me halfway around the world to catch an airplane to go back where we started, she was my sole companion. I had never been to school, or really gotten to know anyone my own age. She was it, and I had to find her.

At 7:00 I heard people in the rooms around me begin to get up, but I lay awake in bed, thinking. Now that my mother was gone, I needed her more than I would ever know and she needed me, so desperately, that I would stop at nothing to find her, get her back and restore her. I dozed on and off for 15 minutes and then arose wearily, without having had enough sleep. I ordered a hot chocolate from room service, with the works. Whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, mocha flavor, with four marshmallows at the bottom, with M&Ms inside.

I sipped slowly, think of the past events, but I was so tired that nothing of interest came to mind. I decided it was better not to be alone, just in case the napper was a Plaza guest. So I called the front desk and got Mrs. Clark.

" Hello, the Plaza _Hotel, New York, how can I help you?" She asked.

"Yes, I would like to be connected to information please," I yawned into the phone.

"Alex sweetheart, is that you?" she asked and I could almost feel the warmth of her voice through the phone.

"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly.

"I'll put you right through." There was a pause on the phone and then James Earl Jones came on.

"Welcome to Bell Atlantic," the recording boomed. Then a high pitched:

"What city?"

"Yonkers," I answered in a childish voice that embarrassed me.

"What listing?" the Barbie voice squeaked.

"Ray Collins," I said more clearly this time. But my mind was racing with different questions; should I call? What if he's a suspect? But what if he can help me? Or hurt me? By the time I actually listened to the phone w_e were up to:

"Once again, the number that you've requested is, area code (816) 321-1212 can be automatically dialed by pressing one, or saying yes at the tone."

"Beep."

"Yes," I said with the phone shaking up and down. Yes, I should call and trust someone. The phone rang seven times before the machine picked up.

"This is Collins, leave it at the beep." I decided that if I left a message, then later found out that Collins could be a suspect, then I wouldn't want him knowing that I was alone. So I hung up. I proceeded to call Veronica much against my will. Fortunately her phone had been temporarily disconnected, most likely because she'd been out late last night.

I wracked my brain for other people that I could call. Unfortunately the only one that came to mind was Jacques.

"Bonjour!" he sang into the phone.

"You probably don't remember me. I'm Alex, Vivian Manonka's daughter," I said flatly, removing the hello, or greeting from my sentence.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget?" he answered.

"Yeah well," I said stalling and wiping my sweaty palms on my fleece P.J. bottoms. "I've got some bad news, Mother, Vivian, has been kidnapped. She's vanished and she's nowhere to be found." There was almost no pause before Jacques responded.

"Sacré bleu! When did this happen?" he asked.

"Late last night," I answered, sinking into an overstuffed chair. That remark was followed by what I believe were curses in French.

"Well you need to be supervised by an adult," he added.

"Veronica?" I prayed he'd say no, that she wasn't responsible.

"I said an adult," he chuckled and I put in a giggle here and there. "Have you tried Ray?"

"Ray?" I drew a blank.

"Excusay moi, monsieur Collins," he corrected.

"Yeah he's not in," I sighed.

"Nonsense! He doesn't answer his phone until say, 12 noon, but he is home. I will send you a taxi cab and we shall seek Collins together." He sipped something, coffee probably, one of those fancy Italian roasts that the fashion designers are forever drinking.

"Nonsense!" I cried mimicking him. "I'll get ready on my own time and James'll drive me over in the limo," I said with a smile.

"Bon, petite enfant! I shall await your arrival," he stated and then there was a dead line. Suddenly, my mind raced with what I was doing, dragging all the adults into this ordeal. This caper I could solve on my own. I wouldn't have anyone saying "sit up straight Alexandra" "don't slouch Alexandra" "don't wrinkle your skirt" "wear something nice" "be quiet Alexandra!" No! None of that. The adults could supervise me, but they couldn't keep me from finding my mother.

The sharp ring of the dial tone hit my ears. Then silence, followed by three high pitched beeps, each higher than the first.

"If you would like to place a call, please hang up and try again," the fake, recorded voice came on.

Well, enough of that, I thought shaking it off. My chariot awaits. I proceeded to take a shower, change into a pair of ripped jeans and a ribbed, white turtle neck. Then signed Mother's name to room service again, I had an everything bagel with salmon cream cheese and of course, one Altoid mint. Then I called 555-5460 (555-LIMO), the car service at the Plaza. Then extension 52637 (James).

"Yo, James' car, can I help you?"

"This is Alex are you free?" I asked wanting him to say yes, not only to get the comfort of the limo over a cab, but to enjoy James' company.

"Alex-Alexandra Manonka?" He choked on whatever he was eating, usually doughnuts.

"Yeah," he sounded bewildered.

"I don't have you down until," there was a pause and rustling of papers, most likely a calendar. "Until 5:00, for your Mother's rehearsal," he said.

"Well, she's been napped, taken," I casually threw out.

"Wh-what?" he gasped.

"Let me finish," I said clearing my throat. "So she won't be making that rehearsal, so I need a ride to Jacques' place, that's were I'm staying, temporarily," I said looking for something light to wear over my turtleneck, in the brisk weather.

"Anyway, I've got it under control," I said lying through my teeth. "Jacques live a block over from Collins," I continued.

"Yeah, okay, I'll meet you out front, bye," stuttered an obviously confused James. Another dial tone, this time I hung up.

I hopped into the elevator and got my first sympathetic look of the day, from Bill, another bell-hop, who I found was also quite intrigued by my tape recorder, which still hung from my belt loop. He seemed to really want to help and show empathy, but not much can be done in a two minute elevator ride.

It had run out of tape on the first side, and only a small portion of the second side remained. I decided to save it for when a suspect was speaking.

Stuffing my hand in my pocket I got my second sympathetic look, from Mrs. Clark. Then, when I was going out of the revolving doors, Joe S. tipped his hat and gave me my third in 10 minutes.

James pulled up right away, and when I got in, I happily saw my duffel bag. I always had my duffel bag packed with three days worth of clothes, just in case. The ride was pleasant and quick. Soon I was clambering up the stairs to the speaker, so that I could be let into Jacques' apartment. The board read: Jacques Tardy-128, so I rang the buzzer marked 128 and got a flustered Jacques.

"Bon Jour. Petit enfant, is that you?" he asked.

"Yeah, can I come up?" I asked.

"Well, I was one the phone, with a sick friend, and we were having a private conversation..." Jacques began.

"That's fine," I helped him finish. "James and I will be waiting in the limo."

"Marci, merci beaucoups, petit enfant," Jacques_ was relieved.

I was rather overjoyed. I had been meaning to talk to James about the suspects, he's just the kind of person I can trust, I'm sure of it. I tugged at the small heavy limousine door.

"Not ready?" asked James.

"Nope. But James?" I questioned.

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you about the suspects?"

"Sure!!" he said taking a huge leap from the drivers seat to the row of three seats in front of me. "I need some serious excitement. The most excitement I've had all week was the fender bender on 52 and 3rd and that made me 25 minutes late," I giggled. He was making me feel better already. "So shoot," he said taking his hat and flipping it backwards as he often did when none of his formal clients were around.

"Well, here are the people who have decent motives: Jacques, Mr. Collins, Monica and Veronica," I offered.

"What motive do they have?" James asked propping himself into a more comfortable position.

"Well, everything about Jacques is mysterious, he seems to be faking that he likes mother, maybe he's after something else, but had to get rid of my mother along the way. Or he could have had something to do with Frank's disappearance. Then there's Monica. She was pretty steamed when Mother was cast over her. Listen to what she said yesterday at rehearsal." I hit the play button on the tape recorder.

"Of course, the real Juliet ****," I cut off as the cusses came on. James stuck his index finger in his mouth and then touched it to the leather seat.

"Sssss," he made the sound effects as if it were sizzling water. "Cool off!"

"Yeah," I giggled. "If Mother was kidnapped the Tuesday before opening night, on Friday, Monica would be front and center. Then there's Mr. Collins. He and Mother were fighting about how well her lines were coming. If she were going to stink up the show he'd want her out of there. And don't forget Veronica. It's obvious that Mother is going to fire her after this show closes and it would look much better on her resumé if Vivian disappeared, rather than Vivian fired her. Or maybe she wants to nab her and then return her and look like the hero so she won't be fired." I finished.

"Wow," James replied. "What an all-star line-up. Do you have any idea who it was?" he asked rocking back forth on the leather seat, making a squeaking noise in the virtually new limo.

"Well no, but I know this much. She was probably carried off delirious. Otherwise, she would have recognized them. I didn't see anyone in the hallway and I know that Mother keeps her windows open at night. She says the sound of traffic puts her to sleep. The napper could have easily climbed out that window, down the fire escape and down into the busy streets. I think it was man because I heard heavy and loud footsteps," I concluded.

"Good guess-" James was cut off by a sharp tap on the tinted window.

"Bon jour Petite enfant! I’m ready! Are you there?" sang Jacques' in a hyper, over-excited voice.

"Yeah," I smiled weakly and grabbed my bag. James flashed me a quick salute and I slammed the door on his smiling face.

We hobbled silently up the stairs to the apartment building. Once at his apartment, he turned the key. He was bouncing up and down because of the cold. He had run out in his khakis and a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but the morning was brisk for early May and cloudy.

We walked into a small hallway with a tiny kitchen on the left. It had an open counter for things to be passed from the kitchen to the table, which was round and sat just outside the kitchens wall. Ten paces from the table was a three seater black leather couch. I thought that it went quite well with the wall-to-wall, hunter green carpeting. However, the snow white, over-stuffed chair in the corner clashed with the black couch. That made it look out of place. Then in the corner opposite the chair, there was a metal, winding staircase, that I knew just had to lead to the loft, any artist that even dreamed of being called artistic in New York, seemed to have a loft apartment.

"You may put your belongings on the chair, the toilet is upstairs. petite enfant, have you had breakfast?" Jacques asked.

