by Sarah Zettel
But first I had to get through the gate. I lifted my chin, as though I walked past this fence every day and it meant nothing. Not that there was anybody left to see me. The sidewalk had cleared out, except for some men toting tin lunch pails and a raggedy bum hunched in the shadow of the fence.
“Spare a dime for a war vet?” I heard him croak as I got closer. “Spare a dime for a war vet?”
His big brown hands dangled on his knees, and he had his hat pulled low so the battered brim hid his face. A few withered apples sat on the sidewalk beside him, not doing anything to attract a second glance from the workmen hurrying past.
“Spare a dime for a war vet?”
I meant to pass on by. You could see bums like him slouched on every corner in Los Angeles. Some of them were just men out of work and scrounging, but some were out of their heads from cheap wine or whatever else they’d found. But then I noticed how his broken shoes were coated with gray dust. I knew about trudging across miles of dust, and about trying to get through with just what you had with you, even when that was nothing at all.
I had one nickel left in my handbag. It was supposed to be trolley fare back home, but I could get another from Jack. Now that he had a steady job, we usually had at least a few cents left after we’d paid for room and board. That made us lucky. It wasn’t safe for me to be granting wishes just now, but I could spread what little luck I did have.
I laid my nickel down on the sidewalk and picked up one of the soft, sun-warmed apples.
“Thank you, miss.” The bum tipped his hat brim up.
I stepped back before I could help myself. This man had been through something bad. It’d left behind a long white scar from his forehead to his chin, straight down over his left eye. That eye was milk white, shining wet in his wrinkled brown face, but his other eye was bright gold and amber, and that eye got a good look at me.
“You.” The bum surged to his feet. “I found you!”
He was a tall man and bone thin. His ragged clothes hung loose around his whole body. He smelled like the dickens and grinned big and loose, showing me the gaps where his teeth had been broken off.
I stepped back again, ready to run, but I wasn’t fast enough. His crooked hand shot out and clamped down on my wrist. “None of them could, but I knew, see, I knew.…”
I wasn’t about to wait around to hear what he knew. I shoved that mushy apple right in his face, and when he jerked back, so did I. I whirled on my heel and stumbled up the street.
“Hey! Hey!” the bum shouted behind me. “Don’t go in there! They’ll spot you! They’ll get you! Come back, Callie!”
The sound of my name almost made me break stride, but I clenched my fists and poured on the speed. He might’ve found me, but there was no way I was letting him catch me. Whoever he was. Since the fairies had found me that first time, I’d been threatened and tricked and followed, and I’d already come close to dying a bunch times more than is good for anybody.
The studio’s side gate opened ahead of me, and I stumbled through, plowing straight into Jack.
“Jack.” I stuck out one shaking finger behind me, and we both looked where I was pointing. But the bum was gone.
2
The Show Must Go On
“There you are, sis!” Jack said clearly. “I was getting worried.”
Jack’s the kind of boy who gets called “a long, tall drink of water.” He was only sixteen, but he was eyeballing a finish line of at least six feet tall. His brown hair used to be all bushy, but when he got his studio job, he chopped it short and slicked it back. It seemed to me he was starting to look less like a boy and more like the man he would be, especially now that he wore long trousers instead of knee pants, and a button-down shirt instead of patched calico. That made me feel strange when I looked at him. I tried not to think about it too much, but sometimes it was real hard not to, especially when he got close to me or had hold of my arm, like now.
Except maybe he didn’t need to be squeezing quite so hard while he pulled me up to the little white guard shack.
“Hey, Solly,” Jack said to the man sitting inside, who was mostly hidden by his open newspaper. “My sister’s here.”
The guard turned down the corner of his paper with one finger. I smiled and swallowed and tried to look like I really could be related to Jack.
