Lost in Hollywood

by Cindy Callaghan

  He opened a closet door in the kitchen and took a few steps down before pulling a string, which lit an overhead bulb, revealing a second door—the metal kind that looked like it led to a vault in a bank rather than to a basement. Leo twisted a latch, and with a pop and a sigh, the door swung open. We stepped down a few more times into the cement tomb.

  Leo said, “She still keeps some food and water down here in case of a storm or something, but it’s not stocked like most people did when they were preparing for a nuclear blast.”

  There was a case of water bottles, and about ten gallon jugs. A metal shelf held canned foods, a radio, blankets, a few flashlights, batteries, basic tools, and some hygiene items.

  There were three large metal benches that seemed like they could double as beds, if needed, but instead were used to hold cardboard boxes marked with a Sharpie. Most were movie titles that I recognized as those ABJ had been in.

  There was also a tower of shoeboxes marked with dates: 1960–1963; 1967–1970; 1971–1974; and so on. I noticed that 1964–1966 was missing in the sequence. I took the lid off the one on top marked 1960–1963. Inside was a pile of photographs.

  “Wow,” Payton said. “Look at ABJ. She is beautiful now, but look at her here.”

  “She’s so young,” I said.

  “Who are these men that she’s with?”

  “This is John Wayne,” I said. “This one is Jimmy Stewart. And this one is Harry Cooper.”

  She gave me a look that said she was surprised that I knew this.

  “Maybe I spend a little too much time with my mom,” I said.

  “I think this proves it,” Payton said.

  Leo slid some boxes around. “Here is Christmas. What are you looking for?”

  I smiled. “Something to give the Science Olympics project more umph.”

  25

  That evening we covered the patio table with supplies. Payton worked on a poster, while I used wire and electrical tape to get us closer to ooh la la.

  Mom, Dad, and Grant came home with two steaming hot pizzas. I never thought I’d want a change from burritos, but the smell wooed Payton and I away from our project and woke ABJ from her nap. We congregated in the formal living room, where Leo handed out paper plates.

  “Grant said he always wanted to eat in here,” ABJ explained. I thought it was cute that she and Grant had become pals.

  Hey, maybe she can share the alien room with him and I can keep my new pink room!

  “Yup. On the white sofas!” Grant confirmed.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dad asked ABJ.

  “You only live once!” Then she whispered something to Leo, who left the room.

  He returned a second later with sheets.

  “Stand up for a sec,” he said to us, and he tossed the sheets over the white sofa. We sat back down and he did the same to the chairs.

  “Now. Who wants pepperoni?” ABJ asked and handed out slices to everyone.

  Mom said, “We had the most amazing day.”

  “What did you do?” Payton asked.

  “A tour of Universal Studios. I got to see the house from the movie Psycho. It’s not quite as creepy in the middle of a sunny day, but surreal to see it in person.”

  “What else?”

  “Then we did an open-air bus tour all over Hollywood and I learned so much.”

  “It could be because she asked a bazillion questions,” Grant said. “People got off the bus to get away from her. It was so annoying.”

  “Oh, come on now. They had places they wanted to go see, while I wanted to hear everything. People tour in different ways.” Then she began sharing tidbits of everything she’d learned. “Did you know they say that John Wayne might have kept a cow on his deck of the Sunset Hotel?”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “You knew John Wayne, didn’t you, ABJ?” Payton asked.

  “I think I may have met him once. It was 1962, I think.”

  She can remember that date, but not where she’s hidden her life’s fortune.

  Mom told us more. “Let’s see: Four stars have been stolen from the Walk of Fame. Can you imagine? And Hollywood itself was originally the site of a fig orchard. Oh, and did you know that the original title for Ghostbusters was Ghost Smashers?”

  “Seems like you learned a lot today,” I said.

  Mom bit into her pepperoni pizza. “Ohh.” She held up the one-finger giving herself a chance to swallow. “How cool is this: the Hollywood sign was built to advertise a real estate development!”

