She says, “I will not disappoint.”
After that Gianni and Olive sip their tea and do a lot of head bobbing. I don’t even pretend I’m interested in the refreshments, and my cup stays in the saucer.
I’m trying to figure out what this all means.
No one is talking, so I decide to ask a question. I say, “Mrs. Chang—when’s your birthday?”
Mrs. Chang tilts her head like Ramon used to do if he thought something was up. An example of this would be if he was inside the house, but heard a squirrel on the back fence. She then answers, “August seventh.”
I say, “That’s a solid day because seven is a great number.”
I have no idea what I mean by that. I don’t think one number is better than another. They’re all trouble in my world.
Mrs. Chang is onto me, because she says, “I’m seventy-six.”
I smile and show all of my teeth.
So do Olive and Gianni.
These are smiles of surprise.
I feel like there might be a cutoff in terms of how old a person can be to get lifted up off their feet and flung around in the air, but Mrs. Chang takes a cracker and sticks a knife into the white lump with the blue and green streaks, and says, “Can I offer you some blue cheese?”
So now I know that we were served crackers.
I’m not thinking, because I say, “No, thank you. It smells like stinky feet.”
We don’t stay long after that.
Gianni says he has to get back to the stage because he’s expecting a light shipment to be delivered. By that he means lights, not a shipment that doesn’t weigh much. At least that’s what Olive whispers to me.
Gianni takes a picture with his phone of Mrs. Chang.
She looks great in the photo.
While this is happening, I roll up one of the black paper napkins with the gold stars for my scrapbook, and I stick it in my left sock when no one is looking. It’s not stealing because it had drops of tea on the edge and it’s paper and would just end up in the trash.
After that we say good-bye.
Gianni has Mrs. Chang’s number, and he says he’ll be getting back to her. We walk out together through the front yard to the curb. Gianni opens the door on the passenger side of the pickup truck for Olive.
She gets in, and I watch as she tosses her purse onto the seat and then slides over and sits on it. Olive’s purse is large and it looks like it could be her carry-on luggage if she was flying somewhere. She spreads her dress, and her purse disappears. But she’s now a lot taller. She doesn’t look like a kid.
Interesting.
Olive pats the seat next to her. “Get in, Baby.”
I think I’m too young to carry around a big canvas bag like hers (with nice leather handles), but I’m remembering it for the future.
This is why having a role model is so important. When I’m older I will also consider big hoop earrings.
Mrs. Chang watches us from her spot by the gate.
She’s still in her flying monkey costume, and she stands behind a huge bunch of red flowers. I don’t know what kind they are because names of plants disappear into a part of my brain that’s a locked closet.
Mrs. Chang lifts her arm to wave, and sunlight hits the side of her right wing and turns the feathers hot orange.
It’s a great look.
Gianni starts the engine, and we all wave again as the truck pulls away.
We drive down the block and then when we reach where the road splits to go down the hill, Gianni puts on the brakes and parks. We drove right by my house, but I didn’t say anything. Olive starts to laugh. Gianni joins her.
Since they are laughing, I figure this is the right thing to do.
Now all three of us can’t stop. I’ve heard that expression “side-splitting laughter” and now I feel like I might break in two.
Then Olive says, “What just happened back there?”
Gianni says, “It’s possible we got a new cast member.”
Olive says, through her laughter, “Who tells Shawn Barr?”
I want to be part of it all, so I shout, “Baby will do it!”
NINETEEN
At first I think I’ll be the only one to explain to our director about the new seventy-six-year-old cast member.
But they’re just teasing me. We’re going to drive together to see Shawn Barr.
This is way more exciting than going to visit Mrs. Chang! I’m basically on a field trip with two adults. But I can’t do this without permission.
We drive back to my house, so that I can tell my mom where we’re going. Mom is on the phone, talking “decorative rock” and “drought tolerant plants.” She nods after I put a piece of paper in front of her that says:
I’m going with my friends Olive and Gianni to see our director. I will update you by phone.
I truly believe I’d have gotten the same response if I wrote:
I’m going to the North Pole. I will be back by dinner.
I guess Randy could come with me, but he’s watching an old black-and-white pirate movie on TV, and I don’t want to disturb him.
Plus I want to be the only kid on this adventure.
I remember to take the napkin out of my sock, and I throw it on my bed and then run back outside.
Gianni and Olive are chatting away when I get near the truck. Gianni has on the radio, and Olive is telling some story about a skateboard, a parrot, and a lemon meringue pie. I’m sorry I missed it, because Gianni looks very entertained, and also, I’m a big fan of lemon meringue pie.
I climb into the front seat, and Olive scoots over closer to Gianni like she’s making more room. She doesn’t really have to move as far as she does. I’m guessing she must want to lean on him. She’s able to do this and keep her purse in place as a booster seat. I’m impressed with this skill but don’t say anything.
Gianni asks, “Baby, you’re good to go?”
“Yep,” I say. “My mom’s doing inventory. The end of the month is not your friend when you’re in charge of ordering stone pavers.”
Gianni likes this, because he says, “You are wise beyond your years.”
