Ann Martin - Mallory Pike, No.1 Fan

A large picture window looked out onto her yard. Gazing out the window, I saw she had a flower garden, though most of it was now turning brown. Only a patch of orange and yellow chrysanthemums still bloomed.

"So, what brings you to my door?" asked Ms. Hayes as she put a bright blue tea kettle on the stove. Somehow it seemed so right that Henrietta Hayes wouldn't own a microwave oven, which is what we use to make hot water in our house.

"Well, I wrote you some letters about it," I began. "I know you received them, because I got replies from you, but . . ." I stopped, because I didn't want to sound as if I were complaining - even though I was complaining.

"But you got a form letter back," Ms. Hayes said sadly.

"Well, yes." "I feel so bad about those letters, but I'll tell you, Mallory, mail became quite a dilemma for me. I used to try to answer all my letters personally, and as a result a great many letters went unanswered. There were simply too many. Answering them all took up every bit of my time. So, after a while I started putting them aside for a moment when I would have some time, and that time never came. I'd feel terribly guilty. When I finally said, I must answer these this minute, I'd look at them and find that some were nearly a year old. I felt foolish writing things like, 'You may remember that you wrote me almost a year ago.

.' I had to come up with a solution, and that solution was the form letter." "That makes sense," I said.

"I can imagine how unsatisfying it must be to receive a reply like that," Ms. Hayes went on, taking lovely pink teacups from her cabinets. "Yet it's better than being ignored, don't you think?" "Oh, yes," I agreed. "That would be worse." - "Of course it would," said Ms. Hayes. "So, now tell me what you wrote to me." "I guess that means you didn't read my letter," I said. "I thought maybe you hadn't." "I would have read it eventually," Ms. Hayes assured me as she set out the cups. "But I can't guarantee when. See those?" She nodded to a willow basket filled with blank stamped envelopes which sat on a table in the corner. "The moment a letter comes in, I look at its return address. I write the address on one of those envelopes - each one has a form letter inside - and put it right into the mail. After that, I set the letter aside to read when I can. I do treasure the letters. They mean so much. They're very encouraging." "Good thing I came here, then," I said. "By the time you read my letter it would have been too late." "Too late for what?" Ms. Hayes asked.

"For my report." I told her every detail of what had happened: from my discovering her books, to Mr. Williams' rejecting my proposal, to my coming up with the brilliant idea of improving the project by including her in it, and then to my being inspired by Alice Anderson to come to her house myself.

Ms. Hayes clapped her hands with delight at the last part. "So Alice inspired you, did she? How wonderful. You don't know, Mal62 lory, how happy that makes me. That's exactly what I wanted Alice to do - inspire girls to take life head on, and not let anything get in their way. Oh, you have really made my day. Thank you, Mallory." "You're welcome," I said. "Thank you for writing about Alice." Ms. Hayes smiled just as the kettle let off a high pitched whistle. "Let's get going on that project of yours," she said gamely, shutting off the flame and pouring water into our cups.

"Are you sure you have time?" I asked.

Ms. Hayes laughed, as she stirred in the hot chocolate mix. "Would Alice have asked that?" "No, I guess not. Okay. Here's my first question . . ." As I went down my list, Ms. Hayes answered every question. I learned that she wrote for four hours every day. Then she spent two more hours working on outlines for new projects.

"That, to me, is the hardest part," she admitted. "I find the writing fairly easy. Ideas are often more difficult to come by." She told me that her ideas came from life combined with imagination. "Sometimes I put real people I've observed into situations I've created with my imagination," she explained.

I longed to ask her if she was Alice or Alice's mother. Somehow, though, sitting there faceto-face, it seemed like too nosy a question.

Instead, I stayed with easier questions such as, "How did you feel when you saw your first play performed?" "Terrible," Ms. Hayes admitted. (I'd expected her to say she felt great.) "It wasn't nearly as terrific as I'd thought it was when I'd finished writing." "That was 'Vacation at Frog Pond'?" "Yes! You've really done your homework, Mallory." "I know all the titles of your books and plays," I told her. "I'm not finished with the entire 'Alice Anderson' series yet but pretty soon I'll be finished. Are you working on something new?" "Always," Ms. Hayes said with a smile. She tapped her forehead. "I can't seem to turn this thing off." "I hope it's another Alice book," I said.

"No, it's not," Ms. Hayes said, sipping her hot chocolate. "You'd like to see another, would you?" "Very much," I said. "I can't stand the idea of never finding out what happens to Alice, you know, in her life and all." Ms. Hayes looked at me in the same blank way she had when she'd met me in the doorway. "You may have given me an idea," she said after a moment.

"What?" I asked.

Ms. Hayes waved her finger. "No, no. I never talk about my ideas until they're on paper. Talking about them has a way of making them die out on me. I'm not sure why." "All right, then don't tell me," I said quickly. I went on and finished my questions. I scribbled Ms. Hayes's replies down so fast my hand hurt after awhile. "Thank you so much, Ms. Hayes," I said when I had asked my last question. "I really, really appreciate this." - "You're welcome, Mallory," said Ms. Hayes, frowning.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"No, it's just that I'm not sure I've given you a good sense of what the life of an author is really like," she said.

"I do have a lot more questions if you ever have any more time to spare," I dared to say. "I mean, I'm sure I could think of a lot more questions. There's so much I'd like to know." "You know, Mallory, I have an idea. How would you like to earn a little money?" "I already do - I mean, I baby-sit - but what were you thinking?" I asked as I stood up.

"I'm in the middle of two big projects right now. I could use an assistant around here for the next three weeks. It wouldn't be too hard - filing, a little typing, maybe making some phone calls for me. Then you could see for yourself what my workday is like. Would you be interested?" "Oh, Ms. Hayes," I gasped. "I am so interested you wouldn't believe it! Yes! Yes! Absolutely!" I felt so overwhelmed I had to lean on a kitchen chair a moment for support. I would be working for my favorite author. This had to be a dream. But it wasn't! Up until now I knew I wanted to be an author, but I really had no idea how I'd get my books published. By working as Ms. Hayes's assistant I'd learn how it was done. And I'd be able to ask Ms. Hayes questions. She could give me advice about how to improve my work and who to send it to. This was a giant step forward on the road toward becoming a real author.

"This is terrific, Mallory," said Ms. Hayes. "I needed an assistant, and here you are. It's as if fate brought you here." Fate! What an author-like thing to say.

She was right, though. It was fate.

At that moment I had the sense that my life was about to change forever.

Chapter 6.

The very next afternoon I reported for my first day as Ms. Hayes's assistant. "Here's where I work," she said, showing me a small room with a very large wooden desk, on which sat an electric typewriter.

"You don't use a computer?" I asked.

"Oh, I know I should," Ms. Hayes said with a laugh, stepping into the room. "But I can't quite deal with the idea. To me, this typewriter seems like high technology. I bought it only last year and I still can't believe how amazing it is. I can read two sentences on this print display here and change them as much as I like before printing." I nodded and decided that when I knew Ms. Hayes better I would offer to teach her how to use a computer word processing program. Mom showed me how and it's not that hard.