I rolled my eyes. Here we go I thought. "Yes. I have room service," I said and suddenly my bag got heavy, so I dropped it at my feet.

"Well, then, I will eat quickly and we shall go soon." I plunked on the reject chair and took out A Wrinkle In Time. I didn't read though, I watched. I watched Jacques' every move. Unfortunately, he let nothing slide. I had begun to realize that this was going to be harder than I thought. It was starting to get obvious that if Jacques had some sort of lair where he was keeping Mother, it wasn't anywhere near here.

He set out a black place mat in front of one chair at the table. Next came a white cup and saucer from a wooden cabinet. Then a small plate with biscottis, one of danishes and one of fancy French pastries. After that, the hum of the espresso machine went on. Getting bored, I read until it went off.

He poured the espresso delicately into a doll sized cup and then brought it to the table. He sipped and nibbled, sipped and nibbled and read a book I'd never heard of called The Artist's Digest. Though I wasn't really hungry, I love to eat while I read. So, I ended up having three chocolate pastries that were pretty good and one bite of a pastry that I hated.

"Petit enfant, shall we go?"

"I'm ready as I'll ever be," I sighed jabbing my bookmark into the spine of the book, slamming it noiselessly, (it's paperback) and stuffed it into my patchwork day bag.

Jacques let me walk out first and locked the door behind us. We walked the eight musty flights of stairs to the fresh air. Jacques was now dressed more appropriately for the chilly morning. He was now wearing a gray, shin length, dress coat and a black hat that was barely visible, except for the tip, resting atop his jet black hair. I hugged myself to keep warm and I was glad that I'd brought my fleece.

The walk was a quick, cold one. Yet the silence between us was the thing that sent a chill up my spine. Though we were silent, the noise didn't cease. There were cab horns blasting, dogs barking and cats meowing. So, I was glad when we stepped into the arch of a larger apartment building and I was shielded by peace and tranquility.

We entered a huge granite lobby. It was filled to the brim with men dressed in designer suits and ties wearing long dress coats. The hustle and bustle of New York had made it here too.

Jacques stuffed his hands into the slits on his jacket that were supposed to resemble pockets and headed for the elevator. I began to think and was suddenly left behind. So I ran to catch up.

"Hey, shouldn't we check in at the front desk," I asked quizzically and panting for breath.

"No," he said nonchalantly. Scout's honor, he could have waltzed into the Plaza any day and just snatched people from their rooms. I could tell that I was going to have to get pushy, New York style.

"Well, when we get up there, let me do the talking," I said taking a huge stride to catch up with him and shoving the words into the air.

"Fantastic," Jacques stated.

After that there was a long silence, until my knuckles hit the wood on the door of apartment 712. There was a pause. I knocked again. Another pause, I hit it harder.

"I'm not bloody ready for the maid!" A muffled voice yawned.

"It is Jacques Tardy-your costume designer and Alex, Vivian's child," Jacques informed the person in 712.

"All right, come in," the__‘ voice yawned again. Jacques forced the door open. There was Mr. Collins with his bare feet on the carpet, in his T-shirt and boxer shorts.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "I thought that Alex was a boy!" he thrashed the blanket around him and huddled up into a ball.

"I'll step into the den," I offered. I sat on a stiff couch while Mr. Collins dressed and Jacques gossiped with him about the people in the cast. They kept their voices too low for me to hear, but occasionally, I heard a name or two that I knew.

When they walked in, Mr. Collins had brushed his hair and was in a pair of khakis and a white T-shirt, but he looked half asleep. There were large, red, drooping circles under his eyes and his pupils were large, like a rabid raccoon.

"Now tell me why you're 'ere," Mr. Collins said sitting back on his chair.

"Alex?" Yes! My real name!

"Sure. You see it was late last night, around 11:00 or 11:30 I heard a loud noise in my mother's room and when I looked she was gone," I replied.

"She?" He looked exasperated.

"My mother, she's been napped!" I added.

"Yeah sure and I'm Robin Leach!" I thought about doing my Robin Leach impression, (I'm actually quite good at the welcome to the lifestyles of the rich and famous,) but right now seemed like a worse time to crack a joke than a funeral.

"Non non monsieur the child speaks the truth," uttered Jacques.

"Yeah? Is that so? Prove it. I mean nappings never happen at the Plaza," said Collins.

Ah, was he defending himself? was the thought that ran through my head. There Mr. Collins let forth a lion-sized yawn. I would be tired too if I'd been out until midnight capturing actresses. I'd been staring out the window and now I mechanically turned my head back to Collins.

"I even heard her groan and sink to the floor. I thought she was rehearsing. But then it got deathly quiet, so I ran to check on her and she was gone. Plus the door was___ unlocked!" I explained.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed in dismay for a second time. "I'll call the producer and get him up here. We'll have to-"

"What about the child?" asked Jacques with sad puppy eyes.

"Well, she'll stay right here for now and then I'll have to see what Vivian's medical forms say, she'll have to go with that person because Vivian signed it."

I sighed. "Well," he said heading for his briefcase. He grabbed an over-stuffed folder and thumbed through it before finding my mother's papers. "Here they are. Let's see what they say." Over the top of the page I could see printed VIVIAN MANONKA. He skimmed the line before finding the information that he wanted.

"And Alexandra I leave in the precious hands of my beloved agent, Veronica Peppermen," read Mr. Collins. He paused. "We'll take you over after lunch."

"Nah! James'll drive me," I sighed. Staying with Veronica was certainly an unexpected and unwanted pleasure.

"Yes, but you'll 'ave to wait. If the producer says we can, we'll give the bobbies a ring, but Lenny 'as to give the final go a'ead. So we need you 'ere to talk to 'em. Capiche?" explained Jacques.

"Yeah, whatever," I mumbled not looking forward to spending more time with the possible suspects. But hey, if I didn't have to stay I would be going to a different suspect's house. So let's play, pick your doom. To pass time I stole the copy of The New York Post from Jacques' table and read the sports page to see how the Red Sox were doing. Because I moved around a lot, I could really root for any team. However, my Dad was a Bostonian and he taught me to play. So I feel like rooting for the Red Sox is really right, and I'm sure that this year they're going all the way. I had nearly finished when I jumped.

"Dedong, dedong," chimed the doorbell.

"That should be the producer," called Mr. Collins, jumping to answer the door and rubbing his palms together. He seemed to be waiting, b_racing himself, for what? I wondered as the door creaked open.

There stood a small, short man. His head was hung low and his shoulders were much higher. He slouched in a way that made the mother inside me cry. The white dress shirt that he wore was not tucked in and the last four buttons hung unbuttoned on their opposite sides. His pants were an ugly shade of brown, however his shoes were a polished black. His short pants made his white socks visible. Under his left arm he carried a clipboard with a lot of seemingly scribbles on pieces of paper, plus a pencil that had slipped itself through the top. He clutched the wood tightly against his arm, sort of a nervous habit.

On his head were a large pair of black head phones, with a mouthpiece that jutted down to his chin. It had been pushed down, enabling him to speak comfortably. Also on his head were curly strands of reddish brown hair. He had the type of hair that looked as if it hovered above the person's head rather than being rooted in. This type of hair cast a huge shadow on the producer's face. He managed a weak smile and a finger wave, but he looked worn out, an all-nighter probably. The dark circles under his eyes were very similar to the ones that still lurked under Mr. Collins' eyes.

"Hi-hi. I'm Leonard Meldelwitz, the producer," he blinked hard and long, leaving a good, long period of time when his eyes were closed. "Of the Play Romeo and Juliet."

"Yes Leonard, I know, I work with you every day," Mr. Collins quipped back in a reassuring way. "Come in and have a seat."

Leonard took the seat next to me, seeing that I was the least intimidating person in the room.

"I'm afraid that I've got some bad news," I said placing a hand on his knee, and talking the way our vet had when she told me that my hamster was not going to make it. "_Vivian, the actress that plays Juliet, has been napped, taken, and she is nowhere to be found."

"Hhhuuuu?" Leonard lifted his head as if he were coming up for air in a swimming pool and then made a gasping noise.

"We're going to call the bobbies," Mr. Collins edged in. Leonard look distraught.

"Or a private investigator," he put in to ease Leonard's pain.

"No, no, no! I want no negative publicity for the show. We're just about to open. You can get the understudy ready in time, but I don't want to push away the crowd. Don't worry, I'll think of something, after opening night and after we get the reviews that we need to m-make it. I c-can't have an investigator s-snooping around the set th-the day before we open. I'll-I'll think of something," Leonard repeated, blinking hard again. "W-we let one thing slide and we're out of a job. Al-all of us," he preached in a shaky, unconvincing voice.

Just as I'd thought, Monica was going to_ be center stage.

"Don't worry, it's alright," I coaxed. "I'll find her myself and nobody will ever know she was gone." I tried to read the expressions on the faces of Jacques and Mr. Collins. But Mr. Collins' face was blank, he was obviously lost in thought. Jacques looked as if he thought that I was just saying that to get Leonard over his qualm, but I wasn't. I knew I could do it. I just had to get through every piece of the puzzle.

I left shortly after Leonard did, declining the invitation to eat lunch with Mr. Collins and Jacques. I rapped on the glass of James' window in the front seat. In return it automatically rolled down.

"Hey, how'd it go? Any clues?" James asked throwing aside his copy of The New York Post sports section.

"Not anything major, other than I'm sure neither one of them had her in their apartments. They seemed a little on edge, but that's normal before an opening, even Mother was like that." I told James.

"Really, the queen of cool?" James asked.

"You bet._ I mean that's not saying that they're innocent, but if they have her, it's not in either of their apartments. They didn't seem like they wanted to know where I was going. So if they have her then she's not in a place they think I would go in my spare time or any time that they wouldn't be there to supervise," I trailed off as I began to mumble.

