by Lisa Yee
“No one can see your feet when you drive. Put them on.”
Hollywood films Ted slipping on the platform shoes and wobbling around the sidewalk. He looks like a baby duck, or a baby lamb, or some baby something learning how to walk.
Finally, we all get back into the car and Ted starts the engine. Slowly he maneuvers the car out of the spot. He has a contented smile on his face, which gets wider the farther we drive.
“Well?” I ask.
“A-list!” he replies.
Ted pulls up to a nice restaurant on Beverly Boulevard. The valet guys race to open the doors for us. Ted tips all of them. I notice he doesn’t change his shoes.
“What are we doing here?” I whisper. “This place looks expensive.”
Hollywood keeps his camera rolling.
“I’m taking my friends out. Today was payday,” he announces.
“I don’t have a problem with this,” Hollywood says.
“Order anything you’d like,” Ted tells him.
Ted sits on one side of the booth and Hollywood and I take the other side. It is so cushy and comfortable, I could live here. Hollywood sits a little too close to me.
“Do you mind?” I say.
He turns red. “Sorry.”
Ted pats the seat next to him. “Here, you can sit next to me and give Miss Grumpy her space.”
Reluctantly, Hollywood sits next to Ted. “Thank you,” I say to both, and then make a big deal about stretching out.
After the calamari appetizer, which Hollywood refuses to eat, Ted clears his throat. “I have an announcement to make. Miss de la Tour has invited me to live with her. She says I can live in the guest apartment above the garage.”
“Oh my God, this is so great.” I reach across the table to grab Ted’s hand and give it a squeeze. “We finally have our own place.”
Before he can answer, the unmistakable sound of Ted’s cell phone blasts. “Hello? Paww! I’m here with Hollywood and Maybe. Oh yeah. And Carla too. Carla, say hello to my father.”
I shake my head when Ted puts the phone in my face. Hollywood leans in and in a really high voice says, “Hi, Mr. Schneider.”
I burst out laughing and have to cover my mouth. For the first time in a long time I feel happy. I am so relieved that we finally have a decent place to live. This is a night for celebrating.
“Love you too, Paww!” Ted says. “Good-bye.” He’s usually really happy after he talks to his parents, but he looks worried.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Maybe, there’s something I need to tell you,” Ted says.
Hollywood’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. He picks up his camera.
“What?” I ask. My good mood starts fading fast.
Ted refuses to meet my gaze. “Miss de la Tour says I am not allowed to have overnight guests. She’s very security conscious.”
“I’ve heard that about her.” Hollywood nods in agreement. “Ever since that stalker tried to attack her after she won her second Oscar, Gloria de la Tour doesn’t trust anyone.”
I am still processing Ted’s announcement. Hollywood will be living in his dorm room. Ted will be living on some old movie star’s estate. And I will be living where?
Oh wait, that’s right. In a lounge.
“This is screwed,” I say as I push Hollywood’s camera away.
“What do you want me to do?” Ted protests. “Tell Miss de la Tour I’d rather stay illegally in the dorms than have my own place? By the way,” he adds, “Cook will prepare my meals.”
“You’re my idol!” Hollywood cries.
Ted holds up his hand and they high-five.
As the two of them discuss how amazing Ted’s life is, I start to panic. It’s too late to go home, not that I’d want to. I can’t, anyway. I have no money. No place to live. Hollywood’s sick of me, and now with Ted being sucked into the mysterious world of Gloria de la Tour, I’m going to be totally on my own.
If only I could find my father. He’d take me in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Maybe, you can’t stay here.” “Huh?” Someone is gently shaking my shoulder. I wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Dad?”
“Maybe, can I see your student ID?”
It’s Parker. His usual smile is absent.
“I ... I lost it.”
“We got orders to be really vigilant about loiterers and, well, Maybe, I know you don’t live in the dorms.”
I’m awake now.
