The Genie of Sutton Place Read Online Free

reason it didn’t, besides losing everything I was used to, was my bedroom. I knew the apartment already, from my visits with Lorenzo, and I appreciated it. Grampa Lorenzo’s stuff, which Aunt Lucy didn’t dare change, was like Sutton Place: old and new, and all good. A bull’s-eye mirror would have fitted in very well. But then Aunt Lucy, with a grin out of a store window, said, “Now come and see your room, Timmy!”
    She’d had the guest bedroom redecorated. And, boy, was it ever decorated! The trouble was, I didn’t think the decorator knew anything about kids—much less me. I could have been four—or eighteen. Half the room was college pennants, and the other half was cuddly stuffed animals! And the worst—the most unbelievable thing—there weren’t any bookcases in it! How can anybody design a room for a kid and not put at least one bookcase in it?
    â€œLook, Timmy,” said Aunt Lucy. “You open these cabinet doors, and there’s color television!”
    I’m not underestimating color television. A lot of kids would sell their souls for it. And some of the programs are pretty good, too.
    â€œIt’s very nice, Aunt Lucy,” I said.
    â€œBut, oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to include a doghouse for Sam.”
    â€œAunt Lucy,” I said, “Sam doesn’t need anything but a piece of floor to lie down on.” (Actually, he had his box. Which I went down and got in a couple of days.)
    At that moment Sam was up on top of my chintz-covered bed, sniffing a Princeton flag. He was always able to enjoy things more easily than I could.
    â€œWell, that’s fine,” said Aunt Lucy. “Just fine. I’ll leave you two to make yourselves at home.” She was just as uptight as I was, and she beat a retreat to her own bedroom.
    That was the worst—when Sam and I were alone in “ my room.” It was even more lonely than “custody” down in Madame Sosostris’s séance room.
    I guess Sam wasn’t as down as I was, though. He kept me company for a while and then padded off down the hall. (It’s pretty clear, considering all the trouble that came later, that he was following the trail of perfume Aunt Lucy left in the air on the way to her bedroom.)
    So there I was, all by myself, staring at a color TV set that I didn’t want to turn on, with even Sam deserting me.
    But I wasn’t alone for long. Because just then Rose Jackson came in. Rose is one of those people who, when they come into a room—even an awful one like my bedroom—make everything feel more natural. More human, I mean.
    â€œHi,” she said. “I hear you’re going to live with us.”
    â€œI guess I am,” I admitted.
    â€œCome on in the kitchen. Let’s have a Coke and get acquainted,” said Rose.
    Rose is Aunt Lucy’s sleep-in maid, housekeeper, and cook. (Maurice, by the way, slept out. Which was going to make things easier.) Rose really is a singer, although she doesn’t know yet whether she’s a true dramatic soprano or a mezzo. She works for Aunt Lucy to pay for her music lessons, and part of the deal is that she can vocalize in her own bedroom as much as she likes. There’s nothing wrong with being a maid, and if that’s what you want, I’m all for it, but believe me, Rose Jackson is a girl who’s not ever going to be satisfied with only washing dishes. And she’s twenty-two. I found out all that while she found out all about me when we were having our Cokes in the kitchen. Rose was doing her favorite hobby as we talked, filling in a crossword puzzle.
    About this time on that first afternoon, I was beginning to think that Sutton Place was a place where you could feel at home.
    But the feeling didn’t last long. Aunt Lucy came brisking into the kitchen, patted her leg to summon someone, and said in a very persnickety way, “Come, Sam. Come,