Rocco never showed up at school the next day. It turns out his mother was outraged by how the local kids had treated her little angel. After months of worry, Rocco wasn’t moving. Maybe everything had worked out perfectly for me. Even my fear of reading in front of the class was for nothing. Mrs. Lutzkraut was out sick for a few days, and by the time she came back we had moved on to other class work.
It was around this time that I finally came to think of Garrettsville as my new true home. Sure, I still missed different things about New York, but one day coming home from school I walked up the steps to my house and accepted the fact that I really belonged here. There was no going back.
“Guess what?” my mom greeted me. “You’re going back!”
“To school?” I didn’t know what she was talking about.
“No. To New York! Isn’t that great news?”
In a flash, I pictured Jessica, Rishi, my other friends, and how popular I was at Baber. I had solved every problem. No way was I going back. There was nothing my parents could do. If we were moving again, I’d chain myself to a tree. . . .
“Your birthday’s coming up. Aunt Evelyn has invited you to New York as her guest this weekend to celebrate it.”
“Just for the weekend? Aunt Evelyn?” A flood of relief washed over me. Every spring Aunt Evelyn would take me into the city for my birthday. She would also take Penny for hers, but that wasn’t until August. Now that we lived in Ohio, I had an important question for my mom. “Uh, how am I going to get there for the weekend?”
“You’ll fly.”
“By myself?” The old familiar feeling of panic crept up my spine.
“Yes. After I got off the phone with her I called the airline and they have a program for unaccompanied minors. Dad will drop you off Friday morning and she’ll meet you when you land in New York. You’ll have to miss a day of school, of course.”
The whole thing sounded a bit crazy. I wasn’t thrilled about flying by myself, but I liked the idea of missing a day with Lutzkraut. More important, a whole weekend with my aunt Evelyn could mean only one thing—adventure!
I couldn’t wait for Friday, and before I knew it the day had arrived. My dad saw me off at the airport. He handed me a cell phone and told me to call when I landed.
Two hours later I was back on New York soil. I made my way down the long airport corridor. Just as I was stumbling off a moving sidewalk, I heard loud music playing up ahead. I continued on, trying to see past the other travelers and get a glimpse of the commotion.
And then I saw her, Aunt Evelyn, waiting for me with what must have been 100 balloons. I ran up to her and gave her a hug.
“You got all those balloons for me?” I asked, shocked.
“Yes, sorry it’s a bit underwhelming. Airport security refused to let the Mariachi band through the checkpoint.”
“Aunt Evelyn, you didn’t have to do that!”
“Nonsense. It’s not every day my favorite nephew visits. Now come here and give me a kiss.”
As we walked through the airport she told me how “ecstatic” and “tickled” she was to see me. She also told me about her latest trip and kept mentioning places like Cape Town, Ulaanbaatar, and Bogotá. “By the way, how was your flight?” she eventually asked.
“Terrible,” I told her. “I’m starving. Dad ate my lunch on the way to the airport and they didn’t serve any food. I couldn’t even have peanuts because the guy next to me was allergic.”
We grabbed my suitcase off the baggage carousel and headed out into the warm spring day. My great-aunt whistled to a passing cab and it immediately screeched to a halt, then backed up to right where we were standing. “Let’s go have some fun!” she shouted as we hopped in the back.
“Do you think we could hit McDonald’s first?”
“McDonald’s? Driver, take us to Fifty-fifth and Seventh and make it snappy!” She turned back to me. “I can’t have my darling nephew hungry.”
A half hour later I was sitting in the Carnegie Deli eating a pastrami sandwich the size of a Cadillac. I could barely fit it into my mouth. My aunt fed me and fed me and when we were done, she rolled me out the door onto Seventh Avenue. “Rodney,” she said, “you’ll have to help me get ready. I’m hosting a dinner party tonight. Let’s walk over to the park and make plans.”
