Seven Stories Up (10 page)

“Now jump!” she said.

With tired arms, I pulled myself that last foot up the chute, then sat in the little door hole cut into the wall, my wet shoes dangling. I looked around. Tables and chairs were strewn about. One entire wall of the room was covered in plush green velvet curtains. The other walls were dark wood. The ceiling was high, which made the whole thing feel like a throne room in a castle.

“Come on.” Molly beckoned below me.

I sprang down about three feet and landed on the purple carpet. My feet prickled.

Right away I could hear music, but it was smothered
by the chatter of people talking. There were thumps and scrapes, chairs being pushed in and out, and forks clattering against dishes. The music floated softly beneath these other, sharper noises.

“Oh, Molly!” I said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. This was nothing like the dusty hotel I’d seen back in my own time.

Molly beamed at me proudly, bouncing on her toes. “We’re in the banquet hall,” she said. “On the balcony above the ballroom. We never use this room when there’s something happening below, because you can hear everything. Come on!”

I ran across the room after her and together we peeked through a slit in the heavy green curtains. The music swelled up at us. It was the song Molly had sung to Friend just the day before. “Can’t take that away from me,” we both sang softly.

“Jinx!” I said.

“What does
that
mean?” she asked. “What’s
jinx
?”

“It’s just this thing my friends and I do. If you say something at the exact same time as someone, you say ‘jinx.’ Then you get a wish. Or a Pepsi. Or a pizza. Except you never really get it.”

Molly laughed. “That makes no sense at all. Also, what’s a
peet-za
?”

I stared.
This
I could not believe. “You don’t have pizza?”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t think so. What is it?”

“Only the best food in the world. Food from heaven. Promise me that as soon as possible you’ll eat a pizza.”

“I promise,” said Molly, nodding solemnly. “I do.”

After that, the two of us turned our attention back to the scene below.

“Ooh,” whispered Molly. “It’s a wedding! Look.”

I looked. Waiters were scurrying around with bottles and silver trays. There was smoke, so much smoke, drifting, rising from cigars and cigarettes up to the chandeliers. I swallowed a cough.

The men were nice-looking, with their suits and slicked-back hair, but the ladies were even better in their pale drapey dresses. Some had tiny furs hung around their necks. A few wore flowers, or had hats perched on their heads with feathers that shook when they danced. The bride, in white lace, was darting around, hugging everyone.

“I’ve never been to a wedding,” I said. “It’s so pretty!”

“Really?” Molly looked at me curiously. “There are loads of things I’ve never done, but I’ve been to
weddings. What about your aunts and cousins? Surely they get married.”

“I don’t have any aunts or cousins,” I said, shaking my head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone not having cousins, except perhaps Little Orphan Annie.”

“Plenty of people don’t have cousins,” I said. Though I couldn’t actually think of any. “Hey, which one is your dad?”

Molly touched her maid’s cap and shook the curls that peeped out from beneath. She scanned the crowd. “He never comes to events. He has things to do.” But then she went rigid beside me and pulled the curtains closed with a
shush
.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?”

“I was wrong,” she said. “He
is
there. Papa.”

“Where?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her curls. “He was talking to a waiter, over in the corner. He didn’t see me. Don’t worry.” But she sounded worried.

I put one careful eye back to the split between the curtains. At last I found the man with the mustache from Molly’s picture.

“Does your dad have a yellow flower?” I whispered.

“Yes,” she said without looking. “He always wears that, so everyone will know him.”

“He doesn’t
look
mean,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s smiling.”

Molly shot me a funny look. “I never said he was mean. What gave you that idea?”

I shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know much about dads in general. They mow the lawn, right? And play golf? Or go bowling?”

Molly shook her head. “Not mine. He just works. Then he works some more. And more.”

A few minutes later, the music faded and the crowd went silent. A large cake was wheeled into the room on a cart. The bride and groom came together to cut it, and my stomach growled. “There’s the cake,” I whispered. “I wish
we
had a piece—”

“Ooh! I know something!” shouted Molly suddenly. Her voice rang out above the now-quiet hall.

I froze.

Several people glanced up at the ceiling.

I ducked back behind the curtain.

Molly stood with her hand to her mouth. Her eyes went wide. “Do you suppose they heard that?” she hissed.

“Umm, I think it’s highly possible,” I said.

“Should we go? We
should
go, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably,” I said. “But why’d you ooh?”

“It was just—I had an idea. I wanted to—” Then she added, “Oh, fiddle! Let’s try it anyway. We’ll be quick, come on!” She dashed away from the curtains and back over to the wall, where she stood in front of a painting of an unsmiling woman holding a bouquet of flowers. I followed, then gasped when Molly gripped the picture frame and tugged at it. The frame swung out from the wall, revealing a hole. It was a dumbwaiter, like the one in
Harriet the Spy
!

“Cool! I wish
we
had one of those,” I said.

“You don’t? I feel sorry for your maids.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have any of those either,” I said.

“Cross your fingers,” Molly said as she pulled on a thick rope inside the dumbwaiter.

“For what?” I said.

“Cake,” said Molly. “Didn’t you just make a wish?”

After a minute of pulling, a tiny platform arrived from below. Molly reached up to grab the tray in it, but when she lifted the silver dome, it was—
not
cake.

“Ugh,” said Molly as she stared at the plate in her hand. “Bad timing. Liver and onions?”

I held my nose. The odor in the room was meaty and spoiled. “It smells like the
opposite
of cake,” I said. “Send it back! Gross.”

“Okay!” She reached up to set the plate in the dumbwaiter. That was when we heard footsteps, someone walking up the stairs.

