The Berenstain Bears Chapter Book: Go Hollywood

by Stan

  “You just said it!” growled DeMille.

  “I mean I can’t say it as General Grizzly,” explained the squire. “It’s bad enough that my great ancestor had to say it once. I would be dishonoring his sacred memory if I made him say it again after all these years. He’d turn over in his grave!”

  “That’s right!” said Two-Ton. “We’re not gonna do it!”

  “You?” sneered Farmer Ben. “It’s not even your line, you big muscle-bound nitwit!”

  Two-Ton made a threatening move toward Ben. “What did you call me, you old sack of fertilizer?”

  The assistant director bravely jumped in between the two angry bears and did his best to keep them apart.

  “ORDER ON THE SET!” screamed DeMille at the top of his lungs.

  Ben and Two-Ton stopped struggling with the assistant director. DeMille motioned them over. But instead of chewing them out, he looked warmly down at them and said, “I know this isn’t easy for the two of you. But think about how your ancestors behaved at the end of the Battle of Beartown. Did they yell at each other? Did they fight? No. They behaved like the well-bred gentlebears they were. Now get back out there and behave like gentlebears. And send the squire over.”

  Squire Grizzly came over and stared defiantly up at the director.

  “You say you don’t want Stonewall Grizzly to turn over in his grave,” said DeMille. “With all due respect, Squire, I submit to you that he is already turning over in his grave because of the way you’re behaving. The great Stonewall Grizzly surrendered with grace and dignity, and I’m sure he’d want you to do the same. He’d want you to portray him just as he was, a great and honorable general in defeat even as in victory.”

  DeMille glanced at the sky. “We’re losing the afternoon light,” he said. “We’ll reshoot this scene next week. In the meantime, Squire, I’d like you to think about what I’ve said.”

  As the squire walked away, Bonnie Brown hurried over to the director. “I’m so sorry, C.B.,” she said. “I guess some Beartown folks are still a little testy about the Great Bear War.”

  “It’s that big burly goon playing General Grizzly’s attendant,” muttered DeMille. “He’s a troublemaker.”

  Bonnie rolled her eyes and laughed. “If you think he’s bad,” she said, “you should see his son, Too-Tall!”

  Chapter 9

  Stood Up

  Immediately after the surrender scene fiasco, C.B. DeMille called a meeting with his crew and stars, including Bonnie. They gathered in his luxurious trailer, the inside of which looked like a four-star hotel room. He pulled no punches, telling them right off that he was already way over budget and that the whole project now depended on the success of Monday’s shoot. The entire day would be devoted to shooting one scene: the Battle of Beartown, which was the trickiest and most expensive scene in the movie. If he failed to get a decent take, they would have to pack up, go back to Hollywood, and forget all about Lost with the Wind.

  “In the meantime,” said the director, brightening, “it’s Saturday night. Let’s relax and have some fun. I’m taking you all out to dinner at the Red Berry before that publicity stunt at the Bearjou.”

  While the director, crew, and stars were heading to the Red Berry, Brother Bear was having dinner at home. He was really looking forward to his movie date with Bonnie and said so.

  “Oh, yeah?” said Sister. “I hear she’s gotten really stuck-up lately. She’ll probably spend the whole movie jabbering about ‘Clark’ and ‘Vivian’ and ‘C.B.’ ”

  “Try to be a little tolerant, Sis,” Brother scolded. “So she’ll talk about the big stars she’s been hanging out with. So what?”

  “Well, I think you should call her,” said Sister. “Just to make sure the date’s still on.”

  “Still on?” said Brother. “Of course it’s still on! But I’d better give her a call anyway to make sure she wants me to pick her up at Grizzly Mansion like I usually do. She might be in some late movie conference and want to meet me at the Bearjou.”

  When Brother punched in the number for Grizzly Mansion in the family room, Lady Grizzly answered. “Oh, Bonnie?” she said. “She’s not here, dear. I think she had to do something with C.B.—I mean, Mr. DeMille. It’s so difficult to keep up with her schedule now that she has a real Hollywood career, you know.”

  I was right, thought Brother as he hung up. She was on the set with DeMille, going over stuff for Monday. She was probably planning to meet him in line at the Bearjou.

