Beach Party Surf Monkey

by Chris Grabenstein

  “See, while I was hangin’ in my trailer, before the Russkie dude showed up, I did me some Googling, man. You ever check out Porker D. Pigg’s YouTube channel?”

  “Um, no…”

  “Yo—Porker is the fo’ rizzle pigizzle.”

  “You’re joking,” said Cassie. “Two days into the shoot, you seriously want to replace Kevin the Monkey with some pig?”

  “Yo, Cee McG. This isn’t ‘some pig.’ This is Porker D. Pigg. Hashtag shakin’ bacon.”

  “So,” said Cassie, keeping cool, “you think we should basically change the whole script and call our movie Beach Party Surf Pig?”

  “Exactly!” said Aidan. “Now you’re seeing the big picture, girl. The movie poster would be off the chain!

  “And,” he added, “we should change locations.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, because, hello, Beach Party Surf Monkey was supposed to make the Wonderland so famous nobody would dare tear it down, not even Mr. Edward Conch. Changing locations would mean that would never happen.

  “We should film this movie in Iowa,” Aidan said. “It’s pig heaven.”

  “It’s a beach movie!” shouted Cassie.

  “So? Don’t they have beaches in Iowa?”

  “No,” said Cassie. “They have cornfields!”

  “Corn is cool.”

  When Aidan said that, Cassie convulsed with laughter.

  Me? I didn’t find it so funny. If the movie moved to Iowa, our rooms would all be empty. We’d be broke. Mom would definitely snag Mr. Conch’s offer to buy us out. We’d have to find a new home.

  Which meant I might be moving to Iowa, too.

  Or Arizona.

  It didn’t really matter where. It wouldn’t be the Wonderland.

  “I just figured this out!” said Cassie. “You’re jealous! Of a monkey! You’re afraid Kevin will get more laughs than you!”

  “He’s already a better actor,” muttered Kurt.

  “That scrawny, bug-eyed loser?” snarled Aidan. “You think I’m jealous of him? Ha!”

  “Mr. Tyler?” said Gloria. “Let’s try to remain professional….”

  Aidan ignored her, dug some kind of bright green wristband out of his pocket, and stretched it between his forefinger and thumb.

  “I want that monkey out of my movie!” he said. “Pronto, if not sooner.”

  “Your movie?” said Cassie.

  “You and Miss McGinty are costars,” said Gloria diplomatically.

  “No way, gofer girl. Check the stats. I’m a way bigger star than Cee McG and Mr. Monkey combined. So get him outta here!”

  Aidan aimed his rubber band pistol at Kevin and let it fly.

  Kevin screeched and ducked.

  The wristband missed. Barely.

  “Hey,” said J.J. “Don’t you ever do that again, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Or what? You’re gonna fire me, monkey woman?”

  Gloria unclipped her walkie-talkie. “Ms. Foxworth?” she said into her radio mic. “We need you on set. ASAP.”

  “Dawn Foxworth don’t scare me, man. I’m Aidan Tyler. I’m the Tyes. Can’t nobody tell me what to do. Hey, Cee McG? They ever make a lunch box out of your face, girl? How about a backpack? Your face on a backpack? Mine is!”

  “Mr. Tyler,” said Gloria, “let’s not say anything we might regret later.”

  She was trying to calm Aidan down, which is sort of like asking a hurricane to behave like a nice tropical breeze.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Ms. Foxworth as she marched down to the beach.

  “Same old, same old,” said Kurt, tossing up his hands. “Aidan is throwing another hissy fit.”

  “Yo, this flunky monkey is ruining my movie!” said Aidan. “I want him fired!”

  That was when Kevin hopped off J.J.’s shoulder, squatted in the sand, and did something most monkeys do on a regular basis.

  He pooped.

  And then he did something a few zoo monkeys do when they don’t like the people gawking at them in their cages.

  He scooped up his poop into a ball and hurled it—straight at Aidan Tyler!

  Splat!

  Aidan Tyler’s pink polo shirt was covered with a stinky brown mess.

  Splat!

  So was his face.

  Kevin the Monkey chuckled.

  Fact: you should never fling things at monkeys. They might fling back.

