Chapter Seven: A Windfall for PJ

When PJ woke the next morning, lying naked in a nest of towels on the bathroom floor of his hotel room, the first thing he did was to feel the floor around him to make sure it was dry.

It was.

He got out from under the towels he'd used as a cover and stood up. He'd survived another night. Surveying his reflection in the mirror, he grinned at himself and said, "Happy Thanksgiving!"

In Walter's office the day before, PJ's brief flirtation with total psychosis had frightened him so badly that he'd taken anti-bedwetting precautions to level Def Con Five. Sleeping in the raw on the bathroom floor under a towel might've been extreme, but the way PJ looked at it, extreme conditions called for extreme measures. He'd slept well enough, he was dry, and there'd been no nightmares. As he brushed his teeth, he congratulated himself on the success of his entire plan.

It was the stupid letter that'd caused the trouble! After Pam Snyder had dropped him off at the hotel, PJ had gone right up to his room and flushed the letter down the toilet. Then he'd stood looking out the windows of his room, trying to decide how to protect his sanity until the next morning. He hadn't worried about finding things to do because he was, after all, a master at entertaining himself in strange apartments and hotel rooms. He crossed off the idea of going outside. It was already getting dark, and wandering around by himself at night in Central Park, or even on the sidewalks close to the hotel, was probably a bad idea. So he devised an alternate plan to occupy his evening.

For openers, he went down and had supper. Since it was early, not yet six, he had the dining room almost to himself, and when he told the headwaiter that he was staying in the hotel alone, waiting for his family to join him the next day, the staff couldn't do enough for him. After stuffing himself, to include two desserts, he explored the hotel premises until he found the fitness center. It was open, and fortunately deserted. Ignoring the usual sign saying "No One Under 16 Allowed," he worked out on the Nautilus machines for a full hour without getting disturbed, then went up to his room, stripped, and soaked in the Jacuzzi for another hour. After preparing his nest on the floor of the bathroom, he settled in with the book he'd packed in his overnight bag, one that had been recommended by Mr. Bingham: The Call of the Wild by Jack London. Soon afterwards, the combination of food and exercise put him to sleep.

Now, this morning, PJ faced his next challenge, which was finding a way to get through Thanksgiving. Actually, he didn't expect it to be a problem, because there would be all kinds of things to do--starting with the Macy's Parade.

Before heading out, he gave a thought to breakfast. If he ate at the hotel, it would go on his bill and the lawyers would pay for it, but it seemed more of an adventure to find someplace on the streets where he could order breakfast and pay for it himself. He checked the money supply. He had $46.13, which had to last the whole weekend. Plenty, he told himself. He split the money up, putting a few bills in different pockets of his pants, then assigned $12 to the pocket of his ski jacket. He would be around crowds all day and he knew all about pickpockets. The weather outside looked overcast and chilly, so he decided to wear a sweater under his jacket. Before leaving the room, he hurriedly messed up one of the beds so it would look slept in. No way did he want the maid thinking he was weird for not using it. After a final check to be sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he went downstairs and out onto the sidewalk.

His first stop was Columbus Circle, where he admired the big sculpted monument while peering up Central Park West. Parade spectators, both adults and children, were already jamming the sidewalks, and in the distance, far up the street, he could see floats and marchers getting ready. A few of the big balloons were already visible. This is gonna be fun, PJ thought.

He had to walk a few blocks before he found a place to have breakfast. A little deli on 7th Avenue caught his eye, so he sauntered in, taking a place at the counter, feeling very grown up. After ordering eggs and bacon, he decided to splurge by having a side order of pancakes along with a cup of coffee, something he rarely drank. Then, to show his complete mastery of the ways of the world, he left a generous tip. It was with a contented, pleasantly-stuffed feeling that he walked back toward Central Park West to look for a good viewing spot to watch the parade.

But this proved an impossible task. There were just too many interesting things PJ wanted to see, and no single spot at ground level provided a good-enough vantage point. PJ had lots of fun looking around, though, because he kept finding neat stuff to see. On one side street, people were hustling about making last-minute parade preparations, and some men were filling the enormous Snoopy balloon with helium. On another street, a huge float with a mountain ski scene was getting last-minute attention from a bunch of workers. PJ got so fascinated that he almost missed the parade start.