"You know, you could use some food for thought," James added as a contagious half smile spread across the rest of his face. "I'll pop you through the McDonalds drive thru," James added raising his eyebrows. "Come on, my treat. Enjoy your freedom. At this rate, you're going to find your mother soon," James reassured.

"Oh, alright," I sighed, tempted. "But Mother's papers say that afterward I need to go Veronica's," I said shifting my weight at the uncomfortable thought.

"Deal," it was his turn to sigh and we were off. The line at the drive through wasn't long__Î and we were half of it. We sped up to a small green speaker with a small white dot.

"Hi, welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you?" piped the teenager at the other end.

"I'd like two extra value meals," James said, reading the board and licking his lips. But those Value Meals contained more than food. They shot my spirits up. For two hours I forgot my worries, laughed the time away and altogether enjoyed the warm spring/summer weather. For the first time in a long while I smiled, not just a face smile, but a heart smile. James and I sang along to the radio and he nearly choked at my impressions of famous people that Mother and other's in her social circles talked about on a daily basis. At a quarter to one I checked my sports watch.

"We had better get going," I said exhaling hard to get out the frustration that I had about having to stay with Veronica and how much it would set me back on the case.

"Yup," James said stretching and grabbing the last of his cold french fries.

"_Sherry Netherland," I said remembering what Mr. Collins had yelled at me as I slammed the door to his temporary apartment. I tried to read during the ride, but my temples throbbed. So I poured myself a coke from the limo's bar and thought about the case.

Mr. Collins had been quick to say that it was all a joke. That was a pretty good sign that he had something to hide. But he and Jacques could be together. Or he could be using Jacques or Jacques could be using Mr. Collins, like a hostage! There were too many possibilities. James braked halfway under the hotel's large breezeway.

"I'm just a call away at the Plaza," he reminded me. "Let me know when you need a lift." He tipped his hat and then raced to my side of the car to open my door. (He's always a big show-off when the Sherry Netherland limo drivers and doormen are watching.) I stepped out gingerly, giving the place a once over with a sour expression on my face.

"Goodbye James," I said craning my neck back to face him.

"Goodbye Al, stay safe," he squeezed my shoulder, flowing warmth into me. Then he hopped into the car and drove away honking.

"Dat da du da dut dut, dut dat," I waved and a gust of cold wind blew and I scuttled to get the automatic, revolving door. I slowly approached the front desk which was slightly shorter than the Plaza's.

"Sherry Netherland. What can I do for you?"

I smiled meekly and tried to get more color in my face, but I knew that my sallow complexion was showing through.

"I'd like to know which room Veronica Pepperman is staying in. I'm here to visit her," I said looking the woman behind the desk straight in the face, which I can't usually do because I'm vertically challenged.

"One moment," she answered. She was short, thin and somewhat frail looking. Her skin was dark brown, but her hair jet black and was styled in layers. "Could you spell that please?" she asked. Uhh! At the Plaza things were so much easier.

"Capital V-E-R-O-N-I-C-A space, capital P-E-P-P-E-R-M-A-N."

"Oh, yes."_ She ran her finger across the computer screen to which she was transfixed. Her eyes darted back and forth as she read across the list of names. "Here we are, room 421," she said looking back up at me.

"Thank-you," I said as I slung my bag back onto my shoulder and went jogging off toward the elevator with my tape recorder bouncing along on my leg.

I got into an empty elevator. It too had a bell-hop in a similar uniform as the ones worn by the bell-hops at the Plaza, except there was a metal piece sewn in to the chest of his suit. It read:

"Four please," I said to Aaron who was lackadaisically leaning against the button board. When he got up, he had already pushed 15. By the time he got around to violently pressing the four button, nearly jamming it in, we were already headed to the 15_th floor. I sighed and he shrugged.

"I'm so sorry miss, I mean ma'am. It's my first day today and...," he gave me a pleading look of insecurity.

"It's okay," I reassured him. On an impulse, I sifted through my jeans pocket and pulled out two quarters. I tossed them at him. "I like to ride to the top anyway," I said bluntly lying through my teeth.

Once we reached the 15th floor, the door opened and seeing no one waiting for an elevator, Aaron hit the four button and the doors closed again. We waited for the elevator to descend. Instead, we heard a loud clip. The elevator slanted sharply to the left and I was thrown from my feet, as was Aaron. Another clip. Aaron's face went a pale, sickly white and we both knew what was happening. Someone, was clipping the elevator cords, one at a time. It was only a matter of time before we crashed down 15 flights and died. They must be standing on the roof, I thought as Aaron started to shake with fear. I had to do something.

I knew exactly what I could do, if I were at the Plaza. Joe Jr. had once showed me. In the far right hand corner there's a square that's barely visible. If you punch the square right in the center a red lever pops out and then you pull the red lever as hard as you can and a solid steel platform, capable of holding 3.5 tons will come out on each floor and catch you.

Though the light was dimmed from the cords being cut, and it might be dangerous to go to the unstable end of the elevator, I crawled on all fours to the right hand corner on a seemingly stupid impulse. Once over there, I looked back to see how Aaron was doing. He was down on his knees too, praying.

There to my awed surprise, I saw the outline of a square in the dimness. I gave a hard jab with my right fist and sure enough a red lever came out. I made a mental note to thank Joe Jr. if I came out alive.

I tugged at the red lever. Then from somewhere above I heard loud_ banging noises. Someone was walking up there and they were coming to Aaron's side. In a few moment the whole elevator was going to plummet. I estimated that there were only three of the strongest elevator cords left to hold us up. I pulled harder then I knew how. The last cord was clipped and we began to plummet. I left my stomach on the 15th floor and the blood had now completely drained from my face. After a split second of sheer terror, we came down onto a platform. Hard, with a thud, we both landed on our stomachs.

I dusted myself off as the door opened.

"Wow," said a wide eyed Aaron. "Isn't it ironic?"

"What?" I asked. I couldn't see anything ironic about plummeting in an elevator.

"That we died on our way to the fourth floor and so our heaven looks like the fourth floor of The Sherry Netherland," he glowed with peace.

"Nutcase," I mumbled under my breath and turned to leave. Veronica's room was only three paced down the hall. I punched the buzzer with my knuckle.

"Mmt," came a voice that sounded like water.

"Veronica! Open the door!" I cried over a bubbling coffee pot. I heard a clink and the door popped open. Veronica stood there licking her newly polished fingers and looking me over skeptically.

"Who are you?" she asked quizzically. She took a large bite of the second half of her sesame bagel topped with cottage cheese. Picking at her teeth with one hand and with the other on her hip she continued. "Look, I already gave to charity." She said this with a smile that gave me a feeling in my mouth that I get when I think of chalk and people running their fingers down a blackboard.

"Short term memory lost," I mumbled under my breath. However, directly to Veronica I said, "I'm Alex Manonka, Vivian's 12-year-old daughter." I stretched my hand out to shake hers in a manner of politeness that would have made Mother proud. But Veronica was not set on shaking my hand, so I retracted it back to my side.

"If you don't mind, like, why are you here?" She turned from me to her bagel and took another huge bite that sent cottage cheese down her chin. She wiped it off. Seeing that I wasn't about to get an invitation, I took my bag off my shoulders and sat down across from Veronica.

There was a large plant as a centerpiece. As I cleared my throat to speak, I shoved the plant aside to look Veronica in the face. I proceeded to spill everything toward Veronica. But she just ate and nodded her head so much that I thought it might pop off.

"That's terrible! " she replied, mouth still full.

"Anyway her papers say that I'll be staying here until we find her," I explained.

"Here?" She asked wide-eyed. Veronica stopped mid-chew.

"Like I'm babysitting?" she gasped.

"Hey, you signed the papers," I sneered.

That was a great conversation ender. I stared out the window. There was a soft window seat that I took too. The first thing I thought was that I just lived through a freak accident, or an attempted murder. But who? Veronica was a total suspect. She lived here. But either of the men or both together could have easily followed me. James and I never looked back. Plus they both could be very discrete. Was Monica slipping out of the picture?

"Say Veronica, where is Monica staying?" I asked.

Veronica swallowed her seltzer. "Ya mean the understudy? She's staying here, at the Sherry Netherland. But she's way up on the 15th floor," Veronica told me.

Yikes!! It looked like I'd just have to make a quick stop by the penthouse. I tried to relax. I watched the cars at the intersection from the sitting room window. I watched a group of children cross the street from the all girls' Jewish day school. They were crossing from their playground to the Temple across the street. It had two large stained glass windows. One was of a Menorah and the other of a vibrant yellow, Star of David.

"Oh, my g-d!" I shrieked.

"What?" choked Veronica.

"Mr. Robbins, my tutor was supposed to come at 11:00 a.m.," I wiped my furrowed brow. "What am I going to do?"

Veronica stayed calm and pulled out a cell-phone and flipped it open. I dialed at the speed of light and right after the first ring I got an enraged Mr. Robbins.

"Alex is that you?" he didn't wait for an answer. "You are one of my brightest students and you have a great personality but sometimes you drive me crazy! We had an appointment at 11:00 a.m. It is now five minutes after two. Where have you been? What is going on?"

"Well, I had some things to take care of. But now I'm at the Sherry," I explained.

"The Sherry?" he questioned.

"The Sherry Netherland, New York, Alexandra Manonka reporting for duty sir!" I jabbed a salute into the air even though he couldn't see it.

"Uhhg! That's 20 minutes out of my way!" he yelled.

I decided that I needed to get away from Veronica and that maybe a little reverse psychology would be in order.

"Fine then. Let me sit here, watching cartoons, reading comics that are pointless, letting my brain melt to mush...," I sighed. smiling to myself because I knew it was working.

"Alright! I can take a hint when I hear one. I'll see you in 25," and he hung up.

Veronica was on the couch with popcorn watching Jerry Springer. I decided that this was the perfect moment to sneak off and pay Monica a little visit. I took the stairs this time, just in case. I had to drag my bag behind me because my shoulders hurt so, but I finally made it.