  Everybody else sort of grinned, including a lot of the spectators standing behind the rolled-out yellow security tape. People held up their phones to take more pictures. I predicted a new hashtag was about to start trending on Instagram: #AidanIsAPoopyHead.

  “That monkey disrespected me!” whined Aidan, wiping gunk off his face. “You need to fire him, Ms. Foxworth! He attacked me, man!”

  “You attacked him first!” said the trainer.

  “So? I can do whatever I want! I’m a major celebrity!”

  “Actually,” said Cassie, “right now you’re nothing but a big baby.”

  “Oooh!” said all nine of Aidan’s flunkies.

  “Now you’re disrespectin’ me, too? That cuts deep, Cee McG. Real deep.”

  “Cassie?” said Ms. Foxworth. “Why don’t you go to your trailer?”

  “Because, unfortunately, Aidan and I have a scene to shoot.”

  “Yo!” said Aidan. “I got monkey stink all over me. I ain’t shootin’ nothin’ till y’all dump this nasty mongrel monkey and sign on Porker D. Pigg! And remember: I’ve got a national concert tour starting in two weeks.”

  “We be bouncin’ in fourteen days,” said one of Aidan’s hangers-on. I think it was the guy who carried his breath mints.

  “Aidan?” said Ms. Foxworth.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you go clean yourself up? Put on a fresh shirt.”

  “A’ight. But y’all are gonna check out Porker, right?”

  The producer nodded. “We will definitely take your suggestion under consideration.”

  “What?” said Cassie. “I am not doing Beach Party Surf Pig. If Kevin the Monkey isn’t in the movie, neither am I. I’ll quit!”

  “Cassie?” said the producer. “Why don’t you go wait in your trailer?”

  “Because I—”

  “Cassie?”

  Her shoulders sank. “Yes, Mom.”

  Mom?

  Was the movie’s executive producer, Dawn Foxworth, really Cassie McGinty’s mother?

  I looked at Gloria. She shrugged. She didn’t have a clue, either. We needed to do some more McGinty research after we wrapped for the day.

  That came sooner than either one of us expected.

  Cassie went to her trailer. Aidan went to his. Kevin and J.J. went to their room.

  “That’s a wrap for today, everybody,” announced Dawg. “We’ll send out call sheets for tomorrow morning later tonight.” And then he muttered, “Once we know if our monkey is turning into a pig…”

  Gloria and I headed up to the Wonderland.

  When we reached the shuffleboard court, Veronica Conch was there, smiling smugly.

  “Hi, guys,” she said. “Too bad your movie’s totally falling apart.”

  “It’s not falling apart,” I said.

  “Just a few minor bumps in the road,” added Gloria.

  Veronica laughed. “Yeah. Right. Anyway, this is where Daddy and I think we should put the big bend in our lazy river.”

  “Your what?”

  “Our lazy river. It’ll wind from our swimming pool on the other side of the fence, make a big turn here, and head back to the original Conch Reef Resort. I’m thinking floating under a waterfall would be cool, too. We could put one right there, where you have the stupid jackalope statue.”

  “For the last time,” I said, “we are not selling our motel to your father so he can tear it down and put in a lazy river or a Jacuzzi lounge.”

  “Yes, you are. Right before you go bankrupt, which I predict will happen pretty darn soon, since, oops, you kicked out all your regular guests
to make room for the movie people and now they’re going to leave, too. I hear Aidan wants to go to Iowa. I read about it on his Facebook page.”

  “Nobody is leaving,” said Gloria. “The production company signed contracts….”

  “Yeah. Right. Don’t you guys know anything about Hollywood? They’ll weasel out of your deal faster than you can say ‘green screen.’ They’re all phonies living in a world of make-believe. They kind of remind me of you, P.T., and all your silly tall tales. I’ve never understood why my father thinks you’re so super special. ‘Oh, that P. T. Wilkie is such a genius. He reminds me of me. Always coming up with new ways to make money.’ Blah-blah-blah.”

  It was weird, but for half a second, that made me feel good. “He says that kind of stuff? About me?”

