Title: Claudia and the Rescue ... Series: N/A ... Fandom: The BabySitter's Club
Author: Kumquatwriter ... Email: .
Summary: Thirteen years after the BSC series—Claudia and the girls reunite to help one of their own. Work-in-progress; rating may go up.
Disclaimer: Scholastic Inc. and Ann M. Martin own all original BSC characters. Scenario is all mine.
Notes, Dedications & Thanks: This is dedicated to the girls at TheHiddenBookcase
It seemed like an ordinary day until my cell phone rang. I couldn't believe it when I read the display. Thomas, Kristy.
"Hello?"
"Claud? Is that you?"
"Kristy? Oh my lord, hang on a sec," I said, glancing at the clock. My class would be over in less than ten minutes anyway.
I dropped the hand holding the cell phone to my side, and faced the students. "Okay, class, you're done a little early. Don't forget to clean up your workspaces before you go." The kids looking back at me were all between twelve and fourteen. For a moment, I felt more like I one of them—as if I'd somehow been caught in a time warp. I shook my head. "I'm leaving early, but please leave the studio lights on, okay guys? See you Wednesday!" I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, putting the phone to my ear again. "Kristy? Sorry about that, I had a class." I tucked the phone under my chin and dug around in my purse, looking for a cigarette.
"I didn't know you were still in school," she said, sounding confused.
"No, silly, I teach now. God, it's been forever. I haven't even talked to you since I got back from Japan, have I?" I laughed, finally finding my cigarettes and lighting one.
"No. But we need to get together soon, don't you think? Because it's been so long? We need to catch up," Kristy said, sounding very casual.
Something was wrong, I was sure of it. Kristy was never subtle, but she was clearly trying to be. "What's going on?"
"Oh, nothing," she replied, still sounding nonchalant. "Your mom said you lived in the Village?"
"Yeah," I said, a little confused.
"Great! Are you free this afternoon?" Now she sounded kind of overly-bright. What was going on?
"I finish at four today, and then I guess I'm free until eight—Ro and I have tickets to a show tonight." Well, I could be free at any rate—I only had an appointment for a manicure, and that could definitely wait.
"Perfect. I'm going to be in Manhattan all day, so why don't I meet you somewhere at…oh, say, four-thirty?"
"Um, all right. Where's good for you?" This was definitely a weird moment. I had no idea how well Kristy knew Manhattan, and I didn't want her to get lost.
"Why don't we meet at Stacey's apartment? She's taking the afternoon off, and she said her husband can watch all the kids. We can pick her up and then all go out for coffee, how does that sound?" She was talking kind of fast now, taking over the situation. Same old Kristy.
"You've talked to Stacey already?"
"Yeah. We'll see you at four-thirty!" Click.
I always think it's stupid in movies, when someone hangs up and then just stares at the phone, but that's just what I did—so I nearly jumped out of my skin when it rang again. "Stacey! Did Kristy Thomas call you?"
"Yes, and she's showing up here at four-thirty, dropping off her son, abducting me and getting coffee, which from the sound of it she really doesn't need more of." Stacey sighed. "I had to put her on hold and call Doug to see if he could watch all three kids, and when I got back on the line she said she was bringing Mallory Pike with her and hug up. Do you have any idea what's going on?"
I lit another cigarette—I always tell people I don't chain-smoke, but I almost always do. "No idea. I'm worried, though. She calls out of nowhere and suddenly it's an emergency meeting of the Babysitter's Club all over again."
Stacey sighed again. "I feel really bad, asking Doug to cancel his evening plans. You know he always goes out on Mondays," I could almost hear her rolling her eyes, "But I don't mind being a football widow so long as it isn't more than twice a week. And better over at Gary's than having the Bears here." Stacey always calls her husband's friends 'The Bears' because of their passionate feelings about the Chicago Bears football team. I laughed.
"Well, I've got to cancel a manicure, if that makes Doug feel any better. But Ro and I have tickets to go see Cabaret at eight. Do you think we'll be done in time?" I looked longingly at the pack of cigarettes but decided to be good.
"I don't know, Claud. I mean, this is so out of nowhere that I don't know what to predict," she said. "Anyway, Marcia will be done with her nap any minute now. See you later."
"Later," I said, and hung up, thinking about my old friends.
I should probably tell you a little about them, since you must be confused by now. And about myself. My name's Claudia Kishi. I'm twenty-six years old, and I live in Greenwich Village, where I teach art classes and sometimes have my paintings and sculptures in gallery exhibits. I've loved art my entire life.
I grew up in a small suburb of Stamford, Connecticut called Stoneybrook. I lived there until I was twenty-one, when I moved to New York to finish college. I used to think I'd never even go to college, because I was a terrible student as a kid. I mean, I had to repeat seventh grade and everything. But when I was in high school, I got diagnosed with both Attention Deficit Disorder and Dyslexia. I got put on low-dose Ritalin and boy, did that make a difference. Between that and getting the right kind of tutoring, I actually started to do pretty well in school—I've never made straight A's or anything, but it was so much better than I'd ever hoped. I went to Stoneybrook Community College for two years and then finished my degree in Art Education at Ithaca.
