“I would imagine so. Is there someone you can call?” Payton asked.
“Like my manager?”
“That’s a start,” Payton said. “Then I can hook you and your management up with the PPP.”
What is she saying?
The PPP is pretend!
“I just saw it!” the second old lady cried. “But it was a woman. Her gown shimmered in the light.”
“I saw it too!” her friend exclaimed. “She was floating.”
Jeez, Payton has these guys going.
I finished the D rows of mezzanine I and II. Now I had to get down to the orchestra section. I followed a lighted exit sign into the hallway, down a set of stairs, and prepared to repeat the process.
I looked up and saw Harry on the phone. “We seem to have a paranormal disturbance on the ten-thirty a.m. tour,” he said to someone. Maybe his manager. He pulled up his pants with his free hand, then rested it on his silver belt buckle like it was a shelf.
Maybe suspenders would help Harry. Well, it would keep the pants up, but wouldn’t help with the wedgie.
I got to work backstroking through all of the D rows. I only found a pack of Tic Tacs, $3.42 in coins, a button, and a bobby pin. Not what I’d hoped. I stood in the lowest level of the theater, turned off my headlight, and wiped my hands on my pants before squirting them with hand sanitizer that I kept in my pocket.
Then I propped my clean hands on my hips and studied the magnificent theater, considering where else something could be hidden. The VIP box seats made the most sense because they have more privacy. But both the boxes themselves and the rows therein were numbered, (I’d learned that online), so no D.
One of the ladies looked down at me and pointed. “Look! There’s another one?”
She was pointing at me!
I had a few choices, I guess. I could float around and act ghostly or . . . well, I didn’t know my other choices.
“Uh . . . were you entranced?” Payton asked me.
“Did you levitate down there?” Margot asked.
That sounded like a good explanation. “Yes. That must be what happened. I heard Sammy playing the trumpet and the next thing I know, I was floating down here.”
The other old lady said, “Sammy Davis Jr. didn’t play the trumpet.”
Payton said, “As far as we know.”
The first old lady added, “Maybe he always wanted to, and now he’s learning how in the afterlife.”
“That’s probably it,” Payton said.
Harry hung up his cell. “On behalf of the Dolby Theatre and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, I have to cut this tour short due to spectral interference.” To me he asked, “Do you need a doctor?”
“I think I’m okay.”
To Payton, Harry said, “We’re calling the PPP. Well, my manager is. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“Good idea, Harry,” Payton said. “Happy to help.”
17
Back on Hollywood Boulevard I said to Payton, “That was impressive.”
“Impressive and awesome!” Margot said. “You’re like the fastest liar on Earth.”
“It’s not lying,” Payton said. “It’s improvising.”
“Then you’re like the fastest improviser ever,” Margot said.
I asked, “You know that the PPP and APA aren’t real?”
“I know. Right? I was so into it that I started believing it myself.”
“Well, that performance deserves an award,” I said.
“I have two words: milkshakes.”
“I think that’s one word,” Margot said.
“You’re right,” I said. “It is.” I didn’t know if Margot would get the Payton-ism about miscounting words. “I don’t know if the Academy would approve of a second milkshake.”
“I’ll make it a gold-plated flavor. They should be okay with that,” Payton said.
“Good plan,” I said, “but I’m not sure I have money.” I reached in my pocket to see what I had. I had something, but it wasn’t money.
“What’s that?” Payton asked.
“It’s something that ABJ secretly stuffed it into my hand last night.” I held up the matchbook.
“It’s from the Brown Derby,” Margot read. “It’s a restaurant.”
“And a D,” Payton said.
“It is,” I said.
“And a B,” Margot said. “Brown starts with a B.”
“I have a good feeling about this. I think ABJ wants us to go there.”
“Then let’s do it,” Payton said.
“I’m in,” Margot said.
The address on the matchbook was 1628 Vine Street. I plugged it into my phone’s GPS. “It’s less than a mile away.”
