"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club 004 - Mary Anne Saves the Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

Jenny drew away from her. "I am, Mommy."
"And what are you made of?"
"Sugar 'n' spice 'n' all that's nice."
Gag, gag. I remembered another nursery rhyme. That one went, "There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead; when she was good she was very, very good, and when she was bad she was horrid."
"Isn't our angel pretty today?" Mrs. Prez-zioso asked me.
Our angel? "Yes, she sure is," I replied.
Jenny smiled sweetly.
"All right, I'm ready, Madeleine," boomed a voice from the stairs. Mr. P. came thundering down from the second floor.
"Okay, angel, you be a good girl for your sitter. Will you promise me that?" He tossed Jenny in the air and she squealed with delight.
"Oh, be careful!" cried Mrs. Prezzioso. "Her new dress . . . and your new ascot. Nick, please."
(What's an ascot?)
Mr. P. returned Jenny safely to the ground. "Well, let's go. Thanks for coming over, Mary Lou."
"Mary Anne," Jenny corrected him.
Mrs. P. stood in front of her husband. She straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and arranged the handkerchief in his pocket so that it was absolutely straight and the monogram was perfectly centered.
Then she turned around and stood next to her husband. "How do we look?" she asked me.
I glanced at Jenny. Jenny was watching me.
I blushed. "You look. ..." Somehow "very nice" didn't sound like enough. "You look like a picture out of a magazine," I finally said. And they did, all posed and stiff.
Mrs. P. appeared confused, but recovered quickly. "Why, thank you, dear."
There was a pause. "You're welcome," I said, to fill the silence.
"Now, we'll be at the Elliot Taggarts' this
afternoon," said Mrs. Prezzioso. "Their number is written on the message board in the kitchen, and the emergency numbers are right next to the phone. If we're not home by six o'clock, you can give Jenny a sandwich for supper."
"Okay," I said. Jenny and I walked her parents to the back door. "Have fun!" I called, as they climbed into their car.
I closed the door and leaned against it for a few seconds. "Well," I said to Jenny, "what do you want to do first?"
Jenny flopped on the couch in the playroom and pouted. "Nothing."
"Oh, come on," I said brightly, "there must be something you want to do. We have two hours to play."
Jenny stuck out her lower lip and shook her head. "Unh-unh."
"Well, in that case," I said, "I'll just play with the Kid-Kit by myself."
Kid-Kits were something Kristy had dreamed up to make us baby-sitters as much fun as possible for our charges. Each of us had decorated a cardboard carton which we'd labeled KID-KIT. We kept the boxes filled with books and games (our own) plus activity books that we paid for out of our club dues. The kids we baby-sit for love the Kid-Kits and look forward
to our visits because of them.
But Jenny had never seen one. "What's a Kid-Kit?" she asked.
"Oh, just something I brought with me." I'd left it on the front porch so I could surprise Jenny with it after the Prezziosos left. I retrieved it and sat down on the floor in the middle of the playroom. I opened the box and began pulling things out: three books, two games, a box of Colorforms, a sticker book, and a paint-with-water book. I turned my back on Jenny and began peeling balloons off the back page of the sticker book.
After a moment, Jenny left the couch and edged toward me and the Kid-Kit. She watched me put stickers in the book. Then she glanced at the things I'd pulled out. She opened the box of Colorforms. It was an old set of mine called Mrs. Cookie's Kitchen. She touched the flat plastic pots and pans and food. Then she put the lid back on the box.
"I can play with this stuff?" she asked.
"Sure. That's why I brought it."
"I can play with anything I want?"
"Of course."
"Is this a painting book?"
I glanced up. "Oh . . . yes. Here, how about the stickers? Don't they look like fun?"
"I WANT TO PAINT!"
"Okay, okay." I looked at Jenny's pristine white dress. I looked at the paint-with-water book. Wasn't the point of painting with water that it wasn't messy?
I went to the kitchen and half-filled a paper cup with water. Then I brought it to Jenny, opened the paint book for her, and settled her on the floor. "Okay, go to it," I said. "All you have to do is brush water over the pictures, and the color will appear. Make sure you rinse the brush off pretty often so the colors don't mix together. Okay?"
Jenny nodded.
"And ... be careful," I added.
Jenny was sitting cross-legged, the book spread open in front of her. She dipped the paintbrush in the water and moved it slowly toward the book. Drip, drip, drip. Three wet spots appeared on her dress.
I closed my eyes. It was only water. Still. . . .
"Jenny, wouldn't you like to put on play-clothes while you paint?" I thought she must own something more casual than what she had on.
"No."
"No? Not even a smock? We could put it on over your dress."
"No."
"How about one of Mommy's aprons?"