It was pretty plain that the guard wouldn’t pay a plug nickel for any of it. The only thing that kept me from turning tail right there was the possibility I’d meet that bum coming the other way. Jack, on the other hand, stood there cool as cool could be. This was his best game. Once he had a story set in his head, Jack Holland could convince a snake it needed a new pair of socks.
Solly shrugged and rattled his paper. “She’s gotta sign in just like everybody else.”
“Oh, of course. Here, Callie.”
I signed “Callie Holland” on the list Jack passed me. As soon as I finished the d, Jack grabbed me again and with a big wave pulled me past the swing-arm gate and into the back lot of the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio.
“You okay?” Jack asked as soon as we were out of earshot of the guard shack. “You look like you’re gonna be sick or something.”
Truth was, I felt like I was going to be sick or something. I told Jack about the bum and how he’d known my name. At the same time, I knew I had to pull myself together. This might be our only chance to get onto the back lot. I could not afford to go to pieces, no matter what my knocking knees thought.
“Was he one of them?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “He was awfully … broken to be a fairy.” Fairies don’t like ugly things. They want everything around them to be perfect, even their monsters. That’s one of the reasons they like movies so much. Everything’s always perfect in the movies.
“Okay, okay.” Jack wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll tell Solly there’s a bum hanging around bothering people. If he’s still there, Solly’ll run him off.”
“No, don’t. If it was one of them, he might magic the guard into letting him inside.”
Jack saw the sense in this—which just goes to show how strange things get when there’s magic hanging around. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. So.” He took a deep breath and gestured to the studio. “What do you think?”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from a real movie studio. Maybe I’d thought it’d just be one big building with a whole bunch of stages inside, or that the world would turn all gray and silver and there’d be people in tuxedos and evening gowns with fame sparkling like fireflies around them. But we’d just stepped into a new city nestled inside the old. The air was full of shouts and engine roars and the smell of paint and hot concrete. Trucks rattled down straight streets, kicking up exhaust and dust. Men with their shirtsleeves rolled loaded crates and furniture from brick warehouses into trucks. The only hint that we were not really in Los Angeles anymore was the trucker who walked down a ramp carrying a big old battle-axe in one hand and a clown’s head in the other.
“I think I don’t want anybody here mad at me.” I nodded toward that shiny-sided axe.
Jack chuckled. “You know what I mean, dopey. Did you feel anything when you came inside?”
When I get close to a fairy gate, I get this twisty feeling, like I’m inside a padlock while somebody’s turning the key.
But I had to shake my head at Jack. “Nothing.”
“Well, it’s an awfully big place,” he said. “And that bum tried to tell you not to go in here, didn’t he? That they’d see you?”
“Yeah, but that could mean anything. He could’ve been thrown out on his ear by the guards once for hopping the fence or something.”
“But he knew your name,” Jack reminded me, and I really wished he hadn’t. I mean, I knew going looking for the Seelies was looking for whole new worlds of trouble. I just hadn’t thought we’d find them so fast.
“What do we do now?” I asked before I could start looking over my shoulder for the things that w
eren’t there. Yet.
Jack made a face. “I gotta run some new script pages out to Copperfield Court, so I haven’t got a lot of time. My lunch break’s coming up, though. I can meet you, and we can take a real look around.”
“But what about till then? Somebody’s going to want to know what I’m doing here.” Mr. Mayer hadn’t put up that fence and stationed guards at those gates because he was glad to let just anybody wander around his property. Movie people were different, but not that different.
“It’s all jake.” He had a special grin for when he was about to pull off a really good trick, and Jack used it now. “I got you a disguise.”
My face scrunched up. “Another one?”
“This is different.” Jack pulled a clipboard and a pencil out of the bag he had slung over his shoulder, like he was pulling a rabbit out of his hat.
“What are you, cracked? That’s not a disguise!”
“It’s the best there is.” Jack pushed the clipboard and pencil into my hands. “If anybody looks at you, all you gotta do is act like you’re making notes. Around here, there’s always somebody making notes about something. Nobody ever asks what they’re doing. They all just figure they’re working for somebody else.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Sure I’m sure. Now, I gotta get going with these script pages. I’ll meet you at the Waterloo Bridge as soon as I can.”
