hours earlier. Last saw her at the front door. They’d all gone to the city to visit her folks and do some things there. While she went with a friend to a matinee one day, for lunch and a long talk with another friend and then alone to some bookstores and an acupuncture session the next day, he took the kids to several museums: Natural History, the Modern, Met. He also wanted to take them to the Frick, which he hadn’t been to in years and the kids had never seen — he thought they’d like the courtyard pool with the lily pads in it, he thinks, and also the Limoges — they had at the Walters in Baltimore — and he wanted to sit on the couch with them across from the Rembrandt self-portrait in that long room and talk about how the face, expression and body bulk always reminded him of his father. He used to go there a lot just to look at it, no other painting, or maybe the two Vermeers in one of the front hallways, how could he just go past those? so something else to show the kids they might like, sit on the same couch and jot down whatever came to mind about him and some of the incidents between them and sketch and draw the painting, usually in different colored ballpoint, and sometimes the painting and the huge vase of flowers or leaves on the table between him and it, though he wasn’t an artist. What happened to those drawings and notes he doesn’t know. But they said too many museums in two days so choose any three of the four so long as one was the Natural History. They also wanted to go to the Central Park merry-go-round and zoo and F.A.O. Schwarz after all the museums, “have a day on the town just for kids, hamburger restaurant for lunch but not a fast-food — stuff like that,” Margo said. He said they went to Schwarz’s—“it sounds funny calling it that, but anyway, the last time, and the zoo and merry-go-round the two times before that. But if you want to go and we’re all not too pooped by then, okay — at least it isn’t Christmas or Easter seasons at F.A.O.’s with wall-to-wall shoppers but mostly sightseers like us.” Merry-go-round was closed with no sign on it saying why, on a day it was supposed to be open. They went to the zoo, had lunch at its cafeteria because it was convenient and the food looked pretty good, then F.A.O.’s where Julie cried almost the second they got inside when he wouldn’t give her money to buy anything. “I thought the understanding we’d agreed to at home was that we’d come only to look, not buy — window-shop, they call it, though in this case outside-in window-shopping — come on, sweetheart, don’t make a scene, you’re embarrassing me, people are going to think I really did something wrong like beat you and then the police will come and I’ll be arrested and you’ll have to save up all your next year’s allowance to bail me out,” but words weren’t working so he tried taking her aside but she pushed his hand off her waist and said “Get off me. And you are doing something wrong. You can’t take us here every time and expect us not to buy something; it’s unfair,” and Margo said “It is, Daddy.” “All I want is ten dollars for if I see something I like. That’s not much.” “Ten dollars? What do you think, I’m made df money? which is what my father used to say whenever I asked him for ten cents for a comic book, and he had much more dough than I. In comparison, he was practically rich, but he knew I shouldn’t ask for money when anyone was around, which doesn’t apply here since we don’t know any of these people, but especially when the agreement beforehand was not to ask for any money at all. But look, I’ll give you each, something my father never would have done, two bucks to spend as you please.” “Two dollars is nothing here,” Margo said. “That’s what I’m saying — this is a place just to get ideas for things to buy in cheaper toy stores.” “Ten,” Julie said. “I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” “With what?” People passing were looking, some smiling or raising their eyebrows as if they knew what he was going through with the kids and he said “Come on, both of you, over here where we can discuss this without the world bonking into us,” and they did. “Now, with what money you going to pay me back?” to Julie. “And I give you ten, I have to give Margo ten — that’s twenty dollars and we’re not even talking tax, and New York’s got something like eight percent now, maybe even nine.” “What about the money Grandma gave Margo and me for summer? That adds to thirty, which is way more than twenty.” “Oh, fifteen plus fifteen; this kid can count; very good. Mommy and I bought you things with that money, and I don’t want to argue anymore. I’ll give you each three dollars, buy what you want. If it’s not enough for whatever you pick out, put a down payment on it, what do I care? I’ll also give you enough for the tax, so up to three-fifty apiece, but that’s my last offer.” “Ten.” He said “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” and she said “You owe us thirty dollars: Grandma’s. You didn’t spend it on us. Mommy was holding it and I remember when you didn’t have enough and you asked her for it; you bought gas.” “You have five seconds to accept my offer, Julie,” looking at his watch, and she said “I want the money that’s mine, or just ten dollars of it.” “Okay, that’s it, agreement’s over, I’m sorry you have to lose out on this too, Margo, but