Beach Party Surf Monkey

by Chris Grabenstein

  “Awesome!” said his breath mint holder.

  “Aisha and me? We’d have fo rizzle romantic sizzle. We’d hit the road. We’d see America. Porker D. Pigg could chase us around stuff. Now that’s the kind of movie I’d pay to see me in! I’m so glad that funky monkey ran away!”

  “Me too!” echoed all his hangers-on.

  “Your pig movie would be even better if you shot it over here!” cried Veronica Conch, who must’ve been standing on a ladder again on her side of the fence. “And we’d stop serving our Brown Sugar Bacon Waffle Platter if it offended your costar.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I had an incoming text.

  From Cassie McGinty.

  TELL MOM I’M SORRY.

  IT’S ALL OVER THE INTERNET.

  I HATE BEING FAMOUS!

  I texted her right back:

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  Cassie quickly replied:

  IN HIDING.

  4EVER!

  My turn:

  WHY?

  Cassie sent me one more text and then went silent.

  WATCH THE VIDEO.

  IT’S ON YOUTUBE.

  YOU’LL SEE.

  I found Gloria in the lobby.

  “What’s up?” she said.

  “Cassie just texted me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Why?”

  “Some kind of video on YouTube.”

  I fired up the app on my phone.

  Mom was behind the front desk, talking on the phone.

  “But we have you booked for three more weeks,” I heard her say. She was curling her hair around a pencil. “You can’t cancel all the rooms, Dawn. I’m sure Cassie will come back and everything will be fine. Video? What video?”

  I motioned for Mom to join Gloria and me.

  “Can I call you right back? Thank you.” She hurried over.

  “Did you really call Mr. Conch?” I asked.

  “Yes, P.T. It seemed like a prudent move.”

  Great. We were back to the dented prunes.

  “So what happened?” Mom asked. “Ms. Foxworth just told me that the studio chief, Lisa Norby Rook, is on a plane. She’s coming here to shut down the production.”

  “Apparently,” said Gloria, “this video on YouTube has something to do with why Cassie has gone into hiding.”

  “She’s in hiding?” said Mom.

  “Yeah,” I said, and touched the play button.

  It was a shaky, amateur clip that had been edited into one long continuous loop. Cassie, costumed as Polly Pureheart, was standing near our pool. She kept repeating the same line over and over and over while the crew around her laughed: “AIDAN TYLER IS THE WORST ACTOR I’VE EVER WORKED WITH!” she screamed with authority.

  “Oh, my,” said Mom. “Mr. Tyler’s not going to like that.”

  The clip played again and again. In the background, I could see my elbow.

  Because I was the one who had directed Cassie’s line reading.

  Gloria and I went to tell Ms. Foxworth that we’d heard from Cassie.

  On the way, I let Gloria know how bummed I was.

  “I really wanted to be famous. Not just for me—but for the Wonderland.”

  “You know, P.T., sometimes you remind me of my dad,” said Gloria. “He really wants to be famous, too. To run with the big dogs on ESPN. To be seen on a bajillion TV screens at once. So we keep moving up and down the channels, hopping from one city to the next. But when you chase fame, you give up an awful lot.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like never having a real home,” said Gloria.

  “What do you mean? You guys have a home. This is your home.”

  “No, P.T. This is a motel. A very nice motel, but it’s still just a place where people sleep on their way to somewhere else.”

  She had a point, I figured.

  But the Wonderland was my home. Mom and Grandpa’s, too.

  A home I had put in danger by insisting we make a movie. By not finding Kevin the Monkey when he ran away. By goofing around with Cassie McGinty, coaching her to say Aidan Tyler was a lousy actor louder and with more authority.

  I guess Mom, Grandpa, and me were going to need a new motel of our own pretty soon.

  Someplace to sleep on our way to wherever we might end up.

  “Cassie’s in hiding,” I told Ms. Foxworth.

  “But we don’t know where,” added Gloria.

