Lost in Hollywood Page 4

  I wanted to start the Science Olympics project as much as Payton did, but I thought it could wait until we got this search under control.

  ABJ smiled. “I like music.”

  “But I don’t like messes,” Leo said.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Grant said. “My mom loves cleaning up messes.” He looked at me and Payton. “Can you guys leave? We’re in the middle of a serious Uno tournament here.”

  ABJ added, “He’s not kidding. We’ve bet a treat from Millions of Milkshakes. No monkey business here.”

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ll get out of your way.”

  “Oh, and Ginger,” Grant said. “Wax. Or else I might not be so forgetful.”

  Payton said to him, “I’m starting to understand you better, and now I know why Ginger doesn’t like you.”

  He stuck out his tongue and made a fart noise with his mouth.

  We rolled our eyes and followed Leo to the foyer, where we grabbed Margot and headed out the door.

  On the way to the car I whispered to Payton, “We’re totally gonna check out Millions of Milkshakes.”

  “I know. Right?” Payton asked.

  10

  Since the right thing to do after breakfast is to stop for a shake, Leo drove us to Millions of Milkshakes. I sat shotgun while Payton was folded up in the cramped backseat, and Margot was in the sidecar. The plexiglass made me think she was inside a hamster ball.

  “Next time we’re doing rock-paper-scissors to see who sits back here,” Payton whined.

  We weren’t the only ones who liked pre-lunch shakes because people were already chillin’ in the outside seating under the shade of the pink-and-blue striped awning.

  “Want one?” I asked Leo.

  “Get me a Paparazzi Smoothie. I’m watching my waist.”

  “You got it,” I said. Then I called into a slit of the sliding window of the hamster ball, “¿Batido?”

  Margot held up a one-minute finger and climbed out.

  “How do you know the Spanish word for milkshake?” Payton asked.

  “I did an oral report on my favorite foods.”

  Me, Payton, and Margot went inside.

  I thought Leo had been kidding till I saw the menu. The Paparazzi Smoothie did seem healthy—strawberry, coconut, and pineapple juice. But they also had your typical to-die-for ice cream concoctions.

  I stared at the menu on the wall. “What are you getting?” I asked Payton.

  “Three words: S’mores Shake.” She clarified, “I’m counting S as a word.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t even count her words anymore. “¿Qué deseas?” I asked Margot.

  Then Margot said in perfect English, “I think I’ll have the Billion Dollar Shake, because the Million Dollar Shake is nine hundred and ninety-nine million dollars less than that.”

  Not even a Spanish accent!

  Payton and I stared at her, mouths agape.

  The man behind the counter said, “One Billion Dollar. What else?”

  Margot ordered, “One Paparazzi, a S’more, and—” She turned to me. “What are you having?”

  “You speak English!” Payton practically yelled at Margot.

  “And Spanish. Both.” She added, “Bilingual.”

  The worker said, “Yoo-hoo! What else?”

  I ordered and we slid down the counter out of the way of the next customers. “Why did you let us believe you didn’t speak English?” I asked.

  “Billion Dollar!” the man slid Margot’s shake down the counter.

  “You assumed that.” Margot stuck a straw in and sipped hard. “Then I just didn’t tell you because I wanted to hear more about the lost treasure.”

  “You heard that?” My heart literally went THUD. I think it stopped for a sec. A quick glace around Millions of Milkshakes told me there was no portable defibrillator.

  “So, were you pretending to not speak English or to be listening to your headphones?” Payton accused.

  “Both, I guess.”

  “That’s just wrong,” Payton said. “Our conversations were private.”

  “You can be mad at me, or let me help,” she said. “You know when money is scrunched up in a damp place it gets moldy and disintegrates. It could be getting eaten by worms right now. Or a rat is nibbling off little pieces to make a nest.”

  Payton said, “It’s a family matter,” as though she was part of the family.