Drums and the sound of a marching band got his immediate attention. He ran to Central Park West and wiggled through the crowd lining the parade route until he reached a yellow police tape at the edge of the curb. Cops were standing guard in the gutter. Two little kids standing in front of their parents made room for him so he could see between the blue uniformed legs. Floats, balloons, and bands were moving slowly down the street, the crowd around him clapping when each group passed. When a gust of wind pushed the big Star Wars balloon almost to the ground, there were screams from the spectators as handlers below scattered out of the way. Then the huge balloon rose slowly back up into the air. Everyone cheered, many screaming out, "May the Force Be With You!"

But though he was really enjoying himself, PJ felt too jammed in by all the people. Looking across to check the other side of the street, he saw it was no better. The sidewalk along Central Park was so packed that people were even standing on top of the wall. However, in the Park itself and just behind the wall rose a big rocky outcropping some ten feet higher. There were kids sitting all over it, and PJ thought he could see a few empty spots. Picking his moment, he waited until a gap opened between a marching band and a float behind it, and darted out around a policeman, sprinting across the street before anyone could catch him.

On the other side, the crowd was so thick that he couldn't find a way to get to the wall and climb over, so he ran down a block and into one of the Park entrances. Because there were no paths close to the wall, he had to push his way through bushes and around trees, shuffling through piles of drifted leaves to reach his objective. The Park was below the level of the street, the top of the wall twenty feet over his head, so all he could see were trees and brush. The music of the marching bands, so close by, seemed oddly muted. PJ found it exceedingly peculiar to be suddenly running through the woods in the middle of New York City. It gave him the same strange sense of dislocation he got from his "crazy thoughts."

When he reached the base of the big rock, PJ looked up. The thing was much bigger than it had appeared from the street, but there were lots of little ledges and crevices that he could use for climbing.  He scrambled up. On top, above the wall, he found a spot where a few boys his own age were sitting and who made room for him. Because all the noise made conversation impossible, PJ just nodded his thanks. The boys smiled back at him.

From his new perch PJ could see much better. Trees blocked part of the view uptown, but he could watch everything in front right over the heads of the crowd on the sidewalk and follow the long line of the parade all the way down to Columbus Circle. Whenever balloons and floats went by, everybody clapped until their hands were sore. One of the marching bands played PJ's favorite Christmas song, "White Christmas," but with a jazzy, upbeat tempo.

After awhile, PJ's attention began to wander. He looked up and counted all the apartment buildings he could see along the parade route, wondering which was the one where Natalie Wood was supposed to have lived in the movie "Miracle on 34^th St." Some of his friends said it was a sappy flick, but PJ thought it was great. He wondered if it would be on TV later, something they often showed on Thanksgiving. Next, and seemingly right on cue, the band started playing "Jingle Bells" as the huge Santa Claus float at the end of the parade came into view. Everyone stood up to cheer and PJ scrambled to his feet with the rest. He tried to see if the man in the Santa Claus suit looked like Edmund Gwenn. He sort of did.

PJ thoroughly approved of the whole idea of Santa Claus. Of course, he was far too old to believe in his physical reality, but as a concept, PJ thought Santa Claus was outstanding. Every year he read with a warm thrill the "Dear Virginia" letter that they printed in the paper. In his estimation, the man who had written that letter really understood life's important values. He wished he could've met him. Moreover, although he'd received very few presents himself, PJ particularly liked giving presents to other people. Before Gordonsville, PJ hadn't had a chance to hand out many gifts because he knew so darn few people, but the few presents he had given had made him extremely happy. In fact, hidden in his closet back at the House was a present he had already bought for Erik: a video game accessory he knew his roommate wanted. He'd wrapped it in a way that disguised the shape so Erik could never guess what it was. He planned to give it on the very last day before Christmas vacation with a big "Do Not Open Until Christmas" card taped on it. He was 80% sure that Erik might give him something too. Anyway, he was hoping. . . .

