Beach Party Surf Monkey

by Chris Grabenstein

  I went into Grandpa’s workshop and grabbed his old megaphone.

  “Where are you going with that, P.T.?” asked Grandpa.

  “Next door. I’m picking up your clever ruse.”

  “Oooh. Tell me more.”

  “I’ll pretend that since we’re thinking about selling out to the Conch Reef Resort, we need to see if they attract the same kind of customers we do—tourists who enjoy a good spiel and an offbeat attraction.”

  “I see,” said Grandpa patiently. “But what are we really doing?”

  Gloria told him: “Rescuing Kevin the Monkey from room 1313!”

  Grandpa grabbed the last of his bologna, and the three of us headed next door.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, gather round to hear the bone-chilling tale of Pirate Pete, the ghost of the thirteenth floor!”

  I was in full carnival barker mode, near the pool behind the Conch Reef Resort. Fortunately, Veronica was busy inside—hostess duty at the restaurant. Mr. Conch was off making another deal.

  “Oh, my,” said Bryce, the manager, who scuttled out of the hotel to see what all the fuss was about. “What’s going on back here?”

  “Final test of our compatibility, Bryce,” Grandpa told him confidentially. “My grandson is trying out his shtick with your guests.”

  “P.T. is quite an entertainer,” said Gloria. “In fact, his storytelling prowess has made him one of the Wonderland Motel’s most valuable assets, centers of excellence, and revenue streams. He is what we call a cash cow.”

  “Oh. I see,” said Bryce, sounding impressed, the way people usually do when Gloria starts spouting business buzzwords. “He has attracted quite a crowd.”

  “And,” whispered Grandpa, “when he’s done, you can sell all these folks souvenirs.”

  “With P. T. Wilkie on board,” added Gloria, “the Conch Reef Resort can leapfrog its competition and revive its gift shop market share at the granular level.”

  Bryce just nodded.

  I kept spinning my yarn.

  “It took thirteen cannonballs fired from thirteen different ships to end Pirate Pete’s thirteenth adventure on the high seas. He fell overboard. His faithful monkey, Screech, whom Pete had befriended during one of his raids along the Barbary Coast, dove into the ocean and, with the help of a friendly dolphin, dragged that poor dead pirate’s body to shore. Then the monkey scooped up the sand, right over there”—I pointed toward the main hotel building—“and buried his pirate master. Exhausted from all that digging, wishing he’d had a shovel instead of just monkey paws, Screech fell into the same grave and died on top of his pirate master, becoming one more monkey on a dead man’s chest. And that’s why, to this very day, if you ride the hotel elevators up to the thirteenth floor, you will hear Pirate Pete’s anguished moans and Screech the monkey’s terrified shrieks.”

  “You’re making this junk up!” said a kid in the crowd.

  I smiled slyly and put on my “talk like a pirate” voice.

  “Am I, laddie? Aaaar. Room 1313, that’s where they both be. But who here is brave enough amongst ye to give me the key?”

  “I will!” shouted Bryce, who I think was more into my ghost story than he should’ve been for a guy his age.

  “And who,” I said to the crowd, “is brave enough to join us on our terrifying quest into the triskai-dekaphobia zone?”

  “Me!” shouted everybody.

  “And afterward,” asked a different kid, “can we buy, like, a Screech the monkey stuffed animal in your gift shop or a bag of chocolate pirate coins?”

  I saw Gloria smile at Bryce. “See what I mean? Cash. Cow.”

  Two dozen tourists followed me, Gloria, Grandpa, and Bryce (the man with the magical master key) into the hotel lobby.

  Everybody was extremely excited as we crammed into both elevators for the ride up to the “Haunted Thirteenth Floor”!

  When we stepped off on thirteen, everybody smelled monkey poop.

  “P.U.,” said a little girl, wrinkling up her nose as we slowly made our way down the hall. “What’s that smell?”

  “Ectoplasm,” I said, because I’ve seen the movie Ghostbusters a million times. “It always smells like that when ghosts are near. Just don’t let them slime you.”

  The thirteenth floor was eerily empty. No housekeeping carts were parked in the corridor. No room service trays were sitting on the floor outside doors.