“Where?”
Jack pointed between a bunch of warehouses. “Head straight down Fifth Avenue. Bear left past the stock storage and the prison, and you’ll see the lake and the cemetery. There’s only one bridge, and—”
“If you say I can’t miss it, Jack Holland, I’ll bust you in the mush.” I was scared, both about being turned loose all alone in this very strange place and about what might be sneaking along behind me. But I couldn’t be scared or I wouldn’t be able to do what needed doing, so I got mad instead.
Jack just shrugged. “Well, you can’t miss it. It’s the only bridge over the lake, and there’s the cemetery on one side and a farmhouse on the other. If you have to ask anybody for directions, just tell ’em you’re new and you’re on an errand for Mr. Thalberg.”
I nodded unhappily at my stupid little clipboard and stubby pencil. My feet hurt in those high-heeled shoes, and my skin was all prickly under the stuffed bra, which I was pretty sure had gone crooked.
Jack put his hand on my shoulder and smiled down at me. “Nothin’ to it, Callie.”
“Promise?” I asked. It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that I suddenly had a fresh case of butterflies.
“Promise.” Jack’s smile got all the way into his blue eyes and lit some kind of lamp in there. “I really gotta go now.”
Jack took off running and left me with the clipboard and pencil, the biggest movie studio in the entire world spreading out around me.
What could I do? I quick hitched up my bra, clutched the clipboard in front of me, and started walking.
I tried to keep my head down and walk like my shoes fit and I knew where I was going. None of it worked. I felt like I had a neon sign over me flashing PHONY! PHONY! But when I got to Fifth Avenue, I forgot about doing anything except trying to keep my eyeballs from popping out of my head. Because I was just about to walk into New York City.
It was all right there, big as life and in full color—the huge stone buildings, wide sidewalks, and fancy shop windows all tricked out with curtains and mannequins and gold lettering. There was even a cathedral with wedding-cake arches and stained-glass windows. Except I was pretty sure in the real New York they didn’t cut the buildings off above the third story and just leave steel beams and scaffolding sticking out of the top. I was also pretty sure it didn’t have train tracks down the middle for the black, hulking cameras sitting on carts. But then, I’d never been to New York, so what did I know? Maybe they had all that, along with people wearing clothes from a hundred years ago who sat around in folding chairs or stood smoking cigarettes and talking about the Dodgers and horse racing with guys in shirtsleeves and shovel caps.
“You there!”
I about jumped out of my skin. A red-haired woman wearing a black smock and carrying a huge black case planted her free hand on her hip and glowered down at me. “What’re you doing?”
Panic jabbed me hard. I’d only been here ten minutes and already I’d got caught. So much for Jack and his disguise. They’d throw me out on my ear and I’d never get back in. Jack would lose his job and we’d never find my parents and …
“I … uh … I’m new,” I stammered. “I’m on an errand for Mr. Thalberg?”
“Mm-hmm,” the woman said, in that way that meant she didn’t believe one word. But she was already looking back over her shoulder at a cluster of skinny young women with cinched-waist blouses, long skirts, and huge feathered hats standing around smoking and laughing. I could all but hear her thinking how she was responsible for them, not me. If I opened up that special spot deep inside me, I could nudge her just a little, make her forget she’d ever seen me.…
I gritted my teeth and squashed that idea down, hard. That bum—whoever he was—was still out there. I did not need to be splashing around any extra magic to help him find me again.
“Well.” The woman shifted her grip on her case. “If it’s for Mr. Thalberg, you’d better get moving, hadn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I got moving as fast as my feet could go.
