by Tim Dorsey
Im bored, said Ally.
I want to go party, said Coleman.
Were all getting cabin fever, said Serge. I want to go out as much as you. But leaving this room again is now out of the question. You saw what happened.
What are we going to do? asked Coleman.
We need a rainy-day activity to occupy our minds. Serge reached in one of Allys shopping bags.
Hey! yelled Ally. Those are my panty hose.
Take one for the team, said Serge, ripping the hose in half. He opened his suitcase and pulled out the digital camcorder.
What are you doing? asked Coleman.
What do nuclear families usually do on vacation?
Get stoned?
Serge dragged three chairs across the room and placed them in front of the balcony doors. Make home movies of their trip.
Thats your stupidest idea yet, said Ally.
Has the goodwill from our sex ended already? asked Serge. Mens Journal says I got at least twelve more hours before we have to go back on war footing.
Coleman was rooting around the mini-fridge again. But how do we film our trip if we cant leave the room?
It wont be a traditional vacation movie. Serge yanked a white sheet off the bed and laid part of it across the dresser. He began writing with a fat Magic Marker. In fact, it wont be a vacation movie at all because I hate them. Alleged friends invite you for dinner, then over dessert its the Uncle Ferg Show, driving a Winnebago through Vermont. I usually call in a bomb threat.
The door to the hallway opened. Serge retrieved Ally. Dont start that again.
Im out of water
Serge finished writing on the bedsheet and began fastening the top edge to the curtain rod in front of the balcony. Were going to film a pilot. Then cross our fingers.
A pilot? said Coleman. We dont stand a chance.
Serge finished hanging the backdrop sheet behind the chairs and handed Coleman half of Allys panty hose. Id have agreed with you before cable, but now its wide open. If the networks dont pick us up, we cant miss in syndication.
Serge set his camcorder on the dresser and aimed it at the chairs. He hit record. A red light came on.
Were rolling!
** Chapter 26
Hollywood Tattletale
GEDDY INDIFFERENT AS KIDNAPPING TAKES TURN
HOLLYWOOD In a phenomenon that is equal parts Elvis sighting and the Patti Hearst case, shanghaied starlet Ally Street has reportedly been spotted numerous times all over Los Angeles in the company of two suspected kidnappers.
Police spokesmen said the reports have yet to be verified, but theyve issued a plea for the abductors or anyone else with information to call a special anonymous tip line, 1-800-GOT-ALLY?
The alleged sightings have been clustered in the West Hollywood area, but range as far away as Encino and Yorba Linda. Some eyewitnesses reported Ms. Street being shepherded around at gunpoint, while others said she appeared to be traveling voluntarily and was free to leave at any time. All described the starlet as upbeat.
At first I wasnt sure it was her, said Arnie Snead of Brisbane. But then I recognized the actress disguise and put two and two together.
It was definitely Ally, said Claire Milken of Oshkosh. I knew it the moment I saw her coming out of Just Ionizers.
Adding intrigue is one unconfirmed incident in which Ally is believed to have driven the getaway car while one of her presumed kidnappers fired on celebrity photographers during a midday chase through Bel Air. Reactions to the incident were mixed: Defenders insist that Ally must be suffering from the so-called Stockholm Syndrome, while an E! telephone poll registered high support for the shooting.
In a related development, boy-band heartthrob Jason Geddy, who almost dated Ms. Street, is facing a hail of criticism for nearly seeing someone else during the actresss hostage ordeal. The hunky singer was swarmed by the entertainment press when spotted leaving a trendy Laguna Beach clinic, where he wasnt allowed to visit cover-girl waif Elle Faux, who was resting comfortably and taking IV after falling below eighty pounds again.
Geddy refused comment as he rushed from the facility and hopped into his newly restored DeLorean. However, heartthrob publicist Ruben Slice issued an official statement quoting his client: That business with the shooting is not the same Ally I almost asked out. Shes someone else now. Its time to move on.
VISTAMAX STUDIOS
A naked lightbulb came on inside a props closet.
This is a disaster! shouted Mel. Its on every channel.
The police are zeroing in! said Ian. Were going to jail!
Will you two relax? said Tori.
What the hell were they doing leaving the hideout in the first place? said Mel. You told us they were pros!
They are, said Tori. I just got off the phone. They said they barely left the room for a second, and the press made up all that other stuff.
I dont trust these guys, said Ian.
They gave me their word, said Tori. They swore theyd stay put until this is over.
I got a bad feeling, said Mel.
We were absolutely clear, said Tori. Not a toe outside the room.
RODEO DRIVE
Out of the way! yelled Serge, sprinting down the sidewalk and crashing into people, purses and shopping bags flying.
Watch it, asshole!
Should never have let you talk me into this, said Serge.
I needed more stuff, said Ally, running alongside.
Serge looked back at the tour group that had been in pursuit since Fredericks. Ally! Dont give up hope!
