I almost said, “Excuse me, but there’s been a mistake. I don’t know how it happened, but you’ve got a snail problem in your kitchen.”
However, both Terry and the waiter just smiled at me. Then the waiter said, “Bon appétit,” and left.
Let me tell you, swallowing those snails was not easy. I felt like I was swallowing garlic-coated rubber. And I kept thinking of that song that goes, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms.” There’s more to the song, but as soon as I thought of the worms coming up, my snails almost came up. I coughed. Then I drank a lot of water.
“Are you okay?” asked Terry.
“Oh, fine,” I said, still choking.
I tried to think of some subject that would interest him. I didn’t tell him about my art or the BSC or Mimi. But I remembered the name of an adult book Janine had read recently and asked him if he’d read it. He hadn’t.
By the end of the meal, I was pretty sure I’d made a complete fool of myself. I was also pretty sure I wouldn’t see nor hear from Terry again.
I cried in the car on the way home, but Terry didn’t notice.
I liked hearing from my sister. I especially liked her poem.
I’m sure she will be a poetess when she grows up.
But I have to admit that I was more excited about the fact that it was Saturday. Mr. Schafer was officially on vacation — and we were going to Universal Studios! The day was all planned. Jeff was coming with us, but Carol was not. (Dawn couldn’t have been happier.) However, we were borrowing Carol’s friend’s van again. We had to. Twelve people were making the trip to Hollywood: the seven members of the BSC, Jeff, Mr. Schafer, Erick, Ryan, and Stephie. (I think Carol didn’t go because she couldn’t fit. Or maybe she was just sick of all us kids.)
Thanks to Mary Anne, I’d read up on Universal Studios the day before, and guess what I’d found out. The tour guides pick people from the audience to demonstrate special effects and things. Okay. So now I looked really great, like a real California girl, and here was my chance to get chosen to stand up in front of a lot of people and show them exactly how good I looked.
On Friday night I re-dyed my hair. The woman at the beauty counter had said it was wash-out dye, and I’d washed my hair several times since I’d dyed it. It didn’t look much less blonde to me than before, but I wanted to be on the safe side at Universal Studios.
Then, on Saturday morning, I woke up extra early. I spent a whole hour putting on my makeup. In fact, I stayed in the bathroom so long I was forced to stop putting on makeup when Jessi pounded on the door and said, “What are you doing in there?”
“Putting on my makeup,” I replied. I closed one eye and gooped eyeliner along it. It looked sort of thick, but I guessed that was okay.
“Well, finish up. Everyone else needs to get in the bathroom, too. And some of us need to get in there badly.”
“Okay. Just let me do this other eye.”
“Mallory!”
“They have to match!” I cried.
Unfortunately, it took awhile to make the two eyes match. By the time I got out of the bathroom, no one looked very pleased with me. And certainly, no one said I looked nice or anything. Oh, well. They’d change their minds when I was selected for a special demonstration.
After breakfast, we piled into the van. We stopped at Stephie’s house first, and picked her up.
“Do you have your inhalator?” Mary Anne asked her nervously. “And your pills?”
“Yes,” replied Stephie. She sounded shy and sat as close to Mary Anne as possible without actually climbing in her lap.
Then we picked up Erick and Ryan. Boy, were they different from Stephie! They jumped into the van, both wearing jams and sunglasses, and immediately announced who they were.
“Hi! I’m Erick, and I’m eight!”
“I’m Ryan, and I’m six!”
“I,” said Kristy, “am your baby-sitter. My name is Kristy Thomas, and I’m thirteen. Okay. Buckle up next to me, and we’ll be ready to go.”
“I can’t buckle up,” said Ryan. “My sword’s in the way.”
“What sword?” asked Kristy. (Ryan was empty-handed.)
“My super-power sword. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!”
Do you get the picture? That’s pretty much the way the ride to Hollywood went. Erick and Ryan (who had to be separated, Kristy sitting between them) made sound effects and played loud imaginary games during the entire trip. Stephie snuggled up to Mary Anne — and cried once when Erick said he was going to zap her.