"Bzzzzzz," screeched the doorbell and the door was flung open.

Monica looked disappointed. She was wearing tight bell-bottoms with flowers embroidered on the pockets and down the bottom. She was wearing a black t-shirt that exposed her belly button and over that she wore a see-through, white, long-sleeved shirt. In her blonde hair she wore clips that were barely visible, unless the sun hit her head, then the tiny diamonds shone.

"Oh, I thought you were my agent," she sighed.

"No. I'm staying with Veronica because..." I trailed off and she winked.

"Come on in. Mi casa es su casa," she smiled.

"Well, I can only stay a little while," I said, silently delighted. "My tutor is is coming in 15 minutes."

"You must be totally bored with it. I could spend my entire life at the mall if I had all my make-up, giggle, giggle. Do you play checkers?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound like I wanted information out of her.

"I'll be right back," she said as she scurried off to get the checkers.

Yes!! I had time to snoop. I plunked down at the table. To my horror and surprise, there sat a gigantic pair of shearing scissors, just the kind you could use to, oh, say, clip some elevator wires!

Monica was back in a flash, quick enough to see me fingering the shears.

"Oh, darn, I should have put those away," she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She snatched them from me.

"Wh-what are they?" I stammered hoping to make her nervous, at least as nervous as I was.

"Gardening shears, it's a hobby," she explained.

"That's nice," I said with a painted-on smile.

We played for ten minutes and I beat her guts. I used her bathroom, (hoping to snoop,) and then left.

I returned to Veronica's room and looked out the window to see Mr. Robbins' sports car pulling up to the hotel. Pulling on my Tommy Hilfigures, I clomped down to meet him.

After I did, he took the elevator and I took the stairs back to Veronica's room.

"We'll have our lesson in the bedroom. The street noise is not as bad in there," he stated.

In no time at all, I was so bored that I wanted someone to attempt another murder.

"Alright Alex, I know that you're not listening," he sighed wearily and tweaked his mustache, as he often did.

"Scout_'s Honor, yes I was," I replied indignantly, trying to sound like I wasn't talking back. I sat up straight, crossed my ankles and made an effort to smile, as I had been taught in charm school. That was Mother's last resort before Mr. Robbins.

"Yes, you were, were you? Then it would be easy for you to tell me where the geographical center of the country is, seeing that's what we've been talking about for the past ten minutes," His brow furrowed and sweat dripped from his forehead. The sleeves of his dress shirt had already been rolled up. Teaching seemed to be his form of exercise.

"New York?" I guessed.

"Ha ha," laughed Mr. Robbins without any enthusiasm. "South Dakota. Anyway, we should be doing something that you want to do. Or something you'll at least pay attention to," he grabbed his math textbook and notebook, expectant of my answer.

"French. I want to learn French," I said.

"French, why on_ Earth do you want speak French?" questioned Mr. Robbins.

To Mr. Robbins I said:

"Mother might star in a movie set in Paris and I want to be able to speak the language."

To myself I thought, if Jacques did it, it would be easy for him to write or speak in code. Not many New Yorkers speak French, and the ones that do wouldn't care. If I could speak French, then maybe I would crack the code.

"Alex, you know that I fluently speak, Swedish, Spanish and Latin, not French," he replied jumbling through his briefcase, before pulling out a tape deck labeled, Languages. In it there were boxes labeled, French, Spanish, Latin and Roman. He pulled out the box labeled French and grabbed the tape marked 'Important French expressions and sentences for beginners'.

He put the tape in the tape player next to him and turned the volume way up.

"Important French sentences and expressions," sang the tape. The word French was in a different voice, meaning that it was a recording for all the language tapes that Mr. Robbins had in his box. "Our first sentence is; 'where is the train station?'. Please recite the sentence in English first." Mr. Robbins turned to me as if to say 'I told you so!'.

"Where is the train station?"

"Now in French. Ou, est, la, gare? Now you try. Ou est la gare? Where is the train station?"

But I didn't answer, nor recite what the tape had asked. My mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about the escape method of the napper. Had they already, or were they in the process of skipping town? Or were they going to hang around for whatever "reward" came from taking Mother? Monica, for example, would stick around to star in the show. Jacques would skip town and probably go back to Paris. I had to focus on the case, what was I wasting my time here for? Well I guess I should put it more politely, when I tell Mr. Robbins that. I realized that I hadn't answered the question and without thinking I mumbled. "Four score and· seven years go, our forefathers put forth this nation."

"Alex that's it! I'm out of here! Snap out of it before Monday and this time, try to be at the Plaza!" He stormed off only looking back to pick up the cord to the tape player which had gotten caught in the door as he slammed it. I left the bedroom and went into the sitting room to find Veronica asleep and snoring in front of CNN News.

I let her nap and I went into the bedroom to snoop. I searched everywhere for even the slightest clue. From under her bed to her desk, nothing. I plunked down at her vanity, exhausted from the past day's events. I yanked open the largest drawer to find more make-up than I'd ever seen in one place.

But the labels didn't say Maybilene or Cover Girl on them. They were some language that I couldn't read. I was about to give up and check out the indoor pool when I heard Veronica behind me, clearing her throat. I looked up and she towered over me in her platform shoes.

"So brat, tell _me what it is that you're doing?" She leaned her weight against the hand on her hip and clenched her jaw.

"I wanted to see your legendary make-up collection?" I gave her a big, fake, toothy grin. Then I cleared my throat. "I've been meaning to ask you," I said in a stern and serious voice. "Why don't you use the normal brands, like Cover Girl?"

"Me? Are you kidding? I wouldn't use that cheap American stuff on this face," she cried throwing her head back into a model-like pose. "For me, only the best, imported from Italy," she protested.

Scout's honor, what a snob! She frowned at me, obviously annoyed. "Don't you have homework to do or something?" She squinted in my direction.

"BUG OFF! I'll do it when I want-"I was about to add something nasty, when the phone rang and Veronica snatched it before I could.

"Hello," she snapped in her bratty teen-like accent. She paused and snapped her gum hard. "Yeah, she's right here," she said glumly and handed me the phone.

"Hello?"

"Collins," said the voice on the other end of the line. He cut to the chase. "You want tea at the Plaza?"

"Sure!" I cried, anything to get away. "James will bring me." I looked at my watch, it was ten minutes until four. "I'll see you in ten minutes," I added.

"Cheerio then," he replied.

"Corn flakes!" I laughed in good humor. I grabbed my bag and left a baffled Veronica with the phone.

James was perched against the limo, snacking on a huge, jumbo ballpark frank.

"Hey Alex!" he cried with his mouth full, splattering ketchup, mustard and relish everywhere.

"The men, (as I refer to them,) have invited me to tea at the Plaza," I announced in my prim and proper, I'm brought up very well voice.

"Whoopee! We're free," he slammed me a high five and I hopped into the back seat.

I proceeded to tell him about my death-defying elevator ride. After that, and after revealing my newest clues, which were very scarce, there was nothing much left to talk about. We hit traffic where a truck had rolled over. That made me 15 minutes late.

I unzipped the bottom part of my bag and searched for a pencil to do the crossword puzzle in The New York Post. My fingers found something else instead, A zip lock bag. I pulled it out as we started to move again. The bumper to bumper traffic began to lighten up. Inside the bag was a perfectly round chocolate chip cookie.

"How sweet!" I cooed.

"What?" asked James, sticking his tongue out as we rounded a sharp right turn.

"Monica. She felt so bad that I had to stay with Veronica, so she must have slipped this cookie in here for me. At least, I think it was her. I don't remember having a cookie in my bag," I thought aloud.

"You better let me check it for poisoning," said James, like he always did when he wanted a bite of something sweet of mine.

"Alright," I sighed, "You can have a piece."

"No! I was serious. You said that someone was trying to kill you, right?" James continued.

"Yeah," I said.

He rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh, my g-d!" I cried. I could have been food poisoned. We rolled to a halt and I gave a him a giant hug. "Thanks."

"Of course, if you still want part of that cookie," James said. He ran around to my side to open the door for me. "I know just the way to test my theory."

I grabbed my bag and followed him as he waddled over to one lone pigeon. Gingerly, James broke off a piece of the cookie near the top.

The fat pigeon gobbled it up and looked smug that he'd gotten it all to himself. He waddled in a small circle before falling lifelessly to the ground. I gasped and dropped to me knees, checking the bird for any signs of life.

"Who do you think did it?" James asked stuffing his small hand into his large pockets.

"Well, I went to the _bathroom in Monica's place, giving her plenty of time, plus she had those garden shears. But Veronica had all the time in the world when I was at my lessons," I frowned.

"The men could have put it in before you left and wanted you to find it on your way back here so that they could get rid of your food poisoned body," James added with his own grim frown.

I picked myself up off the ground, waved and whooshed through the revolving doors.

I clipped my V.I.P card to my belt loop and flashed it at Bernard, while searching for Mr. Collins and Jacques. Jacques gave me a full arm wave, (which embarrassed me to death.) I sat down quickly.

"Salue, petite enfant," greeted Jacques.

"Salue!" I said trying to sound impressive, even if I didn't know what he was saying. For all I knew, he could have said "by the way, I have your mother," but I think it was a greeting.

"Bon Petit enfant!" he said in response to my French. "_The waiter already came and I ordered you a Shirley Temple-no cherry."

"Thanks," I beamed. But was he just trying to throw me off track, or get on my good side?

I opened my bag to look for my chapstick. My lips were still chapped from the winter. When I did, I saw the most disturbing sight I'd ever seen. It was a note, no doubt from the cookie giver. It read:

The note was typed and the font was not distinct. It had to be from whomever put that cookie in my bag, either Monica or Veronica, I thought. But don't rule out the men, I added as a mental note. The best way to tackle this was to play devil's advocate. If Monica or Veronica did it, they had plenty of time. But the men could have placed it there before I left and I wouldn't have noticed. They might have called me to tea to make sure that I'd gotten them or they would have gotten me to notice in some discrete way.