  I said, “Actually, that I knew.”

  “Hollywoodland,” Mom said. “That was the name of it. I want to get a poster of that.”

  “You mean there were four more letters?” I asked.

  “Duh,” Grant said. “L-A-N-D.”

  The hangman dashes! That’s what those little lines were on the clue! Thirteen of them. A hash mark for every letter of the sign.

  My brain tingled in places I didn’t know it could tingle.

  “Speaking of Mitch, can we call him?” I asked Leo.

  “Who was talking about Mitch?” Leo asked.

  “Who’s Mitch?” Mom asked.

  Leo asked, “Why?”

  I ticked off on my fingers and spelled, “L-A-N-D.”

  Payton gasped. “There’s another D!”

  26

  On Thursday morning the countdown app said forty hours—just two days left. I’d wiggled all night, thinking about the second D. I couldn’t wait to check it out.

  While Payton and I waited for Leo to see Mitch, we kapow-ed our Science Olympics project.

  “I can’t wait to see the DeMarcos’ face when the judges announce us as the winners,” Payton said.

  “When they lose the bet, we’re going to see a lot more than their faces.”

  “I know. Right?”

  Since Dad fixed the slamming front door, we smelled Leo and Margot before we heard them.

  “Am I smelling what I think I’m smelling?” Payton asked.

  “If you think it’s bacon, then yes.”

  Margot said, “If you think it’s lima beans, then no.”

  Payton took a foil packet. “Bacon on a breakfast burrito is a good thing.”

  “Bacon on pretty much everything is a good thing,” I agreed.

  “I know. Right?”

  “And it’s the main contributor to high blood pressure, which is a leading indicator of stroke and heart attack, but hey, don’t let that stop you.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  “I made one hundred of them!” Leo said. “Once I let the smell of these babies float out of my trunk and onto the Hollywood streets, they’ll sell themselves.”

  “Can we eat them on the road?” I said. “I want to get up that mountain again.”

  “I just need my sneakers and then I’m ready,” Payton said.

  “Me too,” I said. “And let’s leave a burrito next to ABJ’s bed so she’ll smell it first thing when she wakes up.”

  “She’ll love that!” Payton said.

  “I’ll do it while you get your sneakers,” Margot said.

  We were just finishing up when Margot yelled from ABJ’s bedroom, “She’s gone!”

  27

  I asked, “She’s not here?”

  Leo said, “This isn’t the first time this has happened. We need to ABJ-proof this house: alarms, locks, cowbell.”

  “Where do you think she went?” Payton asked.

  “Maybe looking for the money?” Leo suggested.

  “Or maybe she went to the Derby for Easter,” I said.

  “Or maybe the Dolby for an award show,” Payton said.

  “Or maybe—”

  PSSSHT! PSSSHT!

  The walkie in Leo’s pocket was receiving a signal.

  “This is the next best thing to a cowbell, I guess,” he said. “It must be her.”

  I took it out of his hand. “ABJ, is that you? Where are you?” I asked.

  “No. T
his is Patel Poplawski. I work at the Bounce Land in Studio City. We have a lady here who will not get off our Velcro wall. She wants you to come get her,” he said. “I need to call the police. She is interrupting a party.”

  “Patel Poppy? Is that you? This is Leo. The one who owns the Burrito Taxi.”

  “Hey! Leo Leo Burrito! What you up to, my main man? I have not seen you in a long time.”

  Leo directed us toward the front door. “Well, you’re going to see me in about eight minutes to pick up that lovely woman, who is a close personal friend.” He rushed us into the taxi as he spoke. I thought that I wanted a turn sitting in the sidecar, but this wasn’t the time to bring that up. I jumped into the back, without rock-paper-scissors.

  Leo said into the walkie, “Can you hold off on calling the police, the fuzz, the boys in blue?” He hit the gas and the taxi took off with the velocity of a straw popping out of a juice box that’s been squeezed.