  “She’s also turned off her phone,” said Cassie’s mom, sounding frustrated. “I can’t reach her. And if she’s not here when Lisa Norby Rook lands…with the monkey still missing…and the pig…and Aidan throwing a fit…”

  She rubbed her eyes with one hand and waved us out of the room with the other.

  “So, P.T., can I ask you something?” said Gloria as we walked through the motel grounds, which were still decorated for a movie nobody was making anymore.

  “Sure,” I told her. “What’s up?”

  “Just how deviously diabolical do you think Aidan Tyler is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if he’s the one who got rid of Kevin and Cassie?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “So he could make the movie he really wanted to make. One with his girlfriend, Aisha, and Porker D. Pigg.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “You think he monkey-napped Kevin and then posted that video of Cassie?”

  “It’s a possibility. This morning he sounded so happy about Kevin and Cassie not being in the movie anymore. He has lots of pals in the paparazzi. He might’ve helped them shoot that shaky video. Aidan Tyler might be the one behind all this.”

  Fact: Gloria Ortega is one of the smartest people I know. So when she’s thinking about something, I start thinking about it, too.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said when Mom, Grandpa, and I sat down to eat lunch together.

  “We’ll survive, P.T.,” said Mom.

  “We could start doing jewel thief tours again. And frog karaoke. That should get us some new guests.”

  Mom nodded. “It might. Or we could sell out to Mr. Conch. Move to a nice condo. Arizona could be fun.”

  Lunch was tomato soup with saltines. It’s usually one of my favorites. Not that day.

  “I don’t want to sell the Wonderland to anybody,” said Grandpa, slamming his soupspoon down on the table. “Except P.T. when he turns twenty-one. So we’ll cut a few corners. Tighten our belts. We can even be prudent, Wanda. I’ll go with the generic bologna instead of the Oscar Mayer. I’ll cut out the pickle relish, too. But I’m not giving up my Cel-Ray! There is no such thing as generic celery soda.”

  We ate lunch mostly in silence.

  Finally, Grandpa picked up his bowl and loudly slurped down the last drops of soup.

  Mom dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin.

  “If you guys will excuse me,” she said, “I’m going to go sit with Dawn. She must be worried sick about Cassie.”

  Mom left.

  The second she was gone, Grandpa cleared his throat.

  Then he started glaring at me.

  “You know, P.T.,” said Grandpa, “you’re my favorite grandson.”

  “Um, I’m your only grandson.”

  “True. And I think the world of you and all. But…”

  He took a deep breath, left me hanging in suspense.

  “But what?” I finally asked.

  “Well, P.T., if I’m supposed to make do with sandwiches featuring store-brand luncheon meat, well, I really think you should be a little less wasteful.”

  “You mean like when I don’t finish all the soda in the can because I start burping?”

  “Nope, nope, nope. I’m talking about bologna, P.T. Oscar Mayer super-thick cut. The sixteen-ounce package.”

  “Oh-kay. And why, exactly, are you talking about that?”

  “Because, P.T., on the very same day that Kevin the Monkey ran away, someone threw a half-full package—that’s eight ounces of America’s f
avorite fully cooked quality meat with no fillers—into the trash can in the parking lot. The one near the fence.”

  “And you think I tossed it out?” I said.

  Grandpa shrugged. “You’re young. Always in a rush. You don’t fully appreciate the importance of high-quality pork products in resealable packaging.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandpa, but I’m not your bologna bandit.”

  “Oh, really?” Grandpa eyed me skeptically.

  “Really. I’m not as crazy about bologna as you are. Actually, the only one who comes close is Kevin the—”

  Yep.

  I was having a lightbulb moment.

  “Come on!” I said, standing up from the table. “Gloria was right!”

  “Huh?” said Grandpa. “Where are we going?”

  “The scene of the crime! But wait. First I need something.”

  I went to the fridge, found an open package of bologna, and peeled off a circular slice.

  “Be careful with that, P.T.,” said Grandpa.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t drop it.”

