by Laura Zigman
“Where are we going?”
Julia pulled out her cell phone and her schedule and started dialing. “We’re waiting here for a minute. I need to get a hold of my store contact and revise our game plan.”
“What game plan? Clearly no one had a game plan, judging from the size of that mob outside. I’d say there’s at least two hundred people here. And three camera crews.”
Julia glanced past Mary’s head as she waited for the call to connect. There was a game plan. Extra security had been hired just in case; store personnel were supposed to have been in place in the back of the store to escort them in.
“The crowd is at least twice that size,” Julia couldn’t help correcting. “And there’s only one camera crew. The other two are just giant SUVs.”
As Julia pressed her cell phone to her right ear and stuck her finger in her left ear, Mary shifted nervously on the leather car seat. Up until seeing the rabid crowd lining the perimeter of the store and spilling out into the adjacent parking lot, she’d seemed up for a fight. But now it was obvious she was having second thoughts.
Not that Julia blamed her.
She didn’t want to go out there either! Fight her way through an angry politically correct mob! Risk getting pushed, shoved, and spit on! And for what? To sell a few stupid bottles of perfume and forever tarnish Mary’s reputation by having her comeback attempt marred by the perception of her being a bunny-blinder? If the store didn’t cancel the event, she would.
Picking nonexistent lint off her brand-new crème-colored Jil Sander suit pants and sucking her teeth, Mary waited for Julia to finish her call.
“Well, there’s been a change of plans, not surprisingly,” Julia reported, then flipped her phone closed. “We’re free to go.”
Relieved, Mary was now free once again to complain loudly and proclaim with bravado her willingness to fight the good fight. “Why? Because of a little disturbance?” She looked out the window and poked Julia in the arm. “These soccer moms don’t scare me.”
“Well, they scare me. And they scare the store’s lawyers. Bloomingdale’s doesn’t want to risk liability and litigation should you or anyone else get injured during the course of the demonstration.”
“Chickenshits,” Mary hissed.
Julia ignored her, then directed the driver to take them back downtown to the hotel. It wasn’t even six o’clock. They could have dinner at The Palm next door to the Westin and get to bed early. Maybe by the time they got to Orlando she could straighten things out with PETA and this would all blow over.
“Get Jack Be Nimble on the phone,” Mary barked.
Julia stared at her. “Jack has nothing to do with this.”
“Get him on the phone anyway. I want an explanation.”
Between Jack undermining the tour and Mary behaving like a diva instead of accepting her true has-been status and acting accordingly, Julia felt like her head was going to explode. “You want an explanation?” she snapped finally. “I’ll give you an explanation. There are five hundred people out there ready to spray that thirty-seven-hundred-dollar Jil Sander suit with red spray paint because the company that makes your perfume sprays chemicals into the eyes of baby bunnies. And I need to protect my investment. There’s not another suit where that one came from.”
Like most bullies, the minute she was confronted, Mary backed down and shut up.
Julia turned away and wondered what the hell she was doing there—trapped in the backseat of a car with a has-been, racing away from a raging crowd of political activists. Wishing she had never taken the job to begin with but also wanting desperately to crush Jack DeMarco, she asked the driver without poking him this time (she was already behaving enough like Mary with the yelling and the bossiness) to take them back downtown to the hotel, and he did. She and Mary rode all the way there in silence.
When they got there, and when she and Mary had made their way back through the maze of the lobby toward the exit nearest The Palm, Mary stopped her.
“The explanation I wanted,” she said firmly, but with surprising civility, “is why these protests were continuing when I agreed to make that public service announcement?”
Julia didn’t know what—or how much—to say. She knew she should probably be politic and professional and not involve Mary in the internal struggle she and Jack were apparently engaging in, but she was tired of having him undermine her authority at every turn, tired of protecting him, and just plain tired of everything.
“I think Jack disagreed with that and with the terms of the agreement I tried to negotiate with PETA last week.”
“What do you mean, he disagreed with it?”
