Stacey's Book, Page 2

  I did not find nightmares exciting though, and I had a lot of scary ones when I was around four years old. My mother remembers them, too. When I cried out she’d come as fast as she could. To help me get over being scared, she’d ask me what I was dreaming. Then she’d stay with me until I fell asleep again. We talked about those nightmares recently and we both agreed that there were monsters in them. She said I often mentioned something scary coming in my window. And I remember dreaming that there was something horrid under my bed. I thought that if I got out of bed it would grab me. But if I didn’t get out of the bed it would rise up and fly out the window with me and my bed on its back. (This may have been about the time I first saw Peter Pan.)

  Having nightmares when I was a little kid makes me very sympathetic with my baby-sitting charges. I always make sure when they’re asleep that the house is quiet enough so I’ll hear them if they cry or call out.

  * * *

  The clearest memory of my early years was the day of my fourth birthday when my parents took me to the Plaza Hotel. The Plaza is just about the fanciest and most famous hotel in the world. It is right on Central Park and lots of movies are shot there. It is so, so elegant.

  I already told you that when I was in preschool Eloise was my favorite storybook character. Here’s the connection between Eloise and the Plaza Hotel. Eloise lives there with her Nanny, her dog Weenie, and her turtle Skipperdee.

  Since the Plaza is home to Eloise, she roams all over the hotel. She runs up and down halls, gets on and off elevators, and hangs out in places other guests in the hotel don’t even know about. She also calls room service a lot, making sure to order roast-beef bones for Weenie, and raisins for Skipperdee. Eloise is a lively and mischievous girl. So you can see why at four she was my hero.

  When I learned that my mother and father were taking me to the Plaza Hotel to celebrate my birthday I was terrifically excited. I picked out a skirt with straps to hold it up, like the one Eloise wears in the book. I wanted to leave my hair uncombed and stringy and have bangs cut (just like Eloise’s) but my mother drew the line there.

  My parents also dressed up (and combed their hair) for lunch at the Plaza. My father wore his best suit and tie and my mother topped off her dressy outfit with a hat with a veil.

  As we walked through the Plaza lobby my parents said they wanted to show me a painting.

  I said, “But I don’t want to see a painting. I want to go on the elevator and run up and down the halls like Eloise did.”

  “You just come with us,” my dad said. “I think you will like this painting.”

  They took me down a hall and showed me a huge painting of Eloise. I just stood there in amazement. I loved it. It made me believe more than ever that Eloise was real.

  And lunch in the Palm Court was so fancy. There were the big palms everywhere. (That’s why it’s called the “Palm Court.”) The tables were covered with pink tablecloths and set with gold-trimmed dishes. A lady in an evening gown was playing a harp. The whole experience was so special that I was breathless. The food was good, too.

  Just when I was eyeing the dessert table and trying to decide which chocolaty thing I would order, a waiter appeared before me holding out a perfect little chocolate cake with a lit sparkler in the middle. My mother and father and the waiters started singing “Happy Birthday” to me. It seemed as if everyone eating lunch at the Palm Court joined in. And amid all the voices there was this big, booming, wonderful voice.

  While the waiter was cutting the cake into threes for us, he told me that a famous opera singer was having lunch there, too. That was the voice we heard. Pavarotti had sung “Happy Birthday” to me! We decided not to bother him by asking for his autograph.

  After lunch my parents finally took me upstairs in the elevator so I could see if the halls looked like the ones in Eloise. They did, exactly. Red carpets and all. The person who wrote those books did careful research. (Don’t expect the halls to look like that now, because the Plaza Hotel has been completely redecorated since then.)

  Anyway, when we stepped off the elevator I couldn’t resist running. Just like Eloise, I tore down the hall and screeched around a corner to come face-to-face with a room service cart piled high with food. Behind the cart was a startled waiter. I missed knocking into him and his cart by the tiniest bit. Even though I scared him, he remained calm. “My, my,” he said. “I see we have an Eloise up here today.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I was so embarrassed (and frightened) that I turned around and walked as fast as I could back to the elevator where my parents were waiting for me.

