Call the Shots (20 page)

I start to waddle like mad toward the van. The sliding back door flies open, the dark cabin ready to take me in and whisk me to indoor plumbing.

And then, all of a sudden, three humongous hairy things spill out of the van all at once and begin stampeding toward me. It’s like something out of a nightmare. And I wonder, did I hit my head on the sidewalk? Am I in a coma? Am I dreaming this? Or did the mascot thugs go costume up and hijack Uncle Doug’s van so they could come back and attack me again?

The beasts growl and howl as they charge. My heart thuds in my chest as I shamble backward as fast as my leg-constricting carpet suit will let me.

That’s when I catch sight of the video-camera lens furtively poking out from the van’s open back door.

And suddenly it all makes sense.

These are our humanzees and I am meant to be one of their unwitting victims. I barely have time to wonder how we’re going to work a human-size rug into our script before the first creature is upon me. I get a glimpse of the fangs and the blood dripping from the corners of the flying vampanzee’s mouth — a pretty realistic effect, I must say — just as I turn to run. But it’s too late. The monster slams into me, ramming my lower back like I’m a football-tackling dummy. The creature’s hairy arms squeeze my midsection and I lose my balance once again.

We both hit the ground hard and the wind — together with a sizable gush of pee — is knocked right out of me. An odd mix of pain, relief, and humiliation swirls through my body as the wet warmth spreads over my thighs. I bear down, attempting to close off the tap, but there’s no way the flow is gonna stop before the tank’s been emptied.

I’m lying there on my stomach, clinging to the desperate hope that my carpet costume will soak up the embarrassing leak like a sponge, when I suddenly realize that me and the monkey-man have begun to slide down the snow-slicked slope.

And fast.

He is kneeling on top of me, riding me like a toboggan. I hear howls of laughter coming from the hilltop and console myself with the fact that at least the zombie-monkey costumes look pretty dope.

We finally come to a thumping halt against a mound of snow that’s been cleared from the lumberyard parking lot.

“Are you okay, there, buddy?” the monkey-man asks as he climbs off of me. His voice is familiar but since it’s muffled through the monkey mask, I can’t exactly place it.

“Yeah.” I sit up, coughing. “I think so.”

He turns his chimp-head and looks back at the hill we just sledded down. “What the —?” He starts to laugh. “Jeez, kid, did we
actually
scare the piss out of you?”

My body tingles with horror as I brush the snow and tomato guts out of my spandex-covered eyes and see what it is that he — and everyone on top of the hill — sees: a long, wide, Berry-Beast-bright-yellow swath cut through the snow.

He busts up, grabbing his hairy stomach. “Oh, buddy. Guy. I’m sorry. That’s . . . That’s . . . Wow.” But he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He reaches around his neck and starts to pull off the mask. I cringe, wondering which of our acquaintances just rode me down a hill while I pissed my tights.

The mask comes off and Nick smiles a huge psycho smile at me, his large teeth still stained red from the blood dye. “Now you know how I’ll be coming after you if you ever break my sister’s heart.” He cracks up like this is the funniest thing in the world.

To add insult to injury, Nick has to practically drag me back up the hill, as it’s impossible for me to do any climbing in my soggy restrictive rug suit. Everyone — Coop, Matt, Valerie, Helen, Evelyn, Uncle Doug, and the other two vampanzees — gathers around us once we reach the top.

“Oh, my God,” Evelyn shrieks, squeezing through the crowd to stand beside me. “Are you okay, sweetie pie? We didn’t know you were going to slip down the hill. I wouldn’t have let them do it if I’d known. I swear.”

“It’s okay,” I lie. “I’m fine.” Just clammy, achy, and pee scented.

“That was epic!” Coop hoots. “The kind of happy accident filmmakers dream about.”

“Were you scared?” Evelyn asks.

Nick chuckles. “Oh, he was scared all right.” He looks back at the yellow path I’ve left in the snow.

“What
is
that, anyway?” Helen asks, snapping a million photos of the scene.

