Beach Party Surf Monkey

by Chris Grabenstein

  I started handing out brochures. “Don’t take our word for it. Read these handy handouts.”

  “Are you kids done?” asked Kurt, the director.

  “Yes, sir. We just didn’t want you guys to make a colossal mistake and film in a parking garage like the Conch Reef Resort or show everybody the same old motel they’ve seen a billion times. Your movie isn’t Ron Howard’s Cocoon and this isn’t 1985. In fact, it hasn’t been 1985 for a long, long time, Kurt. I mean, sir. Or Sir Kurt.”

  When I said that, the mysterious girl in the sunglasses laughed so hard she nearly gagged on a mouthful of water. Gloria and I exchanged quick glances. We both knew we had this thing totally nailed!

  “Thank you,” said the producer lady. “It took real guts to bust in here and make your pitch. Very entertaining. We’ll get back to you.”

  That’s what she said.

  But as we were leaving, I saw her slide our pamphlet off the edge of the table and into the trash.

  On the drive home from Tampa, it started to rain.

  Sometimes the weather knows exactly how lousy you’re feeling and tries to make you feel even worse.

  “You can’t win them all,” said Grandpa when he dropped us off outside the lobby. “But don’t tell your father I said that, Gloria. I’m sure some football coach would disagree.”

  We dodged the raindrops and dashed into the lobby.

  “Well,” said Gloria, “since we won’t be making a movie anytime soon, what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

  Gloria shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “I guess we could give tours of Dino the Dinosaur’s butt,” I suggested. “Tell people Aidan Tyler hid in there once.”

  “It’d be better if we had pictures or something to prove it,” said Gloria.

  “Yeah…”

  “You’ve given us a lot to think about, Mr. Conch,” said Mom, coming into the lobby with a phone glued to her ear. “I’d like to discuss your very generous offer with my family and our, uh, financial advisor.”

  She was looking at Gloria when she said that.

  “Thank you,” said Mom, ending the call.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “We need to find Grandpa,” said Mom, sounding way too chipper. “Mr. Conch just made a formal offer to buy the Wonderland.”

  “No,” I said. “You can’t let him demolish Grandpa’s dream.”

  “It’s a very tempting offer, hon. Mr. Conch has extremely deep pockets.”

  “Because he’s hiding all sorts of sleazy deals inside ’em.” Grandpa, soaking wet, came into the lobby. “I couldn’t remember where I put my umbrella. Thought I might’ve left it in here.”

  “Mom wants us to sell out to Mr. Conch,” I said.

  “I didn’t say that, P.T. I just told Mr. Conch we would give his offer serious consideration.”

  “Again with the seriousness?” said Grandpa. “What happened to fun in the sun? Since when did our state motto become ‘Bored Out of Your Gourd’?”

  “I think Ms. Wilkie is wise to consider all long-term financial opportunities,” said Gloria. “As unsettling and unattractive as they may be.”

  “Thank you, Gloria,” said Mom. “I think.”

  The phone chirped. Mom picked it up.

  “Hello?…Yes, this is the Wonderland Motel….Really? I didn’t even know we were under consideration.”

  She shot Grandpa and me a major look.

  “Hang on,” she said. “I’m going to put you on speaker. I suspect you really want to talk to my son and my father….Oh, really?”

  Now Gloria got the look.

  “Yes, she’s here, too. Hang on, Mr. Carnes.”

  She tapped a button on the phone.

  “Why don’t you tell them what you just told me?”

  “Sure. Hi, guys. This is Cole Carnes, locations manager for Beach Party Surf Monkey.”

  “Hi, sir,” said Gloria. “Thanks for your support in the meeting earlier.”

  “Hey, I loved your motel—the look, the feel, the whole funky retro vibe. More important, our star loves it. She doesn’t want to film anywhere else.”

  “ ‘She’?” I said. “I thought Aidan Tyler was the star.”

  “Sorry,” said Mr. Carnes. “Aidan is the male lead. The female lead is Academy Award–winning actress Cassie McGinty. You met her at the Hyatt.”