  As we passed room 1311, I heard a monkey screech.

  Kevin was calling to us from 1313.

  “How’d you do that monkey screech, P.T.?” Bryce whispered. “Are you a professional ventriloquist, too?”

  “A good performer never reveals his secrets,” I whispered back. “Now then, Bryce,” I said aloud, “if you will kindly open the door, it’s time for everybody to meet Screech!”

  “This is so cool!” said a kid.

  “I want to buy two monkeys at the gift shop!” said another.

  “This is just like the Haunted Mansion at Disney World,” said a dad.

  “Yes,” I said, “but without the long drive or the longer lines!”

  Bryce excitedly fumbled with his card key. He was starting to see the Haunted Thirteenth Floor as the gold mine Gloria told him it could be.

  But then the elevator pinged open behind us.

  “What do you people think you’re doing up here?” Veronica Conch marched down the hallway. “Step away from that door.”

  “That’s where the pirate’s ghost monkey is!” said a six-year-old, holding her nose. “Screech. He’s stinky.”

  “Who wants to meet the stinky ghost monkey?” I asked.

  “We do, we do!” said everybody.

  Bryce extended his card key on its cable.

  “Don’t you dare!” shrieked Veronica.

  “We want the monkey,” the kids started chanting. “We want the monkey!”

  Behind the locked door, Kevin started chittering and chattering.

  Shocked (and looking like he’d just heard a ghost), Bryce dropped his card key. It dangled on its taut cord down near his knee.

  I grabbed it—and swiped it across the lock pad before Veronica could stop me.

  I pulled open the door and ducked.

  My smartest move all day.

  Because when that door flung open, a very agitated monkey was standing on the other side.

  Kevin was not happy.

  So he did what he’d done the last time he was mad.

  He hurled a poop ball.

  It hit Veronica Conch—right in the face.

  Grandpa gave Kevin a slice of bologna and the monkey hopped up on his shoulder.

  “Are you Pirate Pete?” asked the six-year-old girl, who was still holding her nose.

  “Narrgh,” said Grandpa, because that’s how pirates say no.

  Then he turned to Veronica.

  “The deal is off. Call your father. Tell him what you did. No way will I ever sell my property to a known monkey-napper!”

  Veronica didn’t say a word. She was too busy sobbing and wiping monkey poop off her face.

  We took Kevin back to the Wonderland and called J.J., who was out on patrol with the ASPCA, searching for her primate friend. She was thrilled to hear the news.

  With Kevin safely back in his room, I begged Grandpa to drive Gloria and me to Smugglers Cove.

  Because I had a hunch Cassie McGinty might be there.

  “Really?” he said. “Why?”

  I pointed at one of our concrete benches. It’s molded to look like an alligator.

  “I’m guessing she wanted to meet Ugly Gus. Sooner or later, anyone who’s ever been a kid does.”

  I was right.

  But it took us like fifteen minutes to find her. I guess when you’re a movie star, you learn a lot about makeup and disguises.

  “I wanted to play Putt-Putt and feed the alligators,” she told me. “I just wanted to be a normal kid for a couple hours.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said.

&
nbsp; “Plus,” she reminded me, “I had a free pass.”

  “Just don’t go swimming with the alligators, like P.T. theoretically did,” said Gloria with an eye roll.

  “I’m sorry I ruined the movie,” said Cassie.

  “You didn’t ruin it,” I said. “You just gave everybody a day off. But now Kevin’s back, you’re back…”

  “But Aidan won’t be back. He’ll never forgive me for saying that mean stuff about him on YouTube.”

  And that gave me an idea.

  For a new YouTube video.

  I told it to Cassie. “We just have to make up a new story to make everybody forget that old one. When we spin the story this way, this is just something you like to randomly scream. It’ll be funny. Everybody will get that it was just a joke.”

  Cassie smiled. “Thank you, P.T.”

  She pulled off her glasses, wig, and rubber nose. Gloria held up her phone to shoot the video.

  And then Academy Award–winning actress Cassie McGinty screamed at the gators swirling around in the feeding lagoon: “GUS THE ALLIGATOR IS THE WORST ACTOR I’VE EVER WORKED WITH!”