After college, I went to Japan for two years. My family is Japanese—my parents were both born there, but my older sister Janine and I were both born in Connecticut. Going to Japan was an amazing experience. I lived with my cousins; my grandmother Mimi's sister's family. I studied all kinds of art, and finally learned enough Japanese to hold a coherent conversation. I mean, I knew a handful of words and things from Mimi, but it took really being surrounded by the language for me to learn it. Ro teases me that I have an American accent, but he doesn't mind.
Ro is short for Hiroshi—he's my boyfriend. I met him while I was in Tokyo, and we hit it off right away. He's a writer; he's done some things for stage and for TV, and he writes poetry too. I have to admit that the poetry is very traditional, which winds up kind of lost on me. But I love to listen to it. Ro got me interested in those great old monster movies, too, which are so much funnier when you have someone translating the actual script so you can compare that to the subtitles.
We kept in touch after I left Japan, and last year he moved all the way to New York to be with me. He's a great guy, and I'm crazy about him. And, for once, my parents are happy. I know they've never taken my art very seriously (although since the exhibit at MOMA—I mean, the Museum of Modern Art, they've finally really accepted it), and they really hated how I was in college. They were very happy when I took an interest in our family's culture. And they absolutely adore Hiroshi. Every time I visit Mom, she's showing me things about traditional Japanese weddings, and then reminding me that I can have a completely American wedding too, if that's what I want. I never really thought about marrying a Japanese guy, because my family was pretty much the only one in Stoneybrook. The only time I ever dated a Japanese boy was back when at summer camp when I was thirteen. Maybe I should have known, though, because I don't think I ever fell as hard and fast for a guy as I did for Will. And, I mean, Ro and I aren't even really engaged yet, but we've talked about it a lot. I just can't see myself as Claudia Yakado, because I think that sounds vaguely insulting. But I could always keep my name, right?
Anyway. Stacey Houston has been my best friend since I was twelve. She grew up here in Manhattan, but moved to Stoneybrook when we were in middle school. We hit it off, and even though she moved back to New York, then back to Stoneybrook, and then we went to different colleges, we've always stayed close. You would not believe the phone bills we can rack up, but that's always been worth it. Stacey's been married for about four years now. She and Doug have two kids: Evan, whose three, and Marcia, who is about to turn two. Stacey's diabetic—she found out when she was just a kid—and has had a lot of health problems. She had Evan okay, but when she got pregnant with Marcia, she wound up being on bedrest for almost the entire time, and for a while no one was sure if she'd actually make it. She can't have any more kids (duh), but she's finally recovering from Marcia. She's just started working again—she's an accountant, and right now she's working from home. Stacey is blonde and gorgeous—maybe a little thinner and paler than she ought to be these days, but she's always dressed in the latest fashions, and lately she's been managing to play off looking a little sickly as cutting edge and chic. She says she thanks God for Kate Moss.
Stacey and I were both in a really great club when we were kids—the Babysitters Club. Kristy Thomas was president, I was vice president because back then, I was the only one with my own phone line. Ah, the days before cell phones! Half the kids in my art classes have their own phones these days, but back then…anyway. Mary Anne Spier was the secretary, and Stacey was the treasurer. It was really a small business—we'd meet three times a week and take calls from parents, so they could find a sitter easily. Stacey sometimes fumes that the BSC doesn't exist now, because she hates trying to hunt up a sitter. There were other members of the club too—Dawn Schafer, who was from California and became Mary Anne's stepsister, and Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey, who were younger than us. And Abby Stevenson, and Shannon Kilbourne, and Logan Bruno, but I was never really close to any of them. Besides, Abby wasn't a member of the club for long, and Shannon and Logan were associate members. I was only really close to Kristy, Dawn, Mary Anne and Stacey.
I shook my head. Although we all tried to keep in touch, life doesn't always work that way. I mean, we have sort of kept tabs on each other. I knew that Mary Anne had dropped out of college to get married, and that Jessi was on tour—she's a professional ballerina, and she'd sent a note saying she was in the corps de ballet in a touring company. That Mallory had published her first book a year ago (She sent an autographed copy!). Kristy came out in college and has had the same girlfriend ever since, and that she's way into the Special Olympics, and is working on her Master's degree. I think. And last I heard Dawn was living in Los Angeles. Really, though, I haven't heard much from any of them since college.
When I went to Ithaca, I got into the party scene, and only Stacey stuck by me. She's the one that pointed out that I was heading for a serious drug problem—she's also the one who spent an entire week with me while I was getting cleaned up. I hadn't really gotten too far into things—I mean, I was taking way too much of way too many things, and it was heading downhill. Most of my old friends had pretty much told me to call them when and if I ever got my head together. Not Stacey, though. She made me confront things head on and wouldn't let up until I was off of everything except caffeine, nicotine and junk food. That she lets me off the hook for, although she said that if I wind up with Type II Diabetes from all the junk I've eaten she is personally going to stab me to death with a syringe. Stacey's also the one that talked me into a two-year sabbatical in Japan. She's kept in better touch with everyone—probably because she's online all the time for work anyway.
I headed back to get ready for my next class. When I got in, the studio was empty. Most of the students had put their canvases off to the sides to dry. I walked around the room, looking over their work. We were working on still-lifes this month, and I was really pleased with how well some of them were coming along.
I checked my watch—my next class was only fifteen minutes away, definitely not time for another cigarette. I sighed and wondered what on earth was bringing Kristy Thomas—and Mallory Pike—to Manhattan out of the blue. And I suddenly wondered why Mary Anne wasn't.