Agents of the Glass (26 page)

The woman behind the desk at the Newgate Hotel checked her computer screen, frowning. Then she typed for a few more seconds and frowned again. “This is very strange.” She caught the eye of another desk clerk—a slight, bored-looking man with a shaved head and frameless glasses. “Emilio, could you take a look at this?”

He glided over to her, and as he did, Andy felt a chill run up the back of his neck. Rubbing the spot, he felt the knot in the cord that held his disk of Lucian Glass.

“This is Detective Cunningham from the NYPD. He's looking for a woman named Ilene Porter. Room 2801. When I call it up, I get a different name.”

“
Perhaps
you have the wrong room, Detective,” said Emilio in a voice that gave Andy another case of what his mom called the jeebies. “Or
perhaps
Ms. Porter is using another name. Many of our guests are important people who don't want to be bothered by…anyone.”

“Well, you see, that's just it,” said the woman. “I remember Ms. Porter. I helped her check in. Room 2801, I'm
positive.
”

Emilio shrugged—a great, exaggerated shrug with a facial expression to match. “Ah, but you see, the computer…it does not lie.”

“Perhaps,”
said Detective Cunningham, visibly annoyed with Emilio, “I'll just take a look for myself.” He marched to the elevator, with Andy trailing behind.

“Just a second,” said Andy, stopping to retie a shoelace that didn't need to be retied. As he kneeled down, he sneaked a peek through his Lucian Glass at Emilio, who was already typing a text message on his phone. “I knew it,” he said under his breath, and then ran to catch up to Detective Cunningham, who was holding the elevator door for him.

A woman answered the door to room 2801. She was in her late twenties, blond, model-beautiful, and dressed head to toe in red leather.

“Oh, hello,” she said. Her accent was unfamiliar to Andy. Somewhere in Europe, he thought, but he couldn't narrow it down any further.

Detective Cunningham held out his NYPD shield. “Good morning, ma'am. Sorry to bother you. Are you Ms. Porter? Ilene Porter?”

Her eyes darted from Cunningham to Andy, then back to the shield. “No. My name is Alicia Rondell.”

“Are you a friend of Ms. Porter's?”

“No…I'm sorry, what's this all about? I don't know anyone by that name. Who is she?”

“Just someone we'd like to talk to. She was registered in this room. Can I ask how long you've been here?”

“Just the one night. I checked in yesterday afternoon, about four-thirty.”

“Has there been anyone else…asking about her?”

Ms. Rondell shook her head.

“Well, there seems to be a bit of a mix-up down at the desk. Would you mind if I—we—took a quick look inside? We'll only be a second.”

She stepped to the side and let them in. “There's not much to see.”

Andy stayed near the door while the detective poked his head into the bathroom, then looked out the window at the city spread out beneath him. “You're right. Not much to look at. Sorry to have bothered you.” He handed her a card. “If you hear anything—a phone message intended for her, whatever—give me a call, okay?”

“Sure. Hope you find what you're looking for.”

Andy turned to leave but stopped suddenly when Ms. Rondell reached for the doorknob. Hanging on the back of the door was Jensen's scarf—that ratty plaid thing that she wore constantly.

“Wait. That's—” He paused, debating whether to continue.

“What is it? The scarf? Have you seen it before?” asked Detective Cunningham.

“It's Jensen's.”

“Are you sure?” Cunningham turned to Ms. Rondell. “Is this yours?”

She laughed. “
That
thing? I'm
quite
sure it's not mine. I think you'll agree that it's not exactly my style. You're welcome to it. In fact,
please
take it. I wouldn't want anyone to think it was mine.”

“Jensen never goes anywhere without that thing,” said Andy. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember whether she had been wearing it as she was being dragged away. “Except yesterday. She didn't have it on. I'm positive.”

“I can't believe you're actually here,” Winter gushed to Karina Jellyby in the Wellbourne broadcast studio. “Thank you
so
much. I
love
your music. This is Andy. He's my assistant….Ha-ha. Actually, he's my producer,
and
he's a huge fan. The first time I met him, he was listening to one of your songs.”

Karina gave him a firm handshake and, when she was sure Winter wasn't looking, a wink. “What's up, Andy? Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Even though he had already met her, he didn't exactly have to pretend to be awestruck by her. He pinched his arm to stop himself from staring at her. “Do you, uh, need anything?”

“No, no. I'm fine. Man, this brings back a lot of memories,” Karina said, looking around. “I was in the BC, too. I loved it down here. Life was…so simple then. Although I'm sure I didn't think so at the time.” She slapped herself hard across the face, surprising Winter and Andy. “Snap out of it, Karina! You're not here for a stroll down Nostalgia Boulevard. Let's get to work.”

Winter pointed to the guest's chair on the set. “Okay, right, let's go. You can sit over there, and we'll get started.”

With Karina in place, sound and lighting checks completed, and Winter's “Welcome back to Wellbourne” out of the way, the real interview began.

Excerpt from Transcript of Interview with Karina Jellyby by Winter Neale

Wellbourne Academy, NY

WN: Let's talk about the Wellbourne concert and those two hundred and fifty fans.

