Lost in Hollywood

by Cindy Callaghan

  She picked up her cell phone. “Hello.” She paused. “Wait, peeps! Two words: false alarm. The readings have returned to normal. You can come back in.” She added, “The PPP thanks you for your cooperation.”

  She came over to Dorothy. “Nothing?”

  “It wouldn’t even open.”

  “Bummer,” she said.

  Margot said, “I can’t believe all those people were going to leave.”

  “Seems there’s a natural curiosity about ghosts,” I said. “It sure did come in handy.”

  “I know. Right?” Payton lifted her knee, and with an exaggerated tilt of her head pointed me to it.

  I lifted my knee and we tapped them together—knee high-five.

  “What was that?” Margot asked.

  Payton said, “You ask too many questions. Just pick up your knee and tap it to ours.”

  Payton and I lifted our knees again to meet Margot’s. She smiled, but she didn’t seem to know what she was smiling about.

  Then Payton asked, “What else should we hit while we’re here?”

  “Maybe we should ask ABJ?” I removed the oversize walkie-talkie from my purse that I’d hung across my chest. The walkie was so big and heavy that my purse strap dug into my neck leaving a groove I could feel with my fingers. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” I pushed the button. “ABJ, it’s Ginger here.”

  Grant’s voice came on. “Don’t even ask me to beam you up, because I won’t. I’ll let you float around in a zero-gravity environment until your O2 runs out.”

  “Is that your brother?” Margot asked. “Tell him we’re not in a zero-gravity blah-blah-blah.” Then she added, “I have an older brother who is all sports, all the time.”

  “That,” I said, “sounds normal.”

  “That,” Payton pointed to the walkie to indicate Grant, “isn’t.”

  I told Grant, “Just give the walkie to ABJ.”

  There was a moment of static. “Hello, Gingersnap.”

  “If you hid the money near or around a wax person whose name started with a D, who would it be?”

  “Hmmm. Let me think. Maybe Sammy Davis Jr.? Ummm . . . that’s the only person I can think of right now.”

  I said, “Okay. We’ll check it out. I felt good about Dorothy, but I can’t open her basket.”

  “That was a good guess. I like her. I’d trust her wax look-alike to guard my money. Try Sammy. I gotta get back to this Star Trek marathon that your brother has me watching.” Then she added, “Over and out.” I bet Leo had taught her that.

  Grant’s voice came back on. “Get me wax.”

  I turned the walkie off.

  “Sammy, huh?” Payton started wandering.

  Margot picked up a crinkled brochure off a ledge and skimmed her finger down the list of attractions in the brochure. “She’s not here.”

  “Sammy is a he,” I said.

  “Oh. Well, he’s not here.”

  Payton said, “I’m ready for a snack, and since someone drank half of my shake, I want another one.”

  “I could go for another myself,” I said. “But first I have to stop at the gift shop for something for the space spaz.”

  On our way I asked Margot, “Have you ever tried to eat only ice cream all day?”

  “No,” she said. “Is that a thing?”

  “It could be,” Payton said.

  Margot said, “Why would anyone do that? You’d miss out on the daily recommended amount of so many vitamins.”

  “True,” Payton agreed, but I knew for certain that Payton didn’t agree at all. She wanted to try to eat nothing but milkshakes all day.

  I bought a wax Darth Vader for Grant, and called Leo on the walkie. “Hey, it’s us. Can you bring us back to Millions of Milkshakes?”

  “Yup. Oui. Sí. Going for two-in-one-day? That’s smart. I’ll pick you up at Walt Disney’s star.” Then he said, “Over.” The walkie went to static.

  Payton looked up. “Star?”

  12

  Margot pointed to the sidewalk—shiny black squares with gold flecks. “Stars,” she said. Then she pointed up and down Hollywood Boulevard at the Walk of Fame, which had brass stars embedded in the sidewalk. “Lots of stars. Each one is like a monument to someone in entertainment.”

  “Of course,” I said. “That’s on our list.”

  “Disney. D,” Payton suggested.

  “Yeah.” I looked up and down the street again. “There are tons of them.”

  “Statistically, a lot would be D,” Payton said.