  It was pretty hysterical, if I do say so myself.

  Within minutes, it had a million more thumbs-ups than the first video with her screaming about Aidan Tyler.

  “Tomorrow,” I told Cassie, “we need to shoot a third video. You can scream at a pelican.”

  About an hour later, Lisa Norby Rook, the studio chief at Dreamscope Pictures, arrived at the Wonderland.

  A quick meeting was convened poolside with Cassie and her mom. I pretended to be skimming leaves out of the pool with a net on a pole so I could eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “I looked at the dailies on the plane ride,” said Ms. Norby Rook.

  “They’re awful,” said Cassie. “Right?”

  “Not entirely. In fact, you’re great. The music’s great. But…”

  “Aiyyo.” Aidan Tyler bopped over. Aisha wasn’t with him. “Cassie, you’re looking fly.”

  “Fly?” said Cassie with a chuckle. “What does that even mean, Aidan?”

  “That, um, you look nice? And I’ve totally forgiven you for that YouTube dealio. I didn’t know you screamed that at alligators and stuff, too.”

  “Aidan,” said Ms. Norby Rook, “we need to talk.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The Tyes had completely dropped his attitude and swagger. I guess being face to face with the head of a major movie studio will do that to a guy. Especially when that head is sort of frowning like she has acid indigestion.

  “I watched the footage of the scenes you folks shot,” said Ms. Norby Rook. “I spotted some major…issues.”

  “The pig?” said Aidan. “If that’s a problem for you, no worries. We can, like, definitely go back to the monkey, now that he’s safe and all.”

  “Actually, Aidan, this is very difficult for me to say, but, well…”

  “You’re a terrible actor!” Kurt had just arrived on the scene. “The worst I ever worked with! You’re going to ruin my reputation! You’re a career wrecker!”

  “Well, you’re a hack!” Aidan shouted back. “You couldn’t direct your way out of a paper bag!”

  “I know,” said the director, “because I’d need the bag to barf in while you stumbled through your lines four thousand times without getting a single one right.”

  It went on like that for maybe ten minutes.

  Long story short, Aidan Tyler threatened to quit.

  To make the story even shorter, Lisa Norby Rook said, “Okay, Aidan, if that’s what you need to do. It definitely works for me. We’ll tear up your contract.”

  Cassie’s mom added, “Now you can go do that music tour.”

  Kurt told Aidan, “Take that stupid pig with you.”

  “Pigs are the seventh-smartest animals on the planet, man,” said Aidan.

  Then he stormed next door to the Conch Reef to pack up his things.

  Everybody else sighed, sat down, and stayed quiet.

  Finally, Cassie said the words I was afraid somebody had to say.

  “So I guess that’s a wrap. We pull the plug on Beach Party Surf Monkey and head home?”

  Her mom and Ms. Norby Rook both nodded.

  “We can’t make the movie without a male lead,” said Kurt. “I mean, you’re great, Cassie. Kevin the Monkey’s hysterical. But without someone to play Eric Von Wipple…”

  And that was when I had my best blockbuster brainstorm ever!

  You guessed it!

  I pitched my buddy Pinky Nelligan for the lead role.

  “You heard him sing, Kurt,” I said to the director. “You saw him dance. He’s incredible!”

  “He’s also pretty cute,” added Cassie.

  Then Gloria backed us up with all sorts of statistics about “target market demographics” and Pinky “hitting the sweet spot between cute and cool.”

  Then she dazzled them with some more gobbledy-gook about how pairing Pinky and Cassie could potentially turn Beach Party Surf Monkey into “a four-quadrant movie, appealing to all four slices of the demographic pie: males and females; under- and over-twenty-fives.” She added, “It could be a tentpole franchise, guys.”

  Heads started nodding.

  “He’s the kid with the red hair and freckles?” said Ms. Norby Rook. “In the surfboard dance sequence?”

  “Correct,” said Cassie’s mom. “Sings like an angel.”

  “Kid’s a natural,” added Kurt.