  “I don’t remember….”

  “She was the girl in the sunglasses.”

  Of course, I thought. She had a good laugh.

  “Cassie doesn’t say much in front of people she doesn’t know,” Mr. Carnes continued. “But after you kids left the room, she spoke up like crazy. Even called Lisa Norby Rook out in LA.”

  “And who, if I may ask, is Ms. Norby Rook?” Gloria inquired.

  “Studio head at Dreamscope Pictures. She’s the one who green-lighted this project and signs all our checks. So, what do you say? Want to make a movie together?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Grandpa. “We’d love to. This is my big chance to catch up to that other Walt, the one over in Orlando!”

  I looked at Mom.

  “It’s up to you, P.T.,” she told me. “I love the idea of moving to Arizona, maybe hiking in Saguaro National Park. But it’s your future I’m worried about most.”

  Grandpa was so excited he was doing that wiggle-dive-dance thing again.

  This was so cool. No way could Mr. Conch knock down the Wonderland after it starred in Beach Party Surf Monkey. Too many fans would be upset. We’d practically be a landmark, like that Hollywood sign in, you know, Hollywood.

  “Mom, tell Mr. Conch thanks but no thanks.”

  “We don’t have to tell him anything right now,” said Mom. “He gave us three weeks to make up our minds.”

  “I don’t need three seconds,” I said. “Mr. Carnes? You’ve got a deal. Let’s make some movie magic!”

  The movie people and Mom worked out all the financial details while Gloria and I hit my room to learn all we could about Cassie McGinty.

  “We need to find the synergy here,” said Gloria. “She’s the reason this deal went through. Right now, she’s the Wonderland’s number one fan. That means we need to become her number one fans, too.”

  “Do I have to shriek and stuff like those kids chasing Aidan Tyler?”

  “No, P.T. She’s not into all that. She’s a very serious young actress who, according to this article in the Hollywood Reporter, is ‘looking to lighten up a little and have some fun doing a goofy family movie about cute boys, hot surfing, and a hysterically funny monkey.’ She also likes the idea of working with ‘Kevin and the heroes at the Sunshine State Primate Sanctuary to promote animal welfare awareness.’ ”

  It was a “major departure” for Miss McGinty, who was only fifteen, according to the New York Times. She’d just won an Academy Award for her supporting role in Grief, Sorrow, and Woe, which didn’t really sound like a major laugh riot to me.

  Mom worked the phone like crazy and was able to find all our regular customers rooms in other motels and resorts. Gloria helped her put together an incentive package, which included one night free on their next visit and a souvenir T-shirt.

  About a dozen of them headed next door to the Conch Reef Resort.

  “The carpets smell brand-new!” exclaimed Helen Nelson, from Toronto. “I could get used to this!” She’d been staying in the same room at the Wonderland for the same four weeks every year for two decades.

  “I wonder if she’ll ever want to come back,” Mom said with a sigh after Ms. Nelson packed up and headed next door. “Our carpets smell like mildew.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “She’ll come back. When you’re famous, everybody is your friend!”

  “We’re not famous, P.T.”

  “No, Mom, but we’re gonna be!”

  In the afternoon, the cast and crew started moving into our newly vacant rooms. Kurt, the director, was upstairs, overlooking the parkin
g lot. Dawn, the producer, took three rooms—one to sleep in, two to turn into the production office.

  Aidan Tyler was still bunking down next door at the Conch Reef Resort, but I didn’t care much. We had the really big stars: Cassie McGinty, who’d be checking in that afternoon, and my fave, Kevin the Monkey!

  “We need to get some Beach Party Surf Monkey promotional items into our sales pipeline, fast,” suggested Gloria. “I see Hawaiian leis. Palm tree toothpicks. Surfboard necklaces and earrings. Pineapples wearing sunglasses…”

  “All great ideas,” I said. “But who will we sell them to?”

  “Our usual target audience, of course: tourists.”

  “But we don’t have any of those staying with us anymore,” I reminded her. “They all checked out so the movie people could check in.”