  Later I wished I had told the waiter, “I’m very busy today. And I need some raisins for Skipperdee. Could you kindly send some up right away and charge it, please?”

  As we left the Plaza, just when I was thinking that my wonderful birthday celebration was over, my father hired a horse-drawn carriage. I can still picture it. The horse was white. The driver had long red hair and wore a black tuxedo and a high hat. The sky was bright blue on this perfect sunshiny spring afternoon. Clip clop. Clip clop. We went all around Central Park.

  My fourth birthday was my favorite birthday celebration of all.

  Starting at five I have lots of memories. For example, I remember the first day of kindergarten. I was really nervous because I was going to a new school. It was a big school with big kids, even high school kids. I held on tight to my mother’s hand as we walked through the front door of Parker.

  The first person I saw when I came into the bright classroom (which was also big) was Petey Squires — Ole Muddy Feet Pete. You can imagine my disappointment. The only other person I recognized was Laine Cummings.

  Laine hadn’t been at my preschool, but out parents knew one another so we’d played together a few times. I think I might have been the only other kid Laine knew at Parker because she came right over when she saw my mother and me.

  My mother said, “Hi, Laine.” Then she squatted down to be at our height and said, “Isn’t this nice that you two are in the same class? I hope you’ll become very good friends.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Laine said. “Sure. Why not?” Even then Laine acted cool and as if nothing fazed her.

  A little later our teacher, Miss Moss, told us to sit in a circle around her to begin the school day. I was at my new cubby checking out if it was big enough to fit into in case of an emergency. But I could see Laine running right over to the teacher and sitting down on the circle rug before any of the other kids.

  As I made my way past the tables and chairs toward the circle I heard Laine tell another girl who wanted to sit next to her, “This place is saved for Stacey.” It made me feel very special. By the way, the girl was Deirdre, who became another good friend of mine.

  In a week or so I realized that I wouldn’t need to hide in my cubby. I loved kindergarten. We’d settled into our school routines and I was getting to know (and like) the new kids, mostly other girls. And Miss Moss was terrific. She spent time every day teaching us songs and games that were more grown-up than the ones I learned in preschool. A lot of the games and songs I teach the kids I baby-sit for now I learned in kindergarten. (Thank you, Miss Moss.)

  One afternoon, after we played an alphabet game, Miss Moss told us to sit in the Story Circle. She sat on the rug with us, held up a hardcover book and asked, “Who knows the story of Cinderella?”

  About half the kids raised their hands and called out, “I do. I do.” Laine raised her hand, too. She looked at me sitting there with my hands on my lap and said, “Stacey. Put your hand up.” The name Cinderella was familiar, but I didn’t know her story so I put my hand half in the air.

  I stared at the cover of the book with the beautiful red-haired girl in a blue gown while Miss Moss quieted everyone down. “Well,” she said, “if you all know the story, do you think I should still read it?”

  My heart stopped beating. Maybe Miss Moss wouldn’t read the book and I’d never know about Cinderella and what happens to her.

 
Everyone yelled out, “Read it.” And, “I want to hear it again.” I joined by shouting, “Please read it. Please, Miss Moss.”

  The next thing I knew the story was over and I had been in another land with a beautiful girl who is cruelly treated by extremely mean stepsisters. Cinderella’s luck changes from bad to good with the help of a powerful fairy god-mother and animal friends who talk. She’s also lucky enough to fall in love with a prince who’s good at finding people. Of course, she and the prince live happily ever after. I loved it.

  When Laine and I were getting our coats and stuff from our side-by-side cubbies she said, “How come you didn’t know about Cinderella?”

  “I knew a little bit,” I said.

