Golden Girl (3 page)

“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 around 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.…

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.

But what really had the goose bumps running up my arms was that Jack had probably come and gone hours ago. I held my breath and strained my ears, praying for an angry, whispery voice calling my name. But there was nothing. Not even any footsteps. I was used to country quiet, the kind that’s filled with buzzing insects and singing crickets. This quiet didn’t even have that much to keep it company. There was just me and that thin, dry wind coming down from the hills.

I peered around the tomb. If this had been a movie instead of just a studio back lot, an owl would have hooted somewhere. The long, twisty lake was a wavering mirror, spreading ripples of lamplight and reflecting the arch of the Waterloo Bridge. The farmhouse on the other side was just a squared-off blob in the dark. Then I saw a gangly bit of shadow peel off its side and slide around toward the front. Even at this distance, I knew it was Jack.

I was so glad, I had to bite my tongue to keep from shouting. Instead, I crouched down and crept forward as quickly as I could. I ducked from tombstone to tombstone and up onto the bridge, where I could slip through the shadows cast by the fake-stone railings. Jack hadn’t seen me yet. He was easing his way toward the farmhouse door.

I was about to whistle to him, but my throat closed around my breath. My stomach twisted and the hairs on the back of my neck all stood up to stare. The fairy magic in my blood and bones was telling me we weren’t alone anymore.
Something new was close by. It was alive, and it was magic, and it was very, very hungry.

I jumped to my feet, teetered over that bridge, and didn’t stop until I plowed straight into Jack for the second time that day. He yelped and spun, swinging his fist out, so I had to jump back.

“Holy cats!” Another time the look on his face would have been funny. “You scared me! Where’ve you
been
?”

I grabbed his wrist. “We gotta get outta here!”

Before I could get any further, voices drifted down the street.

“… but why, Miss Markham?” whined a tired girl.

“I told you. There are some people you have to meet,” a woman answered. Her voice was bright and stiff, like when you’re trying too hard to convince someone you’re happy. “Now, let me fix your collar—there’s a good girl.”

“But I need my sleep!” Footsteps scraped and pattered down the dirt road, coming closer. “I’ll get bags under my eyes.”

Jack and I dove into that farmhouse so fast, I swear we left a cloud of dust behind. Somebody had been using it for a storage shed, and we hunkered down alongside toolboxes, stacks of boards, and kegs of nails.

“Now, Ivy,” the woman was saying, “you promised me you wouldn’t argue. These are
very
important people.”

I jerked my chin toward the back window. If we could climb out through that, we still had a chance of getting away
without being seen. But Jack had already eased the door open and pressed one eye against the crack. I rolled my eyes, then came up behind so I could look over his shoulder.

A woman in a dark suit was dragging a girl who could have been about my age down the studio road. They passed under a lamppost, and the girl glanced back over her shoulder, like she hoped to see somebody coming after them. When I got a look at her face, I blinked, and blinked again.

I knew that girl. Heck, everybody in the country knew that girl. She was Ivy Bright, “the brightest little star in Hollywood,” as it said on all her posters. Not that she looked like her posters just then. Her famous long golden curls needed a good brushing, and her tam-o’-shanter with its big pompom on top had slipped too far to one side. She struggled to shove the hat back into place while Miss Markham pulled her stumbling to the foot of the Waterloo Bridge.

“I’ve brought her,” panted Miss Markham to the empty dark. “Just like I promised.”

I got the feeling of something live squirming just out of sight. Jack gripped my hand, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring out at the bridge.

An eyeblink ago, the Waterloo Bridge had been empty. Now a woman walked on it, as though she’d just strolled up from the other side, except she hadn’t. She’d come straight out of nowhere and darkness. She was dressed in darkness too, but on her it sparkled. A glittering silver veil covered her hair and pale face.

This was bad. This was fairy magic. It was what we’d come to find, but not like this.

“Yes. You’ve kept your part of the bargain, Ruth.” The sparkling black-and-silver woman stepped off the bridge. “Hello, Ivy.”