  “I know this city pretty well. I’m cruising around it all day in the sidecar of a Burrito Taxi,” Margot said. “Plus I am kind of great at avoiding hazardous situations. I can steer you away from anything potentially dangerous.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  She started ticking off on her fingers. “Fire, hurricanes, coyotes, velociraptors, avalanches, hang gliding accidents, heat stroke . . . Want me to continue?”

  Hello, weird, you’ve followed me to Hollywood.

  “I think we get the idea,” I said.

  “She probably drives past D places all the time,” Payton said to me. “And I hadn’t even thought of the possibility of an avalanche.”

  “Oh, come on. I have got to do more on my spring break than drive in a sidecar.” She used both thumbs to point to herself. “This girl needs a little fun.”

  “We are fun people,” Payton said to me.

  “It’s a curse, I guess.”

  “I know. Right?”

  I said, “It doesn’t seem fair for her to miss out on fun during her break.”

  “And,” Margot added, “I can make sure you always have a variety of burritos at your fingertips.”

  That did it!

  “You’re in!” Payton and I said.

  “Looks like you had an exciting outing,” Leo said when he saw our smiling faces, indented at the cheeks as we struggled to suck the thick shakes through the straws.

  Margot said to him, “I might spend some time with the girls this week, Uncle Leo. They kinda need me to show them around the city. Is that okay?”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Leo said. “I mean, I’ll miss you, of course, but I’ll have me, myself, and I to keep me company.”

  I gave Leo his shake and called, “One-two-three-shoot!” and Payton and I each put out a rock, paper, or scissors with our hands.

  I put out scissors, my fingers in a V.

  Payton put out paper, a flat palm.

  “Scissors cuts paper,” I said. “You’re in the back.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your shake.”

  “Oh. Gee. Thanks.”

  Leo stopped in front of the Chinese Theatre, which was the epicenter of Hollywood tourism. It looked like a traditional Chinese palace theater, painted a royal red with temple bells, pagodas, and statues decorating the outside.

  “Sorry it’s so crowded. Lots of tour buses stop here,” Leo said to me.

  I sipped my shake—Justin Mania (Snickers and banana). “That’s okay.” Then I sipped the S’more shake.

  “Hey!” Payton said. “Was that mine?”

  “Nope,” I lied.

  Leo clipped a walkie onto my shorts. It weighed about ten pounds. “Let me know when you want me to pick you up.” He handed Margot a fistful of business cards. “And I can make deliveries at the same time, so if anyone wants to place an order, just text it in.”

  “You sure you can handle this?” Margot asked him. “Don’t drive while you’re taking orders.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “You show them the stars, the lights, the sights.”

  Payton was still unfolding herself from the backseat when I took another sip of the S’more. “Mmmm.”

  “That was definitely from mine,” she guessed.

  “Uh-uh,” I lied again.

  It took Payton a second to straighten up. She snatched the cup. “Gimme that.” She felt its weight. “You totally had some.”

  “Oh, don’t be a baby. We’ll go back again later,” I said. “Come on.”

  We pushed through the crow
d in the forecourt of the movie theater, which was framed by high walls and home to lotus-shaped fountains. A group of girls wearing familiar-colored green skirts, sashes, and beanies gathered around a woman holding a Girl Scouts of America flag.

  The leader pointed up. “Notice the dragon carved in stone. And those Heaven Dogs that guard the theater entrance were brought here from China. This theater was named Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and then Mann’s, and now TCL. It’s not usual for historic sites to change names over time. This is the home of many spectacular premieres. Now look down. You’ll see celebrities have imprinted their hands and feet in the courtyard’s cement for decades. People travel from all over the world—”

  Payton tugged the sleeve of my T. “Stay focused,” she said. “You can read all about this later, if you’re curious.”

  “Right. Focus,” I said. “Wax museum.”

  “Is that where the money is hidden?” Margot asked without even a hint of lowering her voice.

  Two boys looked at us. One of them asked, “Where is there money hidden?”