Olive then speaks in a voice like she’s talking over an intercom. “Please make sure your seat belt is securely fastened low and tight across your waist.”
She sounds like a flight attendant. I get it and say, “My seatback is forward, and my tray table is in the upright and locked position.” I took a plane last year to a family reunion at Aunt Viv and Uncle Sherman’s. It was in Salt Lake City. I was disappointed there wasn’t a Pepper Lake City nearby.
Gianni is now our pilot, and he says, “We’re all clear for takeoff!”
He then steps on the gas, but harder than normal, because we sort of rocket forward. It’s not dangerous, but I’m still glad my mom is on a work call and not standing at the front door.
A few moments later, Gianni turns up the radio really loud. I don’t know the song, but it doesn’t take much time to figure out that the chorus is a group of people shouting, “One-two-three—Look, you fool: Aren’t we cool?”
I guess they’re musicians, but they could also be gym teachers.
Somehow the song is great for us, and we all start shrieking, “One-two-three—Look, you fool: Aren’t we cool?”
I’m always amazed at how a simple song can be crazy inspiring. My parents often play an old one called “Let It Be.” I guess it calms them down.
I wonder if other things in life are like this.
Maybe the key is that Big Ideas are Little Ideas but told in Big Ways?
I would sit and think about this theory longer, but it’s not possible because we are all singing “One-two-three—Look, you fool: Aren’t we cool?” and I don’t want to clutter up my mind. This is too fun.
I catch sight of Olive in a tiny corner of
the side-view mirror, and I don’t think I’ve seen a person look so happy.
The song is over, so we turn off the radio to just keep the tune going. It wasn’t very hard to learn since there were so few words. I think we’re all getting sick of it just as Gianni parks his truck in front of a motel on Eleventh Street.
I have driven by this place maybe a million times, but I never noticed it until this second. There is a yellow wooden sign out front with gray tile letters that says BAY MOTEL.
This is interesting because there’s no water around here. We are sixty miles from the coast, and this town’s got a river and one manmade lake, but no bays. So maybe it’s a different kind of bay. Like a person’s last name? There was a woman I knew who worked in the library named Susan Bay. She was very nice. Or maybe it’s the sound a horse makes? Does a horse bay?
I’m afraid of horses because my mom said that when she was a kid her friend Dee Dee Addison got kicked in the head by an angry stallion.
I say, “The Bay Motel? This is where Shawn Barr’s staying?”
I guess they can hear the disappointment in my voice, because Gianni says, “It’s a residential motel. They put all of us here.”
The first thing I’m thinking is, Aren’t all motels residential motels? Isn’t the whole point to live there?
I don’t follow up with this question because I’m too busy looking around.
The Bay Motel is small and shaped like a lowercase n. There are only two levels, with rooms upstairs and downstairs. There’s a round swimming pool in the middle of the courtyard. The pool is green, and I don’t know if that’s on purpose or because no one has cleaned the filters or scrubbed the sides. But when I move closer, I see that there are rows of tiny emerald glass tiles everywhere. It almost glitters. This is a great look.
Kids love swimming pools. I can’t stop myself from staring too long into the water. I try to make a connection with Olive, but she’s not interested in swimming opportunities. She’s studying the motel. She says, “It’s got that cool mid-century modern thing going on.”
I think my mom and dad would know what she’s talking about. I have zero clue.
The mid-century was a long time ago, and this place might have been built back then. I nod at the cool mid-century description. But I don’t see a soda machine or pool toys. Also, there aren’t any people around.
I do hear a TV playing from somewhere and the sound of a vacuum cleaner.
There is a small office right up front, but no one inside. Next to this is a laundry room with a washer and dryer. The dryer is spinning, and there’s a big pile of clothing on a long table. It’s not folded. I see someone’s underwear in the mound of stuff, which is awkward.
In our house if you take stuff out of the dryer you have to fold it. That’s why I stay away from the machines.
I’ve only been to motels with my family, and the ones where we spent the night had long carpeted hallways and ice machines on each floor. They were big places with lots of parking and check-in counters with people at computers. The motels where we stayed had music playing in the lobby and racks with maps and brochures for things to do in the area.
Gianni walks straight across the courtyard, which is made of bricks but not the kind I’m used to. These ones aren’t red. They are mustard-colored and set on an angle. It’s an interesting look.
Gianni stops at the door of room 7 and knocks.
No one answers, so he tries again, only louder. Shawn Barr’s voice shouts, “Who is it?”
“Gianni. And I’ve got Olive and Baby with me.”
I suddenly wish he’d said Julia. It would make me more equal.
We hear Shawn Barr’s voice. “Why’d you bring them here?”
He sounds tired and not very friendly. I guess he doesn’t realize we’re right outside and can hear him.
Gianni looks at us and shrugs. He speaks again to the closed door. “Can we come in? We saw the costumer and we need to talk to you.”
Shawn Barr says something, but I can’t understand. It’s a lot of words all run together. Finally, we hear, “It’s open.”
Gianni slowly turns the knob and pushes on the door.
Shawn Barr’s room has a row of small windows, and they are round, like in a boat. Right away I think that I want a round window in my room. It just makes you look outside in a more focused way.
