“Magdala, I need for you to run some errands for me today,” Ian addressed the housekeeper as he came out of his bedroom.
“Mr. Ian, I have work to do for you mother,” she said, holding an arm full of clothes. “Before she left, Señora instruct me to take these things to cleaners, and then…”
He cut her off. “Magdala, you can drop them off on your way to the Bronx.”
“BRONX!” She bucked her eyes, and raised her voice. “Me no go to Bronx.” She shook her head back and forth.
Ian handed her a season schedule for the Yankees, with red circles around two dates. “I want four tickets to these games,” he said, pointing to the outlines.
“Me no can go,” she said, still protesting.
“Yes, you can, and just for doing me this favor, I’m going to also buy you two tickets,” he said, softening the negotiation.
Magdala smiled. Her husband was a huge Yankees fan, and would flip over seeing the game live. “Oh…” Her eyes bucked wide again, but this time in delight. “Okay. Okay, Mr. Ian.” She grinned.
“Good. Then, I’ll need for you to take the train to Brooklyn, and stop by Cake Man Raven’s bakery on Fulton Street and pick up a red velvet cake.”
“BROOKLYN!” Her grin quickly disappeared. Clearly she didn’t want to go from one borough to the next. “No, no, Mr. Ian. Too much; too many trains,” she said, shaking her head. “Me supposed to be here with you, not on train.”
“That’s silly. I’m not a baby. Besides, I’ll be in school all day.” Ian reached into his pocket and took out his wallet—which was always stocked full of cash—and handed her three crisp one-hundred dollar bills. “Here, and keep the change,” he said, knowing that money talked louder than words.
Magdala took the money, and slid the bills into the pocket of her apron. “This between me and you, no?” she asked, nodding her head up and down.
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.” Ian put his index finger to his mouth and made a sshh sound.
Magdala scurried down the hall with her loot. Ian went back into his room, grabbed his backpack, and headed out the door for school. With his unofficial overseer out of the house, traveling through three of New York’s boroughs for the better part of the day, Ian figured that he and his friends had at least a few hours of uninterrupted fun, which was more than enough time. Once he got the word that his parents were off to the Hamptons for the annual International Film Festival, he wasted no time hooking up a little get-together. It was perfect timing. Their class was scheduled for a field trip, but instead of seeing a Broadway show, he and his friends would be spending the afternoon at his penthouse.
“I certainly hope that everyone has brought their permission slips for today’s field trip,” said Mrs. Carey, the fine arts teacher, as she led the class out of the building.
“Mine is right here,” Ian patted the breast pocket of his school’s monogrammed blazer, “forged by yours personally.” He laughed underneath his breath.
“I bet you’ve been signing your mother’s name since before you could spell,” PG remarked.
“And I bet you’ve been signing autographs since you were in pre-school,” Ian shot back, making a dig about Payton’s former career as a child television star.
“Now, now, boys, let’s not bicker,” Reagan chimed in.
“Oh, Rea, why stop the fun? They’ve only just begun,” Madison said.
Reagan, Madison, Ian and PG were in line with the rest of their class, walking to the waiting bus outside of their school.
“Slip, please,” Mrs. Carey said to Ian before he boarded.
“Here you go, Mrs. Carey,” he said, ever so politely, with a fake smile.
She glanced at the signature, and didn’t even notice the forgery. She stood at the entry to the bus, and repeated this protocol until every single student had handed over his or her permission slip and was on board.
“So how are we going to get from the theatre to your place?” Madison whispered in Ian’s ear once they were seated on the bus.
“Don’t you worry your head about that, ‘My Pretty.’” He smirked, using the phrase from The Wizard of Oz.
“I don’t care how we get there, as long as we’re back at the theater before the buses leave. The last thing I need is for my mother to find out that I skipped school,” Reagan said.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. If Nancy knew I was escaping for a few hours, she’d have me fitted with an ankle bracelet. And, no, not the decorative kind, the gross kind that people wear when they’re under house arrest,” Madison commented.
“You’re right about that! Your grandmother is the strictest person I know,” Ian said.
“She’s not that bad. You’re not used to answering to anyone since your parents are never around,” Madison said, coming to her grandmother’s defense.