* * *

PJ had never gotten any Christmas presents--at least not the kind of present he thought of as a "real" one. He'd often gotten new clothes around Christmas time, but he didn't count clothes as presents, nor the occasional new toy or game that might be handed to him by a nanny or maid. He'd seen enough movies and TV to know that "real" Christmas presents came in bright holiday wrappings, with foil and tinsel and a candy cane and a big card that said "Merry Christmas, PJ," tied on with a ribbon. Those were the good kind of presents, the kind you waited for anxiously after hinting for months, and they appeared on Christmas mornings under a big tree glittering with lights and ornaments.  PJ had never gotten any presents like that. Sometimes it made him angry, like he'd been gypped out of something he had a right to expect.

PJ could remember, exactly, when he'd stopped believing that he would ever get a true Christmas present. It was while he had been living at that institute in Chicago. For months he'd desperately wanted a chemistry set and had hinted about it to everyone: the nurses, his teacher, the maids, even his psychiatrist. To be double-sure, he'd taken the precaution of writing a letter to Santa Claus, addressing it to "The North Pole" and posting it on one of his outings.

The Christmas decorations in that facility had not included a tree, but PJ figured Santa could never be mean enough to skip the children there because of a technicality like that. Even so, just to be real sure, PJ had taken careful steps to avoid any possible misunderstanding. He'd waited until he was certain everyone was asleep on Christmas Eve, and tiptoed into the living room to leave a glass of milk and a plate of cookies (Oreos, his favorite) by the fireplace, along with a note in his best penmanship, which he'd decorated with holly leaves using a green crayon. It'd read,

"Dear Santa, please leave my chemistry set on the table. Sorry about no tree. Your good friend, PJ. PS the milk and cookies are for you."

PJ considered the milk and cookies (an idea he had picked up from a movie on TV) to be a masterful touch, and like a gambler betting all his chips on black, he'd gone to bed pinning his hopes on finding the chemistry set by the fireplace in the morning. Alas, after a restless night, he'd awakened early on Christmas morning and scurried into the living room to see how he'd made out, only, to his dismay, to find the milk and cookies untouched right where he'd left them. And no chemistry set.

He'd been bitterly disappointed. After cleaning up the milk and cookies, and putting the glass and the plate back in the kitchen, he'd flushed his note. He'd not wanted anyone to find out what a sucker he'd been.

For a couple of days he'd tried to kid himself that it was the lack of a Christmas tree that had jinxed him, but finally he'd decided to stop being a baby and face reality. He was never going to get stuff at Christmas like other kids, and there was no Santa Claus. Okay, so what. Big deal. The news wouldn't kill him. PJ had figured there were hundreds of kids living in places like New Guinea who didn't get Christmas presents either. They all survived, and so would he. Yet he'd never stopped fighting a strong rearguard action. He might've given up his belief in the physical reality of Santa Claus, but he wasn't about to give up on the concept.

* * *

PJ stood up to cheer and wave with everyone else while Santa Claus went by on his big float. He thought that the old guy looked great and that his float was just like the one in the Natalie Wood movie. After Santa had gone past, the huge crowd began to break up, some people following the tail end of the parade downtown, lots of others drifting away across Central Park or along the sidewalks in the direction of the West Side. He climbed carefully down off the big rock, feeling sort of cold, suddenly realizing that he urgently needed to take a pee. Walking down a path toward the Park entrance, he found a stone building with restrooms, but there was a long line of people already waiting to get in.  Anyway, when he got close, the stink was so bad he decided to look elsewhere.

Out on Central Park West, with signals from his bladder getting more and more insistent, PJ realized that if he didn't find a place soon he was going to go right in his pants. He ran across the street to the Dakota where the doorman, looking very aloof in a dark-red coat and cap, was standing under the marquee watching the crowd disperse. PJ went up to him with his best little-boy-lost look and asked, "Mister? Can I please use your restroom? I gotta go real bad and I can't find a bathroom." The doorman, a thin Puerto Rican with a straggly mustache, frowned for a moment, finally shrugged, and said, "Yeah, okay." He led PJ inside, pointed to a door back by the elevators, and told him, "In there, kid."

After letting fly, PJ felt ten pounds lighter. He came back out and thanked the doorman,  who gave him a curt nod in acknowledgement. Before taking off, he checked around on the sidewalk to see if there were any old bloodstains from where John Lennon got shot. He couldn't find any.