We were all starting to wonder if today’s outing was such a good idea, especially when Mr. Schafer began scowling at us in the rearview mirror. And I, for one, was not happy sitting squished between Jessi and Stacey. My hair was getting smushed. Plus, I was sweating. I hoped my makeup wasn’t running.
Anyway, we finally saw a huge sign that said Universal Studios on it.
“There it is! There it is!” shrieked Erick.
Jeff rolled his eyes.
We saw a few more signs and followed them up a hill and into a HUGE parking lot. An attendant showed us where to park the van, and then we all tumbled out.
“Is my hair okay?” I asked Jessi.
“It’s fine,” she snapped.
Sheesh. What was wrong with her?
We began walking toward the entrance to Universal Studios.
“Is this anything like Derek’s TV studio?” Claudia asked Jessi.
“Not so far,” replied Jessi, looking awed.
Universal Studios is more like a theme park — such as Disneyland — except that TV shows and movies are actually filmed there. First we passed a big theater where about a hundred movies were playing. Jeff wanted to see one, but luckily, no one else did. So we entered the park. There was just one problem. I had spent almost all my money on makeup and hair dye. I didn’t have nearly enough to buy a ticket into the park.
“Jessi?” I whispered. (I didn’t want Mr. Schafer to know what bad shape I was in, money-wise.)
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow some money?”
Jessi made a face, but she lent me the money.
“I’ll keep track of what I borrow,” I said. “Promise. I’ll pay you back when we get to Stoneybrook.”
“You mean you’re going to need more money?” asked Jessi.
“Well, I’ve only got six dollars and twenty-eight cents left,” I replied. “And we’re going to be out here for another week.”
Jessi sighed heavily.
Anyway, we all paid for our tickets, entered the park, and saw … Woody Woodpecker! It was just like at Disneyland or Disney World, where Mickey and Minnie and Goofy and Donald walk around. To no one’s surprise, Erick and Ryan wanted their picture taken with Woody. And that was when we realized something. Not one of us had thought to bring a camera.
“Hey,” said Jeff, “I bet we can buy some disposable cameras at one of the gift shops.”
So we did just that. Mr. Schafer, Jeff, Dawn, Kristy, Claudia, Jessi, Stacey, Mary Anne, and Erick all bought cameras. They were pretty cheap and I wanted one, too, but I decided I better borrow money for only the most important things.
After picture taking with Woody Woodpecker, we got on line for the tram tour through the studios. The next tour was going to start in fifteen minutes, and we didn’t want to miss it. So we filed through the turnstiles and followed a bunch of other people along a winding pathway up a hill. We hadn’t walked far, though, when Claudia clutched my arm and whispered, “Oh, my lord!”
“What? What is it?” I asked.
“Look at that tree. Frankenstein is leaning against it.”
The Frankenstein looked real enough, but he was standing still as stone. “He’s fake,” I said. “He’s just a prop. They’re trying to amuse us while we wait for the tour to begin. See? He — Aughh!” The “fake” Frankenstein had thrust his hand out and batted my hair. But by the time I looked back at him, he was a statue again.
I noticed Mary Anne
clutching Stephie protectively, but Stephie didn’t seem at all concerned, not even when Frankenstein reached toward her. Neither did Erick nor Ryan. They were laughing hysterically.
The line continued to move, and soon attendants were seating us on trams. The trams consisted of rows of six seats. (We took up two entire rows!) Then an announcer at the front of the tram introduced himself and said that we would be going to the special-effects stage first. We would watch a movie, and then volunteers would be chosen to help demonstrate the effects. Ah. Just what I’d been waiting for. Who could resist a beautifully made-up blonde?
Apparently our tour guide could. The first two volunteers had to be a lot older than any of us BSC members, had to weigh more than most of us did, had to be a certain height, and had to be wearing shorts or pants. The only requirement I fit was the pants. The next volunteer had to have a good sense of humor and extremely short hair. The fourth volunteer had to be between the ages of five and ten. I couldn’t believe it.
