Just One Wish

by Janette Rallison

  Jeremy said, “But Annika’s telling me a story.”

  “She can finish it later. The school bus is coming.” Next my father’s voice came on the line. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “I’m taking a break.” Which, technically, was true.

  He didn’t question me about it. Instead he let his voice drop to a whisper and added, “Thanks for the you-know-what you left on our bed. You-know-who is going to love it.”

  “Don’t make him wait for Christmas to open it,” I said. “You can let him have it whenever.”

  “Maybe later tonight,” he said. “Now you’d better get back to class.”

  I hung up with him, called in sick to the school, then phoned Mrs. Palson and asked her to pick up Jeremy from school again. I had until one o’clock—well, one-thirty if I drove fast—until I had to leave for Nevada.

  It took a good part of the morning to dye our hair. Madison and I both went medium golden brown. She bought the temporary kind that washes out after a few shampoos, but I went for the permanent. Part of me wanted a permanent change—as though if I changed my hair color, I could leave everything behind.

  Madison fussed over her hair, but I liked mine. It made my blue eyes seem darker, more mysterious. I curled my hair so it was wavy and voluptuous. I flipped it around so it fell in my face, then I gave the mirror sultry looks. This, I thought, must be how Leah feels all of the time.

  Madison stood behind me, applying foundation, but watching me. “I thought you were going to be an animal wrangler, not a starlet.”

  “I am an animal wrangler. I’m just one with starlet potential.”

  Madison steadied her face for mascara and blinked. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “I can’t believe you are either.” I left my hair alone and picked up my eye-shadow compact. “Although I notice neither one of us said we couldn’t believe I’m doing this.”

  She laughed but didn’t comment. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a bad influence on Madison.

  We found a pet store and then had to wait until ten o’clock, when it opened. Using Madison’s credit card, we bought a cage full of rabbits and an aquarium with a five-foot Burmese python. I purposely chose a snake because enough people didn’t like them that if I was, say, walking across the studio lot with a large one draped across my arm, people might stay away from me.

  The lady at the pet store assured me the snake—Herman, she called him—was a sweetheart and not at all venomous. She took him out of his tank and hung him around her neck like a feather boa just to prove the point. He held his head up, surveying me with piercing black eyes, and licked the air. Then the lady put the snake around my neck and I felt the muscles in his body pulse as his smooth skin slid over mine.

  “Oh, yes,” I said in a voice several degrees higher than my normal one. “I can tell he’s a sweetheart. I’ll take him.”

  I was able to make it back to the van before I started shuddering uncontrollably.

  Besides the rabbits and snake, we bought a couple of doves in a large wire cage so our van would look convincingly like one belonging to a pair of animal wranglers. It was a good idea, except that both doves and all the rabbits had apparently picked up on the fact that a large carnivorous snake rode in the van with them. As I drove, the rabbits bounced about their cage, alternately running into each other and the walls, while every so often the doves would flap their wings in a frenzy. It was nearly as distracting as Madison gripping her door handle and hissing, “Would you please slow down?”

  Almost as if in answer to her wish, we hit construction coming into Burbank and progressed through town at a crawling pace. It was almost eleven when we pulled into the road that led to the studio. I grabbed my dad’s old baseball cap from underneath the seat and put it on my head in hopes it would somehow make me look older, or at least less recognizable. Then I leaned back in my seat and draped one hand casually across the steering wheel as we pulled up to the guard booth. A middle-aged man in a white uniform looked at me with the same expression a cat gives you when you’ve disturbed his nap.

  I smiled up at him. “Hi, I’m dropping off animals for the shoot.”

  He gazed down at the cages, and the doves made an impressive attempt for freedom by trying to fly through their food dish. I heard birdseed scattering across the van.

  “Where’s your pass?” the guard asked.

  I looked around as though I’d misplaced it. “I know I brought it. . . . I remember having it in my hand. . . .” I flipped through pieces of paper on the seat between Madison and me, then flipped through them again. “Do you think it’s under one of the cages?”

