Free Claudia Silver to the Rescue (9780547985602) by Kathy Ebel

his earphones back onto his ears. “It was a misstep,” he remarked loudly, as other customers turned to look. “If I’d just taken you to
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
at Film Forum and tomato soup at Fanelli’s, we’d be making out right now.” Garth saluted Phoebe and ambled from the bank.
    â€œOh my God,” Claudia remarked as the line moved forward. “Freak show.”
    â€œBut you guys sound like you’re from the same planet,” Phoebe observed. She waved to Garth, who was now gesturing from the sidewalk.
    Claudia glowered. “Don’t encourage him.”
    â€œI wasn’t,” Phoebe said as the bustle of Seventh Avenue carried Garth away. “He seems pretty encouraged in general.”
    By now it was Claudia’s turn at the ATM. She turned to face her foe.
    Claudia punched in her PIN number and angled her body while the money machine churned, not wanting Phoebe to see her balance. When the numbers appeared on the screen, Claudia’s chest constricted.
    â€œYou sure you don’t want a few bucks?” Phoebe asked.
    â€œI’m good,” Claudia said lightly, withdrawing her last forty dollars.
    Claudia and Phoebe hurried down the stairs of the Grand Army Plaza subway stop into a holiday block party. It was hard to believe that Christmas held the possibility of disappointment or loneliness, what with the chatter and laughter hanging low over the crowded subway platform like cigarette smoke at a zinc bar. A young guy from across the park, his knit cap housing his dreadlocks in a striped mound, serenaded the guests with reggae-infused carols on a battered acoustic guitar as his open case gathered an impressive pile of bills on a bed of coins.
    Claudia observed the Park Slope families: Wall Street dads in good wool overcoats and leather gloves, mothers in fleece earmuffs and Wellies, children in ripped jeans and new sneakers. They resembled one another effortlessly and took their natural, mutual devotion completely for granted. Claudia wished that she and Phoebe could fasten themselves to one of these solid pods, like the segment on
Live at Five
where a plump Riverdale house cat had taken in an orphaned gorilla. They could even share a wallpapered bedroom under the eaves and do their own laundry and light housework.
    Will work for family.
    Claudia and Phoebe emerged from the subway into Bronwyn’s neighborhood, where progressive Brooks Brothers Jews, deeply empathetic WASPs, tenacious LaGuardia High School Puerto Ricans and wide-hipped Eileen Fisher divorcées were minted, to be turned out to the rest of the city. Snow was sketching paisley patterns on the shop awnings along Eighty-Sixth Street. “We need to bring them something,” Claudia said. They were about to duck into a Korean grocery when a lanky, lacquer-haired man with a leather trench coat appeared in their path.
    â€œExcuse me.” His accent was fruity and Claudia immediately pegged it as a sham. “Hello.” He ducked his head slightly, as though doffing an invisible cap. “I’m Paolo Crespi.”
    Claudia gripped Phoebe’s arm, tightly. “Of course you are,” she said.
    Paolo swung his droopy eyes between the two girls as snowflakes melted on his leather shoulders. “You are sisters?”
    â€œNo,” Claudia shot back. “I’m her trigger-happy bodyguard.”
    â€œI wonder,” he continued, pointing his smile and his gaze at Phoebe, “if you model?”
    â€œWow, great line,” said Claudia. “You get that from the
Date Rapist’s Handbook
?”
    Paolo hesitated. “Because you have a great look.”
    â€œMove along, Father Sarducci,” said Claudia, firmly steering Phoebe into the market and gearing herself up to get loud if he followed them in, which he did. Paolo brandished a business card in each of his long, outstretched hands, ineffectually insulated with perforated leather driving