Just One Wish (8 page)

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 really 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.

I ought to get away from the studio as fast as I could. I walked to the nearest box and opened it. It contained silk flower arrangements of pale pink roses. Well, not anymore. Now it contained silk flower arrangements and one large python. I shut the flaps of the lid, then looked for something to put over the box so Herman couldn’t escape. Later I’d make an anonymous phone call from a pay phone somewhere in Burbank telling the receptionist to rescue him. I laid a pair of boots across the top of the box. He shouldn’t be able to push that off, should he? How strong were Burmese pythons?

Instead of letting myself ponder snake skills, I took my cell phone and Jeremy’s picture out of my pocket, then undressed and shoved my clothes into a corner. I took a long, velvety green dress from the rack and pulled it over my head. Security would be looking for a girl in a baseball cap, not a wandering extra. I’d be able to make it back to Madison and tell her we needed to leave. The dress didn’t have pockets, so I put Jeremy’s picture and the cell phone under my sash and tied it tight to keep them from falling out. I grabbed a circular cloth headband with a long cream train attached which fit over my head like a low-lying halo. I’d seen some other girls wearing them, so I would too.

I opened the door and peeked out to see if the coast was clear. The first thing I saw was the back of Robin Hood walking toward the studio building.

Chapter
7