Margot looked at her sneakers. “I’ve got my walking shoes.”
Payton looked past my shoulder behind me and gave a little gasp. She grabbed my arm and whispered, “You won’t believe what I’m seeing.”
“Sammy Davis Jr. tap-dancing with a glass eye and a trumpet? You’re right. I won’t believe that. Enough, Payt, let’s go.”
“It’s Harry. He is talking to someone and pointing at us,” Payton said.
“He looks mad,” Margot said.
“Do you think he figured out that the Dolby isn’t haunted?” I asked.
“Or maybe his manager did,” Payton said. “He’s walking this way.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“We could speed walk.” Margot bolted down the street swinging her arms and taking giant steps, like a professional speed walker.
Payton looked over her shoulder. “Um, they’re crossing the street.”
“If we get in trouble, my mom won’t let us out around town anymore. So maybe we can run!” I suggested and zipped past Margot.
“That’s not good for your joints,” Margot called after me. “And you could get shin splints.”
Despite her warning, we didn’t stop, and after a few seconds, Margot started running too.
“I know how we can lose him for sure,” I said. “Follow me.”
Harry looked all around, but he couldn’t see us and we were right in front of him. He crossed the street and went down an alley.
Once he was far enough away, we took the green beanies off our heads, removed the sashes, and returned them to two Girl Scouts. Then Payton and I each held up three fingers and said to the girls, “I will live by the Girl Scout Law.”
“I don’t know if I can make a pledge like that without first consulting with an attorney,” Margot said.
“No one will pressure you to take an oath you’re not comfortable with,” I assured her.
“All those years of campfire songs came in handy.” I headed in the direction of the Brown Derby, keeping a careful eye behind us.
“Totally,” Payton agreed.
“Campfires? That sounds like an accident waiting to happen,” Margot said. “Things are dry out here in California. One small fire can get out of control and travel through a whole canyon.”
The glasses in Margot’s world all seemed to be half empty.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes to find the building marked 1628, but it clearly was not the Brown Derby.
It was an apartment building.
“What the—” Payton said.
I checked the address on the matchbook. “This is definitely right.”
“Is there another Vine Street?” I asked Margot.
“No. With all of the taxi navigation that I do, I would know if there was another.”
Payton took the matchbook out of my hand. “There’s another Brown Derby. Look.” She pointed to a second address, then showed it to Margot.
“That’s downtown.”
“Do you think Leo will take us there?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Margot said. “It could expand his delivery zone, which would mean more customers.”
I signaled Leo on the walkie and within a minute he was at the corner of Hollywood and Vine.
Jus
t as we got into the Burrito Taxi I saw Harry. “Don’t look now,” I said to Payton.
“Hurry!” Payton yelled at Leo. “Go! Allez! Vámonos.” She mocked his signature trio of phrases. Margot climbed in the plexiglass dome. She buckled herself, slid on goggles and her headphones. Payton crinkled herself into the backseat, forgetting about rock-paper-scissors.
Leo pressed the gas and the Burrito Taxi took off with a screech of the tires.
“Who was that man?” Leo asked.
“We’ll tell you on the way,” I said.
“On the way where?”
I showed him the matchbook. “The Brown Derby in LA.”
He asked, “Where did you get that?”
“From ABJ’s house.”
Margot’s voice came through a little speaker in the taxi’s ceiling. “They think it might be a clue to finding ABJ’s lost money.”
Payton exclaimed, “Has stepping on your feet taught you nothing?”
“Oops,” Margot said.
“Lost? LOST? Did you say ‘lost’?” Leo asked.
To Leo I said, “Don’t ever tell her a secret.”
“Point taken. But, Ginger, what’s going on?” Leo asked, “Is the money lost . . . as in disappeared, vanished, kissed good-bye?”
“It’s not so much lost as she just doesn’t know where it is,” I said.