  Payton gently pulled Margot away from them and explained, “She’s new to English. She meant, ‘Is that where the wax figures are on display?’ ”

  We quickly moved away from them and navigated the sea of tourists until we saw Spider-Man standing at the entrance. He was surrounded by people taking pictures with him; of course, we had to do the same.

  “How about if we start with the superhero section?” She led us into the museum to Hulk, Batman, Thor, then Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark.

  “Wow, he looks so real,” Payton said about Robert Downey.

  “Very,” I said.

  Margot asked, “Explain to me what superheroes have to do with hidden mone—”

  Payton stepped on her foot, which was bare except for a flimsy sandal.

  Margot crunched in her lips to hold in a whimper. “You-know-who. Can I say that? I mean, that even worked for Harry Potter and Voldemort.”

  “You just said the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” I pointed out.

  “I was only trying to make a point. I won’t say anything about the hidden money.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and stepped away from Payton to protect her toes. “Sorry,” Margot said. “That was the last time, I swear.”

  “Okay,” I said. Then to Payton I said, “I don’t think superheroes are ABJ’s thing, but let’s check out this Downey Jr. dude.” We carefully roamed around the figure. I swear Tony Stark’s eyes followed our every move.

  “I’m not a fan of Iron Man,” Margot said. “When he flies, he leaves emissions in the atmosphere and that can’t be good for birds’ lungs. It probably causes birdie birth defects.”

  “But he saves mankind,” Payton said.

  “And the world,” I said.

  “At the expense of the birds being able to breathe. Maybe you’re okay with that kind of thing,” Margot said.

  “You know Iron Man isn’t real?” Payton said.

  “Duh. Right. If he was, I’d get the World Wildlife Federation to boycott him or something.”

  “Sure.” I didn’t know what else to say. I swear I must have a weird magnet. There is no other way to explain the statistical improbability that I could have this many weird people in my life.

  Payton changed the subject, thankfully. “I don’t know, I think ABJ is more into the old age of Hollywood stuff.”

  “Totally. Where’s Dorothy?” I asked.

  Margot spread her arms and let a brochure drape between them. She looked at an index and map, looked up, turned to face a different way, then back down at the brochure.

  “You look like a tourist.” Payton took the brochure, folded it back up, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “That way.” She pointed down a hall.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “I don’t,” Payton said. “I just think we’ll go this way, and if it’s not there, we’ll go the other way.”

  “Maps are very important,” Margot said. “They help people from getting lost. Dangerous things happen to people when they’re lost. I would never throw away—”

  Payton stopped listening to Margot and hustled down a hall.

  “She looks like she knows where she’s going,” I said to Margot. “Come on.”

  Payton led us to a gallery where round platforms displayed wax figures. This hall featured cinema classics. I probably know more of these characters than the average thirteen-year-old, because this is the kind of stuff my mom is into.

  “I think this is the place,” I said. There was Clint Eastwood, Greta Garbo, Lucille Ball, and Marilyn Monroe herself. “She really is beautiful.” Every one of her wax features was perfect (hair, skin, eyes, dress), not unlike ABJ. I remembered that Marilyn died very young. “I wonder what she would be doing now if she was still alive?”

  “Do you mean would she still be famous?” asked Payton.

  “Yeah. ABJ reminds me of her. Somehow ABJ’s fame faded. Would that have happened to Marilyn?”

  “Maybe she would’ve played parts of older women, like moms and then grandmas?” Payton asked.

  I’d seen Marilyn Monroe films, and I couldn’t imagine her as a grandma.

  “Or maybe when actresses get old they move to an island and retire,” Payton said.

  “Or,” I looked at my pink sneakers, “maybe they lock themselves in their huge Hollywood home with their housekeeper as their only friend and wait for the phone to ring with a new script.”

  Payton tilted her head; she knew what I meant. But rather than let my thought go any further she said, “Let’s find Dorothy.”

