“Wow. Thanks. TV. Oh wow.”
“Yeah. But we do need to get some footage of me looking through that box. For the show.”
“Oh sure! Go right ahead!”
Freedom LaToya takes us to the stockroom. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”
“You do that. Thanks.”
We cut through the tape, open the box, and pull the bubble wrap from all ten snow globes. Not one of them is Dulcie.
“Let’s go,” I say, running for the car.
“Dude, that was awesome,” Gonzo says, fastening his seat belt. “How did you think of something as stupid as a reality show about restaurant hostessing?”
I gun the engine. “You don’t want to know.”
* * *
It takes us about ten minutes of driving like a bat out of hell before we have the truck in our sights again. We follow it to each drop-off—gas stations, restaurants, gift shops, churches—until it’s late afternoon and the Caddy Rocinante starts kicking up that hot oil smell again. Shit. Hold together, pal. I might as well be talking to myself. The twitches are back, and I really don’t know how much longer I can safely drive with my arms ready to break-dance. Green and white signs pass overhead, telling us where we are, where we’re headed.
ORLANDO. INTERSTATE 4. NORTH EXIT 62. OSCEOLA PKWY.
The green dreads of the palm trees dance in the breeze. Gleaming hotels play peekaboo with the crisscross of highways. Streetlights crane their necks over the roads like metal flamingos.
536 EAST. TO INTERNATIONAL DR S. LAKE BUENA VISTA. CENTRAL FLORIDA PKWY. The signs change from green-and-white to blue-and-red. MAGIC KINGDOM. WORLD DRIVE. Up ahead is a huge archway with the world’s most beloved mouse attached.
“No way,” Gonzo says as the truck makes the turnoff.
Every cell in my body is on high alert.
“Welcome to Disney World,” I say.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Of What Happens When We Hit Fantasyland
Finding a parking spot for the Caddy in the cavernous Disney World lot proves challenging. Every white-striped piece of asphalt for a mile is taken. The tops of the cars are like colored circuits on some huge motherboard. I end up parking the Caddy on a strip of grass that I’m sure will get it towed. It doesn’t matter now.
We take the parking-lot tram to the Monorail, which zips us to the front gates of America’s favorite amusement park. It takes most of the rest of our money to get our tickets. And then we’re inside, standing on Main Street. All around us, life-sized furry cartoon characters wave and dance and pose for pictures.
I stagger into Gonzo, who pushes me back up with a grunt. My forehead’s beading with cold sweat. His eyes widen. “Dude,” he says softly, nodding at my wristband.
The E-ticket’s lost all but a thin line of color below Tomorrowland. I’m almost out of health. My lungs feel like they’ve been tied up with shoelaces.
“Be okay,” I pant. “Gotta find Dulcie.”
“Where are we?”
“Main Street.”
Up ahead, Cinderella’s Castle shines like a mirage in the late-afternoon haze. An old-fashioned car putt-putts past. Visitors crowd the sidewalks and street. It all seems unreal—except for the security guards patrolling with their walkie-talkies. Gonzo nods toward the guards.
“I see them,” I say. “We need disguises.”
In one of the four zillion gift shops, we buy a giant knight’s helmet, a wizard’s cape and an Ultimate Peace Weapon for me and a droopy-eared dog hat and matching costume for Gonzo.
“I feel like a complete asshat,” Gonzo mutters through the mask.
“Better than being a snow globe,” I remind him. “Here.”
I press the remainder of our stash—four hundred dollars—into his paw.
“What’s this for?”
“Bus ticket to New York. Say hi to Drew for me. Go see the Empire State Building. I always wanted to do that.”
“You say that like you’re not coming back, dude.”
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Look, just take the money, okay?”
“Okay,” he says softly. He pats himself with his paws. “Does this thing have a f**king pocket?” Gonzo unzips the costume on the side and tucks the wad of cash into his jeans.
The two of us hoof it down Main Street, keeping a lookout for anybody pushing a dolly of snow globes. In each gift shop, we stop to check their inventory, with no luck. It’s a nice day, and the park is crammed with people. Families on vacation. Honeymoon couples wearing mouse-ear top hats and veils. Grandmas and grandpas indulging their grandkids with souvenirs.