  Madison shrugged. “It could be.”

  I turned back to the guard. “This might take a minute. I’m going to need to pick up all of the cages. Could you maybe help me out and grab the snake for a minute?”

  Madison let out an impatient groan. “We can’t be late. You know how Mr. Powell gets when he has to wait.”

  “It won’t take long,” I told her.

  She held up both hands. “Fine, but he’s not yelling at me. You can tell him you had to play show-and-tell with the security guard.”

  The guard let out a sigh and waved us through. I had to suppress a shriek of joy as we drove past him. We were inside.

  Chapter 6

  We parked outside of the studio. I took my cell phone and Jeremy’s Robin Hood picture from my purse, slipped them into my jeans pocket, then shoved my purse underneath the seat.

  I hefted the snake aquarium out of the van. “Now we just have to find Steve Raleigh’s trailer.”

  Madison nodded, but as we walked around the building, she kept casting nervous glances behind her.

  We hadn’t gone far before the aquarium grew really heavy. I shifted its weight, trying to get a better grip. “Do you suppose he has his own trailer?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “That’s the thing about the internet. It’s really good at giving you pointless facts like how many horses a star owns, but not important things like how to invade his trailer.”

  Madison eyed me suspiciously. “When you say ‘invade,’ you actually mean ‘knock on the door,’ right? You’re not going to pick the lock or anything, are you?”

  “Picking locks is very hard. I prefer climbing through windows.”

  She let out a grunt, so I added, “Don’t be so uptight. Hollywood is used to people trying to break into the business.”

  “That is not what the saying means, and you know it.”

  We turned the building’s corner. Instead of trailers, a huge canopy that covered rows of tables spread out before us. Even from far away, I could smell the food. The aroma of something spicy and warm floated up to me.

  Dozens of people sat at the tables eating. More people mingled in front of the buffet tables. It was odd to see people decked out in medieval costume sitting next to others wearing jeans and sweatshirts.

  Automatically my eyes searched for Robin Hood’s trademark hat. I didn’t see it. Several of the Sheriff of Nottingham’s men, complete with costumes, sat together eating, but Steve wasn’t with them. I also saw a burly guy wearing a navy blue policemanlike shirt. A security guard.

  I shifted the aquarium’s weight onto my hip and said,

  “Maybe Steve hasn’t come to eat yet.”

  “You know,” Madison said, “maybe the big stars eat in their trailers. I don’t see any of them out here.”

  We only had a couple of hours to find him, hope he didn’t recognize us as the idiots from last night, and figure out a way to talk to him. Lunch would be perfect for that, but who knew what his schedule was like. If he ate lunch in his trailer, we’d waste a lot of time waiting around for him.

  And I couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  I also couldn’t take Herman with me to the buffet. I was fairly certain real animal wranglers didn’t do that.

  “I think we should split up,” I said.

  Madison let out a squeaky protest
, and I hurried on before she could speak. “You hang out at the lunch tables. Eat things. That’s not so hard; if anyone asks, tell them you work on props. Stay until they either kick you out or I come back. If Steve Raleigh shows up, sit by him—and I don’t care how many burly Merry Men you have to push out of the way to do it. Talk to him. Explain the situation.”

  She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to look for his trailer . . . check out the studio building. . . .” It sounded pathetic even to my own ears, and I looked upward. “If God loves me at all, I’ll run into Steve Raleigh in the break room.” I wasn’t sure if studios even had break rooms. This was another way the internet had failed me. Still looking up, I added, “That’s not too much of a miracle to ask for, is it? I just want five minutes by a soda machine.”

  Madison put her hand on my arm, and her voice took on that soothing tone she uses when she’s concerned about me. “Maybe it isn’t wise to judge God’s love by Steve Raleigh’s break room habits.”

  I looked down at Herman, who was now trying to scale the walls of the aquarium. He probably didn’t like being jostled. “Wish me luck,” I said, then turned and walked away from the buffet area before I could change my mind.