Parker hands me a loaf of banana bread, then opens his wallet. Instead of showing me a photo of his daughter, he gives me eighty dollars.
“A loan,” he says when I start to protest. “It’s just a loan, Maybe. It doesn’t mean anything. Listen, I didn’t see you tonight, but tomorrow, you can’t be here. Do you understand? I could get fired. I’m sorry.”
I nod and take the money.
“Thanks, Parker.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I
‘ve been sleeping in the Green Hornet for the last few days. Ted’s been so busy with Miss Onerous Old-Time Movie Star that I hardly see him. All I do all day is hang out at the library. My latest quest is looking up all the television shows and movies that were produced the year I was born. Then I try to see if any were shot in Florida. I keep hitting dead ends. It’s frustrating.
There are some real students waiting their turn for the computers. I give mine up and head out to lunch. I’ve got Parker’s money in my pocket but save it. You’d be surprised by the quality of food you can find in the trash. My technique is to watch people eating, then, when they’re done, follow. As soon as they dump their food in the trash and leave, I swoop in. I’ve found that when I target really skinny girls, I can practically get a full meal.
As I’m eating what’s left of someone’s roast beef sandwich, I spot Hollywood’s roommate. I try to run away before Ian sees me, but it’s too late.
“Hello Maybelline! I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?” Fine.”
“How are your classes?”
“Fine.”
“Did you hear, they found the guy who was stealing from the dorms? It was an engineering student. He’s going to be expelled.”
“Really? That’s nice. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m late for class.”
“Oh! What are you taking?” Ian asks as I turn away.
“Nuclear physics!” I yell as I hurry off with nowhere to go.
I keep running until I get to University Village. Suddenly, I think about Parker’s money. I had resolved to only use it for emergencies, but then it hits me. Of course. If anything ever constituted an emergency, this would be it.
I go to the store for supplies, then head to Burger King. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, so it’s not too crowded. I order a large Dr. Pepper and keep the cup when I’m done.
There’s no one in the bathroom. I set my duffel bag on the floor and line up everything on the metal shelf above the sink: a small bottle of conditioner, Saran Wrap, rubber gloves, and two packets of Jamaica Kool-Aid. It’s a new flavor and the fake fruit on the package is bright, bright red. Beautiful. Chessy always said that a trip to the beauty shop can turn your life around.
Before I begin, I take out a pair of scissors and start chopping away, slowly at first, then faster and faster. When did my hair get this long? As I am cutting, there’s a knock on the door. A kid in a Burger King outfit carrying a bucket and a mop comes in. He takes one look at me, blushes, and stammers, “I’ll come back later.”
Finally I put the scissors down and tear open the Kool-Aid packets, checking again to make sure they are the unsweetened kind. Once I used presweetened and my hair turned into a giant wad of chewed gum. I pour the Kool-Aid into the empty soda cup and add some conditioner, but not too much. Then I stir it all with a couple of straws until it’s goopy. I slip on the rubber gloves.
As I am rubbing my homemade concoction into my hair, the bathroom kid comes in again and stares at me.
&nb
sp; “What?” I ask, glaring at him.
He mutters something and disappears again.
After I’ve emptied the soda cup, I wrap my head in Saran Wrap and wait. And wait. And wait.
The door opens. This time it’s an older guy. He’s alone. His Burger King uniform looks too small, like the buttons are going to pop.
“Miss,” he says sternly, “we are going to have to ask you to leave.”
I wonder who “we” are. “But I need twenty more minutes,” I try to explain. “And then I have to rinse and condition.”
“We are going to have to ask you to leave,” he repeats firmly. I can tell he is getting off on bossing me around.
“You’re just jealous because you don’t have any hair,” I say.
“Young lady, get out. Now!”
He stands there and watches me gather my things, then escorts me out. I glare at the Burger King flunkie, who pretends not to notice me.
Outside, I sit on the curb. Audrey Hepburn sits down next to me. I scoot over. “I don’t bite,” she says, “unless it’s called for.”