I watched the crowds of people moving through the streets and smelled the heavy, sweet New York City air. I had forgotten how much I loved it. Aunt Evelyn was as excited as ever by life, the whole time talking about who was coming to her dinner and what fun things we could do the rest of the weekend. Suddenly she waved to someone in a restaurant window as we passed. He waved back and threw her a kiss.
“How do you know so many people?” I asked.
“My darling boy, I’ve lived in this town for practically a hundred years.”
I knew she was exaggerating, but I wasn’t sure by how much.
“Now, where was I?” she continued. “Oh yes, I’ve only been back for two days myself. I’d love to see the new Picasso exhibit this afternoon at the Guggenheim, maybe a play Saturday night, of course there’s our annual birthday ballgame tomorrow at one o’clock. I did tell you we were seeing the Mets tomorrow, didn’t I?”
Before I could answer, she was off on some other subject. She was full of energy and interested in everything. That afternoon, my great-aunt and I visited two museums and took a brisk stroll down Fifth Avenue. When we finally got back to her apartment, I put my feet up and wondered how I’d last the whole weekend. As long as I was resting, I decided to give Rishi a call.
“I’m telling you, New York is wild. My aunt Evelyn snuck her Rollerblades into this round museum called the Guggenheim and zoomed all the way down from the top floor. She finally crashed at the bottom into a famous statue by this guy named Rodin.”
“Rodent? Who’d want to see that?” Rishi and I laughed and talked for a while more before his mother told him to hang up and get ready for dinner.
“Listen, Rodney, call me tomorrow,” he whispered. “Also, check your e-mail when you get a chance. I sent you some funny pictures of your friend Rocco. Oh, and I’ve got some big news for you.”
Before I could find out the news, he was gone. I thought about calling Dave or Slim when the intercom in my aunt’s apartment started buzzing. For the next half hour, my aunt’s friends kept arriving for the dinner party, each one dressed funnier and fancier than the next. They were all supernice and I liked them a lot. That is, until Sir Snottingham showed up.
He walked in and I immediately noticed his long white mustache which curled upward at the corners of his mouth. He was wearing a heavy black overcoat and clutching a cane, which he clicked hard on the wood floor. Noticing me, he whipped off his coat and tossed it over my head as if I was a coatrack. I heard him say, “Careful with that. It’s cashmere.” I pulled it off, and for a second we studied each other. “Stop gawking, boy. Aren’t you going to announce me?”
“Who are you?”
He stiffened and asked, “Are you trying to be rude or does it just come naturally? I find it hard to believe that anyone would need to ask that question. I happen to be the most important person at this party.”
I felt my mouth getting ready. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” I turned and yelled into the living room. “Aunt Evelyn, the caterer’s here!”
“Caterer? You call me the caterer? Why I’ve had boys younger than you arrested for less. I . . .”
“Oh, Sir Edward, I’m so happy you could make it. I see you’ve met my nephew,” Aunt Evelyn said as she came toward us.
He seemed momentarily at a loss, and then managed, “What’s that? Your nephew? Oh, I see. Yes, we’ve, uh, met.”
“Rodney, this is Sir Edward Snottingham, former conductor of the Royal Symphony Orchestra in England.”
I reached out to shake his hand. Instead, he dropped his cane into my palm. “Put that with the coat,” he quipped. He turned his back on me and grabbed my aunt’s arm. I dumped his coat and cane on the floor.
Sir Snottingham aside, my aunt’s friends were great. Unfortunately, he made sure he was seated right next to my aunt and spent half the dinner trying to sound important, especially about concerts and Broadway shows and stuff.
“Oh Evelyn, please tell me you’re joking. How could you not have seen the new Death of a Salesman? Victor Johnson is truly excellent.”
“You know I’ve been out of town, darling.”
“Oh, too bad, Evelyn, he’s in it for only one more night. It would be the highlight of the season if we shared the experience together.”
I pretended to stick a finger down my throat. While old Snottingham looked like he wanted to kill me, I could see my aunt holding back a smile.