she won’t compromise, so we’re going,” and when he took Julie’s hand and she pulled it away, he said, which he knew was a threat she wouldn’t take seriously, so why’d he make it? — it just came out, he’d done it several times before and she always reacted the same way and after the last time he told himself he’d never do it again—“You don’t want to go? Fine, stay, but we’re going,” and took Margo’s arm and they went through the revolving door. Looked back, she was staring angrily at him and then turned around and headed for the escalator. “That goddamn kid, I’m so goddamn sick of her,” to no one, and to Margo “Stay here,” and she said “Don’t hit her,” people going in and out bumped into him or skipped around him and he said “Excuse me, sorry,” and to Margo “What do you mean? When have I ever?” and went back in. Have I ever hit them? he thought. I don’t think so. She was at the escalator, her back to him — once, if any time, and not hard, but he forgets when and which one and just a slap on the back of her hand and probably for something important, like she was about to dart into the street or just after she did it or started to and he caught her — pressed a button on a panel beneath a large bear and it started talking, mouth moving, “Hi, I’m Teddy Ruxpin” or something, and gave directions to the Barbie shop. “Up the escalator, turn left, keep going straight till you pass the Talking Tree, then right till you come to the Barbie dolls, they’re real pretty and say hi from me, Teddy.” Another button; he said “Julie!” Same intro, then how to get to the stuffed animals, “and when you get there, check out my friends and me, Teddy Ruxpin.” “What do you think you’re doing?” Another button: board games. She said “I’m staying in the store till I find something I like. With my money Grandma gave me, which you should give back or it’s stealing.” “Stealing, hey? Wait till Christmas and I’ll go ho-ho-ho.” “You’re not funny.” “I’m not funny? And why do I answer every utterance of yours with a question? But then who’s funny, you?” “I’m serious, Daddy.” “And I’m not? Listen, you’re not getting any money. I have to be decisive. I shouldn’t tell you what I have to be, for you might think I haven’t made up my mind and that you can change it—” “I don’t know what your word ‘decisive’ means.” “So we’re leaving, right? My threatening to leave you here before was stupid, since I would never do that, but now I’m serious, so,” which he didn’t want to say, it’ll only make things worse, and he knew he’d never carry it out, “if you insist on embarrassing not just me but you too, by staying when I’m saying we have to go, then I’ll be forced to drag you out of here or lift you up, rather, and carry you out bodily, meaning with my body, on my shoulder if I have to, one way or the other or even something else, under my arm, I’m still strong enough to, so are you coming?” and she said no. “No?” and she said no. Another child pushed a panel button: puppets and magic tricks. A trick, he thought, and said “Who’s Teddy Ruxton or Ruxpin — this guy?” and she said “You can see: a bear.” “But from where: television, movies?” and she said “I don’t know; you don’t let us see them.” “When? I’d let you see a movie or some public TV if it was good.” She just looks at him. “Listen, my sweetheart, isn’t this a bad place to discuss all this? Let’s all go for a snack, cool off, maybe we’ll come back. We can if your attitude’s better.” “I don’t want to eat and you won’t come back even if I acted like an angel.” “How do you know? No, I almost swear I will, if we’re still close by and not tired, and same deal, three-fifty apiece to spend here, even four. But that’s my last offer and last time I’m offering it. And if you don’t leave with me now, and nicely, this will also be the last time you’ll ever be allowed in here again so long as I live,” which he knew, he knew, it was the kids’ favorite place in New York, which was the point, but a ridiculous dumb threat, one that’d absolutely have no impact, though maybe a combination of all those offers and threats and just that she might be hungry and tired of arguing with him would change her mind or mood. “I don’t want three or four; I want my ten dollars you owe me.” This time an adult: Legos. I know how, he thought, and said “My God, where’s Margo?” and looked to the front of the store, too many things blocked his view of the doors, said “Wait, I’m going to see,” ran around some people to the doors, Margo was right outside, facing the street, she was fine, nine, very self-sufficient, if anything went wrong she’d come in and stand by the door and look around for him and if she didn’t see him she’d stay there till he came, ran back, said “Come on, let’s go outside, I didn’t see her and I don’t want to leave her alone. This is New York.” “So?” “So people steal little children, your age and Margo’s, and prettier they are, quicker they go. I don’t mean to scare you, and not every day of course and it could happen anywhere and is probably the rare instance when it does, but you don’t want to leave your child alone here, smart as Margo and you are.” “You go; she could be inside already and I’ll tell her to wait for you here.” “Listen, this is important; no fooling around from you now. And tell you what. Next time we come here — not today, so another day; today’s just three-fifty