  On our way down another hall, Margot said, “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live on an island. I mean with the mosquitos, tsunamis, and sand sharks . . . No, thank you.”

  I looked at Payton out of the corner of my eye. If telepathy was possible, she would’ve heard me say, Weird, right?

  We didn’t talk anymore until we saw a blue-and-white gingham plaid dress ahead. I’d seen The Wizard of Oz a hundred times—okay, only fifty times all the way through, because the first fifty I stopped when the witch arrived—too scary.

  There was a red velvet rope that protected Dorothy from people like me. Maybe not people exactly like me, because I doubted that the average tourist was searching for hidden money.

  I jumped when Payton shouted, “Picnic basket!”

  It was the perfect great place to hide money. Who would look there?

  Margot asked, “You think there’s . . . umm . . . you-know-what hiding in wax Dorothy’s wax basket?”

  Payton nodded and looked around at the crowd of people. “It’s a risky place to store you-know-what.”

  “She could have stashed it here when she wasn’t thinking clearly,” I said. “Or maybe it was temporary, and then she forgot about it.”

  Margot asked, “Who are we talking about?”

  “Ginger’s aunt Betty-Jean,” Payton explained. “Maybe Leo didn’t tell you, but she’s been acting strange, really forgetful. That’s why she doesn’t remember where she hid her stuff. But then this morning she seemed totally fine. Don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. But last night? That was super strange. I hope Mom can get some answers from the doctor today.” I added, “But this does seem like a really non-secure place to hide money.”

  Payton said, “Let’s look inside the basket.”

  That sounded like it should be easy, except for the rope between us and Dorothy. I could slip under it and peek inside her basket, but there were people around.

  What do I do if I discover it’s stuffed with cash? How would the people react when they saw it? “How am I going to do this?” I asked.

  “You need a diversion,” Margot said. “So no one is looking at you.”

  “You have any ideas?” I asked.

  Payton curled her mouth to one side, then the other. That’s what she does when she’s thinking. “I do.”

  11

  “You need to be fast, Ginger. I
f this works, it won’t be for long.” Payton walked to the other side of the room and clapped her hands. “Excuse me, wax museum peeps.”

  The crowd looked at her.

  “I’m Payton Paterson.” She pointed to a name tag that she wasn’t even wearing. “Future owner of Dr. Paterson’s and Dr. Carlson’s Transplant Institute. But today, I’m working undercover with the Association of Paranormal Activities.”

  “You’re like a real ghostbuster?” a boy asked.

  “Well, an intern actually. I mean, come on, I’m only thirteen, right? And we prefer the term Professional Phantom Patrol, or the PPP.” She continued, “I don’t want to alarm any of you, but there’s a sitch here at this museum, and I’ve been asked to clear out this room. You know, they give interns boring jobs.”

  Margot and I went to work.

  We limboed under the rope . . . my heart jumped.

  “A ghost? Is there a ghost here right now?” the same boy asked.

  I reached for the basket with my sweaty hands . . . my heart jumped again.

  “Um . . . We’re picking up indicators of potential activity and need to perform some tests. It should only take about fifteen minutes.” She pointed to the corridor opposite Dorothy. “You can head out this way, maybe check out the Star Wars collection, and then come back. I’ve heard the stormtroopers and Chewbacca are awesome.” She totally got that from Grant. Payton had thought Chewbacca was a kind of gum. “It’s for your own safety. Intern or not, I know these things can be unpredictable.”

  I tried to lift the basket lid . . . it wouldn’t open.

  I tried to get my hand under the lid . . . it wouldn’t budge.

  People asked Payton questions as they progressed to the hallway she’d indicated.

  “As an intern, I only have Level One clearance, so I don’t have all the answers, but if it was nothing, would they have asked me to clear this gallery? Probably not, right?”

  No hinge.

  No place to put money.

  The basket was a wax prop through and through.

  I made an exaggerated frown face in Payton’s direction.