KJ: Those guys aren't just fans—they're unstoppable, a force of nature. Like a hurricane, but one that does good. An inspiration. I mean that. We asked kids to write about their Operation THAW experiences, and we were absolutely blown
away.
You hear a lot of bad stuff about today's kids—that they're selfish, they're lazy, all they care about is their phone. Maybe that's true about some kids, but not the ones we heard from. They are
GETTING IT DONE,
Winter. We seriously considered moving the concert to a larger venue so we could invite more, but Wellbourne is special to me….I really had my heart set on it.

WN: We're just SO psyched that you decided to keep it here! Could you tell us about some of the contest winners?

KJ: Are you kidding? I'd love to! I have to warn you, though. Once I get started, you might have to stuff a sock in my mouth to make me shut up. Might as well start with Parker and Patricia Elmsford. They're twin sisters here at Wellbourne who organized a food donation program. It started in their apartment building, but now they're collecting from four other buildings in their neighborhood. With a little help from an older cousin who's a carpenter, they designed and built these beautiful wooden chests that go in the lobbies where everyone can see them. And seriously, these kids are whip-smart; they paint the chests the same colors as the lobbies, so they look right at home. Twice a week, rain or shine, Parker and Patricia borrow grocery carts and deliver—and then sort and organize!—hundreds of cans and boxes to a local church, where the food is distributed to people who need a little extra help. Those two kids are working their butts off. And what's really wonderful is that their attitude is absolutely contagious. Donations are still increasing every month, and more and more buildings are
asking
for donation boxes for their lobbies. Buying an extra can of soup or an extra box of pasta has become a habit for the people who live in those buildings, thanks to the Elmsford twins. In their essay, they wrote about their belief that all people are basically good—they just need an occasional reminder that not everyone is as fortunate as they are. Two hours a week. Not so much to ask, is it?

WN: Wow, that's an awesome story. Now let's talk for a minute about your critics. Not everyone is a fan of your music or Operation THAW. A lot of people think it's wrong to pressure—or, in some cases,
require
—kids to do community service. They say that the whole idea is un-American, that it sounds like socialism, that it's sending the wrong message to people who need help. How do you respond to that?

KJ: [
Laughs
.] Ah, you're talking about my old friend Howard Twopenny. Look, I'd love to live in Howard's world—at least the way he thinks it is, a black-and-white place where everyone starts out equally and the hardworking rise to the top and the lazy end up on the bottom of the heap. But that's just not the way it is, Winter. I've seen plenty of hardworking people out there struggling to make ends meet. And plenty of lazy ones who are doing just fine. The folks at NTRP have gotten rich by focusing their cameras and microphones on all the worst aspects of human nature and completely ignoring the rest. I know I'm wearing some serious rose-colored glasses, but I think—no, I
know
—they're wrong.

WN: But why is it up to kids to fix the problem?

KJ: I wouldn't say that it's “up to” kids. If Howard Twopenny doesn't want his kid to spend two hours a week volunteering, that's fine. But if you ask me, kids need to get out there and see the world for themselves—the good
and
the bad—and let's face it, sometimes kids need a little push. I know I would have when I was that age.

WN: Funny you should mention Howard Twopenny's kid. He's a student right here at good old Wellbourne: our producer, Andy [Llewellyn]. Hey, Andy, could you come out here? Here he is. Howard Twopenny
is
your dad, right?

AL: Yep. That's him, all right.

WN: So, whose side are you on, Andy? Your dad's or Karina's?

KJ: Oh, let's not put him on the spot here. Tell you what, though. Andy, you tell your dad that I want him to be my personal guest at the concert Friday. I mean it. I would love for him to come and see for himself. To hear some of the stories—not just about what these kids have done, but about how they have been changed by volunteering a couple of hours a week. Will you ask him for me?

AL: Um, okay. You're serious?

KJ: Absolutely. I'll leave two tickets for him at the door. You tell him that I am going to be
so
disappointed if he doesn't show.

WN: Do you think he'll come, Andy?…He's shrugging. Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Getting back to the concert: Karina, you kept the location under wraps for a long time—any secrets you're willing to share about Friday?

KJ: Hmm. I guess it would be all right to let the cat out of the bag—the goody bag, that is. Before the concert, we're throwing an all-you-can-eat pizza party, and everyone is going to get a tote bag
packed
with goodies.

WN: Lucky kids! We're just about out of time, so let me thank you again, Karina. It's been such a thrill, and I can't wait for Friday.

When Winter called for him to join her on the set, Andy had been in the process of snooping through her email, which she had left open on her tablet in the control room. Unfortunately, he was caught off guard when he heard his name, and he left a message open when he stood to go on to the set. To make matters worse, the moment the interview was over, Winter asked one of the boys in the control room to bring her the tablet so she could take a picture with Karina.

“I'll get it,” said Andy, rushing into the room.

“Too late,” said Luke Toller, a ninth-grade computer whiz with a major crush on Winter. “I've got it,
Howie Junior.
”

Luckily for Andy, Karina saw the look on his face when Luke started to hand the tablet to Winter.

She reacted quickly, taking a step toward Luke and pretending to trip on the rug at the same time. Her left hand flung forward into his, sending the tablet flying across the room and onto the hard tile floor, where it landed with an unhealthy
crunch.
An awkward silence followed as everyone cringed, waiting for Winter's reaction.

“You…
idiot,
” she snarled at Luke, who seemed to be shrinking into the floor.