by Sarah Dreher
Kathi—at least that was her Disney name—found herself wondering as she smiled and nodded and explained, whether she was really meant for the tourist business. Maybe the benefits of her time spent at WDW, great as it might look on her resumé, weren’t worth the wear and tear on body and soul. She had been twenty-three when she came to work this morning. She was at least forty now, and it wasn’t even noon.
“One more thing,” the woman in black was saying, “when is the busiest time in the restaurants?”
“Usually between five-thirty and seven-thirty,” Kathi said with a Disney smile. Really, she wanted to scream at this woman. That was exactly what she wanted to do. Scream at her. She didn’t care if she was a psychiatrist or not, the woman was a Disney Pain in the Disney Neck.
“Even at this time of year?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” What, you think the world comes to a screeching halt when we switch to Standard Time?
“So we can expect the restaurant to be crowded.”
“That’s right.”
“People sitting along the wall in uncomfortable chairs, waiting to get in? Head waiters trying to get you to pass the time in the bar so you’ll spend more money and drink too much and not even taste the food, that sort of thing?”
“That sort of thing,” Kathi acknowledged.
The woman’s eyes were unreadable behind her dark sunglasses. They really were terribly dark sunglasses. Unnaturally dark.
“Well,” the Black Hat said, “I suppose it can’t be helped. Unless there’s another restaurant, not so crowded but of equal quality...”
“All our restaurants are crowded,” Kathi said, her teeth beginning to clench.
The other woman who had come up to stand beside the Black Hat, a rather normal-looking woman with mahogany hair and green eyes, tugged at the Black Hat’s sleeve. “I think we’ve taken up...”
The Black Hat waved her away. “I’m almost through, Love.” She returned her attention to Kathi’s monitor. “I suppose there are children in these restaurants.”
“All of the restaurants in Walt Disney World are open to children, yes.”
“And are they well supervised? The children, I mean.”
Uh-oh. “They aren’t permitted without parents,” Kathi said carefully. “Will there be children in your party?”
“Of course not,” the Black Hat said. “Do I look like a woman with children?”
“Uh...” the other one said.
“These children who are with their parents, are they permitted to cavort about the restaurant? I mean to say, should the parents prove negligent, is there a designated person who will exercise authority and restore calm?”
Definitely an uh-oh. Carefully rearranging her smile, Kathi reached forward, out of sight of the monitor, and pushed the Security button.
Now the hard part, don’t let them get away. “If you’re concerned about children, Dr. Kesselbaum, perhaps you’d like to consider eating at another time. Earlier or later? I’d be happy to arrange it.”
Black Hat turned to the other one. “What do you think?”
The other one looked tired and exasperated. “I don’t care. Just make the reservation and let’s get out of here.”
“I might be able to suggest...” Kathi glanced down at her reservations monitor as Security’s voice came through on her “your ears only” channel. Hang in there, we’re on the way. Visions of Employee of the Month awards began to dance in her head. “...how about France, Dr. Kesselbaum? There aren’t usually many children in France.”
Kesselbaum chewed her lip thoughtfully. “France...”
“It doesn’t matter about the children,” the other one said. “Let’s do whatever you already decided.”
Nice little routine, Kathi thought. Pretend to want to get away from children, when what you’re really after...The red light over her video monitor went out, indicating that Security had arrived on the scene.
“Might as well stick with Morocco,” Black Hat said.
“Marrakesh at seven? Party of five? Thank you, Dr. Kesselbaum.”
“Thank you, Kathi. And if I can be of help to you while we’re here, don’t hesitate to call.”
Yeah, right. Old Black Hat here, was just the sort of person she’d tell her troubles to. Kathi switched off her monitor and signaled to the supervisor that she was taking a rest room break. She wasn’t about to miss the fun.
“So,” Stoner said. “We’re eating in Morocco?”
“We are,” said Marylou, quite pleased with herself.
“I hope they have alternatives to goat,” Stoner said, half-teasing. “Your mother would hate it.”
“They don’t have goat. They also don’t have many children. Too exotic. What they do have, and you will appreciate this, is belly dancers.”
Stoner stopped in her tracks. “Belly dancers?”
“Belly dancers.”
“Marylou, you know I can’t eat with some woman’s naked skin in my face.”
Marylou giggled. “You’ll do fine, Love. And I might pick up a few tips.”
“Excuse me.” A strange-but-vaguely-familiar voice. “I’d like a word with you.”
She glanced around.
It was George, from the Monorail. Walking deliberately toward them. Dressed in khaki slacks and sandals and a loose, cool t-shirt, carrying one of the ubiquitous Mickey Mouse shopping bags, and a shoulder bag over one shoulder. Stoner wouldn’t even have noticed her in the crowd of tourists if she hadn’t called...
“Hey,” Stoner said. “How are you? This is a neat coincidence.”
George cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”
“Are you working?”
“Yep.” She nailed Stoner with her eyes. “Want to introduce me to your companion here?”
“Sure.” Funny, she remembered George as much softer and friendlier than this. “This is my partner, Marylou Kesselbaum.”