Free of distracting messages from his plumbing, PJ sauntered along with what was left of the crowd down to Columbus Circle. Broadway was jammed with adults and kids following the parade to Times Square, so he decided to walk east on 59th Street past his hotel, over to Fifth Avenue where the great square of the Plaza dominated the corner. After admiring the gold statue of Victory leading General Sherman, he headed downtown for a short walk to Rockefeller Center, where he stopped at the statue of Atlas bearing up the world. Ever since he had first seen it, PJ had been fascinated by this sculpture, although he couldn't explain why. He stood now, staring for a long time, still liking it but still not sure why. Some things just seemed right.

It occurred to him that while he was there, he shouldn't miss seeing the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, so he ran down the sidewalk and turned into the narrow mall that led to the skating rink.  The fountains were turned off for the winter, but all the bushes and little statues along the center of the mall were decorated with Christmas lights. PJ loved the effect.

Up ahead, towering over the rink and the statue of Prometheus, was the enormous Christmas tree, glistening with decorations and lights. To PJ as he leaned on the railing above the ice rink taking in the sight, it seemed at least a hundred-feet tall. Only a few people were skating. He watched for awhile, and then, following a sudden daring impulse, he went down the steps to rent some skates. He hadn't skated since living in Chicago, so it took him several tries, as well as a few falls, before he relearned how to keep his balance. Eventually, he was going around the little rink feeling, not confident exactly, but very dashing.

Looking up, he noticed two young girls watching on the railing above. When he smiled and waved, the two girls waved back, one of them saying something to the other that made them both laugh. PJ decided to show off the one trick he knew: skating backwards. He got himself stopped, turned around, and gradually guided his skates into his backwards maneuver. He looked up again intending to wave, but at that moment one of his skates bumped the other and down he went, sprawling on the ice. Up above, one of the girls yelled something and both covered their mouths with their hands, giggling. PJ grinned, waved back, and scrambled up for another try. This time he got it right, skating triumphantly all the way around the rink backwards. The girls clapped and waved. PJ turned around and got himself skating forward again. But when he looked up, the two girls were gone. Darn! After circling the rink a few more times, he decided it was time to move on. He turned in his skates and searched again for his cheering section, but the two girls were nowhere in sight.

PJ resumed his stroll downtown. The day had turned gloomy and overcast, but he still thought Fifth Avenue looked wonderful! All the stores were decorated for Christmas, with a bunch of them displaying American flags waving on flagpoles over their doors. As a dedicated fan of old movies, he stopped to look into the display window at Tiffany's in honor of Audrey Hepburn's role in "Breakfast at Tiffany's." PJ hadn't cared for the movie all that much, but he thought he might've been a little in love with Audrey Hepburn if he'd lived back then. He stared for awhile at the items in the display windows. He didn't, though, see anything he liked.

At 46th Street, PJ turned west. Now the sidewalks were more and more crowded. At last, he reached Broadway, turned south, and found himself amid the throngs filling Times Square. Times Square was PJ's favorite spot in the entire city! It was always busy, but he'd never seen it this crowded except on TV on New Year's Eve. There was barely room to squeeze along on the sidewalk. People were walking right out on the street among the cars. A lot of kids were there, but every one of them, even the older ones, were with adults. Amid all these thousands of people, PJ was the only kid by himself. He knew that made him stand out too much, so as he walked along he tried to stay close to any family group he could, figuring he would blend in better that way. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention.

Near a corner he passed by the "Good Morning America" TV booth where they were broadcasting the parade. A mass of people had gathered in front trying to get their faces on TV. PJ jumped up and down a few times but couldn't see over the crowd, so he spent some time worming his way through all the people, finally getting right up to the front. He waved his arms at the TV camera yelling, "Hi, Hi! Happy Thanksgiving!" Everyone around him clapped and cheered. He wondered if anyone would see him and hoped that maybe Mr. and Mrs. Williamson were watching back at Gordonsville. I should've brought a sign, he thought. One with a big arrow pointing to me, with "PJ is here" lettered on it. But it also occurred to him that he'd just embarrassed himself. He'd always hated show-offs, yet what in the world had he just behaved like!