  “Leo, my friend, the children want to use the Velcro wall. I do not have a choice.”

  “Do those children like bacon?”

  “Hold on. I shall ask them.”

  Leo wove through the traffic of commuters trying to get to the CBS Studio Center, and tourists wanting a glimpse of the house from the 1970s TV show The Brady Bunch.

  “They say they do like bacon,” Patel said.

  “Well, then they are in for a very nice surprise.” Leo added, “Hey, P. Poppy, why do you have a party there so early in the morning?”

  “It is this kid’s birthday. His mom had to have a party on his actual birthday. Wouldn’t wait until Saturday. You know the type?”

  “I do, P. Pop. I do.”

  “And the kid has violin after school,” Patel Poplawski said. “Can you feel my pain, man?”

  “I feel it, P. Pop.” Leo asked, “How’s your mom?”

  “She is good. You know always with the bunions. But she started dancing lessons—the salsa kind. Can you believe that? She could use a friend to dance with, though. You know what I mean? She always wants to go with me. And me, both of my feet are on the left.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.” Leo took a sharp corner onto a street. On both sides poked a straight row of very tall palm trees spaced far apart. “You probably dance like a prince. But, if you can hold on to that lady, I’d be happy to escort Mrs. Pop. I can salsa, samba, and macarena.”

  “You got yourself a deal, Leo Leo Burrito,” P. Pop said. “And next she says she wants to take acting lessons. Maybe get her own talk show.”

  “That sounds like great fun, P. Pop, but I don’t know how much help I can be on that front. I don’t know anyone on the talk show circuit.” Leo pointed to Bounce Land and parked right in front. “Hey, can you get the kids outside for a birthday surprise?”

  “Do you have the taxi? The Burrito Taxi?”

  “I do, my man.”

  HONK!

  “Did you hear that?” Leo asked. “That’s me.”

  “I heard it. Hey kids! Want to see something cool?” There was a sound of yelling. “We are exiting the building now.”

  The line went dead for a second, then P. Pop came back on to the walkie. “Leo Burrito, get that lady off my Velcro wall.”

  “I’m on it,” Leo said. To us he said, “You girls take care of ABJ, I’ll bacon-up the kids.”

  We ran past the swarm of early-morning birthday partygoers on a vicious quest for bacon.

  “I think I’m gonna have my birthday party in the morning before school,” I said.

  “I know. Right? And at a Bounce Land. I love this place.”

  “Or maybe the zoo.”

  “Or maybe an indoor water park.”

  Margot interrupted our rhythm, “These indoor bounce parks are like germ factories, people have been known to get mauled by tigers or lions at the zoo, and waterslides are a perfect way to get whiplash.”

  Payton said, “Well, you just sucked any potential for fun out of my birthday party.”

  We entered Bounce Land. While scanning the big warehouse I suggested, “Margot, maybe you can try not to look for the worst possible thing that can happen in a situation? We can help you.”

  “I like to point those things out to people who might not see them.”

  With the kids outside, the trampoline park was filled only with party music. Red plastic cups of orange juice covered the tables and countertops.

  “That’s considerate of you,” I said to Margot. “But it kind of brings me down, sometimes.”

  “Really? Do you think that’s why the kids at my school don’t like me?”

  “I’m sure the kids at your school like you,” Payton said. “But it’s possible that they don’t want a black cloud over their head all the time.”

  There was a large bowl of fruit that looked untouched and a tray of small brown muffins.

  “Let’s start trying now,” I said. “Think about rainbows.”

  Margot repeated, “Rainbows. Got it.”

  I broke off a piece of muffin and ate it. “These kids are lucky Leo bought burritos.”

  “Bad?” Payton asked.

  “Bran. And it has raisins.”

  I asked, “What kind of a kid wants raisins at his birthday party?”

  “Maybe the kind—”

  A voice echoed off the warehouse walls. “Ah! Ha-ha!”

