Startled, his hand between his legs, Adam shot to his feet and dropped his pencil in the process. “Sorry. I was just tying my shoe.” He tried to charm her with his smile. But he wasn’t Lance. When the smile failed, he stepped away from the chair as Lance came back to see what was keeping him. Adam took another step, turning away from the angry cast member and said quietly to his partner, “Lance, I need a diversion. I need to check something,” as another team, Team Yeti, entered the apartment and started their count. They looked over, curious as the other team had obviously gotten in some kind of trouble. Hands on her hips, Wendy never took her glaring eyes off Adam as he pretended to study his race papers. Great, Adam thought, now she watches me.
Lance said nothing as he looked around, pretending to do his count again down the hallway. In five seconds, a piercing alarm went off as he opened the patio door and stepped out onto Walt’s private balcony. Turning pale, Wendy raced down the hall, followed by the other team members who were greatly amused by this turn of events. Adam dropped in front of the chair when he heard Wendy on her walkie-talkie explaining that “some idiot on the race opened the patio door.” She paused, stammered and then added, “No, sir, they can’t hear me.” The walkie-talkie squawked again.
Out of sight of the other people, Adam crouched in front of the chair, pulled the cushion away from the back and felt underneath. He could hear Wendy getting a code to disarm the alarm. Pretty soon the other team would get bored of the comedy episode and move from the hallway to the bathroom to continue their count. He was about out of time when Lance, apparently still on the balcony, suddenly gave a yell. “Hey, look at that!” Over the protest of Wendy, the Yetis now piled out on the balcony with him. Atta boy, Lance. Adam vaguely wondered how many fit out there as his hand worked over the floral pattern. His breath caught as he fingered something hard. Broken backing? A small box? A book? He couldn’t tell. He only knew it shouldn’t be there.
Mouth dry, he now did the unthinkable—he defaced The Sacred. Finding a couple of loose stitches in the back of the cushion, he tugged them apart. Oh, I’m going to burn for this. He slipped his clammy hand through the layers of cotton batting. Hearing everyone coming back in from the balcony laughing at something Lance was saying, his fingers closed around the stiff object. It felt like leather and he barely saw it was a book before he jammed it down the front of his shorts. Heart pounding, he pulled his shirt down and got the cushion back in place just as Wendy herded everyone back into the living room with a stern warning about boundaries and rules. Standing very close to Lance, she seemed to be directing the entire warning at the innocent Team Yeti—who was nevertheless still vastly entertained by all of this. She broke off her tirade when she saw Adam stand up from the wingchair. Her eyes narrowed on the white lint all over the front of his brown shirt.
“Dropped my pencil.” As he stammered with an explanation, he held it up for everyone to see, simultaneously brushing the tell-tale cotton lint from his shirt with his other hand. “Dandruff.” He gave a shrug and managed to look embarrassed.
Exasperated, Wendy told them to finish with their clue and get out. She must have worked on the Jungle Cruise at one time because she amended, “Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude. Please, get out.”
As they headed down the stairs and back onto Main Street, Lance gave a grin. “Why are you walking funny? She wasn’t that cute.”
Adam ignored the crack. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
As he veered off to the Men’s Room right next to the Fire Station, he heard Lance’s parting, “Need more fiber?” as Lance leaned against a post to wait. He waved at the departing Team Yeti as he checked where he had stashed Wendy’s phone number.
Adam unnecessarily washed his hands, stalling until the only other man in the restroom finished at the sink and left. Ducking into an empty stall, he locked the door behind him. Silently apologizing for the ruined cushion and his impromptu hiding place, Adam pulled the leather-bound book out of his shorts. It was old leather, cracked with age, the black color having faded to a dark gray. There was no embossing or markings on the outside cover, front or back. The binding was about three quarters of an inch thick, but the way the front edges came together showed some pages were missing.
His heart—which still hadn’t returned to its normal beat—pounded harder as he opened the stiff cover. Immediately he saw that what he had guessed was correct: There were numerous pages that had been ripped out of the front of the book. The first four yellowed pages proved to be blank. He slowly turned through these empty pages until he found writing. His eyes widened as he began reading the first page.
“Holy Crap!”
Hands shaking, Adam reread the diary. That was what it had to be—a long-lost diary. It couldn’t be anything else. And it was written in Walt Disney’s own handwriting. He tried to swallow but became aware of how dry his mouth and throat were. Trying to lick his lips, his tongue felt as dry as the yellowed paper he was reading between the dark leather binding.
Adam slumped down onto the commode as he stared at the words written in the worn book. What the book told him, what it hinted at, was lost to him at that moment. All he could think about was the fact that he had found Walt Disney’s personal diary and that he was holding it right there in his hands. His hands. Adam Michaels, a thirty-year old General Contractor from the City of Orange, California, was holding in his hands something written by the Grand Master himself. Right here. In Disneyland. In the men’s room.… Oh shoot.
