“So?” I asked her when the meeting finally broke up.
“I told them my dad and the folks at WTSP would help us search for Kevin.”
“Cool. What about the movie? Can they still make Beach Party Surf Monkey without the monkey? Or does Mom have to go ahead and sell our motel to Mr. Conch?”
“They’ll rearrange the schedule,” said Gloria. “Shoot all the non-monkey scenes they can. Kurt says they can film without Kevin for a day or two. But eventually, if we can’t find him, they’ll have to circle back and make a tough market-driven decision.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I probably didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Beach Party Surf Monkey or Beach Party Surf Pig.”
“You’re kidding. Cassie said she’d never do the movie with a pig.”
“Her mom says Cassie might reconsider. Porker will arrive from Iowa this afternoon. Aidan Tyler just sent his private jet to pick him up.”
Fact: when you’re famous, like Aidan Tyler, anything’s possible.
You can even make pigs fly.
This was worse than a nightmare.
At least during a nightmare you can punch your pillow.
The monkey hunt was in full swing up and down St. Pete Beach.
Taking the police officers’ suggestion, I printed a stack of Lost Monkey posters and taped them everywhere I could. Poles, store windows—I even tucked them under windshield wipers.
J.J. and the Sunshine State Primate Sanctuary offered a ten-thousand-dollar reward, which was noted on the poster as well as on Kevin the Monkey’s official Facebook page and Twitter feed. They drove around in their van, searching for him.
Mr. Ortega did a live remote broadcast from the parking lot of the IHOP down the street, because our parking lot was full of trucks, campers, and RVs for the movie stars and crew.
“We’re issuing a code banana yellow,” Mr. Ortega told his midmorning TV viewers. “If you see Kevin the Monkey, we urge you to call the WTSP hotline, the ASPCA, or your local police. Do not attempt to apprehend the monkey yourself. If you do, he might hurl something at you—something that could potentially stain your garments. So let’s leave the monkey rescue to the trained professionals, folks. But if you monkey see, please monkey do call the number at the bottom of your screen….”
Gloria was back at the Wonderland with the crew. At ten a.m., they started shooting scenes that didn’t need Kevin the Monkey. I texted her.
HOW’S IT GOING?
OK. PINKY JUST SANG A SOLO LINE. AIDAN MADE KURT CUT IT.
WHY?
PINKY SINGS BETTER. ACTS BETTER, TOO. AIDAN HATES WHEN THAT HAPPENS.
I made my way back up Gulf Boulevard toward the Wonderland, figuring we’d done all we could.
The posters were everywhere.
The local radio stations had picked up Mr. Ortega’s “code banana yellow” and were broadcasting information about the “missing monkey movie star.”
I was sure somebody would spot Kevin. Soon. Besides, according to the revised daily schedule, I was supposed to be in another crowd scene after the lunch break. They needed my elbow in the background.
But I froze in front of the Wonderland when I saw a great inflatable ape anchored beside the Conch Reef Resort’s video-screen billboard. The monkey balloon was bigger than the one we’d rented for the tram tours. This one looked big enough to star in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Colorful titles flashed in on the screen:
* * *
GETTING HUNGRY SEARCHING FOR KEVIN THE MONKEY?
COME IN AND TRY OUR WORLD-CLASS ONE-OF-A-KIND STUFFED BANANA PANCAKES AT OUR ALL-NEW ALL-DAY BREAKFAST BUFFET!
* * *
Then, believe it or not, the flashing type was replaced by a slick video clip of Aidan Tyler looking over his shoulder and winking at the camera while a caption scrolled across the bottom of the screen:
* * *
TAKE IT FROM AIDAN TYLER: AT THE CONCH REEF RESORT, THEY DON’T MONKEY AROUND!
LOOK FOR OUR NEW JACUZZI LOUNGE
AND EXPANDED PARKING OPPORTUNITIES RIGHT NEXT DOOR—
COMING SOON!
* * *
While I stood there gawking, Grandpa drifted out to the parking lot, shaking his head.