  It occurred to Brother that Bonnie might not have time to eat dinner, so he decided to stop by the Burger Bear for takeout. Bonnie could eat during the movie. Surely Fred Furry would let her take food into the theater. After all, she was a big star now.

  Brother got Bonnie a Grizzburger and fries at the Burger Bear and headed for the Bearjou. There was the usual Saturday night line to get tickets, but it wasn’t the usual Saturday night length. It was about four times longer. It stretched down the sidewalk for two blocks. Brother saw Cousin Fred, Barry Bruin, and Babs Bruno near the middle of the line and went over. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Fred. “Everybody got in line early because the balcony’s reserved for the big shots. We’re not all gonna get in, you know.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” said Brother. He looked up and down the line. “Seen Bonnie?”

  “No, and I don’t care to, either,” said Fred. “She walked right past me on Grizzly Avenue yesterday and didn’t even say hello.”

  “Maybe she didn’t notice you,” suggested Brother.

  “No way,” said Fred. “She just pretended she didn’t notice me.”

  “The other day, I asked her to show me her dressing room,” said Babs. “You know what she said? That she had to keep it ‘clear’ in case C.B. or Clark or Vivian stopped by. That girl’s gone Hollywood big time. I don’t think I like her anymore.”

  Brother saw Queenie and Too-Tall farther up the line and went over. “Seen Bonnie?” he said.

  “Wait’ll you hear!” squealed Queenie. “Too-Tall just told me there’s a rumor that Bonnie was invited to the movie by Cecil Bear DeMille. She’s gonna sit in the balcony with DeMille, Clark Grizzle, and Vivian Brie!”

  Brother’s stomach did a backflip. “She is?” he mumbled. “But she was supposed to go to the movie with me . . .”

  “Get over it, loser,” said Too-Tall. “Bonnie’s a big star now. There’s a BNN van here. And Fred Furry even put out a red carpet for the stars to walk up.”

  BNN was the Bear News Network. Brother looked and saw the van parked at the curb down the street near the theater entrance. Just then, a camerabear and a reporter with a microphone got out and stood waiting on the sidewalk next to the red carpet.

  “Hey, here come the stars!” said Queenie.

  A silver stretch limousine glided up to the curb. The elegant chauffeur came around to open the rear curbside door. Out climbed the great Cecil Bear DeMille in his beret and smoking jacket, followed by Vivian Brie in an evening gown and Clark Grizzle in a black turtleneck and gray satin slacks. Last but not least—especially in Brother’s eyes—was Bonnie Brown. She was wearing a ton of brand-new jewelry and one of her coolest outfits, and her face was all aglow.

  The BNN reporter hurried over to DeMille and started interviewing him. Brother waved and yelled, “Hey, Bonnie!”

  But she didn’t notice him. Or, rather, she pretended she didn’t notice him.

  Brother’s heart sank—all the way down to his feet. He stared blankly at Bonnie, who was now being interviewed by the BNN reporter.

  “Hey, come on,” said Queenie. “The line’s moving.”

  “Never mind,” said Brother. “I don’t even like this crummy movie anyway. Lousy acting. And even worse directing.” Suddenly, he remembered the Grizzburger and fries he’d bought for Bonnie. In disgust, he looked down at the greasy bag in his hand, then casually tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  “Two points,” he mu
ttered. And he headed home all alone.

  Chapter 10

  Acting Lesson

  When Brother got home, he had no intention of calling Bonnie. He was too mad at her. And too hurt. But after passing the entire evening lying on his bed sulking, he decided it was high time to confront her. Someone had to tell her what she was doing. And who better to do it than her best friend?

  Tillie, the maid, answered the phone at Grizzly Mansion. “Oh, it’s you, Master Brother,” she said. “Bonnie isn’t home yet. But wait . . . she just walked in the door . . .”

  “What is it?” sighed Bonnie into the phone. “I’m completely exhausted . . .”

  “What about our date tonight?” said Brother. “If you needed to cancel, you should have called me.”

  “I was meaning to call,” said Bonnie, “but it was one thing after another, and I never had time. I thought you’d understand.”