“Nothing,” I say, my cheeks burning up behind the spandex.

“Probably just some dye from the cheap-ass rug costume.” Coop winks at me. “Don’t sweat it. We’ll make it work for us. We can recolor it in post. Make it red so it looks like blood. Your unc wanted product placement, and, boy, we got it! Zombie-vampire-chimps attack Rug Boy! I can’t wait to see the footage. I bet it looks spectac!”

“A
NOTHER ROUND OF JALEPEÑO
poppers,” Uncle Doug calls out over the loud mariachi music from our long table at Los Muchachos. A sombrero-clad waiter hustles over with his order pad in hand. “And some more of these tasty fried Mexi-cchini sticks.” Uncle Doug pops one in his mouth. “Mmm-
mmm.
Who knew veggies could ever taste so good?”

Uncle Doug felt so bad about my traumatic time as his rug mascot that he offered to take the whole cast and crew out to lunch — me, Matt, Coop, Valerie, Helen, Evelyn, Nick, and the two other primates: Matt’s older brother, Pete, and Tony “the Gorilla” Grillo.

I couldn’t believe it when Tony took off his mask. But not even the girls’ best makeup efforts could create a lip scar that scary, or a sneer that smarmy.

“Don’t you think we have enough food?” I say, staring at the dozen plates of deep-fried appetizers spread out before us.

“What are you talking about?” Uncle Doug laughs. “We’ve got some big boys to feed.”

Which is true enough. I crane forward and glance down to see Nick, Pete, and Tony at the far end of the table. Pawing at the food and yukking it up with each other like a bunch of bodybuilder buddies after a hard workout.

I lean over to Matt and keep my voice low. “So, how’d you manage to get the three
gigantes
to dress up like monkeys for us?”

“Nick was easy,” Matt says, taking a bite of a Tex-Mex egg roll. “He’ll play as many parts in the movie as we want. As long as he also gets to play the head of the military.”

I nod. “Okay. And your brother and Tony?”

“That took a bit more negotiating. Originally they wanted fifty bucks a day. But I talked them down to twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five dollars?” I splutter. “A
day
? That’s . . .” I do some quick mental math. “Seven hundred bucks if we have to shoot with both of them for the whole two weeks!”

“We didn’t really have a choice. They’re the only guys we know who even come close to filling out the costumes. We’ll just have to pick and choose which days we need to shoot full-on chimp suits. Don’t worry about it. It’s like Coop said, a lot of stuff can be done with just the paws and mouths.”

I press my fingers into my temples as a six-Berry-Beast headache thrums its way through my skull. All right, so, that’s fifty bucks for Tony and Pete today. And another hundred for the monkey costumes and makeup the girls bought. Plus the fifty Cathy stole. That still leaves us with three hundred of the original five. With another five hundred to come. I guess we’re still okay. As long as nothing else unexpected comes along.

“Hey, could you move over a little?” Matt asks, scrunching up his nose. “No offense or anything, but you still kinda smell like piss.”

“Sorry.” I scoot my chair toward the corner of the table. We made a pit stop at Uncle Doug’s store so I could wash up in his bathroom sink and change back into my street clothes, but until I take a long hot shower, I won’t be completely pee-free.

I’m hoping that this lunch ends soon so I can get home and really scrub down before I have to head over to Nessa’s.

But lunch does
not
end soon. And as it stretches into its second hour — the three muscleheads having started a full-out eating contest, with Uncle Doug taking bets from the other customers in the restaurant — I start to worry I’ll miss my meeting with Nessa entirely.

I glance at my cell phone. Four fifteen. Okay, so, showering is out of the question. But I can still make it to Nessa’s — maybe just a little late — if I can get back to Uncle Doug’s shop, grab my bike, and go straight to her house. Hopefully the ride over will sufficiently air me out.

I look over to see Evelyn pounding the table and cheering her brother on as Nick tilts his head back and swallows an entire burrito like a python gulleting a rabbit.

Here’s my chance. While everyone is preoccupied.

