I didn’t want to reveal that just yet. I had to make sure it was possible.
“I still have friends at the hotel” was my answer. “They’ll take care of us.”
“Perfect!” Courtney exclaimed. “Then we track down Mark.”
I put my finger to my lips in the “shhh” gesture, and pointed to the cabbie. “One step at a time.”
Courtney huffed and fell silent. The rest of the trip she spent looking out the window at another era. She didn’t say much. She was too busy marveling at the past. It wasn’t until we were almost at the hotel that she finally said, “It’s like watching an old movie, but it’s real, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
“Fifty-ninth and Park!” the cabbie announced as he pulled the cab up to the curb. Instantly a bellhop ran up and opened the car door for us.
“Welcome to the Manhattan Tower!” he exclaimed with a big smile. “Checking in today, sir?”
D. J. MacHale
The Pilgrims of Rayne
I got out of the cab and looked at him. “Pay the cabbie for me, would you, Dodger?”
Dodger, the bellhop, looked at me blankly, as if I had just spoken Latvian. I looked at the confused guy, and smiled. I knew it would take a few seconds for him to catch up.
A moment later his confused look turned to one of wonder.
“Pendragon?” he asked in awe. “Wha-“
“You know I’m good for it,” I said.
“Uh, yeah. Sure, sure,” Dodger said, scrambling to get his wits back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins. Tip money.
While he paid the cabbie, I leaned back into the car and smiled at Courtney. “Come on out and tell me if my description did this place justice.”
Courtney leaped out of the car and looked up at the imposing, pink building. By modern standards it wasn’t monstrous. It stood only thirty-two floors high. But in 1937 it was pretty impressive, complete with the three-foot- high letters near the roof that spelled out its name: THE MANHATTAN TOWER. At night those letters glowed a brilliant neon green and could be seen all over the city. The hotel took up a whole block, resting in a perfectly manicured garden that was like an oasis in the middle of the city. Being November, the leaves on the trees had turned brilliant colors of red, yellow, and orange. There were pumpkins placed everywhere, probably as Halloween decorations from the night before.
Courtney didn’t comment on how impressive it all was. Or on the beauty of the grounds. Or even on how well I had described it in my journals. Her comment was much more Courtney than that.
“Where did it happen?” she asked.
“Where did what happen?”
“Where did that gangster land that Saint Dane threw out the window?”
I gave her a sour look. That particular gruesome event was one I’d managed to forget about. Until then, thank you very much Courtney.
Dodger came running back to us, looking all wide-eyed. I’m guessing he was around nineteen years old, with slicked-back black hair. He was a feisty little guy who couldn’t have been more than five foot three. What he lacked in size he made up for in energy. He was constantly in motion, with eyes that were always looking around for what needed to be done next. On Second Earth you’d call him “hyper.”
“Hey, old pal! I thought you was gone for good!”
When Dodger wasn’t being a professional and speaking with hotel guests, he had a fast way of speaking that he called Brooklynese. To me he sounded like Bugs Bunny. He spoke quickly, changing subjects in midsentence, barely waiting for answers. If you weren’t up to his speed, he’d leave you in the dust. “Is Spader comin’ back too? Did you know Gunny disappeared? Nobody’s seen him since last spring.” He focused on Courtney, leaned in to me, and whispered, “Hey, who’s the skirt?”
“Skirt?” Courtney shouted.
Apparently Dodger’s whisper wasn’t quite low enough. He froze in surprise.
“That’s the sexist stereotype you reduce girls to? Skirts?” Courtney growled.
“Hey, no offense, doll-“
Uh-oh.
“Doll?” Courtney screamed even louder. “Oh, that’s much better.”
She stepped toward Dodger, ready to do battle. The little guy backed away in fear.
I didn’t think he was used to a skirt, uh, a girl being so aggressive.
“What kind of name is Dodger, anyway? That’s a dog name.”
“It’s a nickname is all,” he stammered. “I like baseball.”
“Baseball? I’ll bet you’ve never even been to Los Angeles!”
“Los Angeles?” Dodger said, confused. “Who said anything about-“
I quickly stepped between them and glared at Courtney. “Dodger’s real name is Douglas. He calls himself Dodger because he likes the Dodgers. The Brooklyn Dodgers.”
That stopped Courtney. She had forgotten about the whole time-travel thing. The Brooklyn Dodgers wouldn’t move to Los Angeles for another twenty years. I looked to Dodger and said, “This is my sister. Dodge. Her name’s Courtney. We’re going to stay in Gunny’s apartment for a while. Okay?”
I figured it would be better to tell everybody Courtney was my sister so nobody would get freaked out about us being together.
“Hey, fine with me,” Dodger said. “You’re lucky Caplesmith didn’t clean the place out. He thinks Gunny’s coming back. Is he?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. Of course I couldn’t tell him that Gunny and Spader were trapped on a territory called Eelong that was full of talking cats and carnivorous dinosaurs. I was just happy to hear that the hotel manager, Mr. Caplesmith, had kept the apartment. Gunny was the bell captain at the hotel. He’d worked there most of his life and pretty much ran the place. I’d bet that Mr. Caplesmith would hold his apartment forever on the remote chance that Gunny would be back. That’s how great a guy Gunny was. It was lucky for us. It meant we had a place to stay
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I hope he’s coming back.”
Man, I missed Gunny. Spader too. But I couldn’t let myself go there. Self-pity didn’t help things.
“No luggage?” Dodger asked. He kept stealing nervous looks at Courtney, as if waiting for her to tee off on him again. Courtney just glared.
“We’re traveling light,” I said.
“Is that a problem?” Courtney asked aggressively.
“Not for me,” Dodger said. “If you don’t need a change of undies, that’s your business, sister.”
“I’m not your sister,” Courtney shot back, then looked at me and smiled. “I guess I’m his sister.”
“Let’s just go inside,” I suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.
Dodger went ahead of us, leading us up the wide front stairs into the hotel.
“Be cool,” I said softly to Courtney. “Dodger’s okay.”
“He’s overcompensating because he’s short,” Courtney sniffed.
“Whatever. We need him.”
“Okay, I’ll be good… little bro.” She smiled as she said this. It was weird pretending that we were brother and sister.
The hotel was just as I remembered. It was the height of luxury, 1937-style. The lobby had a high, stained- glass ceiling. There were huge, dark oriental carpets everywhere and lots of soft, leather furniture. It was a place that catered to the highfalutin, so all the guests were dressed impeccably. The bellhops looked neat and crisp in their burgundy uniforms with gold trim. They were the same uniforms that Spader and I had worn when we lived and worked there. I actually had lots of happy memories of the place.
Some lousy ones too.
“You hear the big news?” Dodger asked as he strutted through the lobby.
Courtney said, “Heard it? We were there!”
Dodger frowned. “You were in Hollywood last night?”
Courtney and I shared a look.
