Hidden Mickey Adventures 1

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  Wouldn’t miss it!!!!! : ) I’ll bring my family, too.

  Duh, he typed and inadvertently hurt her feelings. He wondered why it took her so long to respond.

  When she typed again, it was short and to the point. Will let U know.

  “No flowers and exclamation points?” He frowned when she abruptly ended the conversation and signed off. Girls. Never can figure them out.

  Paris – 1964

  “There, that’s what I was telling you about, Lillian. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Lillian Disney couldn’t see exactly where her husband was pointing. “What exactly am I looking at? The painting? That lovely table?”

  “No, no, even though I do like that table. Wonder if it’s for sale…. No, I mean the elevator.”

  Lillian gave him a smile. “You brought me all the way back from shopping to look at an elevator? Why ever?” She could tell by the familiar gleam in his eye that he was really intrigued.

  He took her gently by the arm and propelled her forward. “Come and see the workmanship of this beauty. Look at that brass! Look at that wood! What is it? Walnut?” He ran his hand lovingly over the smooth surface. “Oh, pardon me.” He had to step back when two dignified-looking guests of the hotel wanted to use the machine in question. Once the lift—as they had called it—moved upward, he moved back in closer. Craning his head, he watched until it was out of sight. “I want it.”

  His wife was also familiar with that phrase. “Will we be installing it in our house? We might need to add a floor or two.” She chuckled as they went over to sit on one of the upholstered sofas in the spacious white and gold lobby to discuss it.

  “What? Oh, that’s a good one, Lil!” With a laugh of his own, he looked off into the distance, obviously trying to figure something out.

  Lillian became a little alarmed that he might actually be considering it. “No, Walt, I was just kidding. Our house is fine just the way it is.”

  Turning back to see her concerned look, he reassured his wife, “Oh, I know! I was just thinking about that V.I.P. lounge for Disneyland that I’ve been considering. What they did in New York at the World’s Fair for those corporation bigwigs was pretty impressive. You remember I told you about them?”

  Knowing what he expected, she nodded. “And you want to do something similar.”

  Walt’s expression turned thoughtful and serious. “Yeah, I do. I couldn’t have gotten Disneyland built without all those corporations chipping in. I want to do something special for them. You know, as a thank you.” His gaze turned back to the elegant elevator which had returned to the lobby floor. “And that would look wonderful in the lobby of my special club. Come on, let’s ride it. Then I’ll go see if it’s for sale.”

  “Walt, wouldn’t this statue of the little boy look pretty in that courtyard you’re planning in New Orleans Square? He looks so angelic. Walt?”

  “Hmm? Yeah, sure. Go ahead and have it shipped over.”

  “You aren’t even going to look at it or ask how much it is?”

  Walt’s face looked like he was mentally a million miles away when he turned to see what she was actually talking about. “What did you say? Angels? Court? No, it doesn’t matter how much it is. You’re right. Maybe somewhere up on that sweeping staircase Herb designed.” As he continued to stare at the ornate statue, he began to appreciate more of the detail. Including the pedestal, the piece was about four to four and a half feet tall. The young cherub-faced boy was dressed in a fancy cut-away coat and had on lace-edged knee britches. Looking off to the side, he was holding some kind of flute with both of his hands. “I know, in that rounded nook about halfway up. That’s just the place.” Decision made, he drifted off, staring again out of the window of the antique store.

  “What’s the matter, Walt? You tired?” Lillian placed a worried hand on his arm.

  Fondly patting the offered hand, he gave her a small smile. “No, I’m not tired. I’m irritated. I can’t believe that hotel owner wouldn’t sell me that elevator.”

  “Now, Walt, some people do tell you no,” she reminded him. Sometimes not nearly enough, she silently added to herself.

  “That they do,” he agreed. “And it irritates me every time they do it. Unless, somehow, they’re right. And this guy isn’t right. I need that elevator. Hey, you know what?” His expression suddenly perked up as he snapped his fingers. “I’ll send over a team of engineers and they can make me a copy of it. Probably be cheaper that way, anyway.” He paused for a moment and dug into the stretched-out pocket of his sweater. “Ah, here it is,” he mumbled. Holding up something bright, he showed it to his confused wife.