Her cart is full of old clothes and paper bags and shiny discs that looks like garbage, but if you look closely you can see they’re flattened soda cans. The battered teddy bear tied to the handle of the cart is missing one eye.
“Nobody wants Madonna to be president,” Audrey Hepburn says too loudly. Her face is dirty. She’s not wearing her coat today, but she still has snow boots on. “They asked me, but I was busy saving the world. What they should do is make cars fly, that way the freeways won’t be so crowded. People think that I know everything. I once was so hungry I ate a toothpaste pie.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the traffic light. Red. Green. Yellow. Red. Audrey Hepburn inches closer to me and I inch away from her. I want to get up and run away, but that would be rude.
“I like your hat,” she says. “What kind of reception do you get? Sometimes I wear tinfoil.”
I absentmindedly touch the Saran Wrap on my head.
“What’s that black around your eyes? Does it help you see better? I like cake. Guess how much I weighed when I was born.”
Audrey Hepburn reminds me of someone. But who?
Oh God. I just figured it out.
The crazy lady sounds like Ted and looks like me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
N ew hair?” Hollywood asks. I nod. “It looks bright.” The longer you leave the Kool-Aid mix on your head, the brighter it gets. The brighter it gets, the longer it will last. This should last a lifetime.
Ted has the night off. Some ancient Italian prince is squiring Miss de la Tour around town. “We’re in the Rolls. I’m in the front, Hollywood’s in the back.
“Here,” I say to Hollywood. I hold out twenty dollars from Parker’s money. “I’ll pay you the rest I owe you later.”
Instead of taking it, he hands me money.
“What’s this for?”
“The bus.”
“Why would I need bus money?”
“To get home.”
Ted fills up the dead air by continuing a conversation that never was. “... so I got more platform shoes. It’s my signature look. Miss de la Tour thinks I am very stylish . . .
“Miss de la Tour says I am the only person she’s ever had working for her who can organize her social calendar . . .
“Miss de la Tour says I look good in warm colors . . .
“Miss de la Tour says I am the son she never had . . .
“Miss de la Tour says— “SHUT UP!” I yell. “I am sick of Miss de la Turd!”
Ted glares at me, then clutches the steering wheel and cranes his neck forward like an old person.
I turn around and face Hollywood, who’s sitting in the back-seat staring out the window. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” I ask softly.
Without looking at me, he says, “Maybe, it’s just that I don’t think things turned out the way you thought they would.”
“You mean, you don’t think things turned out the way you thought they would.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shake my head. “Ted, talk some sense into him. He thinks I should go back to Kissimmee.”
“I’m not talking to you,” Ted growls. “You’re mean. And if I were talking to you, I’d have to agree with Hollywood.”
“I can’t believe you guys are ganging up on me like this! I thought you were supposed to be my friends.”
“We are your friends,” Hollywood says. He turns on his camera and shines the light in my face.
“Shut that stupid thing off. Stop the car. Stop the car!”
Ted puts the blinker on and slowly maneuvers to the curb. I grab the door handle and push hard. “You guys are full of it!”
“Good riddance, Maybelline!” Ted shouts. “Hollywood and I will be much happier without you!”
As I storm down the street, Ted follows in the Rolls.
“Get in, Maybe.” He lowers his voice. “This is not the best area.”
I keep marching ahead, refusing to look at him.
“Get in,” he orders, his voice getting deeper so that it sounds like a bullhorn.
There’s a group of men on the corner. They’re drinking out of paper sacks. The one with the beard looks at me and starts hooting, “Hey, baby, how much?”
I try to ignore him but can’t when he blocks the sidewalk. I step back, then jump into the Rolls. As Ted speeds away, I hear the man shout, “We would have paid you double!” The rest of them break out laughing.
We go a couple miles in silence, until Ted says, “There is one other alternative. I think I know of a place where you can live.”
“I’m not going to a homeless shelter or some youth detention place,” I grumble. I hold my hand out to block the light from Hollywood’s camera.
