Molly Moon Stops the World (12 page)

He ushered Molly, Petula, and Rocky through the metal detector. Then Molly gave the “invitation” to Rocky, who folded it and put it in his pocket. They were in.

Hollywood Boulevard lay ahead of them, flanked by tall palm trees and completely covered with red carpet. The road looked like a calm, flat, red lake. And on it stood hundreds of people, mostly stars Molly recognized, who looked like gods walking on water. They
were all dressed impeccably in the most spectacular, most expensive evening clothes that money can buy. The men wore mostly black silk or velvet or fine-weave suits; the women were in gorgeous gowns from the world’s most exclusive designers. Some were in flimsy, short dresses, but a lot were in long ones. And because Molly couldn’t see their feet, they looked as if they were gliding, like multicolored swans, on the red lake. Behind brass barriers were tiered platforms or bleachers on which stood hundreds of lucky people who had won standing-room tickets to watch the glitterati of the film world arrive.

“Oh no,” said Molly. “Look at the cameras.”

Arching over the boulevard was a bridge. On this stood banks of photographers. Stars waved up at them and smiled professionally. Alongside the carpet stood TV cameras and interviewers holding microphones. The stars posed and smiled, knowing that the whole world was watching. Enormous lenses pointed left and right, and even though it was still broad daylight, the air prickled nonstop with electronic flashes.

“Hey,” said Rocky happily. “So this is what it feels like to be a star.”

Molly had experienced the world of stardom for a few brief weeks in New York, but she felt very out of practice and much more unsure of herself than Rocky.
The feeling that gnawed at her most was the fear that someone would put a hand on her shoulder and shout, “Hey, you aren’t supposed to be here. You can stop right now, turn around, and get out!”

“Rocky, do you think anyone will realize we’re not supposed to be here?”

“Only if you talk like that,” said Rocky, smiling at a camera. “There’ll be lip-readers watching this on TV.”

Miles away in Oklahoma, a deaf boy called Ben was watching the Oscars on TV. He always enjoyed reading the lips of people on television. Being able to lip-read was one of the good parts about being deaf. Television was much more interesting. For instance, he knew the president and his wife very well because he lip-read what they said to each other when they were away from the microphones. Tonight, as he watched a film director being interviewed, he noticed a couple of kids standing close behind. He saw them speak.

“Just enjoy this, Molly. No one knows you weren’t invited. I’ve already persuaded myself that I was,” said the good-looking black boy who, Ben thought, did look like a young star.

Beside him, the girl in the green dress with the messy hair said, “You’re right. This is too good to worry about. But let’s get into the theater as soon as we can.”

“Go for it,” thought Ben, wishing he could be with the kids on TV too.

Cameras flashed constantly. White, bright light bounced off pearly sets of teeth that smiled superperfect Hollywood smiles. It sparkled on diamond necklaces, platinum bracelets, and gold cufflinks.

Petula’s new collar shone, and so did Petula. She loved all the energy and excitement in the air.

Molly glanced around at the famous faces. Right away she saw five or six of the celebrities whose names were on her list—Primo Cell’s victims.

There was Stephanie Goulash, in a dark-blue seethrough dress, her piled-up hair red as flames. A few steps away, Cosmo Ace, in a silver suit, was talking to a TV journalist. Molly could see Hercules Stone, dressed in a white tuxedo, stepping though the throng with a beautiful Chinese woman on his arm.

Then she saw something that made her insides jump. A few feet away from her, a short woman in a dark suit was studying Molly. Her microphone had a large shield on it that read THE NEW YORK REPORTER. Molly recognized her as the arts correspondent of New York’s biggest newspaper. She had interviewed Molly when she performed in
Stars on Mars.
Molly pulled Rocky away, but it was too late.

“Hey, excuse me, Molly! Molly Moon!” the journalist cried excitedly. The heads of nearby cameramen swiveled in Molly’s direction.

“Molly, what a lovely surprise to see you here! And Petula, too! People have been wondering when you’d be back.”

M
olly’s past had caught up with her, and there was no escape.

“So have you and Petula recovered from her kidnaping?” the woman questioned.