  “We have a little time,” I said. “Let’s ask ABJ her fave. It’s worth a try.” I pushed the button of the walkie. “Ginger here. Come in, ABJ.”

  Margot asked, “You guys like the letter D, huh?”

  I would have to explain the D clue to Margot later. For now I nodded as my mom came on the walkie. “Ginger, is that you?” Then I could hear her talking to someone else. “It’s Ginger and Payton. I wonder where they are.”

  “Mom,” I said, but she couldn’t hear me because she didn’t take her finger off the button. I could still hear voices in the background.

  “Ginger, can you hear me?” And she said to someone, “I don’t think we have a good connection.”

  The line was static for a hot second and I was able to say, “Lemme talk to ABJ.”

  “Ginger?” ABJ asked.

  “We’re at the Walk of Fame doing you-know-what. Do you have a favorite brass star?”

  “I have a brass lamp,” she said.

  Huh?

  “We’re working on the . . . the mission. You know, looking for something,” I said.

  “I would look for you to the edge of the Earth, Cassidy.” She recited a line from her award-winning movie. “And I’d comb the bottom of the deepest oceans.”

  “Ginger, it’s Dad. I think ABJ is getting tired. We’ll just see you when you get back, okay? Leo said he’s picking you up.”

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “She’s gonna take a nap and then we’re going to the doctor. Over.”

  I clicked the walkie off slowly and kept my eyes on the ground.

  “The doctor will be able to explain it,” Payton said.

  “I hope so.”

  “I love that movie, The Edge of the Earth. Except for the part when Cassidy runs barefoot on the boardwalk. I mean, has she ever heard of a splinter? You get one of those and neglect it, and you’re looking at possible amputation,” Margot said. “But it’s no surprise she won an award for that movie.”

  I telepathically said to Payton, Seriously? Amputation? All this girl thinks about is doom and gloom.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a great movie. We have to get that award back for her.”

  “Her Oscar? Are you kidding me?! It’s with the hidden money?!” Margot exclaimed.

  Payton stretched her foot over to Margot’s exposed toes and stepped down.

  “Ow! That’s it!” Margot said. “I’m buying sneakers!”

  “Or, you can turn on your filter and stop saying that out loud,” Payton suggested.

  “Come on, you two,” I said, but Payton was right, Margot had no filter. “Let’s start with Sammy Davis Jr.’s star. He was her first pick last time.”

  Margot grabbed the map that she had in her back pocket.

  “Jeez,” Payton said, “so embarrassing. Only tourists use maps.” She took a step away from us.

  I glanced around the crowds of people. “Everyone here is a tourist. We’re blending in.”

  Payton looked around and seemed to maybe agree that maybe we didn’t look as dorky as she felt.

  Margot said, “Sammy is a few blocks that way,” and started in that direction.

  “How would ABJ hide you-know-what and you-know-what, the second you-know-what is the Oscar, near or around one of these stars?” Margot asked.

  I said, “If you’re going to tell us what you-know-what is, it’s kind of unnecessary to call it you-know-what.”

  “True,” Margot said
. “But I mean the stars are in the cement.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she put the goods under it?” Payton suggested.

  “How would we check? We don’t have a crowbar or jackhammer—wait—do one of you have a crowbar or jackhammer?” Margot asked.

  Payton and I held up our arms showing that we weren’t carrying any power tools.

  I only had my little purse around my wrist, which couldn’t fit anything besides the ten-pound walkie-talkie and the little plastic bag with Grant’s wax gift.

  Margot said, “Right. Of course you don’t. If you did, that would practically scream, ‘We’re searching for hidden money and an Oscar on Hollywood Boulevard!’ ”

  Told ya—no filter.

  13

  I said, “Let’s get to Sammy and Walt.”

  “Then shakes,” Payton added.

  “Totally. Where did Margot go?” I asked.

  “Maybe following a map to a jackhammer.”

  “Ha!” I said, “Do you think she has a thin cerebral cortex?”

  “Or maybe she processes language in her less-dominant brain hemisphere, and lacks the neurons to process thoughts before her mouth makes sounds.”