Suddenly I zoomed out and realized the matter at h__‹and. A pit! She could be anywhere. Dead or alive. I didn't dare show the note to the men. If they were the ones that had sent it, they would know that their plan had worked, or that it was bothering me. Plus, if I was going to crack the case, I wouldn't want any of the suspects to know that I was trying. If they knew someone was on their trail they would probably move Mother somewhere else. The way this whole thing was looking, if I didn't find mother soon I'd be dead meat.

I sat through tea, sipping my Shirley Temple and making small talk. I tried to get information, without giving myself away, but it was difficult and in the end, I gave up. When Mr. Collins brought up politics, I was sipping the last of my Shirley. I watched the people walking in the garden, until the sun sank to my eye level and it was uncomfortable. Then I set my gaze on puny Nigal, as he cried to his Mother over the loss of a toy. The waiter returned and the men got another round of tea and coffee.

The orchestra struck up and I did my usual listening to the fast movements. During the slow movements I love to watch the players' bows sway back and forth and to look at the expressions on the players faces. They played a slow, sad movement that made me think of Mother and I watched through a veil of tears. I was glad that they were in view and had a stage.

Then I stood up so hard that I knocked over my chair and I dropped my cup and saucer. They shattered on the expensive oriental rug, tea and all.

"Oh my g-d!" I shrieked. "I've got it!!!!" I shouted into the dead silent tea room. Mr. Collins actually grabbed me by the wrist. Suddenly I was embarrassed. 75 pairs of eyes were transfixed on me. If there's a hotel in the world that loves to gossip more than the Plaza, let me know. I smiled meekly and on my command, we dashed to the garden.

"What? What do you know?" panted Mr. Collins, relieved to be away from the staring eyes of the other guests.

"I know where Mother is," I searched their faces for expression. Both of them straightened their slouched positions, but their faces were blank. James, who'd seen us come dashing out, came running.

"What's up?"

"I know where she is," I beamed. "You've got to take me to the theater, right away," I told James.

"Pedal to the metal," James cried and hopped in. I pulled the door open. Jacques stuffed his right hand in his pocket and scratching his left ear, looked away. Mr. Collins tried to answer for both of them.

"Ah, well we, you know, we've, we, we're not coming," he said finally and waved as I slammed the door. As James hit the gas, I sat back hugging the tip of a pillow. I rocked back and forth. A tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach meant I was nervous.

I had a disorder as a child, always being nervous. I had pretty much overcome it, seeing that I was tracking down the person that was potentially trying to murder me. But instead of being nervous often, when I got nervous I could go as far as making myself sick. It helped the nannies that I had as a child. I never ran into the streets or did anything rash because I was too nervous. I, (by myself and without Mother's funding,) bought books on calming down. A lot of them said to try to focus on other things. I tried desperately not to think about the case. I tried breathing patterns. In, in, in, out, in, I thought. In, in, in, out, in. Next I tried my hands. My right with a steady beat and my left waiting three seconds between each hit. Then I tried to recite my memorized speeches under my breath.

"Four score and seven years ago," I mumbled. "om, oh yeah. Our fore father put forth this great nation..." I tried the Constitution. "We the people of the United State, in order to form a more perfect union," we skidded to a halt and I was out the door before James had replaced the emergency brake.

"Whoa there. Hold your horses." James called, grabbing the last half of a sandwich and hopping out. it took him a couple of tries though, because he still had his seat belt on.

When I burst into the theater, it was animated with the preparation for the rehearsal in 45 minutes. A few people looked up when the door slammed. But for the most part, business went on as usual. People were running around, scripts lay on the floor and papers off the producer's desk were flying everywhere. Lights were flashing and people were dragging costumes, sets and props into the right and left wings. Everyone seemed to be talking at once and listening to each other at the same time.

Monica was center stage posing for Mr. Hampten, her agent. I heard her ask in her high pitched voice: "Do I look better like this?" turning to the left. "Or this?" she said turning back to the right. Because the heat of the lights beat down upon her, she'd shed her jeans and was wearing a pair of short white shorts and the sleeves of her black shirt were rolled up, showing more of her tan arms. Previously Monica had worked as a lifeguard in Hawaii.

Two muscular, long haired, men walked through center stage, blocking my vision with the sunset backdrop that they were carrying. They brushed past, nearly knocking Monica over. She leaned back and the second man bumped the sleeve of his shirt against her face.

"Make-up!" she whined. Immediately after hearing her cry, came two, heavily made-up, young women. One carried a large red director's chair, the other a huge, tan, make-up case in her hand. Monica dusted her hand as she sat down with her leg protruding off the stage. She hit her heels against the stage waiting for the make-up crew to set up.

The folding chair was opened, after which the_ blonde-haired woman ran to get a light, which she hooked up. This caused the dark haired woman to whip out brushes. And Monica hopped in the director's chair. The brushes began to fly through the air. Monica noticed me and walked away, leaving the woman with the brushed still wiping through the air.

"Hey," she waved. "What's up?" I brushed past her without answering and though there were little pang of doubt in my stomach, I proceeded onto the stage. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Monica shrug and return to being pampered.

There was plenty of commotion on the stage, which I ignored and moved to the front and center of the extension stage, which was to the left of the stage. In most performances, the extension stage was used as an orchestra pit, but this play had no music of that sort, it was a rap. What the napper had meant by pit, was the orchestra pit! The way I see it they're not trying to kill Mother, just make her disappear for a while, so the pit was out of the ordinary.

I knelt. There had to be a loose board somewhere. My heart pounded. Ahh! There it is, I remembered the theater manager promising to fix it when the play rehearsals first started. They're like landlords. I knew they wouldn't do it and that's the only way that my hypothetical explanation could work. If the napper had to loosen the board him/herself, then it would make too much noise. The night crew would notice, assuming that such an event could only take place at night. They had to use the board that was loose. They had to be totally sure. Only someone like Mr. Collins, who'd been lobbying to get it fixed would know such a thing like that off the top of his head. Unless someone had been studying.

I tugged_ hard at the board and it popped open to the left. I noticed the hinges had been placed on the other side.

"Like a secret entrance, almost a door," I mumbled so only I could hear. People already thought I was nuts, I could tell from the looks they were giving me, talking to myself wouldn't help. I slid into the hole that was created by the absent board. That's when the spotlight was turned on me, literally.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks to form a circle, more of a crowd around the top of the hole. I looked up at them, but was blinded by the spotlight.

"Move that spotlight, we're not blind!" And a short man with a mustache complied. I saw Lenny pacing near the edge of the stage, clipboard still pressed tightly against his side.

"G-get that child out of there," he commanded looming over the hole, not attempting to come down, so I called up.

"It's important!" I said in a reassuring voice. By this time Lenny was shaking every limb in his body.

The orchestra pit where I'd landed had been sealed up long before we had arrived, which was two and one half months ago. It smelled strongly of rosin and key oil. Now that air was flowing in, it worsened the musty smell in the air. Dust blew up from all corners of the room, causing my to cough. Instinctively, I went to the closest corner, the lower right. There I saw a thin, frail figure that made my heart lighten.

But I sighed heavily as I recognized a metal music stand that looked to be entirely rusted over. I then crept to the upper right hand corner to find another figure, Mother's figure!

She was bound, gagged and sleeping. Her head was thrown way back across the top of the chair. A small rivulet of drool flowed from the corner of her mouth. On her forehead was a bloody scab, lined by a black and blue bruise that seemed to throb. That confirmed that she was delirious when she_ was captured and so she would not be much help in finding the napper. I touched the bruise ever so lightly with the softest part of my fingertip, yet Mother still awoke. She burst into an anxiety attack. She was kicking and screaming through her gag. As I untied her, she sprung to her feet ready to jump me. Her eyes adjusted and she froze, fists clenched.

"Oh, Alexandra darling," her first impulse was to embrace me. Then she pulled me back to look me over. "The horrid creature got you too?" She asked with large sad eyes.

"Of course not," I said firmly. Not yet, I wanted to add, but I didn't think it would help the situation. "I've come to rescue you," I said, nose and chin sky high. I put my hands on my hips. But then I remembered something, she'd said 'that horrid creature' if she could describe someone, I'll bet she knows who it is. "But first, finally, at long last, who took you?" My heart thumped down the stairs of my lungs.

"I.........I," she stuttered. Her brow _furrowed. "I have no idea," she touched her bruise as lightly as I had and winced. I let my breath out slowly in small huffs, it was worth a try. Her expression suddenly turned to confusion.

"How did a," she paused searching for the right words. "Youngster like you get here. Or are the police up there," she gestured toward the hole.

I patted the seat, in a motion that she should sit down. I then conveyed the story of the past day and about how Lenny, who was now frantically pacing above our heads, to the extent that it sounded like a herd of elephants, had forbid us to call the police, which was just as well for me. I went on to tell her how I'd figured out where she was, but that I need to find the napper. She flashed me a skeptical look.

"You, would do that for me?"

"For you." I squeezed her hand.

"Well Alexandra darling, come, come, let us leave the spiders in peace." She looked around nervously, her eyes darting back and forth, she was having second thoughts. "Wait."

"What?"

"Where has the napper been? Will they notice my absence, or have they left town?" she gasped in a low whisper.

"I told you before, I don't know for sure. But from the list of suspects and their motives it seems like whomever got you was trying to use your absence to their advantage. They would probably stick around, which means we have got to watch ourselves," I sighed. "And not to worry you, but whomever it is knows that I'm hot on their trail, they've already made two attempts on my life. But I'll find them and put them behind bars where they belong. However they're not giving anything away, they're too afraid to blow their cover," I explained.

Again Mother touched her forehead.