Serge looked ahead: A second screaming mob stampeded toward them from the other direction.
Serge and Ally hit the brakes. Nowhere to go. Both groups about to sandwich them.
Coleman whipped around the corner in a rented Chrysler. They dove in. A phone rang.
Hello? said Serge.
Oh, hi, Tori
I was just about to
Of course were in the room right now. Where else would we be?
Youve been calling all morning before you tried my cell?
I must have been on the Internet
The crowds chased the car down the street. Coleman ran a yellow and lost them. He eased up to a red light at Wilshire.
The police came by again? said Serge. Well, theyre paid to do that
Naturally they suspect you. A lot of these are inside jobs
A Yugo pulled up in the next lane, people hanging out windows with pens and autograph books; Ally signing and handing them back. Youre the greatest!
No, thats the television you hear
said Serge.
You explained that in your last call
Right, the room. Dont leave it. Couldnt be simpler
An Acura pulled up on the other side of the Chrysler, fans taking pictures. Ally! Youre my hero!
You dont have to keep repeating yourself, said Serge. You have my personal guarantee: Were in like Flynn
Later
He hung up.
The light turned green. Coleman patched out and left everyone at the line. What was that phone call?
I wasnt paying attention
Turn here.
Where are we going?
Serge checked his star map. Ed McMahons.
Thats right. We never did get to see his place.
I love Eds place, said Serge. One of the few celebrity homes where youre actually allowed to go up and knock on the door.
Whys that? asked Coleman.
Because he does it. The sweepstakes v
an he drives around. Normally Id respect his privacy, but thats a clear sign hes lonely
Turn here.
Serge, I think people dont mind because hes giving away money.
Serge looked at Coleman a moment. You think that makes a difference?
Definitely. If Im vacuuming and have to answer the door, you better make it worth my while.
Since when do you vacuum?
Im talking about Ed. Must get a lot of foot traffic because of his popularity. Probably vacuuming right now.
I want to do whats right, said Serge. Youre sure about this prize thing?
Pretty sure.
Serge opened his wallet. I got eighteen dollars. What do you have?
Maybe ten.
Slow down, said Serge. Thats his house right there.
Coleman came to a stop at the end of the driveway. Looks like a jungle. I cant even see the building.
Shoot. Hes not home.
How do you know?
The prize vans gone.
Coleman got ready to drive away. Serge grabbed his shoulder.
What is it? asked Coleman.
Serge was staring in the passenger-side mirror. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. I think Ive seen that car before.
Coleman looked in his own side mirror. Which one?
That Crown Vic parked a block back. Two guys in dark suits.
Lots of people have been following us, said Coleman. Probably want autographs.
One way to find out. Switch seats.
They climbed over each other.
A block back, two jowled men watched the Chrysler pull away from Ed McMahons place. The driver lowered his binoculars and started up the Crown Vic.
Coleman fiddled with the radio. What are we doing now?
Serge kept his eyes on the mirror. Tailing them.
But were in front.
Ive fooled them into thinking theyre following us. Serge hit his turn signal. Nobody expects to be tailed from in front.
The Chrysler made a left on Sepulveda and pulled up in front of Left Coast Scuba. The trailing sedan parked across the street.
Stay here, said Serge. He entered the store and came out fifteen minutes later with a large shopping bag that had the Hollywood sign across a dive flag. He handed it to Coleman and started the car.
Coleman reached inside and pulled a black rubber sleeve out the top of the bag. Wet suits?
My favorite science project was always the field experiment.
The Chrysler swung around the side of the store and into the service alley.
A man with binoculars spit tobacco into a cup. Should we follow?
Stay put. Theres no way out of that alley.
The men in the sedan waited. Five minutes. Ten. One looked at the other. What do you think?
Could have made us. He started the engine. Ditched the car and fled on foot.
The men drove around the back of the store and rolled slowly down an alley of broken glass and sludge-filled potholes. The sedan approached the dead end.
Where could they have gone?
Wait
whats that behind the box compactor?
Its the Chrysler.
Its empty.
So they did ditch and run.
But whered they go?
A pistol cocked.
The men turned.
Would you mind stepping out of the car?
** Chapter 27
DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES
An editor on the graveyard shift sat in a dim production room of the local NBC affiliate. He ripped open a brown parcel and pulled out a videocassette.
Moments later, the production room was filled with the entire news staff, crowded around the editors chair as he restarted the tape on the main monitor. Youre not going to believe this
No one made a sound until the video ended.
The editor swiveled around to face them. See what I mean?
We have to go on the air right away, said the news director. Tell em to cut in. Ill call the police.
PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY
Five A.M. the next morning, a Chrysler Sebring drove north along the rim of the Golden State. Ally was sleeping in the backseat. It started to get light.
Can you believe these views? said Serge.
Its kind of pretty, said Coleman.
Im always bragging about A1A, but you have to give credit where its due.
The banging and screaming from the trunk resumed.