Julia shrugged. “As far as I knew, that agreement—though merely verbal—was in place on Friday afternoon. An agreement that I was assured would prevent demonstrations like the one we just escaped from and the ones that took place in Manhattan today. In addition to your agreeing to shoot that public service announcement, Heaven Scent had opened a dialogue with them to find out what they could do to get off the ‘bad list’ of companies that test their products on animals and get onto their ‘good list.’ They’d agreed to begin what PETA calls a ‘moratorium’ on their current practices. All together, that was enough for PETA to call off the dogs and let us proceed. At least for now.”
“So what happened?”
“Apparently, Jack told PETA late on Friday after I’d gone home that you didn’t want to do a PSA because you needed to devote all your energy to the marketing and promotion of your perfume.”
Mary shook her head. “So what do we do now?”
“All I know for sure right now is what we can’t do.”
Mary scanned Julia’s face. “And what’s that?”
“Quit.”
Because neither Julia nor Jonathan could get any intelligence later that night about activists gathering at the Macy’s in Orlando, Julia decided to continue on with the tour. The last thing she wanted to do was let Jack the Jackass win, and the last thing, too, that she wanted to do was cause Mary’s morale—and her own—to sink any lower than it already had. In the face of such adversity—not only from the PETA protesters but also from Jack’s devious machinations—they needed all the strength they could get. Which is why she decided forging ahead to Florida was the best decision all around.
That night, sitting on her Heavenly Bed, having just gotten out of her Heavenly Shower, she called Mary’s room.
“So we’re going ahead as planned.”
“Good.”
“You’re sure you’re ready for this?”
“I’m ready, Einstein. But the question is, are you ready?”
Julia fluffed up the pillows behind her and clicked off the television. “Oh, I’m ready.”
Before going to sleep, she called Peter. She hadn’t talked to him all day and she wanted to tell him about the little dump truck and cement mixer she’d picked up for Leo after the Jil Sander Incident and before the Bloomingdale’s Massacre. As she talked she could see the toys still in the bag on the floor next to the desk, and the sight of them made her ache to hug him. She couldn’t wait to get home.
“So, did you finish the gingerbread house?” she asked. It was Monday, and Halloween was Wednesday, the day she was due home.
“Yes, I did, and I’m bringing it to school in the morning. They’re going to put it in the block room so everyone can see it.”
“That’s great, Peter. And what about Leo’s costume for the parade?”
“I’m just about finished with that, too.”
“Amazing.”
What had been her problem all those years? The sleepless nights wondering how she was going to get everything done and done well. Maybe she wasn’t as cut out for the “job” as she’d always thought she was.
“You never did tell me what he’s going to be.”
“He’s going to be an artichoke.”
“An artichoke?” Julia said. “What do you mean, an artichoke?”
“I made these amazing art
ichokes last week when you were gone, for your parents, to thank them for babysitting and helping out so much,” Peter said, “and I thought that would be a great idea for a costume—all the layers of green flaps with just his face showing.”
Julia was quiet. Clearly he was spending too much time in the kitchen with his cookbooks and his food magazines, and while she didn’t want to burst his bubble of deluded enthusiasm, she couldn’t bear the thought of Leo marching down Larchmont Avenue on his first real Halloween dressed as a stupid vegetable.
“Why can’t he just be a fireman? Or a pirate? Or Bob the Builder? Or Superman? Or Scooby-Doo? That’s usually what kids his age dress up as. I mean, you think Adam is going as anything other than Batman?”
“Actually,” Peter said, trying to explain, “all his friends from school—Ali-Jon, Ian, Adam, Zanny, Deika, Mia, George—they’re all going as vegetables, too. And we all agreed—all the moms—and, well, me—that the parents and kids would trick-or-treat together so we could be a salad.”
Peter’s handiwork was all over this one—the food-related theme, the organization of the plan, the coordination and cohesion of the parts (vegetables) into the whole (the salad)—and she couldn’t help but see the humor in it. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t wait to trail behind them all with the digital camera, documenting it all.
“What time are you going?”