“I look great,” I said to Jessi, “but I can’t be a volunteer.”
“Rotten luck,” she replied.
But she perked up when we sat down in the stage area and saw how special effects are achieved. We saw how Elliott, the little boy in E.T., flew through the air on his bicycle. (“I knew that,” said Jessi.) We saw how Fred Astaire tap-danced on the ceiling. (“Knew that, too,” said Jessi. “I learned all this stuff on the set of P.S. 162.”)
We learned how sound effects are made, how an amusement park was flattened in a movie called 1941, and how Los Angeles appeared to be flattened in Earthquake.
I was fascinated, but I would have been even more interested if Jessi hadn’t been acting like such a know-it-all. I almost told her to shut up, but I realized that I needed to borrow money from her. Besides, we’re best friends and we’d never had a fight.
I didn’t want to start one then.
Okay, so maybe Erick and Ryan are a little on the active side, but they don’t seem like the wild monsters that the girls in the We Kids Club had described. The way those girls talked, you’d have thought Erick and Ryan needed leashes. But no. They were just excited. After they realized Frankenstein was real, Erick took pictures of him. However, they did become just a teeny, tiny wild by the time we were ready to board the tram, so I put them in the center two of the six seats. Then I sat next to Erick, and Stacey sat next to Ryan. That seemed like a good arrangement. Sitting in the middle of the tram, the boys couldn’t lean over the side or stick their arms out, things the tour guide specifically told everybody not to do. They couldn’t be anything but well behaved.
However, when the tram stopped for the special-effects stage, the tour guide said, “Before we move inside, we’ll watch a short film and choose volunteers for later on. This is your last chance to use the bathroom on the tour. The bathrooms are right over there” (he pointed) “and you can easily catch up with the tour while we’re watching the film.”
Erick and Ryan immediately said (almost in one voice), “I have to go to the bathroom.” Erick added, “And we can go by ourselves. We’re allowed.”
“Okay,” I replied, thinking that I could really show up Sunny, Jill, and Maggie. I’d prove to them that the boys could be responsible. “I’ll wait right outside for you,” I told them.
I positioned myself by the entrance to the men’s room, feeling a little embarrassed. “We’ll catch up with you guys in a few minutes,” I called to my friends.
“Okay,” Mary Anne replied.
The boys ran into the bathroom and I stood outside and waited. And waited … and waited … and waited.
Finally I saw Stacey motioning to me from the entrance to the building where the movie was playing.
“What?” I yelled. “I can’t leave here.”
Stacey ran to me. “The movie’s over,” she announced. “They’re choosing the volunteers and then we’ll be going to the stage. Hurry up. What are the boys doing?”
I shook my head, and an uncomfortable thought flitted through my brain, but I didn’t have time to pay attention to it. “Get Jeff,” I said urgently. “He can go in the men’s room and see what’s happening.”
I started to peek inside myself, but before I could see a thing, I felt too embarrassed and ducked back out. Thankfully, Jeff was running toward me.
“Jeff, go inside and get Erick and Ryan. Quick!”
“Okay.” Jeff disappeared into the men’s room. A few heart-pounding moments later, he returned with the boys. They were dripping wet.
“What was going on in there?” I asked.
“These two,” said Jeff, who was holding each boy by an arm, “were squirting each other with water and throwing wet paper towels at the ceiling.”
“Three of them got stuck up there!” said Ryan proudly.
“But you don’t have time to fool around like that,” I said. “We have to keep up with the tour. Otherwise we’ll get lost.”
“Yeah,” said Jeff. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want to miss what’s about to happen right now.”
“What?” asked Erick excitedly.
“They need a volunteer to play Elliott in that scene from E.T. where he rides E.T. through the air in his bike basket.”
“Awesome!” exclaimed Erick.
“Cool!” said Ryan.
The boys and I ran to catch up with the tour and got there just in time to hear our guide say, “This volunteer needs to be between the ages of five and ten.”
A field of hands began to wave wildly, among them Erick’s, Ryan’s, and Jeff’s.
“Okay,” said our guide. “How about you?” He pointed to … Jeff!