  “True. But we still have the parking lot and the Gulf Boulevard frontage.”

  We went around to the front of the motel to see where we might be able to set up shop.

  And that was when the biggest star of them all pulled up in a van wrapped with bright green graphics for the Sunshine State Primate Sanctuary.

  Kevin the Monkey had arrived!

  Kevin was a capuchin monkey.

  Those are very smart primates. In his YouTube videos, Kevin was always doing incredible stunts. Or throwing stuff. In one video, he shot hoops with a tiny basketball—including a two-arm over-his-head backward shot that was nothing but net!

  “How’d you get Kevin to do all those tricks?” I asked J.J., the trainer.

  “The same way we’ll get him to surf in the ocean and ride a tiny Jet Ski around the swimming pool,” she told me. “By making it fun. Kevin loves playing. So it’s my job to make his work on the movie more like a game.”

  “When did you buy Kevin?” I asked.

  J.J. shook her head. “We didn’t buy him. We rescued him from the zoo where he was born. They’d taken Kevin away from his mother and sisters when he was only four months old and were trying to sell him as a pet. But you know what, guys?”

  “What?” said Gloria.

  “Monkeys make terrible pets. The worst. Fortunately, the zookeeper in charge of interviewing buyers realized that a cage in somebody’s house would be the worst kind of life for Kevin. So she brought him to us.”

  “Awesome!” I said.

  “Kevin was lucky,” added Gloria.

  “Us too,” said J.J. “He’s such a ham. He’s been a great ambassador for all the other primates back home at the sanctuary.”

  Kevin chirped.

  “He’s hungry. We’d better go find our room and grab a snack. See you guys later.”

  J.J. and Kevin headed into the lobby.

  “Isn’t he awesome?” said a girl with her hair tucked into a baseball cap. She’d just strolled down the sidewalk, sipping an iced coffee drink. “The monkey, I mean.”

  “He’s a major YouTube star,” I told her.

  “And animal sanctuary ambassador,” added Gloria.

  “He’s Kevin the Monkey,” I said. “Come back tomorrow and maybe you can have your photo taken with him.”

  “Or his cardboard cutout,” said Gloria.

  “True,” I said. “Kevin himself won’t be able to pose for photos with his fans. He’ll be too busy, starring in a major motion picture, which, by the way, is being shot right here, at the soon-to-be-world-famous Wonderland Motel!”

  “I know,” the girl said with a laugh, taking off her hat and shaking out her hair. “I’ll be working with him. I’m Cassie McGinty. We met the other day. Well, not officially. I guess we’re doing that right now.” She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m officially Cassie McGinty.”

  Gloria and I both hyperventilated for a second. Gloria recovered first.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’m Gloria Ortega.”

  “I’m, uh, you know, uh, P. T. Wilkie.”

  (I was sort of nervous.)

  “P.T. like P. T. Barnum?” Cassie asked.

  I nodded. “One of my grandfather’s heroes.”

  “Neat.”

  “Miss McGinty,” I said, “we can’t thank you enough for choosing our motel. You won’t be sorry!”

  She smiled. “I know. It looks so cool.”

  “It is,” said Gloria. “Very cool.”

  “But not as cool as you,” I said. “We know all about you!”

  “You starred in diaper commercials when you were a toddler,” said Gloria.

  “You played a car accident victim on that hospital show when you were six!” I added.

  “Your big breakthrough performance was in that thriller when you were seven,” said Gloria.

  “And that cop movie you did when you were eight…”

  “Then there was the Academy Award…”

  “And then you did Broadway…”

  Cassie grinned. “It was nice officially meeting you guys. I guess I’d better go find my room.” She took a step toward the lobby. Then she stopped and turned around. “You know the truth, guys? When you’re famous, nobody really knows you.”

  She headed into the motel.

  I stood there, confused.

  Cassie McGinty had it backward.

  When you’re famous, everybody knows you.

  The next day at school the art teacher, Mrs. Loweecey, helped me mount a life-sized cutout of Kevin the Monkey on foam core board.