  “Ever since we moved in! I guess your own father doesn’t think you’re all that hot, though. I’ve never even seen him around!”

  Okay. That hurt. Little bit.

  “Take a hike, sister,” said Gloria.

  “What?”

  “Go home. This shuffleboard court is the exclusive property of the Wonderland Motel, solely intended for the private use and enjoyment of registered guests.”

  “Fine. Whatever. But guess what? Pretty soon these shuffleboard courts are going to be a lazy river and I’ll be the one kicking you guys off my private property!”

  Later Gloria and I did all sorts of research on Cassie McGinty and Ms. Foxworth.

  We were using the computer in our business center.

  Actually, it’s just a table we have set up in the corner of the lobby with a coffeepot, a clunky old computer, and a printer. Not many businesspeople stay at the Wonderland, except, of course, Gloria.

  “Wow,” said Gloria. “We should have dug a little deeper when we did our initial data dive.”

  “Why? We were only interested in Cassie McGinty the movie star—not Cassie McGinty the real person.”

  Dawn Foxworth was Cassie McGinty’s mother.

  “I think it’s sweet that Cassie and her mother work together,” said Mom. She was behind the counter, running numbers through her calculator and projecting how much money we’d lose if the movie people bailed on us.

  Short answer? A ton!

  “Uh, Mom?” I said. “Can you turn that up?”

  Aidan Tyler’s horrified face filled the TV set behind our front desk. There was a, uh, mud stain on his polo shirt. Apparently, Access Hollywood had obtained “Exclusive Footage of Florida Beach Party Meltdown.”

  “What a major moviemaking mess in Florida,” said the anchorwoman. “Literally. We’re talking monkey-poop messy, Bob!”

  “That’s right, Buffy,” said Bob. “Teen heartthrob Aidan Tyler wants to fire his dung-flinging costar, Kevin the Monkey.”

  “But,” said Buffy, “Academy Award winner Cassie McGinty is threatening to walk off the set if the monkey’s not in the picture.”

  Then they cut to video footage of Cassie.

  “If Kevin the Monkey isn’t in the movie,” she told the whole world, “neither am I. I’ll quit!”

  “Wow,” said Buffy with a chuckle. “Things certainly are heating up in Florida—and this time, sunshine has nothing to do with it.”

  Mom snapped off the TV set.

  Mr. Ortega came into the lobby, decked out in his snazzy sportscaster blazer.

  “Oh, hi, Manny,” said Mom. She sounded so bummed. She didn’t even bother fluffing up her hair or taking off her glasses.

  “Hiya, Wanda. Hiya, kids.” He flashed us his smile. I think Mr. Ortega might have LEDs in his teeth. “I’m on my way to the studio to prep the eleven o’clock sportscast.” He jabbed a thumb at the darkened TV screen. “Sorry about this PR nightmare.”

  “The movie people may leave,” said Mom sadly. “Mr. Conch’s offer is looking better and better all the time. If we sell out, Manny, we’ll try to give you guys at least a two-week notice.”

  “Thank you, Wanda. We’d appreciate it. Of course, we’d appreciate you staying in business even more.” He leaned on the counter. “I like it here.”

  Mom leaned on the counter and sighed. It was different from her usual sighs. This one sounded happy instead of sad.

  “I like it here, too,” said Mom.

  Finally, she took off her glasses.

  “Gloria?” said Mr. Ortega when he and Mom finally broke out of their trance.

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “While I’m away…”

  “I’ll stay safe and ask Ms. Wilkie for permission before P.T. and I do anything crazy like chase after jewel thieves again.”

  “That’s my girl. Watch me at eleven. We’ll have highlights and scores from all the big games!”

  He gave us a two-finger salute off his cocked eyebrow and headed out the door.

  Mom did another happy sigh, watching him go.

  But her happy didn’t last for long.

  The next morning, Kevin the Monkey was gone.

  “He’s gone!” shouted J.J. as she banged the bell on our front desk first thing in the morning.

  Seriously. It was like six a.m. The monkey trainer was in the lobby, frantic because Kevin was missing. Mom and I were still in our pajamas.