Ian hung his head, as if Madison had hurt his feelings. “You’ve got a point,” he said, picking his head off of his chest. “My parents are definitely not the warm and fuzzy type, but I like it like that. At least I don’t have to worry about them hovering over me on a daily basis. Besides, where else would we hang out if they were always at home?” Ian said, with an air of cockiness, but deep down inside he felt conflicted. On the one hand, Ian did enjoy having the freedom to go and come as he pleased, but on the other hand, he secretly longed for some parental supervision. If his parents were around the house more, he’d probably be inclined to keep out of trouble, but as it were he was his own gatekeeper, and the gate swung nearly off its hinges on any given day.
“Point taken.”
They continued chatting, and before long the bus was pulling up in front of the Astor Theatre. While the students filed into the lobby of the auditorium, Reagan, Madison, Ian and PG hung back, and huddled close together, so as not to be separated.
“Before you’re seated, please turn off all cell phones, and any other electronic devices that you may have. We don’t want to interrupt the show with those annoying little gadgets. No loud gum chewing. And absolutely NO TALKING!” Mrs. Carey emphasized, spouting off a list of “do’s and don’ts” of proper theater etiquette.
While the rest of the student body took out their phones and turned them off, Ian took his out, dialed the car service and confirmed his pick-up location.
“Yes, Mr. Reinhardt, your car is waiting right outside. It’s car number twenty-three.”
“Thank you,” Ian said in a hushed tone, and quickly clicked the phone off before the teacher caught him.
“Okay, now that we’re clear on how to act at a Broadway show, you may take your seats,” Mrs. Carey said, leading the way into the theater.
Ian, Reagan, Madison and PG brought up the rear of the line, but lagged behind. Once Mrs. Carey and everyone else had settled into their seats and the house lights dimmed, the four of them quickly did an about face and snuck out the front door, right into the waiting Town Car.
“Now that Mrs. Carey has seen us, and collected our permission slips, we won’t be reported MIA, even if we are MIA!” Ian laughed.
“Aren’t you the clever one?” Madison said.
“I hope you scheduled the car to pick us up before the play is over,” Reagan said.
“We’ll be in the lobby before the final curtain falls,” Ian said, full of himself. He was proud that he had orchestrated their escape.
Once the car pulled in front of Ian’s massive apartment building, they all piled out and made a beeline toward the bank of elevators.
“Come on in, guys,” Ian said, opening the door to his family’s palatial penthouse in the Time Warner Center.
“I love this view,” Reagan said, walking over to the triple-paned window. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular panoramic views of Central Park to the northeast, and the Hudson River to the west. “I only live a few blocks from here, but our view is nothing like this. About all I can see from my place is a little piece of the park.” Reagan walked away from the window, and took a tour of the living room. “I love your place. Every time I come over, it’s almost like the first time.” She lightly ran her hand across the bottom of the huge flat-screen plasma Bang & Olufsen that was mounted on the wall. “I’ve been trying to get my dad to buy one of these, but he’s such a cheapskate, and says it’s a waste of money.”
“Obviously, he’s never seen the picture quality from one of these babies,” Ian said proudly, as if he’d forked over the credit card to pay for the extravagant television.
“You’re right. I love it,” she said, rubbing her hand once again across the smooth surface.
“And I love how your legs look in those shoes,” PG commented, leering at Reagan from behind.
“Thanks. They’re the new Juicy Couture wedges. Just because we have to wear these boring navy-and-gray uniforms doesn’t mean we can’t trick ’em out with some bad kicks. Isn’t that right, Madison?”
“Totally. I bought these Marc Jacobs the other day,” she said, extending the midnight-blue, round-toed shoe for emphasis.
PG focused his attention back on Reagan. “And I love how you pull the knee-socks up past your knees. It’s such a sexy look, especially with the school sweater tied around your waist,” he said, pouring on the compliments.
Reagan ignored Peyton’s comment. She was immune to his constant compliments. It was no big secret that PG had a gargantuan crush on her. He made it known every chance he got that he worshiped Reagan. PG, with his lanky, muscle-less frame and pimpled face wasn’t her type, but she tolerated him anyway. Reagan may not have been in love with PG, but she was in love with the expensive gifts that he showered her with. Peyton Granger had been the lead actor in Little Buddies, one of the top-rated sitcoms of the mid-nineties. Though he hadn’t worked in over ten years, he still raked in the royalty checks, thanks to the reruns on Nickelodeon five nights a week.
PG walked up to Reagan, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her face as he spoke. “Thought you might like this,” he said, handing her a robin’s egg-blue Tiffany’s box.
“PG, what’s this?” she asked, fingering the white ribbon tied neatly around the small box.
“Open it and see.”