"So that's why, the napper, knocked me dead. They didn't want me to know who'd done it when I came to, just in case. Because they were planning to stay and enjoy their victory," Mother added.

I nodded.

"Alright then, I'm ready to go," Mother said.

I grabbed the base of the music stand and sprang into action. "Wait, Alexandra darling,"

"What," I asked pausing.

"I've missed you," she smiled sweetly.

"Yeah me too," I smiled back and for a moment Lenny stopped pacing and there was total silence. Then I jabbed the base of the music stand at the board next to the hole. Luckily it was infested by a clan of termites and crumbled easily. Mother watched in awe as I dragged the chair over, until it was directly under the opening.

"Come on," I gestured.

"Alexandra darling, your so self-sufficient," she said looking at me as if it were the first time she'd seen me.

"Yeah, you ready?"

"Mmmmhhmmm, sure darling," She came and stood on the chair to give me a lift up. The crowd had vanished and when I stepped up and took a huge breath of fresh air, Lenny seemed to be the only one to notice. He began to jabber on about this and that. I paid him no mind and squatted down to give Mother a hand up. She came out light as a feather, pushing herself up with a strength that I didn't know she possessed. She thereafter clapped the stage dust from her hands and stood up. That was followed by a chorus of dropping pens and pencils, the rustling of papers and a few muffled cries. The news of Mother disappearance had spread far and wide. But for once, Mother didn't seem to notice the wide, staring eyes of the other cast members and their gaping mouths. She just stood there and put her arm around my shoulder. Lenny broke the silence.

"Vivian?" he squinted through his think, black rimmed glasses. She nodded while I bent down to replace the boards in their correct places as best I could.

"B-b-b-b-but how? But when?" He gasped. He spread his arms out in total befuddlement. I chuckled at the sight, _he looked ready to do the funky chicken.

"My Alexandra found me," Mother beamed at me through eyes that I'd never seen sparkle the way they did. Her expression was one of pride, one she'd never shown me. I was caught up in the mirth of it all, so much that I didn't she the new crowd forming around us. And as Mother drew me closer and squeezed my shoulder tighter, I didn't tense up or squirm away as I did when she introduced me, yet she had a different way about her. Now she didn't introduce me as her perfect Alexandra, but put an arm around Alex.

"Ms. Manonka, will you be rehearsing today?" Lenny asked, clipboard out in front of him with his right hand itching to write something down, pencil in hand.

"Good gracious Leonard, I'm a wreck," she patted him on the shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow, lines rehearsed and poppn' ready to go." She beamed proudly at me, something she'd never done. The crowd flashed her an undecided face. "Don't worry," she seemed to answer their unasked question. She brushed her crumpled hair our of her face. "Alexandra will help me, won't you darling?" I smiled meekly, finally understanding. It was just an act, the whole change of attitude, I should just have it contributed to the fact that my mother is an actress.

She looked down at me and my chin waggled to the extent that it was barely noticeable. Mother hobbled off the extension stage stairs in the direction of her dressing room, while I took a seat in the front row. At 5:30 pm sharp, (two minutes after I sat down,) Mr. Collins and Jacques blew through the theater entrance. Jacques flashed me a wink, after which I gagged. Then they sprang into action, and I watched the comical beginnings of the dress rehearsal. Romeo, while trying to rap his part, got wrapped up in his costume, he tripped several times causing his feathered hat to whiz through the air.

Mother came out, showered, groomed and in a navy blue dress with white cuffs and navy blue stockings with matching high heels.

James appeared shortly, sensing correctly that I'd had enough time. He stood before us and did a full-body formal bend. Then, he snapped back to reality.

"Great to see you ma'am," he beamed. "Go long!" he cried dashing down the aisle. She giggled at his stupidity, no longer embarrassed and with amazing force, chucked her dirty, stained sweater at him. He caught it and we both did our own funky air zone dances. We walk out to the car and had a quick, as described by mother afterwards, jolly, ride home. Mother picked up her tiny black bag. Mother says the biggest pocketbook fashion is little. I told her that was an oxymoron and James did look it up. James drove off leaving us in a cloud of overweight pigeons.

"Good day James. See you tomorrow, noon sharp," she waved limply, as if her wrist joint were becoming loose.

Mother tossed a shawl around her shoulders. "How about an ice cream, Alexandra darling?"

"Sure," I tried to sound enthusiastic about Plaza tea room ice cream. She checked her Ti_mex.

"The Haagen Daz doesn't close for another hour," The Berlin Wall crumbles!! Mother consents to Haagen Daz!! I skipped and mother walked silently down the street. As we turned the corner, she removed a crisp $10.00 bill form her handbag.

We walked into the creamy smell of the miniature shop. The girl behind the counter had wisps of hair escaping from her braid. Her tongue sucked her black and purple, (the colors of the local high school,) braces, as she took orders as fast as possible.

The line moved rapidly. "Haagen Daz," said the high schooler behind the counter, scooping out a chunk of pistachio for an elderly couple. "What can I help you with?" she asked aiming the ice-cream scooper at a bowl of hot water and tossing it in.

"Chocolate ice cream in a cone, for her," Mother started. I smiled sheepishly, embarrassed at the fact that I was sure she wouldn't remember my childhood favorite. "For me," she scanned the board. "One kiddie size nonfat, no cholesterol, low sodium, sugar free lemon frozen yogurt." The girl blinked, before beginning to fill the order.

We walked home. This time eating kept us silent. The doorman let us in, smiling at me, happy, behind my cone. Once inside our room, Mother collapsed on her bed and I busied myself on the computer in a chat room. She'd almost dozed off, then she sat up abruptly.

"What if," I saw the fear in her eyes and she had no need to finish her sentence. I was about to open the door to my room when I had a brilliant, beyond brilliant idea.

"Wait a second, I'll be back with a non-violent way to keep us safe." I dashed into my room and flung open the closet door. There stood all four of my weapons. They were four buckets, but in my mind four anti-maidatrons in the making.

I took two in each arm and raced, buckets clanking loudly to the end of the hall. With my back, I managed to open the door to the supply closet by the ice machine. There I loaded my weapons with ammo. The first bucket I filled with car oil, in the second I put a mixture of glue and hot water and in the third I dumped birdseed and feathers and finally in the fourth some quick-dry cement and peanut butter. I raced into the room and installed them. Mother yawned and stretched.

"What on earth are you doing?' she asked, groggy and puzzled.

"If we have an unannounced visitor," I tried to put it as nicely as possible, "then they will trip over a chair sending down car oil for them to slip on. They'll go on to be doused in quick-dry cement powder and peanut butter. After which they will sample some glue and hot water, which will trigger the cement powder and then birdseed and feathers will stick to them as a grand finale." I beamed. I pulled the spare blanket out of the closet, if we did have a visitor, not only would I douse them, but I'd definitely not let them get away without a court date.

"Yeah, as long as you're sure it'll work, I'm sure," Mother said. On that note we both slept soundly.

Mother must have been the first one up. "Alexandra darling, up you go!" She raced around in her white silk nightgown, locks of newly curled brown hair hung in her face.

"What's the rush?" I asked groggily as she pulled the window wide open and took a deep breath of smog filled air.

"I completely forgot. We have brunch with Mr. Collins' mother, grandmother, and both twin sisters," she sighed and sat down on the corner of the bed.

"Scout's honor, you decided to cut down the entire family tree," I said stretching and yawning.

"Language, darling," Mother nudged, throwing open her drawers and searching for a necklace.

"Sorry," I sighed. Mother hadn't changed a bit. I got up and began to throw my hair in a ponytail.

"Alexandra darling, I don't want to argue. But...," that's when it started. Before I knew it I had a hot curling iron pressed on my hair. Mother shoved some clothes at me and 15 minutes later, I was mother's creation. Finally she opened her closet door and her full length mirror glowed with my image.

I stood there, my hair curled in a loose ponytail. I had on a blue, short sleeve sweater that had a fuzzy feel to it. A black skirt, stockings and pumps topped off the secretary look.

Mother had even dared to put make-up on me! Make-up, can you imagine? No you probably have normal parents. By any measure, I looked overdone. I had tarantula mascara, semi-dark coffee colored lipstick and brown eye shadow. Nevertheless, Mother and I were getting along better than ever, so I let sleeping dogs lie.

We walked down the hall and Mother waited for the elevator. I opted for the stairs again. I think I'm becoming paranoid. I waited loyally, like a dog, for the elevator to bing and Mother to appear. She finally did, the doors opened wide and she bid Jason good-bye. She stepped out, her shoes barely visible under her ankle length dress. The dress she wore was white cotton and freshly starched. The hem was blue satin, the collar and the end of each sleeve were the same. It was a poofy dress and by experience, I could tell that there was a mess of lace petticoats underneath. On her hands she wore short white lace gloves that form fitted her fingers, these cut off at the wrist, buttoning together with a pear on the underside of the wrist. In her gloved right hand she carried a white and off white striped, child-sized parasol, which she twirled, fidgeting. We walked toward Bernard and flashed out V.I.P cards. But I didn't feel much like an F.B.I agent with my skirt on. He began to lead us to our normal table amongst the V.I.P's, but today Mother stopped him.

"We would like a table for six on the terrace today Bernard, if you please," Mother said using her unwitting charm. She'd closed her parasol upon entering the tea room and now used it as a walking stick. We made our way outside and I heaved a sigh of the fresh air. Today, much warmer than the day before, was perfect. The sun was shining, butterflies and birds flew above my head.

Bernard showed us to a table in the shade of a large oak tree. The tree seemed to fork at a point and, had I been allowed to climb, I would have sat in the middle. We sat down and presently, four woman arrived, escorted by Bernard.

"Hello," said a woman that looked just the right age to be my grandmother. She wore a long white dress with tiny black polka-dots and she was the only one not carrying a parasol.

