Sammy Keyes and the Hollywood Mummy

  The nurse pinched her lips together, then whispered, “When I get off duty, you've got to leave.”

  I wiped off my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Thanks.”

  So I sat there with my chair scooted right up to the bed, watching her by the glow of instrument lights. Her chest went up and down, up and down, and she looked so very peaceful.

  At some point I must've put my head down to rest, because the next thing I know I feel a hand on it, stroking my hair. And when I remember where I am and realize it's daylight out, I lift my head and there's my mother, smiling at me.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” she whispers.

  “Mom! You're … you're okay?”

  “Dr. Burnes says I'm going to be fine.”

  “But… When was he here? Where are your tubes and stuff ?”

  “You slept through it. Frankly, I've never known you to sleep through anything, so you must've been completely exhausted. How's your neck? You looked so uncomfortable.”

  I just blinked at her.

  “Samantha?”

  “The neck's fine. But I thought you were … you know… I thought you might not … And here you are like nothing happened!”

  She laughed. A sweet little quiet laugh. And after a minute of just smiling at me, she holds my hand and says, “I'm glad you're not the kind of girl who likes pink angora.”

  I thought about the sweater she'd given me for Christmas and shook my head. “You are?”

  She takes a deep breath and whispers, “Very.”

  Just then a man in a long coat and stethoscope comes in. “Hello again, Lana,” he says, then picks the clipboard off the bed frame and grins at me. “Good morning, Samantha, I'm Dr. Burnes. How's the neck?”

  “The neck is fine. How is she?”

  “Oh, she'll be up and out of here in no time.” He flips the clipboard cover back and eyes me. “There are some pretty wild stories flying up and down the corridors about you, though.”

  I look at him like, Uh-oh.

  He laughs. “Good things, don't worry. But tell me, where'd you pick up that salt-and-coffee purge?”

  “The salt and coffee?” I looked back and forth between him and my mom. “Doesn't everybody know about that?”

  My mother shakes her head. “Like everyone knows how to pick a lock?”

  “It was only a privacy lock!”

  Dr. Burnes laughs again and says, “Regardless. You did the right thing, and we're all very glad about that. And now you might want to go out there and say hello to your friend. She seems pretty anxious to see you.”

  Marissa! I could just see her, talking a gazillion miles an hour about mummies and reincarnation and the Great Pitchfork Escape. I look at my mom and say, “I better go find out how Marissa's doing, okay? She slept in the waiting room.”

  “You go,” she says with a smile. “Go have breakfast down in the cafeteria while I get my clean bill of health.”

  All of a sudden I realize I'm starving. So I get up and say, “I'll be back in a little while,” then zip out to find Marissa.

  Good ol' Marissa. Jabbering away to some stranger about me showing off my underwear at Trouvet's. I drag her to the elevator and downstairs to the cafeteria, and that's where we spend the next hour, scarfing down hash browns and eggs, fruit cups and cranberry muffins, talking and wondering about everything that had happened.

  And when there's nothing but microscopic crumbs left on our trays, we bus them and head back upstairs. And in the elevator, I say, “I wonder what happened to Hali. Do you think they arrested her? Do you think that's why we haven't seen her?”

  Marissa shakes her head. “I don't know. I sure hope not.”

  When we get back to my mother's room, Marissa whispers, “Can I come with you?” So we both go inside, only my mother's already got company.

  Hali.

  And not only does Hali look like she's got a kink in the neck, her eyes are bagged and puffy, and her braids look like they need, well, tightening. But she gives me a halfhearted grin and says, “Hey, Burdock. Congratulations.”

  My mother's looking very somber, too. She hasn't been crying or anything, but her eyebrows are all scrunched and her mouth is looking very, I don't know, small.

  Now, maybe this was selfish of me, but I hadn't even thought about Max. Oh, sure, I'd thought about the things he'd done, but not about him. In my mind, he was still on the floor at Trouvet's.

  And maybe I should've pumped him with salty coffee, too. But the truth is, it never even crossed my mind. “Is Max … ?” I couldn't bring myself to ask it.

  Hali nods and lets out a heavy breath. “He didn't make it.” She shrugs. “Like I should care.”

  My mother whispers, “She told me about Max.”

  I look back and forth between them. “Uh… everything?”

  Hali waves her hand through the air. “Everything. Mama doesn't care anymore that people know, and…”

  “You found her?”

  “Yeah. Right where I should've looked in the first place—church. Anyway, we both went back to the house last night just to see … you know, the tomb. Mama had to see it to really believe it.” She shudders and whispers, “I think he made himself crazy keeping her in there. It was … god, it was creepy. Then the cops came and cordoned the whole office off.” She shakes her head. “I don't know what they're going to do with all of that.”

  My mother puts her hand on Hali's and says, “I know you don't want to hear this now, but before they bury him you've got to establish his paternity.”

  Hali snorts. “Like I want proof that the Mummy Man was my father?”

  “Hali, have them do some blood tests.”

  Hali frowns and says, “What's it matter?”

  “Trust me. This is something you need to do. Can I tell Dr. Burnes about it? He'll help you set things up, I'm sure of it.”