  “What in the world is that?”

  “That’s part of the finish on the elevator. I got a piece of the wood, too. That’s how I’ll get it just right.”

  Lillian was shocked. “Walt! You can’t just take hunks out of things.”

  Waving off her objections, Walt gazed at the brass chip. “Oh, no one’ll notice. I’ll have the boys match it up and bring over something to fix it back up. It’ll be fine.” Problem solved, Walt’s attitude became bright again.

  Once the transaction for the statue was finished and the shipping instructions given, Walt and Lillian wandered back outside into the watery, waning light of a late Parisian afternoon. “Might rain,” he said, glancing up at the sky.

  “Do you want to go back to the hotel?”

  After a last glare at the threatening clouds, he shook his head. “No, there’re a couple more antique stores I’d like to see before we go in. Let me tell you a little more about my plans for the special club in New Orleans Square. I think I’ll put in a private entrance in your angelic courtyard to our new apartment, too. The one over the Fire House is getting too small with the grandkids now. Don’t you think a piano in the main hallway would add a special touch?”

  “Piano? In our apartment or in your club?” She wasn’t sure which rooms he was describing right then.

  “The club.”

  “Oh, all right.” Lillian thought about the proposed club and then shook her head. “From what you’ve told me, I think something a little grander would be in order.”

  “A grand piano?”

  “No. What about this: A harpsichord!”

  That wasn’t what Walt expected to hear. She could tell he was considering it. “That’s a keen idea. Where do you think I could get one?”

  It was Lillian’s turn for a secret smile. “Tell you what, Walt. Let me surprise you for a change. I’ll take care of the harpsichord.”

  “You will? Why, that’s a deal,” he patted her hand one more time.

  As they walked on, heads down against the chill in the air, Walt painted a vivid, lovely picture of the Victorian elegance he had in mind for his exclusive club high over the streets of New Orleans Square. He described how the waiters would be dressed and how they would bring in the best chef they could find. Chandeliers, elegant drapery, huge mahogany side boards, intimate tables for two by the many windows and large round tables for visiting groups all fell into place inside the two main dining areas.

  Passersby barely gave the older couple a second look as they slowly trod along the busy Paris street. Had they stopped and listened, they would have been transported through time and space all the way to Anaheim, California, fallen as they would have been under the spell of the World’s Greatest Storyteller.

  “Using this game book as a decoy was a good idea, Catie.” Peter led the way as they hurried through Adventureland. “Your dad didn’t seem too interested in running a quest against us. Did he give you any trouble about coming back to the Park so soon?”

  “No. Mom had to work in Pirates today, so he was going to do something with Alex and me anyway. Hey, slow down a little!” Catie tried as hard as she could to keep up with the long-legged Peter. “I can’t walk that fast.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled as an apology. “Just excited, I guess.” He adjusted his stride and let Catie set the pace.

  Catie looked a
little anxious about what she had to tell Peter next. Her voice was low when she admitted what she had done. “I…I, uh, I had to tell Alex a little about what we were doing.”

  Her words took Peter by surprise. Other than Michael, who no longer seemed interested, he didn’t figure on anyone else knowing. After remaining quiet for a few paces, he asked for more details. “What’d you tell him? Do you think he’ll tell your parents?”

  “No, I just told him that you and I found something really cool, but it was a secret right now. I promised I would tell him later when we know more. I...I think he won’t tell. He did ask Dad to take him on Screamin’. You know I can’t ride that, so I think he was trying to help us by getting Dad into the other Park.” She paused for a moment, not being able to read Peter’s face. “Is that all right, Peter?” More than anything, she hoped she hadn’t jeopardized her chance to continue to work alongside Peter. She enjoyed it more than she was willing to admit—even to herself.

  Glancing at her open, hopeful face, Peter gave her an encouraging smile. “Yeah, I think it will be all right. He did convince your dad to bring us to the Park today. Michael’s still ga-ga over the puppy, so he didn’t want to come again.”