  Laine smiled, “Of course you did. Every kid knows about Cinderella. The movie is opening next week. It’s been rereleased.” (Even at five Laine talked like that. Her dad is this big deal producer of Broadway plays so she grew up around show business talk.) Then she said, “There’s a preview on Saturday. My dad’s got two free tickets. I’ll tell him you should come with me.”

  “What’s a preview?” I asked.

  “It’s when they invite the critics and important people,” she explained. “Like my dad.”

  The next day, true to her word, Laine told me that her mom would call my mom and we’d go to the movie together.

  Previews are great fun. Over the years I’ve been to a lot of movie and theater previews with Laine. You just show your pass at the door and sail right in. Everyone’s in a cheerful mood because they get to go to the movie for free and see it before anyone else. Seeing that preview was the most grown-up thing that I’d done in my life so far. And the movie was wonderful.

  When I got home my mother had a surprise for me. She’d been to the library to return some books and had borrowed a copy of Cinderella and an audiotape of the soundtrack from the movie. I played that tape over and over and over. Finally my mother said, “Really, Stacey, you’re going to wear it out.” Now that I think about it, my mom must have been sick of listening to all the songs over and over. I know that’s how I feel when the kids I baby-sit for can’t get enough of one of their tapes or discs.

  Anyway, Monday morning when Laine and I were putting our jackets in our cubbies, she asked me, “Did you like the movie?”

  “It’s real good,” I said. I didn’t tell her I knew the whole soundtrack by heart.

  After school each day that week as soon as I got home I’d sing along with the soundtrack to Cinderella and look at the pictures in the book.

  Now, about then my mother started a part-time job in the children’s clothing department at Macy’s. Her job probably marked the beginning of my being so interested in clothes. She had an employees’ discount so she was always bringing me home new outfits. I’d try them on and unless she and I decided that a sweater or a skirt or a whatever looked perfect on me, she’d take it back to the store the next day and bring me home something different. It was the best kind of home shopping.

  But there was something even better about her job at Macy’s that I didn’t know about until a week before Thanksgiving.

  “How would you like to be in the Thanks-giving Day parade?” she asked me one night at dinner.

  “What a great idea,” my father said. “We’ll make a Stacey balloon. The Stacey McGill balloon floating down Central Park West.”

  “The parade with Kermit the Frog?” I asked my mother.

  My mother was laughing at my father’s idea of a Stacey balloon so she didn’t quite hear me. “What frog?” she asked.

  “Kermit. In the parade,” I answered.

  “Yes,” my mother said. “The Thanksgiving Day parade. It’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. So people who work at Macy’s are in it. The people who hold onto the balloon strings and the people on the floats all work at Macy’s. The children in the parade are the children of people who work at Macy’s. Would you like to be in the parade?”

  “Instead of watching it?” I asked. I was having trouble following what she was talking about. Especially because my father was still joking about my being a balloon.

  “Stacey for Macy’s,” he said, “It has a ring, don’t you think?”

  “Anyway,” my mother said. “I signed you up, Stacey. To be on the Cinderella float. I thought you’d like that, and they were looking for girls to ride on the float.”

  “I’ll be with Cinderella?” I asked. “The real one?”

  “As real as she gets,” my father said.

  My mother was smiling. “I guess I made the right choice, huh? I sort of figured out that you love Cinderella.”

  “I do,” was all I could say.

  The next day I told Laine I was going to meet Cinderella and be in the Thanksgiving Day parade. She was pretty impressed. She also knew a lot more than I did about being in a parade.

  “It’s going to be cold out there,” she warned me. “But they probably won’t let you wear a coat or anything. You have to smile anyway. Everyone does. And wave your hand like this.” She demonstrated a smile and a wave. “It’s important to smile because you’re going to be on television,” she said. “Millions of people will see you.”

  I’d been so excited about meeting Cinderella that I hadn’t thought about the parade being televised.

  I wanted to ask Laine why I couldn’t wear a coat and still smile and wave, but she’d run over to Miss Moss to tell her my big news.