“Then it’s settled, Evelyn,” he continued, shooting me a smug little glare. “I will get us two tickets.”
“Of course, we’ll need three,” she pointed out.
“For you, me, and my wonderful nephew here.”
I noticed Snottingham pull on the end of his mustache. “Bloody brilliant,” he muttered.
The next day, after a whirlwind Manhattan morning that included Rollerblading in Central Park and an early lunch in Harlem, things eventually slowed down when my aunt and I arrived at Citi Field, the Mets’ stadium. Orange and blue crowds swarmed around us. We made our way to the right-field gate, my aunt smiling the whole time and saying how much Citi Field reminded her of Ebbets Field, where the Dodgers played when she was young. She then turned to me and asked, “How does it feel to be home, Rodney?”
I don’t think she was just talking about the Mets’ ball field. She was talking about New York, about Queens, about my old neighborhood. I watched a giant jet fly over on its way into LaGuardia Airport.
“It feels good,” I told her.
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes, but I like how things are going in Ohio, too.”
She looked into my eyes and gave me a big smile. “That makes me very happy, Rodney.” Then she snapped out of it. “Let’s go see some ball.”
We went in and headed toward the field level. Good sign, I thought. My dad and I usually rode each and every possible escalator all the way to the very top. I was used to being far away, but I was happier still as we headed through the lower tunnel toward the infield. Even though I’d been to a number of games, I still caught my breath as I came out into the light and air. All the green grass spread out in front of me. It was beautiful. I smelled hot dogs and vendors yelled, “Peanuts here!” We continued walking down the aisle passing rows of seats, getting closer to the field. As I passed each row, my excitement grew, and when we stopped, I found we were in the front row.
“These seats are amazing!” I yelled. We were just beyond the dugout by first base. “How did you get them?”
“Oh, I have a few friends.”
And then a voice from the next seat called out, “Evelyn! You made it.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss it, Tom.”
He laughed and came over to join us. The Mets were starting to file out for the bottom of the first.
“I don’t believe it. You’re Tom Seaver!” I said.
“Most boys your age don’t know about me, let alone recognize me,” he said and smiled.
“I’ve spent a lot of time looking at you,” I replied.
He raised an eyebrow, and I realized that did sound kind of weird. Aunt Evelyn said, “Tom, this is my nephew, Rodney. Maybe you can autograph a ball or something for him.”
I felt like I was in a dream. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open. He nodded and yelled into the dugout. A ball came flying out, which he easily caught. Pulling a permanent marker from a back pocket, he turned to me and asked, “It’s Rodney, right?”
“That’s right,” I heard my aunt answer. The marker approached the ball. . . .
“Wait!” I shouted. Tom Seaver jumped. “Can I tell you what to write?”
He relaxed, smiled, and nodded. “Okay, what’ll it be?”
A minute later the first pitch was thrown, a strike, and we all cheered. I turned back to my aunt. “Thanks for getting him to sign the ball for me.” I held it in my right hand and kept looking at it.
“Wait until you see the other surprise I cooked up.”
Before I had a chance to ask her what that meant, I heard a collective “Rodney!” I turned and coming down the aisle were Timmy, Tony, and Tommy, my three best New York friends.
It was great to see them. After our greetings, we got hot dogs and settled in to watch the game. During the top of the first I described to the three of them how life was going. They laughed a bit when I started talking about Jessica. They had a hard time imagining me as the school tough guy, but they were happy for me.
“Things aren’t so hot here,” Timmy said. I looked at him and he continued. “Turns out Rocco’s not going to move away.”
“Really, what did you hear?” I asked him.
Timmy continued. “He came back from that trip not looking too good and was in a real bad mood. He locked Tony in a locker, and said he was here to stay.” I felt bad for them, but I breathed a little easier knowing I’d have one less problem in Ohio.
Tommy leaned in so my aunt couldn’t hear. “Yesterday he stuck a jockstrap on my head.”
Timmy nudged his shoulder. “Don’t worry, man, we’ll get by. We always have.”