"Pleased to meet you," Mother, who'd stood upon their arrival, curtsied as she spoke. "You must be Jules, Ray's sister," Mother was already begging for Mr. Collins to cast her in the next play under his direction. If the women of the family had any input, this was Mother's chance.

The older woman clasped her two, large hands together and held them to her, squeezing the short, stubby fat fingers together.

"Well you have one thing right," she giggled. "I'm Jules, but I'm Ray's mother." I noticed she didn't have the same cockney accent Mr. Collins spoke with.

"We're his sisters," piped the two young looking women. They looked to be in their 20's. They both wore the same flower printed dresses and matching sun bonnets. Their parasols were at their feet in cane form. The older woman spoke again.

"This is Bianca," she gestured toward the one on her right, "and this is Violet." Violet smiled and Jules hugged them both. "They're my twins!"

"Pleased to meet you, both of you," Mother sounded confused.

"And this," Jules sighed glumly, her mood completely changing, "This is my mother, Agatha Collins." She leaned forward and whispered, "she's old, grumpy and doesn't like me much."

"That may be so, but my hearing is still intact," Agatha boomed in such a loud voice I jumped, and so deep. Jules rolled her eyes. Mother, changing the subject said, "Well, I'd like you all to meet my daughter, Alexandra."

"What a darling," Jules said, fingers twitching, threatening to pinch my cheeks.

"I'm famished. Let's eat," sighed Mother. And we sat down, my cheeks still with color intact.

The__ú meal was better than I expected. Other than the suffocating feeling my stockings gave me, I rather enjoyed myself. The food was good and Jules told the funniest stories about Mr. Collins and what not. Plus with the bright, warm, sunny spring time air, it was hard not to laugh out of sheer giddiness.

I don't believe that Agatha said a single word the whole time, but no one seemed to mind, not even her. However, the most interesting part of the brunch was not Jules' stories, it was when Mother got up and said, "Pardon me all, I must use the powder room." She stood up and tipsily bumped against the table. To the Collins' she said "New heels," to me she handed a slip of paper under the table:

EXCUSE YOURSELF NOW AND MEET ME HERE IN HALF AN HOUR.

Mother, passing notes? The rest of the time moved fast, I mainly zoned out. I thought about the case, amongst other things. I attempted to giggle at the appropriate times during Jules' stories, but for the most part failed. Bianca and Violet checked their identical Guess watches, then finally sprang to their size three feet.

"Excuse us please...," Bianca said.

"We mean not to be rude," finished Violet. Then, in unison they said, "but we must attend our ballet class," they did a pirouette and leaped away.

"I believe we shall leave also," Agatha spoke for the first time since being introduced. She pronounced each syllable carefully in her booming voice. Even though Jules and Agatha said they were leaving, Mother coaxed them into walking the grounds of a nearby park.

I hung around, helped Jordan clear, then swerved off to visit. It began with telling Mrs. Clark how I found Mother, but pretty soon a crowd had formed and it was made up of people I knew and people I didn't.

"Scout's honor, I'm nearly 20 minutes late! Mother will have a fit, bye!" I cried and waved and took off.

To my relief I saw that Mother wasn't at the tree either. I stood against the trunk for ten minutes.

"Mother, where are you?" I whispered, not meaning to speak aloud.

"Right here darling!" called Mother's voice from above. I slammed back my neck and stared into the 'seat' of the tree, there, gloves, parasol and all, was Mother. She was twirling the white parasol, again fidgeting. She motioned for me to join her. I gave her a huge roll of my eyes and then shut them for a brief moment before beginning to climb. I lunged awkwardly into the tree, correcting myself into the ladylike position Mother was seated in. I gasped for breath.

"What are you doing up here. You said by the tree not in it!" I panted.

"No rage Alexandra darling, I come up here often." I squinted at the mother I now knew was a total and complete hypocrite.

"Hold on," I squinted. "Let me see if I can roll my eyes all the way around my head," I pretended to attempt and Mother giggled, hands placed over her mouth. When she calmed down she talked seriously.

"Really Alexandra darling, I called you up here to ask you a favor."

"Oh, no! Not another favor. Look what you've done to me! My hair!" I ran my finger through my hair, my cork screw, straw like, curled up, pantene pro v styled hair. "My clothes, my earrings, my makeup!! I dare to ask, what's next?" I crossed my arms in total dismay. "What now Mother?" Now it was Mother's turn to stare at my brown eyes.

"Alexandra darling, do you really think I would do that to you?" I bit my lip.

"Well," I sighed. "You'd sure try."

"Since the napping, I've had a, um, ahh, you know-"

"Midlife crisis?"

"No, darling," Mother replied. With her gloves which she had removed she hit me on the right shoulder. "I've had a, change of image."

"Your point being?" I could tell Mother was irritated with my closed mindedness.

"Look, I want you to call me Mom," I frowned. She'd always told me that "Mom" was improper slang that people who were too lackadaisical to say "Mother" used.

"Scout's honor?" I asked, touching my forefinger and middle finger to the right side of my forehead.

"Scouts honor," she said fully saluting, something I rarely did. I crossed my ankles and sat up straight.

"Language darling," I proclaimed in my best British accent, playing Mother's role.

"Sorry," Mom thugged in her best imitation of my "American" accent. We both laughed and she helped me out of the tree. We strolled inside and Mrs. Clark rushed up to us.

"Vivian, dear I'm so glad to see you. You have a phone call on line twelve."

"Thank you Elizabeth, who is calling?"

"A man named," she pulled her thick, pink rimed, large glasses out of her huge, purple, corduroy skirt pocket. Along with it she pulled out a small piece of note paper. "Willard Smithman." She pronounced each syllable with great care.

"Oahhg," sighed Mother. I'm not a fan of Willard, my mother's lawyer either. A pretty parsimonious man if you ask me. Rather than using the hotel phones where everyone could hear her, Mother ducked into a corner and dialed his number on her cell phone. She got Willard's secretary.

"I'm sorry, Willard Smithman is on the phone with Vivian Manonka-"

"This is she," Mother said exasperatedly.

"What?"

"This is she," Mom said repeating each syllable carefully.

"Whatever," I heard the secretary say and she transferred Mom to Willard. Mother took it off speaker but from her end of the conversation I could tell there was a lot of yelling. Finally Mom forced the phone into her purse and I could hear other odds and ends that she kept in her bag, clunk with the shock of the throw.

"Willard says I have to meet him, something about life insurance. I need to leave now and I won't be back until 2:30pm."

"What a drag." Suddenly, both of our heads whipped around to face the speaker. James smiled and waved meekly. "I thought I could take Alex to the arcade while you were gone," he paused. "That is, if that's okay with you mum," he waited expectantly for her answer. James' attempt to alleviate the grief of being left alone for two hours was__· working.

"Well," she nibbled aimlessly on a finger tip, then crunched down hard. "Who'll drive me?"

"I've got my most experienced guy right on it," James spoke nonchalantly while he twirled his key ring around his index finger.

"Oh, alright," sighed Mom. James pretended to hold the revolving door for Mom, but instead his heel got caught and he hopped forward in pain, I giggled.

We waved to Mom as her limo pulled away, before taking off. The games were intense, my eyes opened wide and my fingers held tightly on the buttons. After 40 minutes of gaming we called it quits. As we left the game hall with music blasting and kids screaming, the New York streets seemed quiet and the air, that had felt warm, was a cool breeze on my cheek.

"Where to now, kiddo?" James asked as we hopped onto the leather interior.

"Home James," I said attempting a pun. He flipped his watch into view.

"I've got a better idea, We have time."

"What?" I yawned.

"Batting cages!!" he yelled.

"Alright!" James drove steadily on to the hill we were to go down, he was going incredibly fast. "James you better slow down," I mimicked Mom's tart British accent and panicked voice. He smiled in the mirror. I watched the blurry scenery with buildings that had skylines too high for me to see out the window and trees too blurred to separate. I waited for the scenery to slow down and my eyes to focus but the scenery just blurred more as we headed for an intersection, going full speed.

"James this isn't funny, hit the brakes!!" I shrieked, grabbing the white sweater that Mother had worn the night of her napping and held it close for comfort.

"I can't!" I got up to look at the expression on his face. This better not be a joke, I thought. But the expression on his face was one of sheer terror. his shoe slammed against the brake pedal and his eyes clamped shut. A rivulet of sweat dripped from his brow and his sideburns, it mixed with the drops of perspiration and tears of frustration streaming from his eyes. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had all of their color drained out of them and were turning a ghostly shade of white. My eyes closed for a moment, one heart beat worth of time and when I opened them I wished I hadn't. Because cutting into our path was an 18 wheeled, gigantic white truck.

"Scout's honor!!! We're gonna die," I shrieked. "18 wheeler straight ahead!" James' clamped eyes popped open and his pupils bulged out.

"Alex, we'll have to dive for it." I leaped to the left side of the car. "On my mark: one......, two......, three......mark! Our doors swung open in unison and the lines on the road sped past. "Jump, now!" We tumbled onto the pavement, but I only slightly bruised my left shoulder, seeing that I landed on top of James. I stood up and my dizzy vision cleared just in time to see the limo crash into the 18 wheeler, head on. Luckily, most of the car went under the truck and while the limo was totaled, the truck had very little damage.

"I love my life," groaned James, helping himself to his feet. I however, couldn't find my voice box. I looked down to see what my shaking arms held. The sweater. Dirty and make-up stained. I hadn't notice the foundation and lipstick smeared on the sleeve. Was it the napper's, or Mom's? She was unconscious, so if her head had drooped it would have come right off. But if the napper had to carry her off then their make-up could have brushed against her. And now it seems like it couldn't be either of the men, so why are they acting so mysterious. My head spun with thought.

I held it tight as James and I made our way through the wreckage. James sifted through and pulled something out. It was the brake pedal and some wires in his right hand and in his left some more wires.

"Somebody cut the wires," he said grimly. "This has gone too far. They are downright trying to murder you," James shook his head in disbelief and so did I.