With a guilty look, he sprang from his impromptu seat and frantically looked around the small stall. By any public restroom standards, Disney restrooms were exceptionally clean, even after thousands of uses each day. But, no, this won’t do at all. This is wrong. He had to find a more appropriate place to read and handle the book. This was…this was exciting. This was big! Adam felt that he held the Holy Grail of lost literature.
He tried to open the stall door as quietly as he could and peered cautiously around the edge. He found the restroom was occupied by only a few men and youngsters, so he…well, what was he going to do? Adam’s pants pocket proved too small for the book. The same for the breast pocket on his shirt. Lance had the backpack they had been using for the race. But Lance was outside. In public. In broad daylight. Adam felt he couldn’t just walk out of there with such a valuable item in his hands. What if someone saw it? What if they asked what it was? What if they tried to take it away from him? He started breathing fast again. He knew he was being paranoid; he was almost hyperventilating. Slow down, Michaels, he told himself. Calm down. Think. Think. Think. Great… now I sound like Winnie the Pooh.
Closing the stall door again and turning the latch, he eyed the small locking mechanism with disdain. There should be a padlock on this door, Adam thought to himself as he stood there facing the door. Maybe if he just stayed in there long enough Lance would start to worry about him and come to see what was wrong. Okay, that’s a good idea. That will work.… Well, that would work if it was anyone other than Lance. He knew Lance would lean against that lamppost all day long watching people go by and thoroughly enjoy himself. No, he had to come up with something else.
Holding the black leather-bound book with both hands, Adam willed his pounding heart to slow. With a deep, deliberate inhale and exhale, Adam finally opened the stall door. Surprisingly, the restroom was vacant but Adam knew that could change in a matter of moments. He looked at himself in the large floor-to-ceiling mirror next to the row of sinks. In his polo shirt and khaki shorts, he looked unworthy of holding something of such significance. He knew the book was something Walt Disney himself had penned.
“What should I do?” Adam glared at himself in the mirror, shaking his head self-consciously. Just then, voices echoed among the tiled walls from just outside the men’s room entrance. With a startled gasp, Adam did exactly the same thing he had done the last time he had to make a hasty decision: He crammed the book down his shorts and pulled his shirt down to cover it. Walking over to the sink
, he lathered his hands with soap just as the voices became attached to actual bodies entering the restroom.
A harried father muttering, “Hang in there, buddy. Just a few more seconds,” herded his young son into an open stall without even a glance at Adam. Adam let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Looking into the smaller mirror hanging over the sink, he realized how he would have appeared if that man had bothered to look at him: Guilty. With a disgusted shake of his head, Adam rinsed his hands, splashed cool water on his face, and walked over to the paper towel dispenser where he took several sheets to dry his hands and face. Relax, man! Sheesh, you’re as jumpy as a cat.
With another silent apology for his hasty hiding place, he pushed through the door and hurried over to Lance, who was, as he had expected, still standing exactly where he had been left.
“So, how’d it go?” Lance glanced over when Adam finally showed up next to him. Chuckling at his own joke, he glanced at his partner’s face. Adam was flushed, his eyes were wide, he looked ready to bolt and run, and for some reason his hair was wet. “What’d you do? Miss?” Lance looked at Adam with a big grin plastered on his face.
Adam snapped out of his silent meditation on what to do next. “What?” Then he reddened when he understood what Lance had asked. “No! Something’s come up.”
Lance gave him a guy’s look. “Oh, really?” Lance tossed back his head and gave a full-throated laugh. His deep voice usually carried pretty far and now his laughter drew unwanted attention to them.
Adam grumbled for him to knock it off; they had to go.
Still chuckling, Lance figured Adam meant resuming the race. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. We can head for New Orleans Square and do the count in Club 33. Wish we could have dinner there. The food is superb.” He strode off to retrace their steps up Main Street. After about five steps, he realized Adam wasn’t with him. Looking back, he saw Adam hadn’t moved from the spot next to the men’s room. He went back. “Adam, we need to stay within ten feet of each other or we lose points. You with me here?” When he received no answer, he became a little concerned. “You okay, Adam? What’s wrong?”
Adam was silent as people walked past them. He looked nervous. First Adam eyed the excited kids and their parents as they hurried up Main Street toward the heart of the Park. Then his eyes darted back to see if there was anyone coming toward them. To Lance, Adam acted almost paranoid. When there was a break in the foot traffic around them, Adam finally spoke. “I found something.”
Lance was confused. “In the men’s room? Like what? A wallet or something?” He motioned over to the left at the tall gold and white building that dominated that side of Main Street. “City Hall is right here if you want to turn it in to Lost and Found.”
“No, not like that.” Adam was whispering now, making Lance even more confused. “I found it…somewhere else.” He stopped when a couple of moms pushing strollers walked slowly up the ramp toward the restrooms. Adam’s eyes followed them until they were inside, but he didn’t continue his explanation to Lance.