  “I understand, all right,” said Brother. “I understand that you’re losing all your friends.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” said Bonnie.

  “Because of the way you’ve been acting lately,” said Brother.

  “I’ve been acting great!” said Bonnie. “C.B. said so himself!”

  “That’s not the kind of acting I meant—” Brother started to say.

  But Bonnie cut him off. “I really need to go to bed now,” she said, and hung up.

  Brother stared at the phone for a while, then hung up and sighed. “Well, that went really well,” he said to no one in particular. Then he turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

  Chapter 11

  Ready When You Are, C.B.!

  As Sunday went and Monday came, Beartown was buzzing with questions. Had Bonnie Brown gone Hollywood to the point of damaging her hometown friendships beyond repair? Would Squire Grizzly be able to surrender to Papa Bear in their big scene—and, if so, would Two-Ton Grizzly be able to keep his big mouth shut? But the biggest question of all was: would Cecil Bear DeMille have to close up shop, go back to Hollywood, and leave Beartown in the lurch? That, of course, depended on Monday’s shoot of the Battle of Beartown.

  As dawn broke, the armies of the Blue and the Gray assembled on the field called Buzzard Flats, next to Birder’s Woods. Miss Mamie brought the cavalry horses in dozens of rented horse vans. Scores of explosive devices were carefully put in place by a team of special-effects experts. Sound equipment was scattered all over the vast set. Cameras were placed in various spots around the battlefield, in Birder’s Woods, and across the highway. Bill, the head camerabear, would take aerial shots from a helicopter hovering over the field.

  This time, Cecil Bear DeMille had his megaphone in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other.

  “What’s the walkie-talkie for?” Bonnie asked.

  “So I can communicate with Bill up in the helicopter,” said DeMille. “He’s in direct contact with all the other camerabears. After I cue him to roll ’em, he takes care of the rest. The only problem is, my walkie-talkie is on the fritz. It keeps cutting out.”

  “What’ll you do?” asked Bonnie.

  “Piece o’ cake,” said DeMille. “I told Bill I’d wave my arm back and forth three times to cue him to roll ’em.”

  Finally, everything was ready to go. The dim morning sun would be backed up by huge floodlights all around the set. The director raised his megaphone. “Quiet on the set! Actors, take your places!”

  Out popped the clacker bear. “Scene forty, take one!” Clack!

  DeMille gazed out upon the vast scene and nodded. Bonnie heard him say, “Okay, this is it—do or die . . .”

  “Lights!” he bellowed. Then he raised his right arm high above his head and waved it three times. “Action!”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Birder’s Woods and Buzzard Flats were mayhem. Troops charged back and forth, horses galloped to and fro, soldiers fell to earth, cannons fired, explosions filled the air with smoke and noise, horse-drawn wagons burst into flames.

  Though DeMille had left the camera direction to Bill, he had to direct the special effects personally. The team of experts were clustered around his chair, clutching remote detonators. Through binoculars, the great director watched every little detail of the unfolding scene and at precisely the right moment barked, “Number one, now!”, “Number two, now!”, and so on, to cue the team to detonate their devices.

  As the scene at last drew to a close, with a smoky haze enveloping the mock battlefield, it was obvious to crew and onlookers alike that the take had been a stunning success. Then DeMille cried, “Cut! It’s a wrap!” A huge ovation went up from the crowd. Whooping and hollering, crew members mobbed the great director, pumping his hand and slapping him on the back.

  DeMille was beaming. His dream had come true. “We did it!” he yelled. “It’s gonna be the greatest blockbuster of all time!”

  Vivian Brie looked up at the sky. “Why doesn’t Bill land the helicopter?” she asked.

  “Probably waiting for the smoke to clear,” said Clark Grizzle.

  Just then, DeMille’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Guess it’s back on,” he said, and lifted it to speak. “Everything okay up there, Bill?”

  That’s when the answer came back that twisted the director’s grin into a grimace: “Ready when you are, C.B.!”

  It was loud enough for the crew to overhear. Instantly, they went silent.

  “What d’ya mean, ‘ready’?” gasped DeMille. “D’ya mean you didn’t shoot the scene?”