  Relieved, her heart-rate began to return to normal. It had sped up when she thought she might lose her friend. She changed the subject as they walked past the entrance to the Jungle Cruise. “So, do you know how we’re going to get back into Club 33 yet?”

  Looking to the left and right, Peter lowered his voice to answer her. “Yeah, I think so. It should be on record that we had lunch there a couple of weeks ago. I’m hoping that will at least get us in the door.” He gave her a charming smile. “I might ‘suddenly’ have to go to the bathroom, so don’t look surprised. That should get me upstairs while they’re looking for your sweater.”

  Catie gave a deep sigh. “I hope it works. I’d hate for them to call Mom or Dad and get us in trouble.”

  “Or call Wolf,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth.

  Hearing what he said, Catie glanced up sharply at his face. “Would that be bad? He did get us into the Lilly Belle.”

  Heading up the ramp that went over the queue for Pirates of Caribbean, Peter looked out over the Rivers of America that formed the heart of Frontierland. Wolf’s love of this area of Disneyland went deep. Peter didn’t understand it completely, but he knew the security guard could often be found there. “Wolf,” he started and then stopped. They wove around the numerous guests who were lined up for lunch at Café Orleans and those who were exiting the Pirate ride. “Wolf is very smart,” he finally continued as they walked past the Blue Bayou Restaurant, nearing their goal of the doorway into Club 33. “I’m afraid he would suspect something if he found we were back inside the Club for no apparent reason. I’d rather not have to explain anything to him just yet.”

  “I’d rather have him on our side, not against us.” His companion didn’t totally agree with him.

  “Not yet, Catie. Not yet.”

  Peter wiped the palms of his hands down his pant legs. He didn’t usually get nervous, but found his heart beat faster as he looked at the ornate scrolled glasswork that proclaimed ’33.’ It was the only outside indication of the exclusive club inside and most people who wandered by either didn’t see it or had no idea what it meant. The door, painted a non-descript blue-gray, was locked from the inside. Peter cleared his throat and mumbled, “Here goes nothing,” as he lifted the small brass panel on the left side of the entry door and pushed the brass call button hidden within.

  When a female cast member answered and asked for the name of their party, Peter lowered his voice. “Lance Brentwood. We were here two weeks ago and lost something. May we come in?”

  Not knowing his family’s entire history, Peter didn’t realize that just the name Brentwood itself would have been sufficient to gain entry into the Club. He heard a bright, “Lance! Come on in.” The buzzer sounded, unlocking the door.

  Giving Catie a pleased grin, Peter unconsciously took her hand as they went inside the burgundy and gold foyer. His grin faded a little when Louise, the cast member on duty at the entrance desk, became confused, looking beyond the two children for Lance. “Who are you? I was expecting Lance…and, uh, Kimberly,” she added as an afterthought.

  “I’m Peter Brentwood, his son.” He knew he had to talk fast. “This is my friend Catie.” He dropped her hand, briefly wondering how he got to be holding it in the first place. “We had lunch here a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Yes. I was here then,” Louise told them slowly, her eyes narrowing. “What’s this about? Did you want to have lunch again? I can’t do that without at least one of your parents being here.”

  “No, no.” Peter held up his hands and then pointed at Catie. Embarrassed to be brought forward like that, she turned a bright shade of red. “She thinks she lost her sweater and we just wanted to see if it was found.”

  Louise looked at the stricken look on the girl’s face. Either she was really upset about her sweater or she was about to cry. Or both. “I can check with the servers and see if anything was found. But, lost items are usually sent to the Lost and Found Department. Do you know where you were sitting? Which table?”

  “Uh, the round one in the middle.”

  Louise hid a grin. That described every table away from the windows. “I’ll call the maître….”

  Interrupting her, Peter suddenly blurted out, “Can I please use the bathroom? Please?”

  Glancing over, Louise noted the painful look on his face and thought to herself, Boys. Out loud she gave a tentative, “Sure. Just follow the stairs…. Oh, you know where it is.”