I really wish they wouldnt do that, said Serge. Its such a peaceful time of day.
Maybe theyre uncomfortable.
Of course theyre uncomfortable, said Serge. Not my fault. Detroit cutting corners again, this time trunk space. At a minimum, I want room enough for two bodies.
You were able to get two bodies in this thing.
But we had to sit on the lid to close it.
More banging. Ally sat up with tangled hair. Dammit, they woke me again.
Coleman fired up his predawn joint. Those guys are a long way from Alabama.
And up to no good. Following us around, trying to get to my friends through me. If they thought that was going to fly, they know nothing about Serge! Thats Eli Wallach.
But why are we driving way up here? You could have taken care of them back in L.A.
Considered it, said Serge. But thats the whole problem with business travel. Always rushing, never any time to enjoy local color.
Im going back to sleep, said Ally.
The Chrysler entered a small fishing village above Santa Barbara. Steinbeck country. This is my stop, said Serge. They should have everything I need.
Then why arent we stopping?
Have to drive past to the staging area.
The Chrysler continued another mile until roadside vegetation thickened. Serge pulled off the highway and backed up to the brush. Coleman, bring the wet suits.
They went around to the trunk.
I dont know why theyre still banging and screaming like that, said Serge. They need to save their energy. He looked up and down the empty road and inserted the key.
The lid popped.
Youre dead! shouted one of the hostages. You are so fucking dead!
Im dead, said Serge. Look whos talking.
You have no idea who youre dealing with!
Makes us even. Serge motioned with his pistol. Get out and start walking
Ally, wake up
Ally!
A sleepy head. Wha?
Out of the car. My science projects starting.
Youre a boob. She laid her head back down.
Serge reached in the car and grabbed a handful of hair. Up you go.
Ow! Okay, okay!
Everyone marched down through the brush and out onto the beach, which wasnt really a beach but a rocky sand spit littered with driftwood. Serge grabbed the shopping bag from Coleman and threw it at the mens feet. Put those on.
They didnt move.
Now! Serge aimed the pistol.
One of them slowly bent down and reached in the bag. Wet suits?
Hope I got your size right. Theyre supposed to be snug anyway.
Ally lay down in the sand and used a smooth rock for a pillow. Serge handed Coleman the gun as the men reluctantly changed into scuba outfits. Keep em covered. I wont be long.
Serge raced back to the village they had just passed. A light mist. He went in a fishing tackle store and came out with sealed buckets. Next: a rental shack at the end of the dock. Serge handed a stolen credit card to a man in an orange rain poncho.
The man ran the card through a manual carbon i
mprinter and handed it back. Youre just one guy. Sure you need an eighteen-footer?
I like to spread out.
Serge climbed down a wooden ladder with barnacles exposed at low tide. Soon a high-pitched, two-stroke whine erupted from the water. Puffs of smoke and carbon monoxide. An inflatable Zodiac boat raced away from the pier and out to sea.
Dawn approached, but the fog made it seem farther off.
Two potbellied Alabama boys stood on an isolated shoreline. The wet suits felt like girdles.
But we just want to see the gun, said one of the men. Well give it right back.
I dont think Im supposed to, said Coleman.
A thirty-five-horsepower drone came up the coast. The sound grew louder until an eighteen-foot Zodiac soared around the bend and ripped a hole in the fog. Serge idled the engine and nosed the boat ashore. All aboard!
The boat took off north. Two nervous men in wet suits sat up front, eyes on nothing but the gun in Serges right hand. Serge manned the tiller with his left, sealed buckets and a curled-up Ally at his feet. He nudged her with the gun. Youre going to miss this.
Stop it, said Ally. I was almost asleep again.
Serge shouted over the engine and waves. Where you guys from?
They didnt answer.
Come on, yelled Serge. This is going to be a long trip without conversation. What parts?
Opelika, said one.
Selma, said the other.
Im actually very fond of Alabama, said Serge. Where the skies are so blue! That should be the state song instead of whatever theyve got. Georgia uses Ray Charles, so Skynyrd should be eligible now that theyve cleaned up. Did you know that was their rebuke to Neil Young trashing the state on the Harvest album? I remember thinking, yeah, Neil was out of line, but if blue skies are all you can come up with, its faint-praise damning. Until I got a whiff of the smog out here. Thats why Neils voice always sounds like hes bringing up another hairball. So you have nothing to apologize for. Pay no mind to the jokes. Alabama: Were first alphabetically!
The hostages looked at each other from the corners of their eyes.
Yes, sir. I love the sea! Serge filled his lungs with salt air. Reminds me of one of my all-time favorite Florida movies, The Day of the Dolphin! Remember that? George C. Scott taught this dolphin rudimentary English. Its name was Fa, short for Alpha. And at the end, Scott had to run the dolphin off so evil forces couldnt use him to plant a bomb under the presidents yacht. And the dolphin goes, Fa love Pa, and Scott goes, Pa doesnt love Fa