“We’re tossing around six. I figured if you got home on time, we could go as oil and vinegar. Or tongs.”
20
Whatever respect Julia had earned by getting them through the Bloomingdale’s Bloodbath and refusing to be intimidated by Jack into quitting the tour vanished the minute the driver who met their flight in Orlando in a giant white limousine announced that he was taking them to the Disney World Magic Kingdom Hotel.
Julia reached for her seatbelt and rolled her eyes at Mary.
“Funny.”
“Can you imagine?” Mary said. “This white boat is bad enough.”
Julia shook her head and thought about Meredith Baxter-Birney. “I would kill myself.”
“You wouldn’t have to kill yourself because I would have already killed you.”
The driver, a large sixty-something dome-headed man with a gray comb-over and a heavy New York accent who looked like he either used to break legs or slice smoked fish for a living in his previous life, readjusted the rearview mirror and turned around to get a good look at them. He had a crater the size of a nickel in his neck, and Julia, though completely fascinated by the horror of such a thing (Was it from a bullet? A meat hook? An ice pick?), forced herself to look away from the crater and into his eyes. They twinkled with delight when he repeated himself.
“The Disney World Magic Kingdom Hotel.”
Julia’s face froze into a mask of fear and rage and she felt her mouth start to open and close. She hadn’t felt this lost since that first time in the limousine with Mary on the way to Long Island, and she dreaded the return of the blowfish and all the poking that would come along with it. But for the moment, Mary ignored her. Instead, Mary calmly asked him what his name was.
“Nick.”
“Nick what?”
He shrugged. “Just Nick,” he said, as if that’s what was officially on his birth certificate.
“Now listen here, Just Nick,” Mary began, acutely aware that this was one driver who needed to be charmed. “Even though you don’t appear to be the sort of man who is mistaken about anything, some other idiot must be mistaken. Because I’m sure you can see that we are two people who do not belong in the Magic Kingdom.”
Julia felt her left eye start to twitch as she glanced down at her schedule. They were supposed to be staying at the Marriott Grande Vista—already a downgrade from what they were used to—but obviously Jack had pulled a fast one and switched the reservation just to torment them.
Which was working like a charm.
“Well, you know, Miss Ford,” Just Nick said slowly, with a big grin spreading across his face, belying the fact that though he’d clearly been around the block a time or two, driving someone as famous—or someone who used to be as famous—as Mary Ford was still a big thrill for him. “I was thinking the same thing when the dispatcher told me that I was picking you up today. So I double-checked my orders with my car company and with the hotel and that’s where you’re staying.”
Mary, whose patience and self-esteem had been severely tested the past few days—starting with the news that her daughter was sabotaging her comeback and then that Jack was sabotaging Julia’s efforts to salvage that comeback—turned to Julia and, as she always did in moments of extreme stress—poked her.
“Get Jack Sprat on the phone,” she whispered sharply.
“I’m trying to.” Julia had already dialed halfway through Jack’s office number when Just Nick pulled out into traffic.
“It must be tough for people like you,” he said, flipping the visor down against the sun and taking his big hand off the steering wheel—a hand that had a gold pinky ring on it the size of the crater in his neck (Maybe that’s what caused it? Somebody else’s pinky ring?)—to talk. “Your careers go up and down. One minute you’re on top and the next minute you’re all finished. It goes in cycles, like a washing machine.” He twisted his hand back and forth quickly to illustrate his point. “Today Disney’s Magic Kingdom Hotel. Tomorrow the Ritz-Carlton Orlando Grande Lakes. Am I right?”
Mary grunted as Julia continued to speed-dial various numbers on her cell phone, but after not being able to reach Jack, or Jonathan—or even Vicky—and then losing her signal altogether—she folded up her phone and sat back in defeat.
Nick prattled on about how the hotel was actually one of his favorites; how he’d taken his eleven-year-old granddaughter there the previous April when she came down from Los Angeles for her spring break; how the hotel rooms were all themed to specific Disney characters; and how they had great family-oriented activities.