Reagan pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful eighteen-karat, white-gold Atlas lariat with the Roman numerals, twelve, three, six, and nine surrounding a circle of pave diamonds. “Oh, PG, you shouldn’t have.” She took the necklace out of the box and held it up to the light. “But I’m so glad you did.”
“It was a tad spendy, but you’re worth every dime,” he said, making sure she knew that the gift-du-jour was expensive.
Reagan didn’t say a word, she ignored his tacky comment. She hated it when PG alluded to how much money he spent, as if he were broke.
“Here, let me put it on you.” He took the necklace out of her hands, lifted her hair and secured the clasp. Once the necklace was fastened, he let his hands linger on her shoulder blades, then leaned down and kissed the side of her neck.
Reagan swung around. “PG, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, pulling away from him.
“Just trying to get a little thank you kiss.” He blushed shyly.
“A verbal thank you will have to do, ’cause I ain’t kissing you today, and I don’t want you kissing on me,” she said, and huffed away.
“Who wants a Red Bull and Belvedere?” Ian asked, breaking the tension in the room.
“I do,” Madison said, followed by Reagan and PG.
Ian retreated into the kitchen, and came back with four cans of the energy drink. He sat the blue-and-silver cans on the bar in the living room, filled four tall glasses with ice, double shots of vodka, and then poured in the Red Bull until it reached the top of each glass. “To field trips,” he said, handing each of his friends a glass of the potent beverage. They clinked glasses and toasted. The guys gulped their drinks, while the girls sipped politely.
“Turn on some music. I wanna dance,” Madison told Ian.
Ian picked up the remote that was sitting on the bar, clicked it in the direction of the wall mounted B&O stereo, and within seconds, the sound of an old Black Eyed Peas tune filled the room.
“What you gonna do with all that junk inside your trunk…?” Ian sang in unison with the song and danced up close to Madison.
“I’m, I’m, I’m gonna get you drunk…” she sang back, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Reagan felt a twinge of jealousy surge through her body as she watched Madison and Ian gyrate to the music. Madison seemed to enjoy his touch, as his hands roamed up and down her back. They made such a cute couple, and Reagan wanted to be one-half of a pair more than anything else. PG wasn’t a serious contender; he was somebody to pass the time with, but he’d have to do until she met her soul mate.
“Do you guys need anything else?” Ian asked.
“No, we’re cool,” PG said, taking a sip of his drink.
“In that case, we’ll be back in a few,” Ian said, taking Madison by the hand.
“Don’t be too long; remember we have to get back before the play is over,” Reagan said, her frienvy continuing to grow as Ian and Madison disappeared into his room.
“So, why didn’t you let me kiss you earlier?” PG asked Reagan. “I know it’s not because you and Madison are so pure.” He nodded his head in the direction of Ian’s bedroom.
“’Cause you ain’t my man,” she said, sucking her lips.
“I know I ain’t your man, but I’m trying to be,” he confessed. “Why do you think I keep giving you these extravagant gifts?”
“’Cause you’re generous?”
“Yeah, I’m generous, but I ain’t no fool. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m crazy about you, Reagan, but I can’t keep holding on forever.”
“Don’t be silly, PG. I don’t think you’re a fool.” Reagan walked over and gave him a quick peck on the lips. She was trying to appease PG. Though she wasn’t into him into him, she didn’t want to lose her generous gifts.
“Wow, a kiss!” He put his hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t get it. Either you’re complaining when I’m not kissing you, or complaining that I am kissing you. Make up your mind!” Reagan said, seemingly annoyed at him.
“No, no, I’m not complaining. Trust me. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“Good. Now shut up, and let’s dance.”
About twenty minutes later, Madison and Ian reappeared. “Girl, what happened to your hair?” Reagan asked, pointing to Madison’s tousled hair.
Madison quickly ran her hand over her unruly tresses. “What are you talking about? My hair is fine.”
“But your blouse isn’t.” Reagan walked closer, and tugged at her friend’s top. “Since when did you start using the wrong button holes?”
Madison pulled away. “Stop being all in my business.” She gave Reagan a look that read, ‘You know good and well what I was doing.’
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint. We’d better get back to the theater before we get busted,” Madison said, ready to leave.
“Yeah, you’re right. Come on, guys,” Ian said. “I told the driver to wait. He should still be downstairs.”
They filed out, and once inside of the limo, Reagan couldn’t help but to think again how much she wanted a real relationship of her own, not like the buddy-buddy thing she had going on with PG. But until she met someone new, who was fine and generous, PG would just have to do.