Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 058

"Maybe we should have asked someone to drive us out to Washington Mall," said Mary Anne. "It has a lot more stores to choose from." "Yeah," I answered. "But not... Zingy's." "Zingy's! That's all punk stuff. You won't find anything in there for a fancy dinner with the people in your father's company," said Mary Anne.

Claud grinned at me. "She might," she said.

"I like to think of myself as the Sherlock Holmes of fashion," I added. "No problem too tough to solve. I'll put together the perfect outfit at Zingy's. Trust me. It'll be perfect for me and my dad." In all honesty, I didn't expect to find quite such a challenge at Zingy's. Putting together the perfect outfit there took a little longer than I'd planned. But I did it. (I think I drove the saleswoman crazy in the process, though.) By the time I left I was carrying a shopping bag in which were folded a hot pink (fake) silk jacket which fell to my knees, new black leggings, pink-and-black socks, and a black body suit. I planned to wear the outfit with black flats, and to dress it up with some jewelry and maybe a couple of barrettes in my hair.

When Claud saw me in the final combination of clothes (standing next to a chair piled high with discarded jackets, pants, tops, and socks), she drew in her breath. "You look fabulous. It is the perfect outfit," she said.

Twenty minutes later we were leaving Zingy's. I was lugging the shopping bag, Claud was carrying a bag full of cloth headbands, Dawn was carrying another pair of earrings, and Mary Anne was carrying a package of scented pens which had been on display near the cash register. Kristy had bought nothing. "Zingy's doesn't carry baseball caps," she complained.

I think we were glad to sit down when we reached the Rosebud Cafe. We chose a round table in a corner, dropped our packages to the floor, and sank into our chairs.

"I wonder why shopping is so tiring," said Kristy. "It's not as if you spend a lot of energy standing around looking at racks of clothes." "If s mental energy," I told her. "All that planning and price comparing." "I guess ..." Kristy trailed off. Something had caught her attention. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "Look at the front of the restaurant! There's a real soda fountain, like from the olden days. Let's sit at the counter." Suddenly we didn't feel so tired. We picked up our bags and moved to the counter. Then we sat on the tall stools and pretended we were college students in the 1940s. We ate salads and burgers, and then splurged on dessert. (Well, Kristy and Claud and Mary Anne splurged. Dawn settled for some carrot juice thing and I ordered a second diet Coke.) Claud raised her ice-cream cone in the air. "Here's to your dad," she said.

"Here's to New York," said Mary Anne, who would like to live there.

"Here's to a great weekend," I added.

When Mr. Spier dropped me at my house that afternoon, I ran inside with my purchases. "Mom!" I called.

"In here, honey." I found my mother lying on the couch in the living room. "What's wrong?" I asked, alarmed.

Mom coughed. "Just tired. I needed a little rest." She propped herself up on one elbow. "What did you buy? You look like you had success." "Yup. Want a fashion show?" "Of course." "Okay. This'll take a few minutes." I dashed upstairs with the bag from Zingy's and carefully put on the entire outfit. I even added some jewelry and pulled my hair back with barrettes. Then I walked slowly down the stairs, trying to look like a fashion model, waltzed into the living room, and executed a turn.

Mom smiled. "Ravishing," she said.

"Honest? And do you really think this is all right for an important dinner with, like, Dad's boss and everyone? I mean, it did come from Zingy's." "You look lovely, honey. Sophisticated and beautiful." "Thanks." Mom lay back against the pillows then, which surprised me because I had thought she was going to get up. "What did you do today?" I asked. Maybe she had gone out with one of her friends.

"Cleaned a little," said Mom, coughing again. "Oh! I almost forgot. Someone from Bellair's called this morning about the buyer's job. Remember? The one I interviewed for?" (I nodded.) "Well, she asked me to come in for a second interview. We scheduled it for Wednesday." "Hey, that's great! Isn't it?" "It means she's interested enough to want to talk to me again." "Cool! . . . Hey, Mom, if you got a job with Bellair's would we get a discount at the store?" Mom smiled wryly. "Probably." "Oh, puh-lease do well at the interview!" "I'll try my best." "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I now volunteer to make dinner again." "I now accept again." "Take another nap," I suggested.

"Yes, ma'am." Mom dutifully closed her eyes.

I returned to my room. Before I thought about dinner, I took another look in the mirror. I imagined myself at the fancy dinner, sitting next to my father. The weekend was going to be wonderful. I just knew it. I could hardly wait for my trip to the Big Apple.

Chapter 4.

The day after our trip downtown to buy my new outfit and to celebrate Dad's promotion, Dawn baby-sat for Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie Barrett. She sits for them pretty often. They live nearby and are regular clients of the BSC. Mr. and Mrs. Barrett were divorced recently, which has been hard on the kids, but this may be one reason they get along well with Dawn. Since she has just been through a divorce, she can sympathize with them. She talks to them and answers their questions honestly.

On Sunday, though, the divorce was the farthest thing from the minds of the Barretts. They were much too busy filling out forms and addressing envelopes. At least, the older kids were. Marnie, the youngest (she's just two), was busy with a box of Kleenex. (The things that will entertain kids amaze me sometimes.) But Buddy who's eight and Suzi who's five were thoroughly engrossed in a stack of copies of Good Housekeeping, Ladies' Home Journal, and Dawn wasn't sure what else. Suzi can't write yet, so she couldn't fill out forms, but she adored looking through the magazines, and Buddy instructed her to lick stamps and seal envelopes.

When Mrs. Barrett had left the house Dawn, carrying Marnie on one hip, entered the rec room where Buddy and Suzi had set up shop.

"This place looks like an office!" exclaimed Dawn.

Buddy beamed. "I guess it is sort of an office." He and Suzi were sitting on the floor. Around them were spread scissors, pencils, envelopes, stamps, tape, and even some money.

Suzi saw Dawn glance at the money. "Mommy gave us that," she said happily. "She told us we could order whatever we want." "And we added our own money to it," said Buddy.

"How much did you say we have altogether?" asked Suzi.

"Well, we had twelve dollars and sixty cents, but now we have used up some of it. So we have to order really cheap things." "Okay," said Suzi uncertainly. Then she held a magazine toward her brother. "Buddy? Is this cheap?" "The ring?" Buddy squinted at the page. "No. It costs almost fifteen dollars. I wish you could read, Suzi." "Me, too." Dawn began to look through the small pile of envelopes that Buddy had declared were ready to mail. "What have you ordered so far?" she asked.

"A needle-threader!" exclaimed Suzi. "I found that. What did the ad say, Buddy? I don't remember." "It said 'You never need thread a needle again. Amazing Seamstress Helper does it for you,' We thought Mom should have that." "I didn't know your mom likes to sew," said Dawn.

"She . . . well, she might," Suzi replied.

"Anyway the Seamstress Helper only cost a dollar twenty-nine," said Buddy.

"And then we found special silver polish," Suzi went on.

"No-tarnish silver polish," Buddy explained. "The hostess's best friend." "And I don't remember how much it cost, but we sent away for a book for Marnie," said Suzi. "A very personal book." "A personalized book," her brother corrected her. "It is so cool, Dawn. You just fill out some information like Marnie's name and her age, and - boom - they send you a story about a two-year-old girl named Marnie. She is going to love - Oh! Oh, wow! I have to have this!" Buddy had continued to pore through the magazines while he was talking to Dawn, but now he had stopped and was jabbing excitedly at a page.