  We dashed through the lobby and headed around back. I led Grandpa to the window outside J.J.’s first-floor room.

  The dark circle was still on the concrete sill.

  I held the bologna slice over the round stain.

  “Go ahead,” said Grandpa. “Put it down on the filthy, dirty ledge. It’s not like I’m going to eat it after you’ve been running around, squeezing it with your fingers.”

  I placed the bologna on the darkened splotch.

  It was a perfect fit.

  “You know,” said Grandpa, “I read in a prank book once that bologna, or any food with nitrates in it, can stain the paint on a car.”

  “Looks like it will stain the paint on a windowsill pretty good, too!”

  “Yo, motel boy? Old man?”

  Aidan Tyler saw Grandpa and me standing in the hibiscus bushes.

  I quickly stuffed the spongy slice of bologna into my pants pocket.

  “When y’all are done peeping through that window, I need you to give my lady friend, Aisha, a hand with her bags. She’s moving into Cee McG’s room.”

  “Oh, we can’t do that,” said Grandpa. “Miss McGinty is still our registered guest.”

  “Naw, old man,” said Aidan. “She can’t be your guest, because she ain’t here. So haul out her stuff, fluff up some towels, and move my girlfriend’s gear on in.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope. What you are suggesting is against all the time-honored traditions of the hospitality trade, Mr. Tyler. As far as the Wonderland Motel is concerned, Miss McGinty is still our guest.”

  “She’s only been gone for like six hours,” I reminded Aidan. “She’ll be back.”

  “Well, if she do come back, she ain’t working with me,” said Aidan. “I saw that video, man. So did five million other people! What she said? It cut deep. Cee McG was hating on me.”

  “She was just goofing around,” I said.

  “Fine, man,” said Aidan, puffing up his chest. “Y’all don’t want the new costar of Beach Party Surf Pig staying with you, maybe the Conch Reef does. Maybe the Conch Reef would be a better location for my movie, too.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Your movie? You can’t change the location and the leading lady!”

  “Aiyyo. I’m Aidan Tyler. I can do whatever I want to do, because right now I’m the only bona fide star still in the picture.”

  Aha! I thought. Gloria was so totally right!

  Aidan Tyler was a sneaky genius. He wanted to do a movie with his girlfriend and a pig, not Cassie and Kevin. He’d masterminded the whole thing.

  All he’d needed to make the dominoes start tumbling was some vacuum-packed Oscar Mayer bologna.

  And then he’d tossed the leftovers into the garbage can near the fence on his mad dash back to his room at the Conch Reef Resort!

  I raced upstairs and knocked on Gloria’s door.

  “You were right!”

  “Cool,” she said. “About what, exactly?”

  “Aidan Tyler. He kidnapped Kevin and set up Cassie.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Maybe. If we can find where he’s been hiding the monkey…”

  “We could use that information to make him confess about planting the Cassie video, too!”

  “Boom!”

  Gloria and I fist-bumped on it.

  “Quick question,” said Gloria. “How exactly are we going to find Kevin?”

  “Not sure. We could tail Aidan.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Next door. Helping his girlfriend, Aisha, check into the Conch Reef.”

  I told Gloria about the circular bologna stain underneath the animal trainer’s window.

  “I think Aidan lured Kevin out of his room with the bologna.”

  Gloria nodded. “Because he undoubtedly heard from one of his flunkies how your grandfather lured Kevin out of that orange tree with processed meat.”

  “Exactly!”

  Gloria glanced at her watch.

  “The Conch Reef is still serving lunch. If this Aisha character just flew into town, she’ll be hungry.”

  We hurried over to the Conch Reef. The restaurant smelled like deep-fried fish mixed with overcooked broccoli.

  “Hello,” said Veronica Conch, who was standing near the hostess stand. “What brings you two over here? Oh, wait. I know. You want to check out the new and improved location for Beach Party Surf Pig, starring the dynamic duo Aidan Tyler and Aisha, who doesn’t have a last name, because she’s like Adele and doesn’t need one.”