  “Good theory,” I said. “In either event, she has no control over what comes out of her mouth.”

  “Totally,” Payton agreed.

  “But I like her,” I said.

  “I do too, but have you noticed that she sees the worst possible things in everything?” Payton asked again.

  “How could I not notice? She’s talking about velociraptors.”

  Payton found Sammy Davis Jr.’s star before we found Margot.

  “Should we worry about her?” I asked.

  She looked at her watch. “Let’s wait ten minutes before we worry. She knew we were coming here and she has a map.”

  “I just hope she doesn’t get a splinter.”

  We laughed.

  “Take my picture.” I handed Payton my phone and crouched down by Sammy’s brass star. I ran my hand around every crevice. I don’t know what I expected to happen. Maybe it could’ve opened up like the hatch of a submarine and under it would be a pile of cash and an Oscar. Payton and I would casually pick it up and walk away and nobody would even look at us twice, right?

  Payton said, “Look up and smile.”

  I looked up without smiling. CLICK—swoop—it went to QuickPik. “I was kidding about the picture. I just want to look normal while I’m down here massaging Sammy’s star.” None of the letters on the star opened a secret door á la Scooby Doo. “Margot was right. We need a crowbar to look under this.” I glanced around the sidewalk. “I don’t think this is right. I don’t think ABJ could hide money here.”

  “Me either. We need to think of something else. A shake will fuel our brains. You know, omega-three oils,” Payton said.

  “That’s in fish.”

  “Well, I’m not eating a fish smoothie. Blech!” Payton stuck out her tongue. “I’m sure ice cream has something that stimulates brain waves.”

  She was probably right. “Where’s Disney? And where is Margot?” I looked up and down the street, but didn’t see her yet. “Now I’m starting to worry.”

  Payton picked up an index of the stars and handed it to me. “See if you can find Walt.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “I don’t want to look like a tourist,” she said. And then, like a total tourist, she CLICK—swoop—sent a picture of Hollywood Boulevard to QuickPik.

  I checked out the index. “Oops. Problem.”

  “What kind?”

  “Walt has two stars,” I said. “Ha! And Mickey Mouse has one too.”

  “Not Minnie? That’s not fair.”

  “Well, Snow White has one, so it sounds like it’s an equal opportunity Walk of Fame.”

  “That’s good to know,” Payton said. “How far are we from Walt’s first star?”

  Margot said from behind us, “Uncle Leo meant the one that’s up there, on the other side of the street.”

  “Where were you?” I asked. “I was nervous.”

  She held up a foot. She was wearing pink sneakers, just like Payton’s and mine. “Like ’em?”

  “Love ’em!” I said.

  “Good find!” Payton agreed.

  We didn’t walk far before we saw a burrito/banana was pulled over. Leo handed out foil-wrapped packages to anyone waving a five-dollar bill.

  Just as we arrived he said, “Sorry, folks. Sold out. But text me an order and I’ll deliver it.” He tossed burrito-shaped business cards into the group of gatherers, who shoved to get one.

  Someone said something that I didn’t hear, and Leo said, “This just isn’t your lucky day. I already have passengers.” He looked our way. “And here they are now.” He opened the taxi door like a fancy chauffeur. “Lovely to see you, ladies.”

  “Hey, Leo!” we said.

  I paused for Payton to get in.

  “Uh-huh,” she said and put her hand behind her back. “One-two-three shoot!”

  I put out scissors.

  Payton put out rock.

  Rock smashes scissors.

  “Ugh.” I climbed in the back.

  Leo said to Margot, “I dig your new kicks.”

  14

  “Coming through.” Leo entered ABJ’s house with his arms full of steaming burritos fresh out of the trunk. “Dinner’s here!”

  “Hot stuff!” he called.

  “Lay it on me,” Dad said.

  Leo delivered one per person.

  ABJ took hers, but just set it on her lap. I noticed there was no burrito sparkle in her eyes as we dug into our foil treats.

  Margot sat between Payton and me at the dining room table. “Mmm,” we all hummed in unison.

  “Pork this time,” Payton said.

  “Good call,” I said.

  “Just the right amount of cilantro,” Payton said.