  The librarian, Ms. Wozniak, let me borrow her laminator so I could coat the figure with plastic. I was carrying the Kevin cutout down the hall to my locker when Mr. Frumpkes stopped me.

  “What’s that under your arm, Mr. Wilkie?”

  “A capuchin monkey. They’re native to Central and South America. They’re super smart. They rub millipedes on their fur during mosquito season, because smooshed millipede gunk makes an excellent insect repellent! You should try it sometime, sir.”

  “Get to class, Mr. Wilkie.”

  “I have study hall this period.”

  “Then go study something.”

  “I am.” I raised my Kevin cutout. “Capuchin monkeys.”

  Mr. Frumpkes stomped away in a huff.

  Fact: I love when that happens.

  Of course, everybody at school wanted to hear about the movie and Aidan Tyler and Cassie McGinty and Kevin the Monkey.

  So during lunch, I once again regaled the crowd with tales of wonder. That means I entertained and delighted them. Regaling is what we Wilkies do best.

  “Kevin the Monkey is busy rehearsing for the big surfing scenes,” I told my audience. “Of course, they may want me to give Kevin a few pointers and show him a few moves, since, not too long ago, I outran a shark on my boogie board.”

  “How’d you do that?” asked Pinky.

  “I let him take a bite out of the back. You ever try to chew Styrofoam? Very dry. Not very tasty. That shark forgot all about me and hightailed it back to the Bahamas for something sweet to wash away the taste.”

  “You are so awesome, P.T.!” said Kate Mackenzie Williams.

  “Speaking of awesome,” I said, “the other day, Gloria and I got to hang with Aidan Tyler and Cassie McGinty.”

  “Whoa!” went the crowd.

  “What were they like?” said Kate.

  “Pretty chill,” I said. “We just, you know, hung out and stuff.”

  “Ooooh!”

  “Hey, if you guys want to get a little closer to all the action, stop by the Wonderland Motel, 7000 Gulf Boulevard, this coming Saturday. We’ll have all sorts of souvenirs, snack food items, and, of course, interactive movie activities.”

  “Woo-hoo!”

  From the reaction in the cafeteria, I suspected the movie stuff would be the Wonderland’s biggest hit ever.

  After lunch Gloria asked me, “What sort of interactive movie activities were you talking about?”

  “I don’t really know,” I told her. “But we have all week. We’ll think of something.”

  So after school, we brainstormed a ton of ideas.

  We’d
definitely be offering pictures of the stars. Those were super easy to find on the Internet. Gloria had some great banana-related ideas for the concession stand.

  “And sock monkeys,” she added. “Home-run idea? We make them out of Aidan Tyler’s dirty socks. No. Wait. Scratch that idea. It’s too gross.”

  “How about those Barrel of Monkeys toys that hook together in a string?” I suggested.

  “Perfect!”

  There were so many songs with “monkey” in the title. I wanted to change the lyrics to one so Pinky Nelligan could sing it in the parking lot—especially since his last parking lot gig ended early, thanks to Mr. Frumpkes.

  My favorite tune? The theme from an old 1960s TV show starring a rock group called, believe it or not, the Monkees.

  “We should sell their old albums, too!” said Gloria. She found a bunch on eBay for like a nickel each.

  My biggest idea hit when I saw Grandpa puttering around the parking lot in his John Deere Gator cart. He was hauling the train cars from his recently restored ride-along railroad.

  Watch out, Universal Studios Florida in Orlando, I thought. You are in for some major St. Pete Beach competition!

  During the week, the film crew built sets and pulled together costumes.

  They set up an RV camp in the front parking lot. They brought in their own generator and strung electric cables all over the place.

  The music director booked a bunch of recording sessions at a Tampa studio for Cassie, Aidan, and the other singers in the cast so they’d have something to lip-synch to when the cameras started rolling.

  Veronica Conch dropped by to admire all the activity.

  Not really. She came over to gripe.

  “These people should be at our hotel,” she sneered at me. “It’s way better than this dump.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. But if they ever do a movie musical about a parking garage, I’m sure the Conch Reef Resort will be everybody’s first-choice location.”