Lance gave an impatient sigh. “Adam, listen, we’re losing time standing here chatting. Tell me all about it while we head to New Orleans Square. First, what did you find?” Lance strode off again, still talking, only to find Adam did not follow him. Again. Rolling his eyes, he returned to his odd-acting race partner. “Okay, first, I’m getting tired of talking to you only to find you’re not actually walking next to me. Now, while it’s entertaining to those who I end up talking to, it’s frustrating to me. Second, you need to get your rear in gear and move from this spot. We have a race to finish. And, third.… Well, I don’t have a third. But you need to tell me what’s going on.”
He wondered if Adam even listened to anything he said. Adam just stared across Main Street, apparently at the Opera House. Looking toward the Opera House himself, Lance could see nothing that held any particular interest…outside of that devastating blonde buying popcorn. But Adam didn’t seem to be looking at her. He knew Adam preferred brunettes. Too bad they were already losing so much time. And, too bad she was handing the popcorn to her three children.... “Adam. Earth to Adam.”
Adam turned his distracted eyes back to Lance. “Sorry, man. I think we need to leave the Park.”
“What?” Lance came as close as he ever did to becoming angry. “We’ve waited six months for this race! And we’re doing…well, we’re doing pretty good. We’ve lost a lot of time with you farting around for some unknown reason in the men’s room. Are you going to tell me why you want to leave?”
“No.” Adam was short with Lance as he shifted uneasily on his spot. “You’ll have to trust me on this. I think it may be worth it to leave right now. I can’t concentrate on the race. Let me have the backpack a minute.” Adam held out his hand to the surprised Lance.
Lance stared at his friend. He knew Adam loved running the Mouse Adventure races. Adam even considered himself a Disney expert. For Adam to willingly leave the race in the middle…. Well, something major had to have happened. And he knew Adam was not going to tell him anything right now, whatever the reason. With an impatient shrug, Lance took off the pack and silently handed it to Adam. Frowning, he watched Adam turn without a word and reenter the men’s room. “Must not be fiber,” he mumbled to himself as he crossed his arms to wait.
In less than a minute, Adam was back outside. “Do you want to turn in the answer sheets we’ve done already?” It was Adam’s attempt at an apology for leaving early.
“What’s the point? We didn’t finish enough to make any difference.”
Adam could hear the sullenness in Lance’s voice and knew he was being unfair to his partner, but he just had to leave and examine this exciting find. He didn’t want to look it over here—in the shadow of the building in which he found it. He needed to get it away from the Park and put some distance between them. “But we’ll get the credit for having run it for next time.”
“Will there be a next time?” At Adam’s vague shrug, Lance just shook his head and followed Adam over to the ornate Opera House.
The Mouse Adventure people were surprised a team had finished all the quests so quickly. Usually teams burst through the door at the last possible second still filling in answers. They weren’t really ready for teams to arrive and were just sitting around chatting when Adam handed in their quest packet. There were some pages completed even though most of their quests were only partially filled-in or completely blank. Sometimes points were awarded for each correct answer. However, there was so much blank that it wouldn’t make much difference for Team Pecos Bills’ final score. When this was pointed out to Adam, he just shrugged again. “Something came up and we have to leave.” From the look on Lance’s face, the race people could tell his partner didn’t agree, but there was nothing they could do. If a team wanted to drop out early, they were allowed to. “All right. Scores will be posted on the website in a few days. Hope to see you in the fall. Here is your participation certificate. Thanks for trying.”
Lance took the brightly colored paper and attached it to the now-empty clipboard they had used as a writing table. Without actually shoving him, he got Adam to turn around and thrust the clipboard into the backpack.
Adam now added ‘guilt’ to his jumbled feelings. He hoped his discovery would make it up to Lance and Lance would then understand that the race wasn’t important right now. With an inaudible sigh, he silently led them under the entry arch and out of Disneyland. Moving against the flow of tourists coming into the Park, Adam parted the sea of guests like a ship’s bow. It was now Lance trying to keep pace with Adam as he pushed through the exit turnstile a step behind his friend. Without a word spoken between them, the two men caught the next tram to the parking structure.
Still, Adam said not one word to explain the why or the what of this mystery. Lance figured he would be told when Adam was ready to tell him.
And, it had better be a darn good explanation.
Adam remained silent all the way to his ap
artment in Orange. Lance bided his time by playing with the radio and changing all of Adam’s favorite settings. Rap music blared into the cab of the Silverado yet Adam didn’t even notice. “I’m thinking,” were Adam’s only words in answer to Lance’s question, “So, what is this all about, Adam?”
Arriving at his place, Adam grabbed the backpack from behind the driver’s seat and motioned for Lance to follow him. Unlocking the door to his apartment, he indicated for Lance to sit on the sofa.
Sometimes Dead Men DO Tell Tales! Page 4