The woman took Marylou’s hand and shook it, and used the momentum to draw her toward a deserted corner of the room. “Let’s talk a minute.”
“If this is an arrest,” Marylou said, “I’m going to have to see identification.”
“For Heaven’s sake,” Stoner said, trotting along behind them. “This is George. I told you, I met her on the mono…”
George took a card case out of her pocket and opened it and showed them the contents. “Security,” she said tersely.
Stoner felt herself blush, a reaction she always had in the presence of teachers, cops, nuns, and assorted authority figures. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I hope not,” George said.
“Calm down, Stoner,” Marylou said. “Let the woman ask her questions.”
That seemed to throw George off balance a little. She pulled herself together. “You just made a reservation for Marrakesh, right?”
Marylou folded her arms. “I did.”
“Is that a crime?” Stoner asked with just a touch of sarcasm.
George ignored her. “In the name of...” She consulted a small notebook. “...Dr. Edith Kesselbaum. Are you Dr. Kesselbaum?”
“She’s her daughter,” Stoner offered.
“Do you mind?” George said sharply. “I’m talking to your friend. I’ll have some questions for you later.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Stoner saw Gwen stand and start toward them. She motioned to her to stay back.
“I’m her daughter,” Marylou was saying placidly. “Or rather, she’s my mother. I like it better that way. The other way around sounds so rather infantile, don’t you think?” She caught herself. “Excuse me, you probably don’t have independent opinions, being a lady dick and all.”
“Marylou!”
“Oh, hush, Stoner.”
“You’re going to get us arrested!”
“I’m sure George has a sense of humor,” Marylou said, “even if she is a dick.”
Stoner ran her hands across her face. “Marylou isn’t well,” she said lamely.
“You made reservati
ons in your mother’s name.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact.
“That’s right.”
“Your mother is a guest here at Walt Disney World?”
“That’s right.”
“Want to give me her room number?”
“I gave it to Kathi,” Marylou said. “Surely she already checked it out.”
“Want to give it to me?” George asked firmly.
Marylou broke into a smile. “I get it. You want to see if I remember, because if I give you a different number you’ll know I’m an imposter and up to no good. Am I right?”
“Something like that.”
Stoner sighed. “Just give her the number, Marylou.”
Marylou did. Also Edith’s check-in date, her own check-in date and time, and the departure and arrival times and gate numbers of their Delta flight.
“You have a good memory,” George said, writing furiously.
“Yes, I do. You have to, in the travel business. People get very annoyed when you make mistakes.”
“You’re in the travel business?” George asked.
“Didn’t Stoner tell you? My goodness, whatever did you talk about on the monorail?”
“I told her,” Stoner said.
“Oh, I see. Another test.” Marylou turned to Stoner. “What did you talk about on the monorail?”
“Tupperware.”
Marylou frowned. “How very odd.” She shifted back to George. “Would you like to slip away and check out the information I gave you? We don’t mind waiting.”
George was already checking it out, reading the data into a walkie-talkie that appeared by magic from her shoulder bag. Or maybe the Mickey Mouse shopping bag. It seemed George could move with impressive speed.
“Wait,” Marylou said, and touched her wrist.
George stepped away and looked up. Her face was a portrait in caution and wariness. And maybe a little disappointment.
“Oh, dear,” Marylou said, “now you think I’m going to confess to some heinous crime, and you just hate for Stoner to be involved.”
George started to speak.
“I only wanted to give you my mother’s departure times and dates, so you can double-check.” She snatched the note book and pencil and began scribbling.
George seemed to be about to reach for a magically concealed gun.
“Marylou,” Stoner said, “let the woman do her job.”
“It’s okay.” George seemed reluctant to make a scene in the middle of a Disney Day. People were already becoming a little curious.
Marylou handed back the notebook and George reported the information to whomever she reported to on the other end of the walkie-talkie.
“That’s a nice instrument,” Marylou said amiably. “Very compact. Where’d you get it, Radio Shack?”
“Comes with the job,” George said.
“We should get some of those for the travel agency,” Marylou said to Stoner. “Then, when you get lost, all I have to do is call you.”
“The only time I get lost,” Stoner said, “is when I’m halfway across the country.”
“Or in another century.” Marylou turned to George. “Did she tell you about the time she was transported to another century?”
Great. Now, in addition to being arrested for God-knows-what, we’re going to be thrown into the local looney bin. “We talked about Tupperware,” she said.
“I can’t believe it,” Marylou sighed. “You have had this terribly exciting, not to say bizarre life, and what do you choose to share with people on first meeting? Tupperware.”
“It was George who talked about the Tupperware.”
“In that case,” Marylou said to George without batting an eyelash, “I have to say the same thing about you. There’s a certain—well, tacky kind of glamour in being a lady dick at Walt Disney World, don’t you think? Seems such a waste to talk about...”
“She can’t talk about that,” Stoner said. “It would blow her cover.”
Marylou pursed her lips. “If people weren’t so bloody concerned with keeping up appearances,” she declared, “conversation would be a lot more interesting.”