“All right!” Jeff exclaimed, and was led off by an assistant who promised Mr. Schafer that Jeff would be returned to him after he had demonstrated the effect.
I was grinning like crazy for Jeff (who was grinning like crazy, too), until I realized something. Erick and Ryan were whining — loudly.
“No fair!” shouted Ryan.
“I wanted to be Elliott,” cried Erick.
“You guys,” I whispered, “keep it down. You’re making a scene.”
“But it wasn’t fair!” Ryan was shrieking.
People were beginning to stare at us, so as we filed into the seats of the first special-effects stage, I put an arm around each boy and covered their mouths with my hands.
Ryan tried to bite me!
“Cut … it … out … and … behave,” I said with clenched teeth.
The boys didn’t say a word (which was better than yelling), and they appeared to be bored during the entire special-effects show. Plus, they booed when Jeff got to ride Elliott’s bicycle.
However, when the special effects were over and we boarded the tram again, the rest of the tour was just one big ride. The boys were in seventh heaven, although they did their share of complaining.
“We can’t see! Why’re we stuck in the middle?” they said loudly. They leaned across Stacey and me. (I tried not to think of the warnings that had been given to me by the members of the We Kids Club.)
Even though they complained, the boys loved everything. They loved seeing the house from the old show Leave It to Beaver. They loved seeing how a building could look like it was on fire. They loved seeing the town square from the movie Back to the Future. They loved seeing the sets for current TV shows, and they loved the fact that most of the buildings were false fronts. Nothing was behind them. They just made a street look authentic for a shot of a town.
But as far as Erick and Ryan were concerned, the best parts of the tour were the ones that were like amusement park rides.
We rode over a bridge and our guide suddenly cried out, “Uh-oh, this doesn’t look safe to me…. Oh, no! I think the bridge is col—”
“It’s collapsing!” Ryan finished for him as the middle section of the bridge seemed to drop out from under us.
My heart nearly stopped beating, but Erick stood up and yelled, “Cool!”
Instantly, the guide stopped his talk and
said loudly, “Please! Sit down! The bridge is only fake, but I don’t want anyone hurt. You are to stay in your seats and keep your arms inside the tram.”
“They weren’t out,” said Erick rudely.
“Then just sit down, please.” The guide sounded annoyed, and I couldn’t blame him. I was annoyed myself.
After that, things on the tour became a little scarier. A gigantic King Kong loomed at us out of the darkness of a tunnel, baring teeth and fangs. Bruce, the shark in Jaws, reared up from what looked like a lake, also baring sharp teeth. A flash flood poured down on us. The boys screamed, took photos, and continued to jump out of their seats. I bet our tour guide wanted to throw Erick, Ryan, and probably me right off of the tram.
But at that point, something interesting happened. We entered another dark tunnel and our guide (eyeing Erick and Ryan) said, “Uh-oh. I think I feel the ground shaking. Whoa — we’re in for another earthquake. And it’s an eight point three on the Richter scale.”
“An earthquake?” whispered Ryan trembling.
“But we just had one,” added Erick in a hushed voice.
Suddenly things were happening everywhere. A fire and flood began. Debris fell from above us. We were surrounded by noise. Finally a massive train wreck occurred — and Stacey and I found ourselves with a terrified little boy in each of our laps.
“It’s only fake,” we whispered soothingly, as the doors at the end of the tunnel opened and we emerged into safety and sunlight.
From then on, the boys stayed in our laps. I told them that they had to because they couldn’t be trusted to sit on their own. What I had discovered was this: Maggie, Sunny, and Jill had been right. The boys were wild. They did need to be controlled. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who knew a lot about kids. Maybe I wasn’t the only baby-sitting expert.
Plus, I’d learned something else that day. Ryan and Erick had fears, too. However, I could allow them to hide their fears and appear to be the tough little boys they wanted to be by telling them they had to behave, and laying down a few rules. Then they looked as if they were responding to my orders, instead of acting afraid. I was letting them save face — keep their image — and control them at the same time.
California Girls! Page 7