“That sounds a lot like the definition of lost,” Leo said.
“That’s one way to look at it,” Payton said. “But, scientifically speaking, if you know something exists, like let’s say radon or carbon monoxide, but you can’t see it, it’s not lost.”
“Nope,” I said. “It’s not.”
“And,” Payton continued, “If you have tools to find those things, like a radon detector, then you’ll know where it is.”
“Totally,” I agreed.
“So, the radon isn’t lost, it just temporarily can’t be located, but it will be,” Payton said. “That’s the kind of situation we’re in with ABJ’s life’s savings.”
“Eeeeexactly,” I summed up. “Well said.”
“Okay. Let’s say I go with your little tale of weird science. That would mean you have a money detector. And if you do, I am leaving this Burrito Taxi right here, right now, and I’ll sell money detectors.”
Margot chimed in, “I haven’t seen a money detector. I definitely wouldn’t have been able to keep that a secret.”
“It’s the old-fashioned kind.” I paused to snatch a look at the legendary Roxy Theatre—a famous concert place in West Hollywood—as we passed. “A paper with clues.” I told him about ABJ thinking the bank was stealing and leaving herself an encrypted message.
“The bank wasn’t stealing; they were deducting her mortgage payment. I helped her set that up.” He thought for a minute. “She left herself a clue?”
I took the ripped paper out of my pocket and showed it to him. He waited until we had a red light and looked at it.
“So, we think it’s hidden by a famous D,” Payton said. “That’s what we’ve been looking for at the wax museum, the Walk of Fame, and the Dolby Theatre.”
“Then, last night, she slipped this matchbook into my hand when no one was looking. So I think she wants us to look at the Brown Derby,” I said. “And it’s also a D.”
“That’s what it looks like to me too,” Leo said. “But there’s nothing at the Brown Derby.” He put the note down when the light turned green.
“We won’t know for sure until we look,” I said. “This is how detectives work. I’ve seen lots of black and white Dick Tracy movies with Mom. Dick chases down every lead.”
“I believe you. But if Dick Tracy had the Internet, he’d have checked the places he was going to in order to find out if they were still in business,” Leo said. “The Brown Derby closed a long time ago—”
I let out a big exhale of frustration, while Payton sort of groaned.
“Now tell me who that guy was and why his pants were pulled up so high?”
“His name is Harry. He works at the Dolby. He’s chasing us because we might have told one of his tours that the theater is haunted and he canceled the tour and called in paranormal experts who figured out there are no ghosts and now he’s mad at us,” I said.
“That’s just a guess,” Payton confirmed. “And the pants are a mystery that defies even the sharpest scientific minds.”
“You don’t have to have a science head to see that the wedgie is a major problem,” I said. “It could actually cause a serious injury.”
18
“How did it go today?” ABJ sat on her living room sofa, her legs crossed like she was posing for a photograph. “Are you making any progress?” She held a mirror with a delicate silver handle and made ridiculous faces at her reflection.
“We’re progressing our way through Hollywood,” I said.
“That’s for sure,” Payton said.
ABJ stared at herself. She opened her mouth as big as it could possibly go, and then tried to open it wider.
“The Dolby is beautiful,” I added, still watching her unusual activity.
“Too bad it’s haunted.” Payton laughed halfheartedly because she, too, was focused on ABJ’s reflection.
“I’ve never heard that.” ABJ sucked her cheeks in like a fish and held them there.
“Oh, there are rumors,” I said.
“More than rumors,” Payton said. “They brought in an official paranormal investigator.”
“To study the spirits,” I said.
“You know, there could be more than one.”
“Very true—” I started.
ABJ relaxed her cheeks and shifted her gaze from the mirror to us. “I understood at ‘haunted.’ ” She sucked in her cheeks again.
“What are you doing?” I finally asked.