The smells coming from a large walk-in pizza place across the street reminded PJ that he was hungry, so he went over and got in line. It was the most beautiful pizza place he'd ever seen. Everything was gleaming wood and polished brass. When he got to the serving counter, he saw they had every kind of pizza imaginable, plus calzone, subs, ziti, and lots of other stuff. He asked if they had a turkey pizza in honor of Thanksgiving, but the counter lady smiled at him and said they didn't. He ended up getting his favorite combo, a slice of pepperoni pizza, and a big Coke. At the register, the price caught him by surprise. Three dollars for a slice of pizza seemed kinda expensive, but he decided that in a place like Times Square, the restaurant had to charge a lot to stay in business. There were almost no empty tables, but he found a spot he could share with some kids and their parents, which kept him from looking like he was eating by himself.

Appetite satisfied, PJ walked down toward 42nd Street past the ESPN building, where it occurred to him to have a look around the sports shop for a souvenir he could afford. It'd be stupid to be in New York for Thanksgiving and not come back with something. Inside the store, up front because it was football season, there were a lot of NFL team jerseys and jackets on display, all pretty steeply priced. Far in the back, PJ found a really nice Boston Red Sox shirt, but there were no kids' sizes and the smallest men's size was like a tent on him. Besides, they wanted $40 for it and PJ had less than $35 left.

Then he saw the display of fitted caps. All his life he'd wanted a fitted baseball cap. He ran over. They had all the teams, and . . . yes! They had Red Sox caps! He reached up, searching until he found the smallest one. It fit perfectly! But then he checked the price and his heart sank. Twenty dollars! For a moment he was tempted. He had the money. However, if he spent $20 for a cap, he wouldn't have much left over to do anything else. He needed to make his money last. Giving the cap a last longing look, he put it back with a sigh.

Leaving the store quickly, before he had any other temptations or disappointments, PJ crossed the street to his favorite Times Square hang-out. He wasn't sure what its actual name was, so he just called it "the big video arcade." Walking in, he saw it was just as he remembered: a huge three-story atrium with all the latest cool games, and up above, two balcony levels with even more stuff.

In honor of Thanksgiving, PJ decided to go all out and bought ten dollars-worth of tokens at the counter. Ten dollars sounded like a lot, but PJ knew from experience how fast even that many tokens could evaporate since all the really good games were fifty cents or a dollar. His plan was to allocate seven dollars for the expensive games, then, once that was gone, to play the old quarter games up on the balconies where his final three dollars of tokens would last longer.

With the stash of tokens bulging out his pocket, he started in on one he really liked, a jet-boat racing game with a super cool video display. Right away, another kid slid into the seat next to him for a head-to-head challenge in the two-player option. They each won a race, then PJ won the tiebreaker for the championship. After that, he sampled most of the other high-tech games on the main floor, playing a round in each. He came close to sticking with his intentions, but at the last moment he couldn't resist spending one more dollar on a radical flight-simulator game with incredible video effects. Thus when he retired to the older games up in the balconies, he had just two dollars remaining. That left him only eight tokens to play with, but since he was a "king" at these old games, the eight tokens lasted a long time. By winning free games, he kept at it until he was down to his last token. Then, for his final effort, he selected Donkey Kong, the classic of classics. He took Mario to the highest level for three free games, almost winning a fourth before at last getting wiped out.

Pockets empty, he trudged slowly downstairs, trying to convince himself that he could afford more tokens, even though he knew he couldn't. It'd been fun while it lasted, though. He just wished Erik had been with him. It was always a lot more fun with a friend. He looked around for the kid who had played the boat-race game with him, but didn't see him.

Then on the way out, PJ passed a counter with souvenir sweatshirts in kid sizes on display. There were three different kinds, but the one PJ liked best was the gray one decorated with a Statue of Liberty head and "New York City" in big letters. The sweatshirts cost five dollars. Even though it left him with less than twenty bucks, PJ decided to buy one. The Statue of Liberty was his favorite National Monument, and he could use the sweatshirt all winter and spring at school. Besides, the sweatshirt had "New York" printed on it. Unless he came back from his trip with something that said "New York," no one would believe he'd been there. PJ walked out with his souvenir sweatshirt in a plastic bag, feeling he'd made a very sound purchase.

Times Square was still packed. Walking uptown, PJ found the sidewalks crowded with street bands, street vendors, and lots of families enjoying the holiday. Fortunately, by 49th Street, the crowds were gradually thinning out. When PJ got to 59th Street, there were just a few people around. Everyone's probably inside having their turkey dinner, he thought.