  I continued on my trek around the studio, and this time when I rounded the corner, I saw a row of trailers flanking the building.

  At least a dozen large Winnebagos stretched in a line across the pavement. I headed toward them, looking for a clue as to which belonged to Steve Raleigh. It would have been nice if there had been names on the doors, but there weren’t. I walked by the front of the trailers, hoping to hear something from one of them. Perhaps Steve’s voice. I didn’t hear anything, though.

  By the time I’d reached the end of the trailer row—there were fourteen of them—my arm muscles burned with the strain of carrying the aquarium and my hands stung. Herman kept watching me with disapproving eyes. You wouldn’t think snakes could glare, but trust me, they can.

  Past the trailers I could see a corral with horses. The faint sound of hooves and whinnies drifted over the lot. I needed to stay away from there so I wouldn’t run into any of the actual animal wranglers.

  I rested the aquarium against my hip and looked back at the trailers. Which trailer was Steve’s? Well, I was good at reading people—maybe I could read trailers too. My gaze ran up and down them. I’d try the blue one near the middle.

  I trudged back, hurrying this time, and ignoring the pain in my hands. I knocked on the trailer door before I could talk myself out of it.

  No one answered.

  I put the aquarium on my hip again, accidentally tilting it so Herman slid to one side. For a moment he looked like he was doing a snake version of the wave.

  Maybe it was Steve Raleigh’s trailer and he wasn’t in. I tried the door and it opened.

  So much for my ability to read trailers. I’d picked the makeup trailer. The lighted mirror had pictures of cast members taped to it. Makeup bottles and bobby pins cluttered the counter. I set the aquarium down with a defeated thud, then slid it under the counter. I couldn’t carry it a second longer. I shook my hands to get blood flow back to them. After a few moments of that, I realized I couldn’t pick the aquarium up again. I bent down to have a one-on-one with Herman.

  “Look, just be a good snake for the day and then we’ll take you back to the pet store, okay?” I took the lid off and tried to remember how the lady at the pet store had picked him up. Was it headfirst or by the middle? I reached in and lifted him out of the cage. He at once wrapped himself around my arm, which I hoped was not a sign he was trying to eat me.

  I pushed the aquarium behind some boxes and headed out of the door, reminding myself that normal people didn’t stop to chat with girls who walked around with large snakes. So Herman was my friend and I really shouldn’t mind that he wanted to crawl up my arm. Which is what he was now doing. Maybe he was cold. After all, he’d been without a functioning heat lamp ever since the pet store. Most people who bought snakes probably took them home and plugged their lamps back in, as opposed to using the snakes to stalk celebrities.

  Perhaps if I knocked on trailer doors, I could find someone who would tell me where Steve was. I headed to the next trailer, but before I’d reached it, the door flung open and Maid Marion—Esme Kingsley herself—strolled out. A woman wielding a can of hair spray followed after her. The woman did her best to spray Esme’s long blond curls as she walked, but mostly managed to create an aerosol cloud.

  I watched them, transfixed. I didn’t even like Maid Marion, but seeing her pop into my sight tilted the world, made it all seem unreal.

  Esme stopped short, and her hairdresser nearly bumped into her.

  “This dress isn’t right.” Esme pulled at the waistline. “See how loose this is?” It wasn’t very loose, but the woman nodded anyway. “I distinctly told them I wanted form-fitting. I’ll look fat in this. Go get Angelique. Right now.”

  Esme gave me the impression of a vase full of cut roses. Beautiful. Elegant. But she was all for show and had absolutely no intention of ever growing again. And she had sharp thorns.

  She turned on her heel and strode back into her trailer. The other woman headed to the studio building, still clutching the aerosol can. I’d been so wrapped up watching them, I only now noticed the security guard strolling across the grounds in my direction. Without another thought, I followed after the hair spray lady, jogging to catch up. “Hey, wait up!”