  I knew that voice. It was ABJ. I looked across a lake of blue and black trampolines to see her one hundred percent inverted and stuck to a Velcro wall. Her blond hair was tangled and hung under her.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Payton said. “Let’s hurry.”

  28

  “Hang on! We’re coming, ABJ!” I called.

  We bounced and bounced our way to her.

  “Ah! Ha!” she called again.

  Payton picked up Velcro-grabbing vests from a nearby hook. We put them on.

  “Are you okay?” Payton asked ABJ.

  “Okay? I’m great. Look at me!”

  I had to laugh a little. “You aren’t scared?”

  “No way, José. You know I used to do my own stunts?”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “How did you get like that?” Margot asked.

  “How else? I flipped!”

  We looked at each other.

  “One of you can go first,” I said.

  “That’s okay,” Margot said. “You can.”

  I put my hand behind my back. “One-two-three-shoot!”

  Me: paper

  Payton: scissors

  Margot: a circle connecting her fingertips and thumb.

  “What the heck is that?” I asked her.

  “Lizard. You add a lizard when you play with three people.” Margot explained, “Lizard beats scissors, and scissors cuts paper. So, Ginger, you lose.”

  “Did you just make that up?” I asked.

  ABJ called down. “Everyone knows about lizard, Ginger!”

  Maybe it was a West Coast thing. Anyway, I was going first.

  “I’ve never done this before,” I told Payton and Margot.

  “How hard can it be?” Payton asked.

  I backed up to a non-trampolined path, got a running start, then pounded both feet on a trampoline right under the Velcro wall. I made no attempt to flip. Really, I made no attempt at anything, and as a result—SPLAT!—arms out, legs out, face slap. I was splat, flat, face-first on the Velcro wall.

  CLICK—swoop.

  I asked Payton, “What are you doing?”

  “QuickPik.”

  “Well, stop that.”

  “Sure thing.”

  My head was at ABJ’s feet. My feet were at her head. She looked up at me; blood had rushed to her face. “Hi, there. Fun, isn’t it?”

  “It isn’t going to be fun when Patel Poplawski calls the police,” I said.

  Payton reminded her, “You don’t need another citation.”

  “And,” I said, “they might be looking for us for impersonating a paranormal investigator.”


  Margot added, “And/or a British safety inspector.”

  “What?” ABJ asked. “What have you girls been doing?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “We’ve got to get you down.”

  “Or we could play on this wall,” ABJ said.

  “We have an important meeting with a bicycle cop, and we’re going to be late,” I said.

  To Payton and Margot, she said, “Ginger is such a fuddy-duddy.”

  “I know. Right?”

  “What?” I asked. “I am not!”

  “Clearly, I’m the adventurous one,” Payton said to me.

  “We’re exactly the same,” I said. “We like the same clothes, like the same things, we both want to be doctors, and we know what the other will say. We’re practically clones.”

  ABJ asked me, “You know she’s black, right?”

  “Okay. Besides that little detail, we’re twins,” I said. “Can we just get you down?”

  “I thought about peeling myself loose,” ABJ said. “But if I do, I’ll fall on my head. And the doctor said that’s not good for me.”

  “That’s not recommended for anyone,” Margot said. “Concussions are bad. They have long-term consequences on—”

  “RAINBOWS!” Payton and I shouted at her.

  “Rainbows?” ABJ asked.

  “Right, rainbows.” Then Margot suggested, “Maybe you can grab Ginger’s feet and roll over onto your front. Then you can push off the Velcro.”

  “Good idea. And very rainbow-y,” Payton said. Then she called to ABJ, “And we’re right here.”

  ABJ took one of my ankles in each of her hands and rolled from her back to her front.

  “That’s good,” Payton said. “Now, can you turn yourself around, so your feet are toward the floor, like Ginger?”

  ABJ held my ankles with her hands and used her elbows to push herself off the wall and reposition. She did this over and over until she and I made a perfect L. I was the up and down part, she was the sideways part.