“I suppose,” Stoner said, and wanted to strangle her. They were in serious trouble here, on the verge of being arrested, though it was a little unclear what they’d done wrong. As a matter of fact...
“Excuse me,” she said to George, “before we go any farther, maybe you could tell us what we’re suspected of. Come to think of it,” she made her face as stern as she could, “maybe you’d better tell us, or we’ll just stop the whole thing right here until we can hire a lawyer. We came here for a vacation, not to be detained and harassed, and this sort of thing does not make the Disney organization look good.”
George had been pretty much ignoring her, listening into her walkie-talkie. She turned to Marylou. “Where’s your mother now?”
“At a seminar. Let me think.” Marylou knitted her brows. “I believe she said it was called ‘New Directions in the Treatment of Bi-Polar Affective Disorders.’ Something like that. She wasn’t looking forward to it. Want to check it out?”
George wanted to check it out. Spoke into her walkie-talkie. Listened. Spoke again. Waited. Minutes passed. Listened. Nodded.
“Is she there?” Marylou asked.
“She was. She went to her room a few minutes ago.”
“Probably bored,” Marylou said. “Good thing I ditched the vibrators in Stoner’s room.”
“Marylou!”
George gave each of them an unreadable glance, and returned to her note-taking. Stoner wondered if she had to report the vibrator remark.
“One final question,” George said at last. “Why did you use your mother’s name to make the reservations?”
“Because she’s a doctor,” Marylou said happily. “You get better service.”
George stared at her for a moment, and then let her face crack. The professional mask fell away and she burst out laughing. “Lady dick.” She guffawed. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that beats them all hollow.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Stoner said.
“Come on,” George said, and clapped her on the shoulder. “You just livened up my one thousand and fifty-fifth consecutive Disney day.” She turned and waved. “Hey, Gwen.”
Gwen stood up. “May I approach?”
George signaled her forward.
“Were you going to arrest them?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah.” George tucked her walkie-talkie back in her shopping bag. “The way she was asking about children in the restaurants, we thought we had another kiddie-grab in the making.”
“Kiddie-grab?” Marylou squeaked. “Why in the world would I want to grab a kid?”
“People do,” George said. “Satanists, mostly. You guys aren’t Satanists, are you?”
“No, but Stoner’s aunt’s a witch.”
George looked at her.
“Not like in horror stories,” Stoner explained. “It’s her religion.”
“Religion?”
“Like...” She fumbled for a socially acceptable analogy. “Like the psychics out in Cassadaga.”
George seemed to understand, though not to approve, at least not entirely.
“Satanists take children from here?” Gwen asked.
“Sometimes. They can pick up a kid, go into the ladies’ rooms, drug the kid, change the clothes, and dye the hair in twenty minutes. Even the kid’s parents wouldn’t recognize it, unless they left the shoes on. Shoes are hard to switch, they have to fit, and most kidnappers can’t plan that well ahead, unless it’s a certain kid they’re after. So the minute someone reports a grabbed kid, we get the parents to the entrance gates to check the shoes.”
“Fascinating,” Marylou said.
“Have you ever caught anyone?” Gwen asked.
“Not yet. I sure would like to, though. That kind of thing makes me real mad.”
Stoner wondered what George would be like mad. She was grim enough just se
rious and steely.
“Well, I have to go,” George said. “Lost my cover in EPCOT for the rest of the day. Now they’ll probably send me over to Disney-MGM.” She shook her head. “God, I hate that place. The sun never sets on the fun over there.”
“I’m sorry,” Stoner said.
George shrugged. “All in a day’s work. Don’t forget, the dinner invitation’s still open.” She waved over her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.
“Well,” said Marylou, “that was an adventure. What’s next?”
Stoner exploded. “Damn it, Marylou, it wasn’t fun and it wasn’t funny. You almost got us in serious trouble.”
“Don’t be silly,” Marylou said breezily. “No harm done.”
“We came on this trip to have a good time.” Her head was bursting. She felt the words tumbling out and couldn’t stop. “And we’ve spent half our time dealing with your hysteria, or your anxiety, or your bizarre behavior...”
Marylou glared at her. “It wasn’t my idea. You had to push. ‘It’ll be good for you.’ ‘It’ll be fun.’ Well, it’s not a whole hell of a lot of fun, and so far I haven’t noticed it’s very good for me.”
“And your clothes! Of course they were suspicious. You look like Mata Hari. Why can’t you just be normal once in a while?”
“Because I’m not normal. Never have been, never will be.”
“I suggest we go over to the Land for an ice cream,” Gwen said.
Stoner shoved her hand through her hair. “Good, let’s see what she can do to humiliate us there.”
“Okay,” Marylou said loudly. “You want me out of here, there are plenty of places I can go.”
Gwen put a soothing hand on Marylou’s arm. “You don’t have to leave.”
Marylou brushed her hand away angrily. “Stoner doesn’t want me here, I’m not staying. I’ll see you later.” She stalked off, then turned back. “By the way, McTavish,” she barked, “you’d be a lot more fun if you weren’t so damned obsessed with superficialities.”
CHAPTER 4