I froze, but Molly moved fast. She set the plate down on the floor at her feet and hoisted herself up, first onto the table, and then into the dumbwaiter. “Hurry,” she said, poking out her head. “Get in!”

“There’s no room!” I said. I searched around for another place to go, but the laundry chute was over next to the doorway.

“I’ll
make
room.” She wiggled around.

The footsteps were close. Loud.

In a panic, I scrambled up onto the table, then tried to climb in with Molly. I crammed my body in beside her backward. “Oof!” I said, jamming my rear end in and sitting down. My legs still dangled below me.

“Come
on
,” she said. “In. Now!” The footsteps were
there
.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, squished myself in, and wrapped my arms around my neck. “Now,” I whispered. “Now!”

Molly pulled the heavy door, but it didn’t quite close. She took a deep breath and gave one final tug, and it locked with a smooth click.

We were hidden now, but squashed like sardines in a can and pinching our noses against the vile smell of the liver. “What will happen if we get caught?” I whispered, catching a mouthful of her curls.

“They’ll call Papa.” Molly’s voice trembled in my ear.

“What will
he
do?” I asked.

She didn’t answer me. But I heard the wet sound of Molly chewing her nails. I shifted around, trying to get comfortable.

Then there were voices, men’s voices.

“Mr. Moran thought he saw someone up here,” said one voice. “Probably maids cheating off work. Or maybe it’s nothing.”

The other man snickered. “Well,
nothing
is more than enough reason for Moran to dock a maid’s pay. The old skinflint.”

I tried to pat Molly’s shoulder. I thought it was her shoulder, anyway. The way we were crammed in, it could have been anything.

We listened to the two men move around. Then the first one said, “C’mon, there’s nothing up here. I’m not wasting my time. Let’s go have a smoke before we report back, hey?”

The other man grunted. “I like the sound of
that
.”

I was about to heave a sigh of relief when there was a clatter and crash. “Now I’ve gone and done it!” shouted one of the men. “Would you look at this mess, gravy all over! Someone’s been sneaking around up here after all.”

The other man grumbled, “And now
we’ve
got to clean it. So much for that smoke. How’s about you go and fetch a rag and bucket?”

“How’s about you?” said the other. “I’ll wait here.”

“If
I’m
going,
you’re
going.” The two voices became fainter as the men headed away, stomping down the stairs.

Molly opened the door. We gasped for air and stared at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, we both whispered, “
That
was close!”

Molly paused, then whispered, “Ooh, ooh … 
jinx
!” Then she said, “Like
that
? Did I do it right? The jinx?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Totally. But now let’s get to the chute and get gone.”

Molly shook her head. “We can’t use it now,” she said. “The things they went to fetch are in the basement, just where the chute comes out. We’ll be in the soup for sure if we slide down.”

“In the soup?”

“In a pickle,” said Molly.

“A pickle?”

“We’ll get in
trouble
. Just stay put.” She swung the
door shut again, and we were back in the stinky darkness. “Now grab the rope,” she said. “We’ve got to go up.”

I reached for the rope but got Molly’s nose instead. “Ouch!” she said.

“Sorry.”

“Shh,” said Molly in a tiny hiss.
“Pull.”

We pulled, hard as we could. Inch by inch. It took everything we had to move ourselves at all. I was sweating, and my palms were burning. I was wheezing, and so was Molly. “Did your sisters show you how to do this too?” I asked. “Like the laundry chute?”

“No,” came Molly’s voice. “They showed me how to sneak treats from it. But I guess I invented riding in it all by myself, just now.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, if we do this again, let’s bring a flashlight. It’s too dark!”

“Just pretend you’re wearing your sleeping mask,” said Molly.

“But I don’t actually
wear
that sleeping ma—” Then I cut myself off. “Oh,” I said out loud, without meaning to. “Oh!”

“Annie! Shhh!” hissed Molly again.

“Sorry,” I whispered. Only I couldn’t stop thinking about it after that, the mask.
The mask!
Maybe
that
was why I was still here, still in the past. I’d come back in
time wearing the mask. It only stood to reason that I’d need to be wearing the mask to go home again. The bed wasn’t my wardrobe, my talisman. The
mask
was.

A sense of calm settled over me. It made so much sense! I smiled in the darkness. Nothing was quite so awful anymore. Except maybe the liver.

“Where are we going?” I asked as the dumbwaiter rose slowly through the hotel.

“I don’t know,” hissed Molly. “Not here.”

We kept pulling.

“How do we know when to stop?” I asked.

Molly didn’t answer me.

Up we went, in the smallest, slowest, darkest elevator in the universe. I kept thinking we’d see a door, but with no light, it was impossible to know when we were passing them. The rope groaned and stretched. The metal box scraped against the shaft, but we just kept going blindly. I tried as hard as I could not to think about the rope breaking. I tried not to think about the shaft below us, and how much heavier we were together than a plate of liver and onions. Finally we came to a place where no matter how I pulled, we didn’t move. We were either stuck or done.

“Molly?” I said. “What do we do now?”

“I suppose we push,” said Molly.

So we pushed. At first nothing happened. Then something came loose, and the door made a clicking sound and swung open to reveal, amazingly, Molly’s own canopy bed.

“No way!” I shouted. “How lucky is
that
?”

“Like magic,” said Molly, letting herself down onto the rug.

I followed, hanging on to the dumbwaiter door, which turned out to be the painting of the chubby dog, set on a hinge in the wall.

“And it was there all this time?” said Molly, shaking her head up at me in disbelief.

“All this time,” echoed a voice.