“Er, yes, thank you,” said Molly, trying to avoid a large lens that had zoomed in on her. Petula looked up at it and barked happily.

“And is your appearance here a sign that you’ll be coming back to the stage, or maybe to the screen instead?”

Molly tried not to look flustered. “Er, no,” she said. “I’m just here to spend some time with a friend. Thank you—I have to go.”

“This is the friend who made the commercial with
you? The one about checking out the kids in your neighborhood?” pushed the journalist.

“Yes, I am,” said Rocky. “Nice to meet you.” Rocky smiled at the camera and would have happily given an interview, but Molly stepped on his toe and gave him a “don’t you
dare”
look.

As Molly tugged Rocky away, she heard the journalist say, “As usual, Molly Moon is as mysterious as ever. But it’s great to see her back. Perhaps a film career is in the cards.”

Molly led Rocky deep into the crowd.

“Uuurgh,” she said, “that was scary. These newspaper people have really good memories.” Then she noticed that Petula hadn’t kept up with them.

“Oh, no, Petula’s got stuck back there,” Molly said, looking worriedly over her shoulder. “I hope she’s all right.”

Molly needn’t have worried. Petula was having the time of her life. She’d loved the limelight when she was in New York. It felt good to be bathing in it again. She turned her face this way and that for the cameras. She stood on her hind legs and begged. She hopped around in circles. The photographers loved her. Then she gave a foxy bark and trotted off to find Molly. On the way, she passed a tall, velvet-clad man with a deep tan and
black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Petula paused—he smelled like someone she’d met before, who’d been behind the camera at some TV studios in New York.

Although Petula didn’t know it, the man who smiled down at her was in fact a top Hollywood director. He was an Italian called Gino Pucci. His latest movie,
Blood of a Stranger,
was nominated for Best Picture tonight. Petula liked his smell. She stood up and put her paws on his leg, and as he bent down to talk to her, she shot him one of her most charming expressions. It was a devastating look. Gino was too stunned to say anything. Petula barked seductively and then trotted off.

Molly and Rocky were now standing near a heavy stone arch—the entrance to the Kodak building. A giant golden Oscar statue, almost as high as the arch itself, stood like an ancient idol, as if the Kodak Theatre was a temple to worship stars in.

“Wow,” said Rocky, laughing quietly. “There are so many actors here that I feel like I’m
in
a film!”

Molly was struck by how many of the actors were smaller than she’d imagined. Watching them on big movie screens had made her think they were superhuman size. In fact, a lot of them were short. Up close, the stars were all so human. There was one scratching his nose, another one itching her ear. Molly was
surprised by the ordinariness of them all.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” said Molly. “We know all their faces so well, but they don’t know ours at all. At least I hope they don’t.”

For a few minutes, Molly and Rocky absorbed the scene, knowing that it was something they’d remember all their lives.

“Okay,” said Molly, “enough of this starstruck stuff. Let’s get inside.”

Petula had caught up, and the three of them hurried ahead.

Inside the covered forecourt of the Kodak, it was cooler and quieter. Cameras weren’t allowed in here, and it was less crowded. The wide passage before them, which was normally a shopping promenade, was decorated with flowers, and its walls were hung with piped red curtains. A grand, red-carpeted staircase, like an enormous red tongue, led to the theater entrance.

Groups of celebrities were standing about greeting each other and star-spotting other celebrities.

A sudden hush fell as none other than Gloria Heelheart came through the door. She was accompanied by a distinguished-looking old man. The waiting crowd tensed with admiration. Gloria Heelheart was such a huge star that everyone watching felt they
were tiny sparks compared to her.

Tonight she was dressed in what looked like a golden coil. It was shiny silk sewn into long spaghetti-thin tubes that had been coiled and stitched together into a shimmering dress that clung to every inch of her famous body. Her swanlike neck was strangled in a real golden coil, so it looked like an expensive spring joined her head to her shoulders. The same coils were on her upper arms. Her oriental eyes were as beautiful and mysterious as ever. A few people greeted her with polite good-evenings while others looked on in silent respect, wishing that they knew her too. Gloria Heelheart smiled her glorious smile and stepped past, raising her bejeweled fingers in a gracious wave.