  “I liked that footage,” said Ms. Norby Rook. “Mostly because Aidan wasn’t in it…”

  “And think of the publicity spin this will give the flick,” I said, trying my best to sound Hollywoodish. “Unknown talent discovered at the Wonderland Motel. A star is born!”

  And that’s exactly what happened.

  We finished filming three weeks later.

  My family’s incredibly cool motel was featured in just about every shot, except, of course, the ones out in the ocean.

  Pinky was terrific as the preppy Eric Von Wipple. When he and Polly Pureheart finally kissed, everybody on the set oohed and aahed.

  Well, everybody except me. I don’t really go for the mushy stuff.

  Gloria, with her business smarts, helped Cassie’s mom keep the film under budget, which, we found out, is considered a major miracle in Hollywood. I think Lisa Norby Rook is going to offer Gloria a job the second she graduates college.

  Gloria was even able to wrangle her dad the first exclusive red-carpet interview with Cassie and Pinky at the movie’s gala Florida premiere.

  Gloria and I agreed: it’s a good thing that an ESPN sportscaster job is her dad’s dream. He wouldn’t do so well on Access Hollywood.

  Pinky didn’t come back to Ponce de León Middle School right away. He was too busy out in LA, making more movies. Mark my word, in two years Pinky Nelligan will be bigger than Aidan Tyler. He’ll be nicer, too.

  Me?

  Well, my cannonball dive didn’t make the final cut.

  But my elbow did.

  And that was fine by me.

  Because I realized some things: If I became super famous, I might never be able to go to Crabby Bill’s or Smugglers Cove without wearing a disguise, like Cassie had to. I’d have to live in Hollywood, and I like it here in Florida. Plus, I’d miss coming up with new ideas and new attractions, not to mention the stories that go along with them.

  By the way, I am seriously considering doing that sand-sculpture competition thing—before the Conch Reef Resort next door beats us to it. I can see it now! People from all over will come to the Wonderland’s famous beach. I’m also going to convince Mom that we need to open a restaurant. Maybe an outdoor grill near the pool, with a thatched palm roof and Surf Monkey decorations! It’ll be huge. To keep Grandpa happy, we’ll make sure bologna in some shape or form is always on the menu.

  Plus, Mom needs my help behind the front desk. You wouldn’t believe how many reservations have been pouring in since the movie premiered
. Everybody all over the world wants to stay in the Beach Party Surf Monkey motel. We’re hearing from people from Europe and South America and China and, of course, Canada. It gets cold in Canada. Helen Nelson, our loyal long-term lodger from Toronto? She’s coming back at her regular time next winter!

  So anyway, Dad, wherever you are, I hope you catch Beach Party Surf Monkey, coming soon to a theater near you. If you do, you’ll see our motel, maybe my elbow, and everything you’ve been missing all these years.

  Because there is one thing we’re famous for here at the Wonderland: having a wonderful time!

  Grip: If you think handling cameras is a walk in the park, you’d better get a grip! Grips are responsible for building and maintaining the equipment that supports cameras. Grips also move and set up the equipment, making them instrumental to the filming process.

  Key Grip: Key grips play the key role of supervising teams of grips.

  Dolly Grip: Dolly grips move camera cranes and dollies, which are the wheeled platforms that carry the cameras and the camera operators around. Basically just remember this equation: camera + hoverboard = dolly grip.

  Gaffer: Gaffers light up every room they walk into—literally! A gaffer is the head of the electrical department for a film production.

  Child Wrangler: Child actors are anything but child’s play! They need to be cared for, coached, entertained, and kept quiet between scenes. Child wranglers provide these services.

  Python Wrangler: Lucky for them, python wranglers don’t deal with any actual snakes! They are sound technicians who perform many tasks in the sound department, often pulling cables.

  Foley Artist: In movies, fights are staged, so where do those WHAM! KAPOW! SMASH! sounds come from? The Foley artist! Foley artists add necessary sound effects to the movie so that it sounds realistic.

  Best Boy: Back in the day, when the head of the grip or electrical department needed extra help, they would go to the other department and say, “Lend me your best boy.” Nowadays this term just means the second-in-command to the gaffer or the key grip. The best boy can, of course, be a girl (although the title remains the same).