A dirt alley ran behind Fifth Avenue. I hurried into it, and the world changed again. Not only were all those buildings chopped off at the top, but they were hollow up the back. On this side, a street from the biggest city in the country was nothing but a bunch of frames made from two-by-fours, plaster, and metal pipes. It was even busier back here than it was out front. Men swarmed up and down a maze of scaffolding. They hammered nails, tightened bolts, and hoisted up loads of boards, buckets of tools, and paint cans. They filled the air with shouts and curses and the sound of ringing hammers. While the actors were having their cigarette break, these men were building a whole city for them to play in. Their work and pride and plans sank into my skin like the heat of the sun. This was even stronger than the wishes of the people on the trolley, because these people liked what they were doing; they were working hard and making something brand-new. I wanted to stop and turn my face toward all that feeling and drink it in deep.
I didn’t, though. I kept on going until I reached the end of Fifth Avenue. Jack was right again. There was a prison looming there, complete with guard towers and a long black car parked out front. But the back was as hollow as Fifth Avenue had been, and as soon as I was past that, I was out in the country. There was a straight dirt lane lined with full-grown live oaks, and three pretty front porches with bits of houses behind them. A big green picnic meadow opened up behind those jigsaw-puzzle houses. More men were cutting the grass. Others were on their knees pulling weeds. A truck jounced by in a cloud of exhaust. One of the gardeners glanced up at me. This time I remembered to get my clipboard up and scribble on the paper with my pencil. He looked away again. Maybe there was something to this disguise of Jack’s after all.
I didn’t have to go much farther. Past the picnic meadow waited the lake Jack had talked about. It was skinny and twisty, and truthfully, it looked more like a river of oil than any kind of lake. The Waterloo Bridge was a stone arch stretching over that still black water and leading down to the farmhouse Jack had mentioned. Unlike most of the other buildings I’d passed, the house had all four walls plus a roof. It looked almost real. But the graveyard right next to me was just plain trying too hard. The headstones and crosses were dotted around like they’d sprung up with the rest of the weeds. There was a battered statue of a lady holding some kind of miniature pipe organ, and a crouching angel with bald plaster patches on its wings where the gray paint had chipped off. A big old tomb complete with an iron gate and pointy roof backed up onto some full-grown trees.
Perfect.
I looked aroun
d to make sure nobody was watching and then ducked behind the tomb. Nobody’d bothered to water back here, so—carefully, on account of my new stockings—I settled down in some dirt and scrubby weeds that probably never got into any movie anywhere. I drew my knees up to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible, and rested my chin on them. The smell of dust wrapped around me, familiar and comfortable in a funny kind of way. If anybody was going to come looking for me now, I’d see them first. All I had to do was keep my eyes peeled, stay still, and not lose my nerve. But the second I thought that, I thought about the scarred, ragged man outside the gate, waiting for me and calling my name.
Dear Mama … I started a new letter in my head to distract myself from thinking about those wrong-looking hands and that one milky eye. You are not going to believe what it’s like in here! I kept my thoughts running along those lines, trying to work out just how I’d describe Fifth Avenue and the prison and the lake. But it wasn’t good enough. I still heard a raspy voice and saw a pair of mismatched eyes that I felt like I ought to know.
I found you, he said, over and over. None of them could, but I knew, see, I knew.…
3
Gonna Trouble the Waters
I hate to admit it, but while I was busy keeping my eyes peeled for Jack, or anybody else who might be looking for me, I sort of fell asleep. By the time I got wise to this and jerked my eyes open, my stomach was growling, my neck was stiff, and night had fallen down around me.
I scrambled to my feet, blinking hard and knuckling my eyes. Dry wind rustled the tree branches, and the scrubby weeds brushed my knees. The only light left was from the few lampposts on the studio road and what city light could slide over the fence. One thing I could see way too clearly, though: all around me, the cemetery had perfected its spooky act. Headstones and stained crosses laid long shadows across the dusty ground. The carved lady turned her head away sadly, knowing me for a lost cause. The crouching angel was about to stand up and demand to know who I was.