  I asked, “Did I just taste pineapple?”

  “You did,” Margot said.

  Leo puffed his chest out and soaked up the compliments.

  “My people would like this.” Grant didn’t even attempt to close his mouth when he chewed. What is it with boys? We were used to Grant making comments like this, so no one usually commented about stuff like his “people,” but Margot didn’t really know Grant.

  She asked, “You think you’re an alien?”

  “I don’t think I’m an alien.”

  “Oh. You mean you are an alien?”

  He smiled.

  “From what planet? Were you sent here to collect soil samples? Or to study humankind or the Earth’s resources? I’ve heard that most planets are anxious to get their hands on cactus. Who would have thought that cacti would be the thing that would start an interplanetary war?”

  “Um . . . errr.” Grant had never had anyone ask him serious questions about his true heredity.

  We all just looked at him, because these were good questions, and I think we were all curious about the answers.

  “You look kind of like your dad. Isn’t that a coincidence if he’s not really your father?”

  “Umm . . . err.”

  I enjoyed seeing Grant squirm through Margot’s inquisition.

  She added, “Oh, they probably made your Earth body look like that so no one would suspect. I guess that’s smart, actually. So this isn’t what you look like when you’re at home? How long will you be here?”

  Grant said, “I’m not at liberty to talk about my mission.”

  “Sure.” Margot took a big bite of burrito. “I get that. That’s cool.”

  Leo prompted a different line of questioning to Mom and Dad. “Bank update?”

  “Accounts are empty,” Dad said. “The one account where she kept the bulk of her money—the one the bank automatically deducted the mortgage payment from—was cleaned out about four months ago. ABJ went in and withdrew it all, in cash. They have the records.”

  “What did she do with it?” Leo asked.

  Mom loo
ked at ABJ, who still hadn’t touched her burrito. “She doesn’t know.”

  “I suspect it’s gone. Spent,” Dad said. “Or maybe even stolen.”

  “Or,” Grant started, “she buried it. Like a pirate.”

  “Ha, ha!” I said.

  Payton added, “You are cute, Grant. Very cute.”

  “So cute,” I supported her. “Next you’ll be saying it was snatched by aliens.”

  “That would be funny,” Payton said.

  “I know. Right?” I added.

  “Two words—funny kid.”

  “Yeah,” Margot said. “Imagine hiding all your money and leaving a weird clue about where it was stashed.” Then she exclaimed, “Ouch!” as Payton pressed her weight onto Margot’s toe. It sounded like it hurt even through sneakers.

  “What’s the matter?” Leo asked.

  Margot said, “Just a splinter.”

  “How did—”

  Mom interrupted Leo, “Girls, don’t joke about this situation. It isn’t funny.”

  “It’s not,” Leo agreed. “But I hope none of that’s true—that ‘gone, spent, stolen,’ or ‘the pirate burial,’ and definitely not the ‘alien abduction.’ ”

  “Uncle Leo.” Margot looked at Payton and me for a second before continuing, “If any of that were true, do you think anyone would actually talk about it out loud? I mean, then just anyone could run around Hollywood, in and out of museums, and up and down the Walk of Fame, looking everywhere for a wad of cash and an Oscar.”

  “Who said anything about an Oscar?” Leo asked. “Is that missing too?”

  We looked at each other.

  I explained, “Just misplaced. Margot wanted to see it, and ABJ didn’t remember where she had stored it.”

  “Probably the attic,” Payton said. “That’s where my family stores stuff.”

  Leo said, “That’s probably it. We can check it out later. But I’d like to get to the bottom of this money thing, because the bank isn’t going to be patient much longer about this house. And I want to use my back pay to invest in another taxi. You know, expand.” Then he looked at ABJ’s unopened foil. “Aren’t you hungry, beautiful?”

  “I think I’ll lie down.”

  “Do you want help?” Mom asked.

  “No thanks, honey.” She pushed her chair back and walked behind me, and kissed the top of my head. “Good night, Ginger,” she said. Then she whispered in my ear, “Things change over time.” She reached down and secretly put something in my hand. I squeezed my finger around it, then she walked toward her bedroom.