“It’s nothing like that,” Ted assures me. “In fact, if I’m figuring this right, it’s probably very nice.”
Suddenly I am too tired to argue. “Whatever. I really don’t care anymore. Just as long as I don’t have to go back to Kissimmee. Don’t make me go back there. Ted,” I plead, “don’t make me go back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I take a shower in the gym. There’s a person who checks IDs, but if it’s busy and you act like you belong, they don’t bother. I wish I had known this earlier.
Ted’s got errands to run before he takes me to this secret location. I am beginning to suspect that he got us a place of our own. I heard him tell his mother that he was moving out of Carla’s apartment. Just the thought of it leaves me giddy.
I still have Hollywood’s money. Maybe I can get a fake ID so I can get a job. In the meantime, I am at Suds. I like the mini boxes of detergent in the vending machine. They look cute, like doll accessories. I choose a red one that says oxygen action on it.
Before my mother married the banker, and she insisted on a washer and dryer for a wedding gift, we had to go to the laundromat. Chessy would buy me a Snickers and then settle in with her movie magazines. I’d sit nibbling on my candy bar and watch the laundry go ‘round and ‘round.
One time I wandered off and a man with a gold tooth grabbed me and began whispering nasty things in my ear. His breath smelled like an alley. I screamed and Chessy came running. She chased the man away, then held me tight.
That was a long time ago.
It feels good to watch the clothes in the washer. I buy a Snickers from the vending machine. It eats my change, but I don’t let that bother me. I’m not going back to Kissimmee and that makes me happy.
Ted won’t tell me anything about our new place. I think he wants to surprise me. When he finally shows up, he’s all smiles. I am too. I’m not Audrey Hepburn with a shopping cart. I have friends, and soon I will have a place to live.
“I told you not to eat so much fried food . . .” Ted is talking to his mom on the phone as he changes lanes. He’s become really good at driving the Rolls. “Hot water. You should drink hot water. Does Paww know you’re not feeling
well? No, well then, tell him. Yes, tell him. Do you want me to tell him— I roll down the window and let the breeze wash across my face as I watch the palm trees parade past us. The Hollywood sign is in the distance. Ted’s off the phone now and chattering about Gloria de la Tour. I just smile and listen.
“Miss de la Tour’s housekeeper thinks I’m really smart. . .”
“Miss de la Tour keeps her Oscars in a glass case . . .”
“Miss de la Tour was married almost as many times as your mother . . .”
Ted speeds up as we get on the freeway. He keeps driving and doesn’t exit at Beverly Hills, where Gloria de la Tour lives.
“Did she kick you out, or did you opt out of the garage apartment?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our place. We’re going to our place, aren’t we?” I say smugly. “Listen, Ted, I’m no dummy. I figured it out!”
When Ted remains silent, my voice rises. “You said you knew where I could live. I assumed . . .”
“Maybe, I’m staying with Miss de la Tour. I’m moving out of the garage apartment and into the main house. I’ll have my own room and bathroom and the run of the place, plus I’ll be right there if Miss de la Tour needs me. You will be living elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
Where the hell is elsewhere? Is Ted taking me to the bus station? I will not go back! When he refuses to answer, I don’t ask again. I don’t want to know. It’s better not knowing.
I hate Ted.
Suddenly, the freeway ends. If this is the end of civilization, it looks nice. As we drive up the coast I take in the sun and the sand. Beautiful people in bathing suits cavort in the water. Construction sites vie for space along the strip of land that leans up against the beach. The farther we go, the fancier the homes get. Finally we turn on a side street that winds up the hills. Ted stops the car in front of a house that looks like it’s made of glass.
“Where are we?”
“Your new home,” he says as he sets the emergency brake.
“For now.”
I am so confused. Wait! Did Ted find my father? I’ll bet he’s found my father. What if he found my father? It makes sense he would live in a fancy house like this.