I tap Matt on the shoulder. He turns around, looking slightly annoyed that I’ve interrupted his viewing of the freak show.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I have to get out of here. Can you cover for me?”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t feel well,” I say, which isn’t a complete lie. I do feel a little nauseous after eating all that grease. “I just want to slip out without making a big deal out of it. Otherwise Evelyn might want to come with and I really don’t want that right now. Just tell everyone I went home to get some rest and that I didn’t want to ruin their good time.”

Matt keeps glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep track of who’s eating what. “Okay, fine, sure, whatever,” he says, then turns back to watch the festivities.

I crouch down and skulk out of the restaurant. With all the whoops and hollering, no one notices, which is just how I want it. I’ll send Evelyn a text in a little while saying I’m going to take a nap and I’ll see her tomorrow. That way she won’t decide to swing by my house to see if I’m okay.

A little less than an hour later, I hop the curb and ride up Nessa’s driveway. I’ve only been here once before, three years ago. Nessa’s mom had passed away and there was a get-together where they served crustless tuna-salad sandwiches with relish, a shrimp plate with way-too-hot cocktail sauce, a soggy lasagna, and three different brands of cola.

Mrs. Caldwell was the first parent I ever knew who had died, and I spent most of my time in the kitchen, trying to stay out of the way. Vacillating between being grateful that it wasn’t my mom who was dead and feeling really guilty for being so grateful.

I ride my bike around to the back of the house. Nessa gave me explicit instructions not to leave my bicycle in front and to be careful not to be seen by anyone who might narc us out. I lay my bike against the tree with the tire swing and walk across the frozen lawn, lugging my backpack up to the patio. The sliding glass door is cold on the knuckles as I give a light knock. A minute later, Nessa appears, all pale skinned and violet lipped — dressed in tight black jeans, a spiked choker, and a low-cut black shirt with a blue-jeweled cross dangling hypnotically just above her cleavage.

She looks pretty hot, I have to admit, but all I keep thinking about is what Leyna would look like in this very same outfit. It’d take her
Final Fantasy
persona to a whole new level.

“Hey there, stranger,” Nessa says, sliding the door open.

I smile awkwardly. “Hey.”

“No one saw you, right?” She cranes her neck, searching behind me for potential spies.

“Not that I could see.”

“Good.” She steps aside. “Come on in.”

She leads me through the dining room, where nearly all of the surfaces — the table, the sideboard, the chairs — are stacked several feet high with overflowing orange file folders, old newspapers, and unopened mail.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Nessa says. “My dad’s an accountant.” As if this explains everything. “Come on. We’ll work in my room. It’s the neatest place in the house.”

We make our way up the green-carpeted stairs, hang a left, and head down a short hallway. We stop at an ornate blood-red wooden door. Carvings of vines, tree branches, and leaves decorate the six inset panels. This is not a door to a bedroom. More like an entryway to some enchanted castle.

“Sweet,” I say.

“My dad found it by the curb with someone’s garbage. They were just throwing it out. Can you believe that? We had to sand it, and cut it down, and paint it. But it was worth it.”

“For sure,” I say. “That’s the coolest bedroom door I’ve ever seen.”

Nessa smiles. “I think my dad secretly likes the fact that I’m into dark and weird shit. It gives him an excuse to hunt for cool stuff at antique shops and garage sales and flea markets. He’s always coming home with some new thing he thinks I’ll like.”

“That’s nice. You know, that he’s supportive and all.”

“Yeah. He’s pretty cool. When he’s not totally embarrassing me.” Nessa grasps the brass knob, then turns back. “All right, so. This is my inner sanctum. I don’t let just anyone in here. You are being afforded an honor, and I expect you to show courtesy and decorum. But most of all, I expect you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Of course.”

“If I find out you’ve breathed a word about my room to anyone — and that includes your drooling, emotionally stunted friends — not only will I no longer help you with your script, but I will happily place the world’s worst acne curse on you, which will make your face break out so badly that even your mother won’t be able to recognize you. Are we clear on this?”