She attempted to talk with her face squished in, but all that came out were sucking and squirting sounds. She gave up and relaxed her face. “I’m exercising. There are forty-three muscles in the face, and as an actress, I like to keep them all strong.” She looked at her reflection again. “My agent could call anytime.”
“Do you talk to your agent often?”
“The agent-client relationship doesn’t thrive on frequent communication. She’s probably looking for the perfect opportunity. So I need to be ready.” She added, “And, of course, negotiating a star on the Walk of Fame isn’t easy.”
“Being prepared is always good.” I felt sad, because I thought ABJ’s face was the only thing ready for an audition.
“Wow,” Payton said. “That would be amazing. Your agent is doing that for you?”
“It is the highest honor. I’m certain she is working her magic,” ABJ said.
I thought maybe her agent wasn’t working on anything for ABJ. I considered mentioning that she should contact her agent, but I decided to put that idea in mentalus storageum.
“Anyway, tomorrow we’re going to check out Rodeo Drive and the Hollywood sign. They’re both famous and both have a D in their name. How do those two sound to you?” Payton asked.
“Well, I’ve spent a lot of time on Rodeo Drive. Shopping, you know.”
“Do you have a favorite store?” Payton asked.
“Where to start . . . Burberry, Cartier, Chanel, Gucci, Tory Burch, Louis Vuitton, Prada, and of course Tiffany & Co.”
“Like the movie?” I asked. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”
“Just like that, except that was in New York City.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Payton said.
“To pick any one favorite store just feels wrong.” ABJ extended her forehead, and pulled it down to force her brow over tops of her eyes. Then she suddenly stopped. “Oh, I know what might help!”
“What?” Payton and I asked together.
“My closet! We can see where I buy most of my clothes. That would be my favorite store.”
“Great plan,” I said.
“You can do your facial workout in your room, while we gather data,
” Payton said.
“We’ll make a bar graph.”
“Or a line graph—” I said.
“Or a pie chart—” Payton said.
“To show which brand ABJ chose most, indicating which store on Rodeo Drive she went to most often.”
“Then we’ll know where to focus tomorrow,” Payton suggested.
“Eeeeexactly,” I agreed.
ABJ led us across the marble foyer, her silky robe flowing behind her like a bride’s train, into the master bedroom suite. She flung aside the heavy tapestries covering a big picture window and let in a flood of warm sun. Then, with two hands, she dramatically opened her closet, although closet was not the right word. It was bigger than my pink bedroom.
Payton’s mouth dropped open. “Two words: fashion awesomeness.” She ran to the perimeter, extended her hand, and walked around letting her fingers touch every shirt, skirt, dress, pants, and gown, many of which were covered in plastic wrap, like it had come right from the dry cleaners, while others were in sturdy zippered bags.
I sat at a table in the middle of the closet. It was covered with little gold boxes filled with make up—lipstick, eye shadow, blushes, powders, pencils, and brushes of every shape and size. On a glass tray sat perfumes—bottles from the store, and crystal bottles with squeeze-y things to spritz. There was a neat row of hairspray, mousse, gel, and hair glitter. On each side of the table—front, left, and right—stood lighted mirrors illuminating every imperfection of my face and hair from every possible angle. I like my regular mirror from home better.
ABJ came in the closet, and closed the doors behind her. On the backs of the doors were more mirrors.
Payton gasped. “Oh no. Oh no. This isn’t happening.”
“What? Don’t even tell me it’s another ghost,” I joked.
“The ghost was pretend. Remember? But this is real.” She stared at a square column about six feet tall. It spun with just the slightest touch. On all four sides were cubbies. Tidily tucked away in each were shoes! “Tell me I’m awake, not daydreaming, not imagining this.”
“If you’re dreaming, then I am too.”
She picked up a sequined stiletto heel with ribbon straps and held it to her nose. “It doesn’t smell pretend.” She looked inside the shoe and teared up. “It’s Choo.”
Lost in Hollywood Page 7