Carrying the little plastic bag with his sweatshirt, he entered the ornate lobby of his hotel, and found the enormous space silent and deserted. It's like I'm the only person staying here, he told himself. Up in his room, he took the sweatshirt out of the bag, spreading it on the big bed so he could admire it again. Since the bag had the name of the video arcade on it, he decided it would make a nice souvenir, too, and folded it carefully, tucking it away in his overnight luggage. He wondered if Walter Harris had had any luck in contacting Jack Canon. Apparently not yet, because there's was no blinking light on the phone indicating a waiting message. Then he turned on the TV, finding to his delight, as he surfed through the channels, a broadcast of the Army-Navy football game. It was just five minutes into the first quarter, so he'd only missed a little bit. His first thought was that he might see Erik!

He sat down to watch, but got up again almost immediately. That slice of pizza had been hours ago, the walk from Times Square had made him hungry, and it had occurred to him that whatever he ordered from room service would go on the bill that the law firm paid. He found a menu under his phone, dialed the number, and with the help of someone in the kitchen finally got an order in for a turkey club sandwich with milk. He picked turkey because, after all, it was Thanksgiving.

It seemed to take forever for the food to come. PJ found the football game interesting enough, but he'd been out in the fall air all day, walking nearly three miles. Soon he was dozing, half-asleep on the floor in front of the TV. When the room service's knock roused him, he jumped up to open the door. A friendly waiter wheeled in a little table with a tray of food. He set everything up for PJ--and then kind of hung around. When the waiter finally left, he didn't seem quite as friendly as he had first been. It was not until PJ started eating that he realized the guy had probably expected a tip.

After a few bites of the sandwich, PJ forgot all about the waiter. He'd been hungrier than he realized, and now at least he could say that he'd had some turkey on Thanksgiving. He was enjoying the game, too. In general, PJ liked playing football better than watching it, but Army-Navy games were fun because of all the history, rivalry, and spectacle. Finishing his sandwich, he was just about ready to polish off his milk when suddenly he saw his roommate on the TV screen! PJ was so surprised he almost dropped his glass. "Hey Erik!" he yelled delightedly. The TV camera was panning over the crowd, so Erik only showed up for a few seconds, but it was definitely him. There he was, sitting next to Bill, waving, holding a sign that read, "Hi Mom, Hi PJ."

PJ stood up. "Oh, neat! This is great!" He waited, staring at the TV hoping to catch sight of Erik again, but the picture switched to play on the field and never rotated back to that same part of the crowd. After awhile, PJ remembered the glass in his hand, so he finished his milk; but while drinking it, he was saying to himself, "Oh wow! Erik will never believe this!"

He pictured exactly how it would be. He would arrive back in their dorm room on Sunday night and say, "Erik, you were on TV. I saw you at the Army-Navy game!" Erik would get all excited and say, "You saw me? Really? I was on TV? Oh, cool!" Then Erik would think about it for a second, get that funny I-don't-think-so look on his face and say, "Wait a minute, PJ. Are you making this up? Did you really see me?" And PJ would say, "I really saw you, Erik. You were sitting next to Bill and you had a sign." Then Erik would say, "Ok. Prove it.Tell me what the sign said and I'll believe you." And PJ would say triumphantly, "It said 'Hi Mom, Hi PJ.'" Erik would then get all excited again and yell, "Oh, wow! I was really on TV! Awesome!" And he and PJ would high-five.

PJ considered this scenario so good that he ran it through a few more times in his head. Seeing his roommate on TV was exciting, but as he sat watching more of the game, he felt a little sad as well. He could've been there too, sitting with Erik beside Bill. Probably Erik could've talked his stepfather into buying programs, then he and PJ would have run around the stadium chasing down autographs from the Army and Navy players. It would've been a lotta fun. Probably a lot more fun than spending Thanksgiving alone in a New York hotel room.

Except. . . PJ sighed and forced himself to think again of all the complications that might have resulted if he'd accepted Erik's invitation. It was better this way. There would be lots of other times when he and Erik could have fun together. And if he'd gone to Erik's for Thanksgiving, he wouldn't have had the chance of asking Walter about Jack Canon!