  “Says who?” demanded Gloria.

  “All the fan magazines. Aisha’s hot and getting hotter.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Gloria. “Who says the movie’s coming over here to shoot?”

  “Aidan,” said Veronica. “The Tyes. Don’t believe me? Ask him yourself. He’s inside at the buffet.”

  Veronica gestured grandly to her right.

  Gloria and I hurried into the restaurant.

  And saw Aidan Tyler throwing another one of his world-famous temper tantrums.

  “I don’t care if you don’t have any!” he screamed at a waiter. “I need bananas!”

  Gloria and I slumped down in a booth so Aidan couldn’t see us.

  We held menus in front of our faces, too.

  A server came over. “What do you kids want?” She licked the tip of her pencil and poised it over a pad.

  I dug a wad of crumpled cash out of my shorts. That slice of bologna? It was smooshed between my wrinkled one-dollar bills.

  “What can we get for five bucks?” I asked, laying my money and luncheon meat on the table.

  “Two Cokes,” said the server, scooping up our menus with a dirty look. “And you can’t bring in outside food. It’s against the rules.” She snagged my bologna, too.

  Gloria and I nursed our watery soft drinks and tried to stay hidden in our booth while Aidan waited for someone to bring him his bananas. When he finally left the restaurant with his Styrofoam to-go box, we gave him a thirty-second head start.

  “He’s going to lead us right to the monkey,” whispered Gloria as we crept across the carpeted lobby.

  “Then he’ll have to confess to setting Cassie up,” I said, “or we’ll report him to the ASPCA. Maybe Aidan will even apologize. Cassie will forgive him and come back to the set. Everything will be the way it was.”

  “The Wonderland will be the most famous motel in America,” added Gloria. “And you’ll be the most famous butt in Hollywood.”

  “A cannonball dive isn’t all about the butt, Gloria,” I reminded her. “You need to grab your knees and tuck to assume the ball position….”

  We heard a bell ding.

  Rounding a corner, we saw Aidan step into an elevator.

  Gloria and I ran down the hall.

  Watched the numbers climb.

  “He has to be on the top floor,” suggested Gloria, pressing the e
levator call button. “The penthouse.”

  A second elevator dinged open its doors.

  We hopped in and jabbed the PH button.

  When we finally made it to the fourteenth floor, a big beefy guy in gray slacks and a blue blazer, with a chest as wide as a cement mixer, was standing on the other side of the elevator doors.

  “May I help youse two?” the security guard asked.

  “Um, we’re in the movie with Aidan Tyler,” I said. “We were, uh, supposed to come up here and work on our scene with him.”

  The big guy just shook his head. Actually, he kind of wound it sideways a few times. It’s hard to shake your head when your neck is the size of a fire hydrant.

  “Not today. This floor is off-limits. Beat it, kids.”

  I tried to say something. “But—”

  “What part of ‘beat it’ didn’t you understand?”

  The elevator doors slid shut.

  I might’ve been imagining things as Gloria and I rode back down to the lobby, but just as we left the top floor, somewhere, off in the distance, I could’ve sworn I heard a monkey screech!

  We ran back to the Wonderland and enlisted Grandpa’s help.

  “We need an adult,” I told him.

  “And I’m the best you could do? Fine. What’s the caper?”

  “We think Aidan Tyler has Kevin the Monkey locked up in a room next door,” explained Gloria. “Somewhere on the top floor.”

  “He took a bunch of bananas up there,” I added. “And I’m not one hundred percent certain, but when we were riding down in the elevator, I think I heard a monkey screech.”

  “I thought I heard that, too!” said Gloria.

  Grandpa rubbed his hands together. “Okay. Here’s what we do. We go next door and sell out!”

  “Wha-hut?” said Gloria.

  Grandpa winked. “It’s what we call a clever ruse.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it’ll be an ingenious trick. You kids need to start learning better vocabulary words at that middle school you’re going to!”