  Herman didn’t appreciate the bumpy ride. I felt his muscles flexing around my arm, and he slithered toward my shoulder.

  Still, now that I walked side by side with Esme’s personal hair-sprayer, I hoped the security guard would think I belonged here. I smiled over at her. “I’m going to need someone to get the door for me. As you can see, my hands are full.”

  She looked over at the snake disdainfully. “Is that real?”

  Only on a Hollywood set would someone ask you if the snake crawling up your shoulder is real.

  “He’s harmless,” I said.

  She opened the door for me, then hurried past me, either because she wanted to fulfill Esme’s wardrobe commands or because she wanted to put distance between herself and a five-foot python.

  Since I was already inside the studio and a security guard was walking around by the trailers, I might as well look around inside for Robin Hood. I headed down the hallway. Did this place have a break room? I had no idea where I was going, but walked with purpose anyway.

  Before long it felt like I had walked into the bowels of some strange fantasy land. I had to keep myself from staring at large painted backdrops of forests and mountains. I went past a room filled with mannequin heads. I’m sure the room had other things stored in it too, but once you see a crowd of disembodied faces staring back at you, you don’t really notice anything else.

  I kept walking, kept looking. A few people gave the snake curious glances, but no one said anything to me. A clock I passed read 11:45. I’d been here for almost an hour. I tried not to count how much time I had left until I had to leave. Off in the distance I heard voices and wondered if they were shooting something right now. What would happen if a girl in jeans and a baseball cap—not to mention wielding a large snake—wandered into the middle of a tender Robin Hood and Maid Marion scene?

  I passed a man flipping through a stack of papers. He held his clipboard down when he saw me. “What’s the snake for?”

  I was in trouble. In the three seconds it had taken him to speak, I could sense his competency. The authority flowed off of him like heat waves on hot pavement. I wasn’t going to be able to talk my way around him. I smiled and shrugged anyway. “They need it for the shoot.”

  “What shoot?” he asked. “We’re only using horses today.”

  My insides grew brittle. “Oh. Maybe I looked at the wrong schedule then. I thought my boss told me it was snake day.”

  “Snake day? Which script calls for a snake?”

  “Um, I reall
y don’t know. I was just doing what I was told.”

  “Who told you to bring in a snake?”

  I said the only name which would make sense. “Mr. Powell.”

  At the director’s name, the man backed off from me a bit and looked thoughtful. To himself he said, “Why would Dean want a snake in a nunnery?” Then louder, he called, “Hey, Jim, can you come here for a sec?”

  This would have been the appropriate time for me to see my life flash before my eyes, but my gaze stayed firmly on the man in front of me. My stomach, however, fell down to my knees.

  When Jim didn’t answer, the guy turned to me and said, “You stay here, and I’ll find out what you’re supposed to do.”

  Oh, I knew what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to go running down the hall wearing a snake who, during this conversation, had decided my neck was the most comfortable spot on my body. He was circling my collarbone like a reptile necklace.

  “Okay,” I said.

  As soon as the guy turned away from me, I walked as quickly as I could back the way I had come. I couldn’t run, as that would draw attention to myself; besides, if Herman grew frightened and tensed his muscles now, he might choke me. This is not how anyone wants the newspapers to report their death. Girl choked by nervous python while fleeing movie set.

  I made it back down the hallway I’d come from, pushed open the door to the outside, and headed toward the trailers. Had my cover been completely blown, or did I have a few more minutes before security was called?

  Before I could analyze this question, I noticed a security guy heading around the corner of the building. I wasn’t sure if he was looking for me, but I wasn’t about to take a chance. I ducked into the closest trailer. Which turned out to be the wardrobe trailer.

  Clothes racks stretched across the room; rows of medieval dresses of every color surrounded me. Wimples, scarves, and headdresses hung on one wall. Shelves of shoes took up another wall. I couldn’t see what was on the third wall because too many boxes were stacked up against it.