"Whoever it is, there in to wire snapping," I said hoping to find clues in what I already knew. I looked at the wreckage, then the sweater.

"Look," I said showing it to James, having forgotten that he didn't know what I knew about the sweater. "It has make-up stains, that should tell me that it has to be Monica or Veronica, but I just can't rule out, Mr. Collins of Jacques. Jacques is the costume designer after all. He could have easily disguised himself and no one would even take a second look," I sighed. "But those stains could have just as easily been Mom's and that would get me nowhere," I decided not to think about it too much.

The rest of the early afternoon went slowly. James called AAA, asking them to bring us their cheapest rental and it took forever f_or them to come. When they did however, it was worth the wait. The man, who looked to be in his mid to late 20's, hopped out of a brand new, black, Volkswagen Beetle.

"Awesome!" I cried jumping up from the curb where I'd been sitting with my juice box and crackers from the local drug store. James got the keys from the man and wrote him a check from the Plaza. Before I knew it I was in the passenger seat, smelling the violets and daffodils in the flower vase that was installed in the car. We drove slowly and more happily and by 5:00 pm the Plaza was in sight.

And there was Mom, back to the sun, hands on her hips. She'd changed into a long flowered pastel dress, with a pink bow tied around her neck. James honked the horn at her and it made a funny 'awooga' noise. Mom turned away, pleading with the lord that we were not honking at her. I hopped out.

"Hi! We're ready to take you to rehearsal," I said. Unwillingly, she turned to faced me when she answered.

"Where were you, an arcade in outer space?" she demanded. I stared at the ground wondering if I should worry her. While I debated, she gestured toward the car. "And that?" She crossed her arms and over Mom's shoulder, James made a face at me.

"Oh, the beetle?" I perked up at the different angle to the story and told the whole thing to her.

"Why, that's simply awful, someone out to kill you, on account of me," she moaned with empathetic eyes. "But you could have come back with something a little more discrete than that!" She burst out, the empathy drained from her voice.

"It was the cheapest one," I bargained.

"All the more reason that I should refuse to ride in," she protested, whining like a young child.

"Ugh," I sighed. "You're being unreasonable!"

"Me, unreasonable? I will not be seen in pubic, never mind rehearsal, in a.....a.. cricket!"

"Beetle, mom," I corrected her and shoved her in the front. "And yes, you will."

I can assure you that Mom had it better than she thought. She got the front seat and I was shoved into the nonexistent back seat!! We finally reached the theater. Mom got out quickly and put on a hat, in hopes that no one would see her.

"Alexandra darling, grab that filthy sweater, the theater will dry clean it for me." I grabbed it and told James to wait, just in case.

As we entered and made our way to Mom's dressing room, she was flashed many smiles, and I was too. I even got a round of applause. I sat the sweater on a chair and took my usual seat in front. I watched the beginnings of the rehearsal through glazed eyes. The reality of the afternoon's events flowed through my mind. I blurred my vision, not really looking at anything. I had to focus on the case, I couldn't run from it any longer. I closed my eyes, someone here, or anywhere in the city probably wanted me dead. Dead! Scout's honor, there's the most unsure sentence I've ever thought. I closed my eyes tighter, think, think, think.

I opened my eyes to the sound of a chair giving way. Scout's honor not five seats away, Veronica had sat down. She was clapping in response to the end of a scene. She then whipped out her hand-held mirror and freshened her lipstick, what a snob. She put the lipstick on thick and then blotted it onto a tissue, leaving a dark imprint. I sprang to my feet and ran. My feet were on a quest of their own. I ran past the stage, scattering extra props. I dashed to Mom's dressing room and snatched the sweater. I kept running. To James, I had to get to James. Each step was a word in my head. I know, I know, I know. I knew. Scout's honor, I knew who was trying to kill me and who had taken Mom.

I heaved the door open, breathing so fast and heavily that my lungs ached. The cold, afternoon air hit my faces, as did the fading sunlight. James, leaning on the beetle, waved to me. I grunted, never slowing _my pace. When I reached him, I froze, my body still tingling from movement. At length my breathing stilled to the extent that I could speak.

"I know," my gruff, hoarse voice croaked. James sprang to his feet.

"I had a feeling that was coming. I have a large NYPD squad in there. Just tap your forehead 12 times in the exact same place and they'll jump out." I managed a dazed nod and jogged back into the theater.

I aimlessly tapped over my left eyebrow with my index finger. just seconds after the 12th hit, there was a sea of blue uniforms in front of me. Police officers of all shapes and sizes had assembled. The person on stage went mute. All noise ceased and eyes focused on me. Me, the 12-year-old, in way over her head. But in my moment of glory, I too was mute. my vocal chords frozen in place. So I pointed, I pointed directly at th_e face of the napper. With one solemn straight finger, I pointed at the unsuspecting face of, Veronica. Even as officers from the very row that I'd been sitting in just moments before, grabbed her and hand-cuffed her, neither I, nor her, made a sound. I glared at her, but she kept a poker face and broke the ice.

"What ya arrest in' me for?" she asked.

An officer on the stage had an answer for that. She pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket.

"For the kidnapping of Ms. Vivian Manonka and the attempted murder of Miss Alexandra Manonka, do you plead guilty or innocent?"

"What? Who said that?" demanded Veronica, dismissing the officer's question.

"Miss Alexandra Manonka," replied the officer. I beamed at my recognition.

"Prove it," she scowled. The rabbit in my stomach leapt into my lungs. Prove it? In front of this big audience?

"Fine," I scowled back at her with renewed confidence, why not fight fire with fire? I can do this. I laid the sweater out on the stage for all to see.

"Notice the make-up stains, mainly the lipstick," I said addressing the theater. An officers near me leaned forward and nodded that what I'd said was true. "May I have Ms. Pepperman's lipstick?" I paused while the young officer behind Veronica wrenched it out of her handcuffed hand. She pried off the cap, twisted it up and handed me the base. I held it to the sweater and to my dismay, Veronica's lipstick looked darker. Veronica smirked. But I had no fear. I tried making another smear, sure enough was the parallel line I had drawn in lipstick was finished it was a perfect match. I smiled and Veronica's face fell, but rose again in a split second.

"So? Cover girl and Maybeline make hundreds of lipsticks that color every day. It's a nice color and your Ma has good taste," she said sucking up and smiling in Mom's direction. "I'll bet that your Ma has one the exact same shade." But Veronica had forgotten an important fact that I knew.

"But it's not Cover Girl or Maybeline, is it Veronica?"

"How do you know?" The officer behind me strained to look but the label had been peeled off. No one had any idea how I could know the brand without the label. I simply looked down at my belt loop, where my tape recorder still hung by it's twine. It had clunked against my clothes all the way to rehearsal, or rather since I'd changed in the bathroom. I pulled it off of my jeans and had it rewind until the numbers read 1212. Then I turned the volume way up and hit play. There was little bit of static before you could clearly hear Veronica say:

"Me? Are you kidding? I wouldn't that cheap American stuff on this face. For me, it's only the best, imported from Italy."

"Therefore, it couldn't have been Mother's or anyone else but you, you're the only one snobbish enough to import your own make-up. The huge footsteps that I heard and the fact that Mother had to be carried off, I would have guessed that it was a man that had napped my mother. But," I paused and pointed to Veronica platform shoes. "With shoes like that, Veronica could have easily made that noise. And carrying Mother off wouldn't be difficult for her, seeing that on the weekend she body builds.

James through me on his shoulders and we paraded around the theater. Monica came running down from the balcony.

"You were great!" She said, flashing me a huge toothy grin. "Here," out of her bag she took a beautiful, long stemmed rose. "I was going to give it to Vivian, but I want you to have it. It's the first of the season." I took it from her coarse and blistered right hand.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Oh," she sighed. "Those darn shears, I keep meaning to buy new ones," she shrugged. I threw my arms around her waist and gave her a huge hug. Then I skipped outside to see the beautiful, fresh spring day, coming to a close with a pastel s_unset. It took nearly all of the officers to carry Veronica off, kicking and screaming.

"You're going to let a tiny little child, throw me into jail!" She began shout to anyone that would listen. Scout's Honor there was steam coming out of her ears.

After being put on trial, Veronica Pepperman pleaded guilty to her charges and stated that she'd planned to kidnap, then rescue Vivian Manonka, in hope that a hero would never be fired from her job.

Veronica was charged with attempted murder in the third degree and kidnapping. She was sentenced to three to five years in prison and two years of community service.

Mother's play opened right on schedule and opening night was wonderful. The first two rows were lined with almost the entire NYPD. So Lenny was wrong, but he sleeps more easily. And the play was sold out, all six months.

As for me, I went on to win many awards. I received the medal of bravery from the NYPD and other law enforcement agencies. I even got to guest star on David Letterman, Jay Leno and Oprah! Plus, I did walk-on roles in Friends, NYPD Blue and Baywatch. All in all, I had a blast.

For a reward, Mother gave me a cat! And the Plaza let me keep it, seeing that I'm so full of charm. It is a black and white, long-haired tabby kitten. She is adorable and we are the best of friends. But the largest reward was nothing tangible. I gained Mother's respect and that enriched life in a way that no other thing could.

After the show closed Mother and I moved into a better life style. We moved to a small suburb of Boston. We live in a huge two family house. Of course we brought Mr. Robbins and James with us. Mr. Robbins teaches at the local college and James runs a limo service from the other half of the house. Mother now teaches drama at a country day school in the neighborhood, Scout's honor! I opted for public school. I have lots of friends and play baseball in the spring league.

I firmly believe that the mystery helped my life greatly. I made a lot of friends that I couldn't live without. Every once in a while, Mother and I go back to the Plaza and visit. Joe S. and Joe jr. are still there, but Mr. Clark is semi-retired and only works once a week. Whenever I go back to the Plaza and tell my story just one more time, I swear that it was the best time of my life, and Scout's honor, it was.