  In a flash, not waiting for her to change her mind, Peter took off up the heavily carpeted staircase. He would have liked to use the really cool elevator, but that would take more time. After watching the boy streak up the stairs, Louise looked back at the girl who gave her a timid smile and a shrug. “Okay then, let me call about your hat.”

  “Sweater,” Catie corrected in a small voice. She didn’t like deception and would rather be waiting for Peter outside on Royal Street.

  “Right. Sweater.” Louise gave her a small smile. She wasn’t sure if she believed the story and had tested the girl—who was probably the weak link if it wasn’t true. Still, she picked up the old-fashioned black phone and rang upstairs anyway. “So, what color was it?”

  Once out of sight of the main floor, Peter slowed his steps and turned to enter the long hallway that led to the dining room. He could smell the tantalizing aromas from the food being served for lunch and his stomach growled. Almost immediately to the left was his object in question: the harpsichord. Painted a soft cream color with pale blue accents, the sometimes-working instrument sat near one of the many windows. Its long lid was propped open to reveal the painted scene of an older, original New Orleans on the inside of the cover.

  Not seeing anyone in the immediate area, Peter grabbed a pen and small piece of paper he had stashed in his backpack and dropped the pack on the floor. Getting down on his hands and knees, he tried to glace up under the keyboard as the cryptic clue had said to do. Seeing nothing from that uncomfortable angle, he glanced around one last time and crawled under the musical instrument. Turning over onto his back, he could now clearly see something painted on the bottom of the harpsichord. The words were written in paint about two or three shades darker than the original cream and would easily be missed if someone wasn’t looking for them.

  In his excitement, Peter wrote the words on the palm of his hand, carefully copying each letter as it was apparent it was not written in English. When he was done, he looked at his palm and wondered how long the ink would last. Locating the dropped piece of paper, he was almost done copying the words a second time when he heard something that almost made his heart stop:

  “Hey, what are you doing under there?!”

  Peter felt hands grab his ankles and he was unceremoniously drug out from under his place of concealment. He found himself fac
e to face with two stern-looking servers and the maître d’. Getting clumsily to his feet, he held up his pen. “Found it,” he tried with a feeble grin.

  Seeing a guest coming toward them, the maître d’ quickly dismissed the servers. “I have this.” He took Peter by the arm and led him back toward the stairs. “What is the meaning of this? You were supposed to be just using the restroom. This is not a play area and you were under a most valuable antique!”

  Peter wondered if breaking into tears would help. By the look on the angry man’s face, probably not. “I’m sorry,” he started. “I…I was hoping to grab a dessert. I haven’t had lunch yet and it all smelled so good.” It’s not working, Peter, he told himself. “So, I took off my backpack and the pen fell out and it rolled…I’m sorry. I didn’t touch anything.”

  The maitre d’ wasn’t sure what to do next. He knew the boy’s parents and knew their children weren’t considered troublemakers. About to release the boy with a strong warning, he was surprised when a uniformed security guard rushed up the steps.

  Peter’s eyes got wide when he saw the uniform approaching. Then, when he realized it wasn’t Wolf, he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or worried. This guard was unknown to him. The name on his nametag said Todd.

  Wordlessly pointing for Peter to remain where he was, Todd took the maitre d’ aside a couple of steps and told the man that he would take it from here.

  The maitre d’ hesitated, putting a nervous hand on the back of his neck. “Well, there was no harm done, uhm, Todd,” as he, too, glanced at the man’s nametag. “I was just going to scare him a little so he wouldn’t try that again.”

  Todd tried to give him a reassuring smile. “No problem. You did the right thing. I’ll take care of it before any of your guests see the scene he’s creating. I’ve got the girl waiting downstairs. You can go now.” He tried to sound authoritative, but came across as nervous and bullying.

  Not liking it, but not knowing what else to do, the maître d’ nodded and turned back to the main part of the restaurant. As soon as the security guard had hauled the boy down the stairs, and enough time had passed to get the kids outside, he called Louise at the entry desk.