My eyes move from the windows to see what’s in the room, and the first things I notice are books. He’s got piles of them.
I’m glad Shawn Barr is a reader, because Grandma Mittens says that you can tell an interesting person by their covers. And she doesn’t mean blankets.
I’ve got books in my room, but I haven’t read most of them. They were gifts. So maybe I’m not a very interesting person but someone with interesting parents and a nice grandma with high hopes for my future.
Shawn Barr doesn’t even live in this town, but he’s got stacks of hardcovers and what I guess are plays, because they are a lot thinner. Along one side of the room is a skinny built-in desk with a computer. There is a small refrigerator underneath, and it’s making a purring sound. A teakettle is plugged into the wall next to a metal sink. Fancy teacups with saucers are stacked by one of those plastic honey-filled bears, which I really like. I also notice a box of half-eaten chocolates, two jars of green olives, and a big bag of pretzels.
But the most interesting thing I spot is in the corner. It’s made of perfect leather and has brass locks and an amazing handle. The luggage has a wide belt and corners that are protected by extra-fancy stitching.
I can’t stop myself from saying, “That’s the best suitcase I’ve ever seen.”
Shawn Barr is lying on the bed, but not flat. He moves his hip to get a look behind Olive and Gianni. He says, “It’s a Swaine Adeney Brigg Luxury Trunk.”
“Oh.”
“From England.”
I nod. I’ll never remember the three words. But I’ll never forget the leather trunk.
I step into the room, and I see that Shawn Barr is propped up on pillows. He has on reading glasses and is wearing peach sweatpants and a white shirt. But his shirt is unbuttoned, and it’s the first time I realize he has a little belly. It’s tanned, so maybe he spends time sitting outside by the swimming pool in a lounge chair. His chest hair looks like a triangle of curly white wires.
He says, “I’m guessing we have a problem. You’ve come as a delegation. That means trouble.”
Gianni looks at Olive and me, and then says, “We met with the costumer. She’s insanely talented. And she’ll absolutely make all of the flying monkey outfits we need.”
Shawn Barr perks up. He looks over his reading glasses. “You don’t say?”
This is a weird expression, because Gianni did just say.
I wait.
Gianni continues, “There’s more good news. She doesn’t seem interested in any kind of big fee.”
Shawn Barr’s really paying attention now. He pulls himself up higher on the pillows, but then he must have a new thought, because he says, “You wouldn’t all be here with the long faces if we didn’t have an issue.”
It’s like when he said to us in rehearsals: “Our bodies are filled with emotion even without words.”
Olive steps closer. “She wants to be in the play.”
Shawn Barr looks from Gianni to Olive. “Who?”
Gianni answers, “Mrs. Chang.”
Olive says, “She’s the costume maker.”
I add, “And my neighbor.”
Shawn Barr takes a moment and then answers, “The costumer wants to play a part? Please tell me that she hasn’t set her sights on Dorothy. We have Gillian Moffat booked for that.”
I pipe up, “No. Not Dorothy. Mrs. Chang doesn’t even need to say lines.”
Shawn Barr smiles. His eyes sort of twinkle. He says, “Done! We’ve got room
in the Emerald City for all kinds of background players. She’s in the chorus. No questions asked.”
Gianni says, “That won’t work.”
Olive adds, “She wants to be a flying monkey.”
Shawn Barr’s forehead creases as his smile disappears. It doesn’t take long for him to say, “Okay, Gianni, you’re the expert. Can she do wire work? What’s the hitch? Does she weigh too much for the harness?”
Gianni shakes his head. “Her weight’s not a problem.”
Shawn Barr is getting mad at us. His voice is louder. “So what exactly is the problem?”
I shout from the doorway, “She’s seventy-six years old! She’s older than dirt!”
Gianni and Olive and Shawn Barr are now all staring at me.
I add, “But she’s in really good shape and very, very nice.”
Shawn Barr’s reading glasses come off. He’s in the room now in a new way. He’s part of what’s going on. He says, “I’m seventy-seven years old!”
I’m surprised at his age. I knew he was old, but I didn’t know how old.
I guess once you reach a certain number of years, you’re just old and the exact number doesn’t make much difference.
Shawn Barr is quiet. He has a lot to think about since he’s the same age as a woman who wants a part in our play. His face is redder than I remember a few seconds ago, and he says, “She’s not right for a flying monkey.”
Olive says, “You haven’t even met her.”
Shawn Barr stares right at Olive. “I don’t need to meet her.”
This statement makes Olive come alive. It’s not like she was sleeping before. “Discrimination is wrong. I face it every day. I deal with heightism.”
Is that a word? I can figure out what it means, but I’ve never heard someone say it.
Shawn Barr puts up his hand to silence her. “This isn’t about discrimination.”
Olive takes a deep breath and continues. “Let me say my peace.”
This is another expression that people use that I don’t think I understand. When someone wants to “say my peace,” it’s usually with fighting words. Suddenly I wonder if what she said is actually “say my piece.” This might make more sense. Especially for an actor. They want to say their piece of the play. They don’t want to be cut off.
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