 For a bit longer PJ watched the game, but when the score started to get lopsided (Navy 30, Army 13), he changed channels to see what else was on--and made a wonderful discovery. They were showing "Miracle on 34th St." He'd completely forgotten to look for it, and the movie  had already started, but PJ didn't care because he knew the whole thing by heart anyway. Plus he was tuning in at one of the best parts. Edmund Gwenn was the Santa Claus at Macy's, and when he spoke Dutch to a little refugee girl, Natalie Wood believed for the first time that he actually might be the real Santa Claus. PJ loved that scene! For the rest of the movie, he lay on his stomach on the bed glued to the TV, reciting lines along with the actors at all the high points. The ending made him feel good the way it always did. Natalie Wood got her house, with a swing, and a father as well. Some kids had all the luck!

It was not until the final credits were rolling and he sat up to get the remote that he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw the red message light blinking on the base of his phone. Getting off the bed, he went over to stare down at it. The only people who knew he was here were the lawyers. They must have left some message about his plane ride back to school. He picked up the handset and let the phone ring through to the operator. When she answered he told her, "Hi. The light on my phone is blinking."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Thorndyke. A Mr. Walter Harris wants you to call him. I have his number here. If you wish I can dial it now for you." PJ glanced at the clock radio. Five o'clock. He was supposed to be having Thanksgiving with his fictitious friend's family. He sure didn't want to blow his cover, but Walter might have some important news. He did some fast thinking and said, "Okay, I'd like to call him now."

"One moment, Mr. Thorndyke." The operator put PJ on hold. After a minute, he heard Walter come on the line.

"Hello, PJ? Are you having a nice Thanksgiving? I hope you didn't eat too much turkey."

PJ eyed the crumbs left on his sandwich plate. "No, Walter, I didn't. We had a good time. We're going to a movie now. I came up to change my clothes and saw my message light. That's how come I'm calling now." PJ got all this out in one breath to cover himself in case his lawyer asked any awkward questions.

But Walter was not interested in any of that. "PJ," he said in an excited voice, "I've got good news. Remember you asked if you could meet Jack Canon?"

"Yes, Sir." As if he would've forgotten!

"Well, hang on to your hat. I'm about to make this your best Thanksgiving ever! I talked to Mr. Canon this afternoon. He's at his house in Florida and he says he'll be glad to meet you. He wants me to bring you down to see him for lunch tomorrow."

PJ's heart almost jumped out of his chest. "Tomorrow! For real? In Florida?

"In Florida. He has a house in Fort Myers Beach, not far from where the Red Sox do their spring training. I can get you there!"

"Wow!"

"Yeah, it's gonna be a lot of fun, PJ. Listen, he wants us to stay the night at his house. You can fly back to school on Saturday afternoon."

"Overnight? That is awesome!" PJ shouted, and right away his mind started racing. Saturday? One night? Maybe two since I don't have to be back at Gordonsville `til Sunday an' plans can change an' whatever cause it doesn't matter `cause I'm gonna meet Jack Canon in person an' it's tomorrow!

"Yup," Walter was saying, "so be sure you're ready to go by seven tomorrow morning. I'll come by with a car to pick you up."

"Don't worry, Walter. I'll be ready!"

"Okay, young man. I'll see you at seven tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Walter! What a super Thanksgiving present! Thanks a lot!"

Walter Harris chuckled. "No problem. I'll enjoy this too, you know."

Feeling dazed, PJ hung up the phone. Jack Canon! He was actually going to meet Jack Canon! At this time tomorrow he would be at his house! He fell back onto the bed, hugging himself, then rolled around, laughing. Jack Cannon! It was so awesome! Asking Walter had been the right thing to do!

"Anything's possible!" he kept whispering to himself. "Don't ever quit! Ya' gotta believe in yourself!"

When he was finally able to get up, he began pacing the floor. What will Jack be like in person? What should I say to him when I meet him?

Suddenly PJ had an uncomfortable thought. Suppose Jack turns out to be completely different in person from the way he is on TV? Suppose he turns out to be mean? PJ didn't want to even consider that idea, so he pushed it away. No one with the patience to hang around after games signing autographs for kids could possibly be mean. Jack Canon was probably just as great a guy as PJ believed him to be.