I thought for a moment and took out the cell phone my parents had given me for the trip. I fiddled around and brought up Rishi’s e-mail. “Perhaps this will help.”
“What is it?” all three wondered.
“This is courtesy of my friend, Rishi. I think you’ll find he does excellent work.”
For the rest of the game they spent as much time looking at the images on my phone as they did watching the action on the field. The Mets lost 4–2, but Timmy, Tony, and Tommy were all smiles.
“I love the one with Rocco buried in garbage,” Tommy said.
“Yes, Rishi has an excellent eye,” I replied. “I’ll send you the whole file.”
My aunt and I walked them to the subway and said our good-byes. They were thrilled knowing they now possessed the perfect weapon against Rocco Ronboni—and I was equally thrilled as I gripped the signed baseball. I knew it was going to make someone back at Baber very happy.
I was in such a great mood after the ball game that nothing could get me down—not even hearing Sir Snottingham on my aunt’s message machine when we got back from Citi Field:
“Evelyn, dear, I’ll have you know that I was able to procure us three tickets to tonight’s performance. I spoke to my friend who works for the theater, and he said he’d personally put me where I belong. So, my dear Ev, you haven’t missed Victor Johnson’s last performance. Call me back to arrange where to meet. . . .”
Several hours later my aunt and I were in a cab pulling up in front of a Broadway theater. I had been to some shows before with her, but this one was different. For starters, it was really packed. Everyone was standing out front dressed real nice, either waiting for other people to arrive or talking in groups. As we stepped out of the cab, Snottingham sauntered over and took my aunt’s hand.
“Evelyn, wonderful to see you! Two days in a row. I am a lucky man!”
“Oh you,” my aunt said, smiling. “Such a gentleman.” Meanwhile, Mr. Gentleman only gave me a stern nod before heading off to a window to pick up the tickets.
When he got back, the three of us entered the theater. The whole place was alive with people talking about this Victor Johnson guy and how it was his last performance in the show. I noticed that the usher pointed to the stairs and not the better orchestra section. “No doubt we are in a private box,” gloated Sir Snottingham. “Being a conductor has its benefits, you know.”
“Former conductor,” I corrected him.
He spun around and was about to say something, but just then another usher directed us up more steps to the last row. He snapped, “This is absurd! How dare you stick the conductor of the Royal Symphony Orchestra in the last row!”
“Former conductor,” I corrected, and this time I thought I might get cracked with his cane.
“You’re not in the last row,” the usher pointed out.
A smile of relief flashed over Sir Snottingham’s face. “No? Oh, I should have known.” He turned down to me and growled, “You see what it’s like to be an influential person? Not that you’ll ever be one.” He straightened back up and addressed the usher. “Now that the little misunderstanding is cleared up, where are we, my good man?”
“You’re behind the last row. You see those folding chairs in back of that pipe over there?” Snottingham’s face turned as red as the theater seats. If his head had exploded, I wouldn’t have been shocked. My aunt eventually convinced him it wasn’t the end of the world, that partially seeing and partially being able to hear a play were better than nothing. We grabbed little books about the play called Playbills and sat down.
Behind the large pipe, I couldn’t see the stage unless I craned my neck all the way to the right. It started to get stiff so I gave up and looked at the Playbill. It was then that I realized I knew the guy on the cover! I couldn’t believe it. I looked more closely and it was him! It was Old Man Johnson, from back in Ohio. Of course, Old Man Johnson was an actor from New York. I hoped he would remember me. I turned to my aunt. “I bet I can do something about these seats.”
Snottingham laughed. “You? You couldn’t even pick your nose correctly.”
“Well, you’re the expert in that department,” I said under my breath.
“Now, now boys,” my aunt chimed in before turning to her friend. “This is my nephew we’re talking about here.” She then reminded me that it was a sold out show and that it would be impossible to do anything.
“Can I at least try?”
My aunt nodded at me with a half smile.
“Bah!” snapped Snottingham. “Go! Don’t hurry back.”