Molly, staring at the spectacular golden curves stalking majestically across the foyer, thought how incredible it was that the Queen of Hollywood could ever have been caught in Primo Cell’s net. She seemed so dignified, but really she was as helpless as a slave.

“This is the perfect place,” said Molly.

“But how are we going to nail them?” whispered Rocky. “We can’t just walk up and hypnotize them in front of everyone. Besides, Cell is bound to be here somewhere.”

Molly looked around nervously. This was an extremely disturbing thought—one that she had not dwelled on before. The idea that Primo Cell was there felt as scary as seeing a tiger on the loose.

“We have to find somewhere quiet.” Then her eyes brightened.

“I know where.”

“
B
ut Molly, I can’t just loiter in the gents’,” Rocky complained. “There aren’t many cubicles, you know. Everything happens right there in front of you, if you see what I mean. Can’t I come with you and Petula?”

“Shh, Rocky, of course you can’t. Look, this idea is good. The toilets are probably nice and quiet. You can at least have a go at dehypnotizing some male stars. I’ll cover the ladies’ room.”

“But I’m not as good as you. I need to talk for quite a while for my voice to have an effect.”

“Rocky, have a go. Please. You’re really charming. You can ask them lots of long questions about themselves.”

Reluctantly, Rocky set off for the men’s room on the
other side of the foyer. Molly and Petula went into the ladies’ powder room.

It was very brightly lit. A white-tiled, circular chamber with basins and mirrors led to a long, thin corridor lined with silver cubicles that housed the toilets. A few women were touching up their makeup. They didn’t notice Molly, who sat herself on a stool by the door, or Petula, who perched politely under the dressing-table ledge.

Molly knew that sooner or later, some of the stars on her list would come into the room. And when they did, she would be ready for them.

The bathroom attendant came out of a cubicle where she had been arranging the roll of toilet paper so that its loose end was folded into a neat triangle. She was dressed in a starched stripy uniform with a small white apron, and her fair hair was carefully coiffured in tight curls. She was a big woman who could eat two tubs of ice cream in one sitting, but tonight she was too tense and excited to eat anything. This was the greatest night of her forty-year career as a Los Angeles bathroom attendant. She was enormously proud to be wiping toilet seats after famous bottoms had sat on them. Whenever a guest came out of a cubicle, she shot in after them to clean and polish.

She was so obviously enjoying her work that Molly
felt it was a shame to stop her. But the hypnotizing had to be done, and Molly got to work.

She was soon in command of the attendant.

“You won’t notice me hypnotizing people,” Molly whispered. “You will simply ignore me and get on with your work. After I’ve gone, you’ll forget I was here.”

The cleaner nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Brenda—Cartwright,” said the woman slowly.

“Well, Brenda, after tonight you will feel that you did the best job you possibly could and everyone loved you. Don’t be nervous. Enjoy it.”

Brenda nodded, smiled dreamily, and floated off, humming a song from the musical
Hello, Dolly!

To Molly’s surprise and delight, the next person to come into the powder room was Suky Champagne. Now she could get down to business.

Miss Champagne was dressed in an extraordinary mermaid outfit. It was green and silver with velvety sea flowers dangling from it. It had small teardrop shapes of net all over it, a halter neck, a very low front, and a circular gap at stomach level revealing Suky’s emeraldstudded belly button. The skirt of the dress narrowed so tightly at the knees that her legs could take only tiny steps, then it flowed into a train, making it look as if she was dragging a swathe of seaweed behind her.

She leaned toward a mirror and took a lipstick from her evening bag. She gave herself her special look—as if the breeze from a breaking wave had just caught her by surprise and made her take a sharp intake of breath. Satisfied with her beauty, she touched her curtain of hair. That was when she saw Molly’s reflected green eyes looking at her.

In a few seconds, Suky Champagne’s mouth was hanging open and her lipstick had dropped into the basin.

“Now,” said Molly, talking as quickly as possible. “You are under my power. Completely, utterly, all of that.”

The powder-room door swung open again. Molly sucked in a breath and sank back as Gloria Heelheart swayed past her, moving rather like an eel in her golden coils. Seeing Suky Champagne, but not pausing to look at her, Gloria Heelheart headed for her own mirror.