But no sooner had PJ disposed of that thought then others popped into his head. What if Jack is only seeing me because I'm the team owner and I forced him into it? Probably Jack already made plans for the holiday weekend an' now he'll be mad because I've messed them up. Or, what if Jack just takes a dislike to me? After all, not everybody likes me. My parents never liked me. Or, maybe Jack will think I'm weird. Why should Jack like some crazy kid who wanted to kill his parents?

These ideas proved so difficult to deal with that PJ sat down on the bed for awhile, mentally wrestling with them before getting back up to pace around once more. I'm not gonna listen to stuff like that! When Jack Canon was making his comeback, he didn't listen to crap like that. Jack told himself that he was gonna play Major League baseball again! An' be the best hitter in the American League. An' he's done it!

PJ decided he would just be himself the next day. He and Jack would get along fine. Then at exactly the right moment, Jack would ask how old he was. PJ would tell him, and then . . . well, why couldn't a miracle happen? Anything's possible! That's what Jack said! Since I've visited him, I'll ask him to visit me! I'll ask him to come to one of my swim meets!

He hugged himself, wondering how he was ever going to wait until the morning. There was too much excitement to even think about sleeping. He wished Erik was there to talk with. The thing to do, he decided, was to bring his roommate there in pretend. He would play a game he had often used to entertain himself--the imaginary playmate game.

To start, he would open the door to his hotel room and let Erik in, then take the table and food tray out into the hallway. He would tell Erik all about the room-service waiter so they could both have a good laugh over how the waiter had hung around expecting a tip. Then he would help his roommate unpack, and since this was a sleepover, they would both get into their pajamas and turn down the bed to get it ready. It was plenty big enough for both of them.

He and Erik would sit on the bed, where he would spend about an hour telling Erik all about his adventures: breakfast in the deli, the parade, the doorman at the Dakota . . . and then the skating rink, pizza in Times Square, the fitted cap he didn't buy, the arcade. He would show Erik the sweatshirt he had bought, and Erik would declare it a perfect souvenir, saying he wished he had one like it.

When PJ finally told his best friend about seeing him on TV, Erik would really get excited. "PJ, next year you just gotta come to the game with us!" he would say, and PJ would agree.

Then, with bated breath, PJ would disclose the great news—that for a Thanksgiving present he was going to Florida to visit Jack Canon! Erik would be green with envy! He would not believe how lucky PJ was. He would say it was too bad PJ hadn't bought the fitted Red Sox cap because he could wear it when he went to Jack's house, but PJ would reply that maybe Jack would get him one. Finally, after swearing Erik to SUPER secrecy, PJ would reveal his special relationship with Jack, the proofs of his poster and his being the same age as Jack's son, and that he was going to invite Jack to one of his swim meets! "And then, maybe, just maybe," PJ would say, "Jack might spend a few days with me at Christmas!"

Erik would think it was a great plan and would be sure it would work. Everyone knew that Jack Canon was a great guy, and anyone with half a brain could see that PJ was a nice kid. He would be sure Jack would love the idea.

PJ would then suggest that they play video games until it was time to go to sleep. The TV had a special channel offering games from the hotel computer, so PJ and Erik would set it up and then plug in two game controllers. Since Erik was the guest, PJ would let him pick the first game. After that, they would alternate picks.

After awhile, Erik would remind PJ to set the clock radio for five-thirty so he would be sure not to oversleep. Then they would both play a baseball video game against each other in honor of PJ's visit to Jack's. They'd be having such a good time that neither of them would notice how late it was getting. Finally, both would fall asleep on the floor in front of the TV. Around midnight, PJ would awaken, turn off the TV, get Erik up, and they would crawl into bed together.

The next morning when his clock buzzer went off and his radio started blaring, PJ absent-mindedly reached over to wake Erik--only to remember that he'd been play-acting, that his roommate had never been there in the first place. But he couldn't help wishing that Erik was really there, in person, to help him get ready for his big adventure, and mostly to calm his nerves. He was still anxious about meeting Jack.

He stripped off his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to take a shower--and tripped over something. No. It can't be!

PJ looked down. Lying on the rug of his apartment were two game controllers.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT THREE

Editor Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com

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