  After lunch that day Miss Moss had us sit in the circle for Talk Time. “So Stacey has some big news to share with us today,” she said.

  Everyone looked at me.

  “I’m going to be in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade,” I said, “with Cinderella.”

  The kids were so excited they started talking at once. But they listened when Laine said, “And she’ll be on TV.”

  “We’ll all watch for you,” Miss Moss said. “Won’t we, boys and girls?”

  All the kids in my class said they would.

  We talked about the parade some more. Miss Moss told us what was in the parade balloons to make them float. After that she asked each of us to say which balloon we liked best and what characters we’d like to see as balloons. I said, “Cinderella.” Laine said, “Madonna.”

  That day after school I put on the televison and thought about how I was going to be on TV. My mother came into the living room and asked, “What are you watching, Stacey?”

  I was so busy thinking that I didn’t know what it was I was watching. I guess it wasn’t a good show for a kid to be watching because my mother turned it off. “Really, Stacey,” she said, “can’t you find something more interesting to do?”

  I asked her, “How many more days until Thanksgiving?”

  That night before I went to sleep I looked at the drawing of Cinderella on the cover of the book and told her I’d see her in six days.

  On the day before Thanksgiving we had a party at school for our parents. My dad had to be at work, but my mom and Laine’s mother and lots of other mothers and fathers came to school to have a special potluck lunch with us. My mother made candied sweet potatoes. I don’t remember what Laine and her mother brought, but I do remember that Miss Moss made a big turkey. Our parents looked at the art we’d displayed around the room. There was a whole section of collages based on our favorite storybook characters. Guess what character I chose? Yup, Cinderella.

  After lunch we made a circle big enough to include our parents and sang a couple of Thanksgiving Day songs, then a lot of other songs. Miss Moss seemed to know just which ones our parents would be able to join in on, such as “Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore.”

  Before we broke up to go home for our four-day vacation Miss Moss said, “Now don’t forget, class. Stacey will be in the Thanksgiving Day parade. If you watch it on TV keep an eye out for her.”

  “I’ll be standing right next to Cinderella,” I added. “I’ll wave to you.”

  That day we took longer than usual saying good-bye. Four days seemed like such a long time
to be apart and we’d all had so much fun at the party. Laine and two of my other friends and their mothers were standing in front of the school talking. Deirdre said to me, “You’re going to be in the parade. My cousins and me are going to watch you on TV.”

  It was getting crowded on the sidewalk with all the older kids coming out of the building so we wished one another “Happy Thanks-giving,” and said our good-byes.

  Deidre, who was already walking away with her mother, turned around and yelled to me, “Have fun in the parade. Don’t forget to wave to me.”

  A couple of big girls who were passing heard her and stopped in front of me. “Hey,” one of them said. I looked up at her as she asked me, “Are you going to be in the parade?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “With Cinderella. On her float.”

  “Awesome,” the other one said.

  “A celebrity in our own school,” the first one said. She was probably being a little sarcastic, but I was too young to pick it up.

  Laine’s mother and my mother had finally finished saying good-bye to one another. Just as they were ready to walk away, Laine said to me, “I hope it doesn’t rain for the parade.”

  I asked my mother, “What if it rains?”

  “You can always carry an umbrella,” my mother said. “But don’t worry about it. The forecast for tomorrow is unseasonably warm and sunny.”

  “Great,” I said.

  When I got up the morning of the parade it was still too early to know if it would be a sunny day or not. If you’re in the parade you have to be there really early. That gives the people who organize the parade time to be sure everyone is there and in the right place to start marching at nine A.M. sharp. With all those floats, balloons, bands, and clowns, organization is a big thing.

  My mother was staying home to make Thanksgiving dinner for us and my aunt Beverly, uncle Lou, and my cousins Jonathan and Kirsten. She got up with us to make me a big breakfast and put the turkey in the oven.

  “I’m glad I’m staying home,” she said as she put a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me. “I want to be watching with the rest of the world when my little girl is on television.”