“Have you ever heard of a Hidden Mickey?” he said, trying to catch Mary’s eye in the rearview mirror.
“In my day, Just Nick, they were just called mickeys,” Mary said firmly. “And I hope you weren’t planning on putting one in my drink.”
Nick laughed, turning his head again toward the backseat and lifting his big pinky-ringed hand off the steering wheel to explain how Hidden Mickeys—an image of Mickey Mouse concealed in the design of a Disney attraction (a ride, a resort, a scene in a film)—started out as an inside joke among the Walt Disney “Imagineers,” and that in designing, constructing, or adding the final touches to an attraction, Imagineers subtly hide Mickey Mouse silhouettes in plain sight.
“Now, every time people go to Disney movies and theme parks, they hunt for Hidden Mickeys. Most of the hotels have some sort of contest.”
“What’s the prize?” Mary asked.
“You mean, if you win?”
Julia could tell that Mary was just dying to say No, if you lose, but it was clear that Nick scared her just enough for her to know she should watch her mouth.
“Yes. If you win.”
“You get tickets for rides.”
“Tickets for rides,” Mary repeated, wholly unimpressed. “That’s some prize.”
“Haven’t you ever been to Space Mountain? Or the Animal Kingdom?”
Mary looked away and out the window. “Long ago. With my children.”
Julia had never been to Disney World and Peter had always talked about taking The Scoob the minute he was old enough to go—and she was curious about what Mary had thought about the whole experience.
“It was the worst week of my life,” she said, checking her hair and lipstick in the mirror of a small black compact she’d slipped out of her purse. “Unrelenting heat and humidity; not being able to get a decent meal or a decent night’s sleep; crowds wanting autographs. I never thought I’d have to go through it again, but here I am, headed back to the seventh circle of hell.”
Nick pulled the sedan into t
he odd multi-circular driveway in front of the hotel, then turned to the backseat with a huge smile. “See? A Hidden Mickey!” he said, pointing out the window to the parking circle they were in (Mickey’s head) and then to the two other, smaller adjacent parking circles (Mickey’s ears) that were attached. As Mary reached into her bag for her big sunglasses and a scarf to tie over her hair—clearly, she did not want to risk getting recognized—Julia looked beyond the Hidden Mickey driveway and gasped: the hotel was a castle-shaped multicolored theme hotel with life-size costumed Disney characters everywhere.
Jack would pay for this if it was the last thing she did.
Nick popped the trunk, and before Julia could get out of the car, she saw Goofy opening Mary’s door and reaching his huge paw in for her hand.
“Welcome to the Magic Kingdom!” a voice said from deep inside the Goofy suit.
Julia was confused. Hadn’t she read somewhere that Disney characters weren’t allowed to speak? Or was that just in the actual Magic Kingdom and not in the hotels?
Mary glared at the paw and then over her shoulder at Julia as she reluctantly got out of the car.
“This is a nightmare,” Mary said.
Julia scrambled out of her side of the car to instruct Nick about how to handle Mary’s luggage, but it was too late for that, too. Goofy, having escorted Mary into the capable hands of Sleeping Beauty, was now reaching into the trunk and handing the luggage off to Dumbo.
“Look at all these fucking bags,” said a disgruntled voice inside the elephant suit.
“I’ll get Sleepy and Grumpy to help,” Goofy said, pointing and waving at two members of the Seven Dwarfs who were standing near the entrance of the hotel.
For an instant Julia felt herself leave her body and float up above the absurd scene, then look down. And during those few blissful dissociative seconds, she wished she had a camera—Goofy had just helped Mary Ford out of a tacky white stretch limousine; their driver had a huge hole in his neck—from what, she didn’t know; Dumbo was pissed because there was so much luggage; and Sleepy and Grumpy were running over to the trunk of the car as fast as their little legs would carry them to help—and without proof no one would ever believe her. But when she floated back down and returned to the reality of her body, she knew that even if she did have a camera, there wasn’t time to document the situation: things were quickly getting worse.