His eyes were moist. I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t been there, he would’ve cried.
“Edward Conch has the flashy celebrities and megabucks,” he said, sounding defeated. “It’s Disney World all over again!”
We kept shooting scenes without Kevin the Monkey.
Me and my elbows kept being in the background.
And just like Gloria had texted me, Aidan Tyler was really getting super jealous of Pinky Nelligan.
“Aiyyo, that kid should go back to middle school and sing in the choir,” he told Kurt and Ms. Foxworth.
“You fools need to fire that choirboy,” demanded Aidan. “Otherwise, I’m out!”
Great. I was the one who’d suggested that Pinky be in the movie. Now they were going to fire him?
“I’m sorry,” the director told Pinky. “But I have to keep Aidan happy.”
“I understand,” said Pinky. “It was a pleasure working with you, sir.”
What can I say? Pinky’s a classy guy. A real pro (even though he’s a total amateur).
“I’m sorry,” I told him after he turned in his costume.
“Totally unfair,” added Gloria.
Pinky shrugged. “Hey, it was fun—now it’s done. Good luck, guys. You’re going to need it.”
“We definitely are,” said Gloria as Pinky headed home.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Pretty soon we need to shoot monkey scenes, P.T. We can’t keep shooting around Kevin….”
“But Kevin’s still missing.”
“Obviously. That’s why we have to bite the bullet and take the hit.”
“What bullet and hit are we talking about here?”
“Porker D. Pigg. Kurt is ready to reshoot the two big scenes we shot with Kevin.”
“I still don’t think Cassie will do it,” I said.
“She might.”
“Is her mother going to make her?”
“Well, Ms. Foxworth and I were kind of hoping you could convince her.”
“Me?”
“Cassie likes you. Plus, you and your family have the most at stake here, P.T. If she won’t finish the shoot with Surf Pig instead of Surf Monkey, the whole production will most likely shut down.”
“Our rooms will all be empty.”
Gloria nodded.
“We’ll be broke.”
Gloria nodded again.
“Mom will sell to Mr. Conch. Grandpa will be bummed.”
Gloria gave me one more nod.
“The pig is here?” I asked.
“Just arrived. He’s standing by, poolside.”
I took in a deep breath. “Where’s Cassie?”
“In her trailer.”
“Okay.”
Now it was time for me to put lipstick on a pig.
I went around to the front parking lot and knocked on the rattly aluminum door to Cassie McGinty’s Winnebago.
“Who is it?”
“P. T. Wilkie.”
“Did you bring bologna sandwiches?”
“No. But I could go—”
She laughed. “Come on in.”
I climbed up the short set of steps.
Cassie was sitting on a couch reading a movie script—for a different movie.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey. What’s up? Did they find Kevin?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, it’s only been like eight hours….”
“I know. Can I talk to you?”
“Sure. Grab a seat.”
I sat down in the swivel chair across from the couch and started babbling.
“Well, uh…you know…I…that is, we…or mostly me…that is, I…”
For maybe the first time in my life, I didn’
t know what to say. I thought about telling a story about three little pigs who each built a motel and mine would be the one built out of straw, because a big bad wolf named Mr. Conch was about to come along and blow it all down.
“Is this about the pig?” said Cassie.
“Yeah. I know you don’t want to make the movie with Porker.”
“Did my mother send you in here?”
“No. I’m doing this for my mom. And me. And Grandpa. See, we pinned the whole entire future of our motel on this one movie. All our regular guests checked out. The place next door is doing all the wacky stunts we used to do. If you guys leave, we’ll be in big, big trouble.”
“And if I do a bad movie, my career might be in big, big trouble.”
“I know.”
“Nobody will hire me. I might not be famous anymore.”
I nodded. “True.”
“I might have to lead a normal life and go to a normal school and eat normal lunches.”
I gave her a grin. “Bologna, mustard, and white bread.”
Now she started to smile. “With rippled potato chips.”
“And pickles.”