I walked down the stairs to the front of the orchestra section. No one stopped me in the large theater. The crowd was settling in and buzzing. I went up to an official-looking man at the front of the theater.
“Hi. I was wondering if you’d be able to give my grandfather a message.”
“Kid, I’m not your nanny. Find him yourself.”
“You’ll let me back there to see him?”
“What? What are you going on about?”
“My grandfather, Victor Johnson, can you tell him something for me?”
“You’re grandfather is Victor Johnson? Yeah, and I’m Teddy Roosevelt,” he laughed.
“Well, Teddy,” I said, “I’ll tell him later after the show that he didn’t get to see his only grandson visiting all the way from Ohio, because you wouldn’t give him a little message.” I turned to walk away.
“Wait!” He eyed me suspiciously. “Kid, if you’re lying to me and I get in trouble for disturbing him, you’re going to get it.”
“Tell him his grandson, Rodney, from Garrettsville wanted to say hello. Tell him we haven’t seen each other since Halloween.”
“You better not be playing me,” he threatened again and walked off backstage.
Four minutes later he returned followed by Old Man Johnson. “Rodney, so good to see you again. After our little performance, you made the trip. Bravo! You came all this way to see me tonight?” He laughed.
“I didn’t know I was seeing you. I looked down at the Playbill and saw your face. It seems impossible,” I blurted excitedly.
“Now Rodney, this is Broadway. Nothing is impossible. Where are you sitting?”
“Up behind that pipe. Up there, near the ceiling,” I pointed.
“Nonsense! Is the executive box still available?” he asked the usher.
“Yes, but we’re saving it. Brad Pitt is supposedly stopping by.”
“I don’t care who you’re saving it for. Fix up my boy Rodney with those seats.”
“Yes, Mr. Johnson.”
“I’m here with my aunt,” I told him.
“Well, the whole executive box is yours.” Some people had spotted him and were beginning to crowd around us. “I had better bid you farewell before I’m late for my first scene.”
“Good luck,” I shouted.
“In this biz we say, ‘Break a leg.’”
“Okay, then break a leg!”
I walked off with the usher. When we got to my aunt, I leaned over and whispered, “Ready to see where we are?” At first Sir Snottingham wouldn’t get up and just stared straight ahead, but when he saw my aunt take my hand, he followed us pretty quickly—all the way to a private box where everything was covered in red velvet overlooking the stage.
“My, these seats are absolutely spectacular. Aren’t they, Edward?” my aunt asked.
After a long pause, I heard what sounded like a dog snarling and noticed Snottingham pulling on his mustache.
My aunt continued. “I said, ‘I think these are the finest seats in the house.’ Don’t you agree, Edward?”
“Yeah, Ed,” I chimed in, “influential people like me know how to get things done. Wouldn’t you agree? Look, we can even see backstage.” By now he was furiously twisting both ends of his mustache at once. “Do you see Victor Johnson waving to us?” I wasn’t lying. He was off to the side giving us a thumbs-up. When he spotted my aunt, he made a slight bow before blowing her a kiss.
My aunt laughed and exclaimed, “Rodney, you’re amazing. Isn’t he amazing, Edward?” It was the final straw.
“AAAArrrghhhhhh!” he howled. I looked over at him. He had actually pulled off his mustache! He stumbled back through the opening behind the executive box and ran off, holding his mouth.
My aunt laughed. “Oh, that Sir Edward, he’s always up to something.”
For the next two hours we watched the show, and as the curtain dropped, my aunt turned to me. “Rodney, that was the best play I have ever seen and these are the best seats I’ve ever had in all the world. You are simply full of surprises and full of adventure. You’ll have to go to London with me next year. Oh, and I think we’ll keep it a secret from Sir Edward Snottingham. What do you say?”
“Sounds like a plan, Aunt Evelyn,” I answered, smiling, as Victor Johnson walked onstage to thunderous applause. Like his performance, my visit to New York had been a rousing success.