  “Uh . . . er, no . . . ,” came the crackling reply. “I must have missed your cue. You see, I had a . . . uh, kind of a sneezing attack . . .”

  DeMille didn’t wait to hear the rest. “YOU’RE FIRED!” he screamed into the walkie-talkie. Then he threw it as hard as he could against the side of one of the horse vans. Clang!

  “That’s it,” moaned the director. “We’re finished! Lost with the Wind goes right into the garbage can!”

  “What’ll we tell the media, C.B.?” asked Vivian Brie.

  DeMille clapped a hand against his forehead. “Oh, no!” he wailed. He could picture the newspaper headlines—things like CAMERABEAR’S COLD DOOMS C.B. DEMILLE EPIC! and THE SNEEZE HEARD ’ROUND THE WORLD!

  “Tell them whatever you want,” muttered DeMille. He turned to his assistant. “Call Big Bear City and tell them to get my private jet ready. I’m flying back to Hollywood tomorrow morning.”

  The director trudged off toward his limousine, but then he stopped and looked back at the hovering helicopter one last time. That’s when the helicopter finally moved. But it didn’t land. Instead, it zoomed off and disappeared over Birder’s Woods.

  “Where’s he going?” asked Vivian Brie.

  Clark Grizzle gave a sneer and said, “As far as he can get on one tank of fuel.”

  Chapter 12

  Lost with the Wind

  By the next morning, the news had spread all over town. Everyone was in shock, especially the businessbears and shop owners who had expected Lost with the Wind to put Beartown on the map and bring in tourists and other business. Mayor Honey-pot had already ordered a huge billboard for the road into Beartown, reading: BEARTOWN—HOME OF LOST WITH THE WIND. Now the order would have to be canceled. Unless, of course, the billboard was changed to BEARTOWN—HOME OF THE GREATEST FIASCO IN MOVIEMAKING HISTORY.

  But of all the folks in Beartown, no one was more upset than Brother Bear. He was upset about the same things everyone else was: not getting to see himself on the silver screen and not getting to see Beartown become a household word all over Bear Country. But for Brother, those things were made even worse by the fact that Beartown’s going Hollywood had also lost him his best friend.

  So it was hardly surprising that by afternoon, Brother had sought out the place he always went when he was really upset—the spot he called his Thinking Place, a little clearing in the woods behind Bear Country School. It was quiet there. There were no sounds except the chirp of birds and the buzz of bees. It was a
good place to gather your thoughts and mull things over in your mind.

  Brother sat on his favorite rock and put his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands. Usually when he suffered some setback or disappointment, there was a lesson to be learned from it, something positive he could take away. But this time, it didn’t seem like that at all. What was the lesson to be learned from the great movie fiasco? Stay away from Hollywood types? It’s a bear-eat-bear world? Somehow those lessons didn’t seem very positive.

  And then, all of a sudden, it hit him. He had spent so much time thinking about Bonnie’s obnoxious behavior from his own point of view that he hadn’t bothered to think of it from her point of view. That is to say, how would he have behaved if he’d been in Bonnie’s place? It was hard to say. Maybe he would have behaved better. But maybe not. Maybe he would have been every bit as swept up in the glamour of a big Hollywood movie role. There really wasn’t any way to know until it happened to you.

  That made Brother realize that he shouldn’t judge Bonnie too harshly. What was the old saying? Bears who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones? As soon as he realized he wasn’t so different from Bonnie, he felt closer to her again. And that made him feel better.

  But then his heart sank again. There was a catch. Maybe his friendship with Bonnie really was damaged beyond repair . . .

  Just then, he heard someone say, “Brother?” It was Bonnie, emerging from the woods behind him.

  “Bonnie?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, good,” sighed Bonnie. “I thought you might not even be speaking to me.”

  “Because of Saturday night?” said Brother. “Oh, that’s okay. I’ve been doing some thinking—”

  “And so have I,” said Bonnie, cutting him off. “And it’s not okay. What you said about the way I’ve been acting lately . . . well, you were right. And I’m glad you told me, because it made me realize something. It’s not important whether or not you’re a big shot; what’s important is how you treat other bears.”