“No, pickle relish.”
She stood up. Grabbed her sunglasses. “So, where’s this pig?”
“Out by the pool.”
“Well, come on, P.T. We don’t want to keep my new costar waiting.”
Since we were reshooting the pool scene where Surf Monkey raced around on his Jet Ski, I had to get into costume, too.
It was time for me to do my championship cannonball dive again.
“How’s your butt?” asked Gloria.
“Will you please stop asking me about my butt?”
“Just doing my job, P.T.” She checked something on her clipboard.
“My butt condition is listed on your clipboard?”
“Of course. Any job worth doing is worth doing well.”
I slipped into my bathing suit, Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops and headed out to the pool, where Cassie McGinty was meeting Porker D. Pigg, who definitely lived up to his name. He had to weigh at least four hundred pounds.
“He’s big,” said Cassie.
“He’s a pig, man,” said Aidan.
“I know,” said Cassie. “But I was thinking more, you know, piglet.”
“Nah. Those are just make-believe, like in Winnie-the-Pooh.”
“Okay, everybody,” hollered Dawg. “We’re back at scene 701. Polly Pureheart meets Eric Von Wipple. Let’s put the pig on the Jet Ski.”
“Nope,” said a man in bib overalls. “He ain’t gonna be doin’ that.”
“What?”
“Porker cain’t do that trick.”
“Who are you?” asked the A.D.
“Dwight. I’m Porker’s handler.”
“Aiyyo, Dawg,” said Aidan, “Dwight is the man who made Porker a YouTube superstar, so y’all need to get into his head space, man.”
Dawg turned to the director. “Kurt? Problem with the stunt. Porker can’t do the Jet Ski gag.”
Kurt rubbed his face. “Okay. What can your pig do?”
“Well, sir, he can doggy-paddle.”
“Can he fly off an underwater ramp?”
“Nope. He can doggy-paddle.”
“Can he stand on a surfboard?” asked Cassie.
“Nuh-uh,” said Dwight. “He can doggy-paddle.”
“Let’s just give it a try,” I whispered to Cassie. “Please?”
“It might be funny,” said Ms. Foxworth. “And we still might find Kevin. People everywhere are looking for him.”
“But currently Porker is our only animal option,” added Gloria.
“Okay, fine, whatever,” Cassie said with a resigned sigh—one that sounded exactly like the kind Mom makes when she runs numbers through her calculator and realizes we’re this close to being totally broke.
Aidan Tyler drifted off to grab a snack at the craft services table. I hoped it wasn’t a double bacon cheeseburger.
Meanwhile, Dwight ushered Porker down the steps into the shallow end of the pool.
That took like five minutes. Maybe ten.
Aidan strolled back, munching a big bite of a crunchy apple.
“Yo, I appreciate y’all givin’ this a try,” he proclaimed. “I think Porker will prove to be a pretty genius choice.”
“Um, you probably shouldn’t be eating that right now,” said Gloria.
“Whoa. Don’t you start hating on me again, girl….”
“Squeeeee!” squealed the pig. It snorted and sniffed with its rubbery snout.
Gloria tried again. “Like I said…”
Aidan chomped another chunk out of his apple.
Gloria threw up her arms. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”
“Snort-snort-squee!” roared the pig.
“Um, Dwight?” said Dawg. “We’re about to roll camera and sound. Can we do something about the snorting and squealing?”
“Naw,” said the pig handler. “That’s just his way. Especially when he smells food. Did I forget to tell y’all not to bring no food nowheres too close to Porker?”
“Squeeeeee! Snork-snork-snork.”
The pig splashed and thrashed in the water. Dwight tried to hold on to his star, but remember, Porker weighed four hundred slick pounds. Dwight couldn’t wrap his arms around the pig’s ginormous waist. It was just too huge.
Cassie cracked up. “Okay. You were right, Aidan. This is hysterical.”
And that was when the pig slipped out of Dwight’s grip!
Porker rushed out of the water.