to four dollars if you cooperate — I’ll give you each five bucks. And that’s not between you either, which is a fair compromise. Altogether, ten.” “You just say that,” and he said “Whatever I said, we got to get outside to find Margo, but I swear by anything that I’ll keep my word — ten. Weil tell Margo, so she’ll be a witness. But let’s get out there, I’m worried,” and took her hand, she jerked it back but followed him to the revolving door. He got in a section first and slowed the door, for other people were entering from the street, so she wouldn’t get caught getting inside or have to get out too fast. They stayed at his in-laws’ three nights. They couldn’t leave for New York till late Saturday afternoon because his kids had swimming lessons that morning and Julie a piano lesson at noon and Margo a painting class at two. They’d only miss one school day for Monday was a special teachers’ day off for an education conference, and he took two days off from his job so he could go to New York and his wife worked at her own stuff at home. Margo said “Where were you? I was looking all over” and he said “But you’re all right, right, everything okay?” and she said “Sure, why not?” “Well, I looked and didn’t see you before and got worried,” and she.said “I don’t see how. I was standing here all the time, watching the crowds passing. So many people. I even saw a fight between two men. A policeman broke it up. I think I got a good idea for an art project from it.” “What of?” he wanted to say but she said “You were so long, Daddy, I thought you were lost,” and he said “Me, in my old city? But what would you have done if I hadn’t come in another fifteen minutes?” and she said “Stay here and wait and then go in to look from around the bottom of the escalator and finally call Mommy.” “How do you know the number?” and she said “I’d ask for Grandpa’s name from Information and give the street.” “You know how to get Information?” and she said “Four-one-one, or I’d go to the store’s office for help. They’d give it, wouldn’t they, if I told them I was all alone?” “Sure. Probably happens all the time. I didn’t think of it. Besides, maybe they have a public address system for lost children. They have to, so why not use it for fathers? They probably even have a special pickup area for lost parents and kids. But what if a man came up to you before you went into the store, or a woman, and said — you know, nice voice and face and nicely dressed—‘Young lady, your father’s suddenly not well—’” “I’d ask what your name is, for this is a creepy person who’s doing something bad, right?” and he said “Okay, then he knows my name, for some reason, or he tricks it out of you — kidnappers can be clever — but he said, or she does, that I was suddenly stricken with something — he even knows my birth-date and what I do in life and was wearing today, so he’s convincing. And to be even more convincing, there could be a man and woman working together, pretending they’re a sweet married couple. But that I had a heart attack, or stroke, whatever story, and was taken to a hospital and that I asked them to take you there to me, what would you do?” and she said “But your story’s crazy. You were inside; how can you get out without me seeing you or some kind of crowd around you or the ambulance?” and he said “I cabbed to the hospital, felt I had to get there fast, and there’s a back entrance to the store on Madison,” and she said “Your story’s still all wrong. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Daddy, but you couldn’t have been heart-attacked and taken to a hospital or gone there alone by cab in so short a time.” “Not true. We’re talking of twenty minutes. I could be on my way to the hospital while this man’s talking to you. But before I went out that back entrance I told this man, and I wouldn’t have done any of that, of course. I’m also as healthy as a horse, so I’m not about to get any heart attacks or strokes. But if I was too sick to get you, in actual life, because of a sudden stomach flu, for instance, which knocked me cold and kept me on the ground groaning for half an hour or in your store office where some store people took me, then I’d in some way communicate to these people to send a guard outside to get you, and also to keep Julie safely beside me. But this is the man’s lying story to you I’m telling you, not mine, so what would you do?” “What you told me to lots of times in things like this, so why are you asking?” and he said “Let’s say for Julie’s sake. I haven’t really talked about it with her yet and when I was in the store and didn’t see her for a minute I started thinking of it for her.” “I know what to do,” Julie said. “I remember you told Margo once. I say to the man ‘Let me’—no, ‘Let a policeman take me to the hospital for my father.’ Then when I get one I say ‘Let me speak to my mother,’ but I wouldn’t know how to call her in New York.” “In the store’s office, dummy,” Margo said. “You can’t expect her to know that,” he said. “But close, Julie, very good — and why are you talking to her like that?” to Margo. “What’d she do to deserve it? — But you’d go to a guard, if you couldn’t find a real policeman — someone in a uniform in the store, or you’d just ask a salesperson to get you one. Salesperson: someone who sells the stuff behind the counter. And sometimes the guards have pl