  “I had the screen down and the window open,” J.J. said, sort of hyperventilating. “Just two or three inches. I’ve done it every night since we first checked in. Kevin likes a breeze.”

  “Don’t you keep him in a cage?” asked Mom.

  “Of course not. Cages are cruel!”

  “Could he squeeze through an opening that small?” I asked.

  J.J. nodded. “He must’ve squirmed under the window, punched a hole through the screen, and taken off.”

  “Why?” asked Mom.

  “I have no idea. He was having so much fun. Making people laugh, making a movie—it was all a game for him. Except when Aidan Tyler was mean to him, of course….”

  Mom took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Now her brow was furrowed so deep she could plant banana trees up there.

  Losing the monkey meant we were inching closer to losing the movie. Cassie’s TV clip kept running through my head: If Kevin the Monkey isn’t in the movie, neither am I. I’ll quit!

  “He could get hurt!” said J.J. “If he tries to cross the street, it could be even worse!”

  Mom called the police.

  I texted Gloria. She was already awake, watching some TV show about the stock market in Japan. She texted back:

  OMW.

  “Don’t worry, guys,” I told Mom and J.J. “We’ll find Kevin. I promise.”

  Gloria and I avoided the predawn paparazzi hanging out in the parking lot—sipping coffee and waiting for the next big Hollywood scandal—and slipped around back to examine the area near the window our favorite monkey had escaped through.

  “We might be able to find some tracks in the flower bed,” I told Gloria. “Maybe some paw prints on the sidewalk. Something that might help us figure out which way he went.”

  We both turned on the flashlight apps in our phones and began searching for clues.

  “We probably shouldn’t touch anything until the cops show up,” I said, because I watch a lot of those CSI shows and am, therefore, an expert on forensics.

  I noticed that the hibiscus bush underneath the window was dented and sort of wedged open. I figured that’s where Kevin landed when he jumped out of the window. The impact pushed the branches apart.

  “You two find anything?” asked Grandpa, who was up super early, especially for him. “J.J. is walking around, clicking her tongue at trees. She told me Kevin ran away.”

  “We’re trying to figure out which way he went,” said Gloria.

  “I see shoe prints,” I said, staring down at the Bermuda grass. “But no monkey paw prints.”

  “Maybe Kevin put on sneakers to sneak away!” said Grandpa.

  Fact: he doesn’t watch as many CSI shows as I do.

  “If Kevin ran away,” I wondered aloud, “why aren’t there any
paw prints?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” said Gloria.

  The fast-rising sun glinted off the sparkly stuff in the flower beds—crushed seashells Grandpa sprinkles around to “give the place pizzazz.”

  I also noticed a slight circular stain on the windowsill. A dark spot. Probably because when Grandpa’s doing touch-ups around the motel, he has a bad habit of setting his paint can down on a section he’s just finished painting. That’ll leave a circle. Most of our stucco looks a little spotty.

  And of course, there was a huge hole punched through the window screen—from inside.

  Since we still didn’t have a clue as to which way Kevin went, we headed back to the lobby to try to figure out what we should do next. Two police officers were there, talking to Mom and J.J.

  “We’re both big Kevin the Monkey fans,” said one.

  “Huge,” said the other. “Love his YouTube channel.”

  “Remember when he did that backward basketball toss? Nothing but net!”

  They both laughed and munched on doughnuts from our breakfast buffet.

  “But this really isn’t a crime,” said one. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “You folks should hang up some posters,” suggested the second officer. “Like people do when they lose a dog or cat.”

  “Maybe you could drive around, calling his name,” suggested her partner. “You know, ‘Kevin? Here, boy! Kevin? Where are you?’ Stuff like that.”

  When they were all out of suggestions, the two officers drove away in their police cruiser. They didn’t even turn on the sirens. Sirens would’ve been cool.

  Next door, the Conch Reef Resort had a new message on its splashy illuminated sign:

  * * *

  COMING SOON: THE ALL-NEW

  LAZY RIVER!

  FREE INNER TUBES!

  * * *

  In my mind, I could already hear the bulldozers revving their engines.

  Gloria went to an emergency production meeting with Ms. Foxworth, Kurt, Dawg, and the heads of all the different crew departments.