Aidan took off running, clutching the apple he probably should’ve tossed.
The pig and the pig handler were in hot pursuit.
Everybody else on the set howled with laughter.
“Roll all the cameras!” shouted Kurt. “Background actors—dance! This stuff is golden.”
The sound guy bopped a button. Music blasted out of the speakers, giving us a great soundtrack for our improvised chase scene.
“And cut!” cried Kurt after Aidan and the snorting pig did three laps. The chase ended when Aidan finally tossed his half-eaten apple over his shoulder and Porker snagged it like a center fielder playing for the Poughkeepsie Pigs.
Cassie was rolling her eyes.
But I was feeling a ton better.
Aidan Tyler’s goofy pig idea was so stupid it might actually work.
I lost my big cannonball scene because Surf Pig couldn’t ride a Jet Ski over a jump.
But I didn’t care!
We were still filming the movie on location at the Wonderland. Our motel was going to be famous. We’d never have to sell out to Mr. Conch. Veronica could kiss her lazy river good-bye.
Of course, I was still worried about Kevin the Monkey. But somebody had to find him. Soon. Banana yellow codes are very effective.
The next morning, we were supposed to reshoot the big beach scene. Dwight, the pig wrangler, had actually figured out a way for Porker to stand on a surfboard, which would be strapped to the air tank of a very strong scuba diver who’d stay underwater and make it look like the pig was riding the waves.
Even though Aidan Tyler wasn’t in the first part of the beach scene, he was on set.
“See? I told y’all this would work. Just like rock, paper, scissors. Surf Pig always beats Surf Monkey.”
“Where’s Cassie?” asked the director. “We’re ready to roll.”
“I haven’t seen her,” reported Gloria.
Kurt turned to his A.D. “Let’s get Miss McGinty on set.”
Dawg barked into his walkie-talkie. “Production? We need Miss McGinty on set.”
A voice came back: “Um, she’s not in her trailer.”
“Try hair and makeup.”
“Already did. She’s not there.”
“Have you checked with Ms. Foxworth?”
“This is Dawn,” said a second voice over the radio. “I haven’t seen her. This is so unprofessional. So unlike Cassie.”
While
we were standing around waiting for Cassie, Mr. Conch drifted down to our beach.
“Hey there, Petey. You folks have good sand. When we take over this patch of the beach, I’m thinking about sponsoring a sand-sculpture competition. You ever do one of those?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But I’m going to.”
“Sure. You can sign up. Anybody can. As long as they pay the entry fee.”
“No, I mean I’m going to organize a sand-sculpture competition….”
“Where?” he said with a laugh. “In your dreams?”
“Nope. Right here behind the Wonderland!”
“You mean the new wing of the Conch Reef Resort.”
“Huh?”
“Talk to your mother, Petey.” He pulled out his phone. Wiggle-waggled it at me. “Because she definitely wants to talk to me.”
“No way.”
Mr. Conch laughed. “Well, that’s what she said in her message.” He tapped the face of his phone. Mom’s voice came out of the tinny speaker.
“Mr. Conch? This is Wanda Wilkie. We, uh, should probably talk….”
“See you around, Petey. Don’t forget—I always get what I want. Sometimes I just have to wait a little longer than usual.” Still laughing, he ambled away.
Thirty minutes later, Dawg told all the dancers and actors to take an “early lunch.” At ten a.m.
By eleven, everyone’s concern had turned to worry.
By noon, it was pure panic.
“I can’t shoot around the monkey and my leading lady!” I heard Kurt say as he tugged at the hair on both sides of his head again.
“Aiyyo,” Aidan said to his flunkies. “Maybe this whole movie should just be about me and the pig.”
“True,” said one of his minions.
“I don’t need a fancy actress like Cassie McGinty seriousing everything up.”
“You sure don’t,” said a different minion.
“It’d just be me and Porker. That’s the movie I always wanted to do. Maybe my lady friend, Aisha, could be in it with me!”
Beach Party Surf Monkey Page 11