  Hali shrugs, but the shrug means okay.

  Just then another visitor comes in. She's not real big to begin with, but she's wearing a gray wool suit that sort of hangs on her, making it look like she's the thing that had been washed too hot and dried too long. And I noticed right off that her face was an odd kind of mother-of-pearl color, but I didn't really realize who she was until her eyes landed on me. And let me tell you, she may not have been carrying the pitchfork, but I jumped anyway.

  Inga gave us a closed smile, then said to me, “I've come here to say I'm sorry. Very sorry. I did not know that my brother was so…so troubled.” Before I could say anything, she turns to my mother and says, “And you, Dominique— or Lana, or whatever your name is—you are even more pathetic than my brother. To think that you would forsake this girl to further a career. Had I a child like this at home, I would never have left.”

  Whoa! Pitchfork or not, that woman knows how to jab.

  And while we're all stinging from what she said to my mother, she turns to Hali and says, “I want no part of his properties. No share in his business. There are a few sentimental things I'd like to take with me, but that is all. The rest is yours and your mother's.”

  Hali says, “Take with you? Where are you going?”

  “Back to Austria.” She shakes her head. “I knew my first month here that I should've gone back. All the ways he tried to make me fit in…it never worked. The truth is, I don't belong here. I belong with my fields and my flowers, and nothing he tried to change on the outside ever changed the way I felt on the inside.” She smiles at Hali— a sad, painful smile. “I'm going home, Hali, where these scars won't matter—where people will accept me for what I am, not how I look.”

  Without another word, she was gone. And I just stood there feeling kind of, I don't know, sticky. Like my lips were glued closed and my feet were taped down, and the elastic of my dress had become a permanent part of my body.

  Finally my mother whispers, “Maybe I should just take that Greyhound home with you.”

  From the way she was saying it, it seemed to me that she was trying it on. Seriously trying it on. Like of all t
he clothes on the rack, this was the one thing she could afford, and she was standing in front of the mirror telling herself that with a sash here and a necklace there, hey, it could look all right after all.

  I looked at her and I knew—this was my chance. My big chance. She really would come home if I asked her to.

  My heart started banging around, and suddenly I felt like a puppy freed from the pound. Somebody wanted to take me home! And home could be a little apartment of our own. We could have a normal life—one where I wouldn't have to sneak in and out of my own house because I wasn't supposed to be living there. One where I'd have a real bed instead of a couch and a whole dresser instead of just the bottom drawer. One where I could actually have friends over and make some noise.

  Her eyes were searching mine, and I almost jumped right up and said, “Yes! Please, come home!” but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I mean, she was so close—so close—to making her dream come true, and after everything she'd been through, after everything she'd done, I couldn't snatch it away from her at the last minute.

  So instead of jumping up, I looked down and blinked at the floor. And that's when I noticed the heels of her ruby slippers peeking out from beneath the bed, and the folder I'd gotten out of Max's secret room lying near them on the floor by Hali's chair.

  Hali catches me looking at the folder and hands it over, saying, “You left this in the car. I wasn't sure what you wanted with it.”

  I took it from her, and then with a swift kick I sent those shoes flying under the bed. I handed the folder off to my mother, saying, “I didn't practically kill myself and my friends here so you could come home and serve burgers at Big Daddy's. Here. Have a bonfire.”

  She takes the folder and says, “What is this?”

  I smile at her, but there's a tear stinging my eye. “Your freedom.”

  She opens it up, and when she sees what's inside she whispers, “How did you ever find this?”

  “Oh,” I laugh, “piece of cake.” Then I add, “Not that you really need it anymore.” I grin at Hali and say, “I mean, ol' Toe Rings here would probably have just ripped it up for you, but how was I supposed to know?”

  Hali says, “Hey, Burdock, watch who you're callin' names! You got no way home, you know?” Then she turns to my mother and says, “There's one more thing I gotta know. Were you really born on Valentine's Day?”

  My mother shakes her head and says, “No, I wasn't. I should've just changed the year, but I was so busy changing everything that I …well, I changed the day, too.” She blushes and adds, “I wanted something easy to remember, plus I thought it would make me sound more romantic.”

  Hali grins and shakes her head. “Worked a little too well, didn't it?”

  Marissa says, “Yeah, but to have all of this happen because of a birthdate?”

  My mother frowns. “He made connections everywhere, Marissa. At Trouvet's he was telling me all the little things that made him know I was Claire.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the dress and the shoes fitting me so well, like me being from Montana—at that point I tried to tell him the truth, but he wouldn't listen. He said he knew I was Claire because I like a slice of lime in my water, and because of the way I say ‘motion picture.’”

  I couldn't believe my ears. “Because of the way you say ‘motion picture’? How do you say ‘motion picture’?”

  “Apparently I say it just like Claire did—with a lot of shuh in it. There were other ridiculous little things like that, too. Obviously he saw what he wanted to see. He knew his time was limited, and I think that sooner or later he would've picked some reason—any reason—to believe that someone was his long-lost Claire.”

  We all sat there quiet for a minute; then Hali slaps her thighs and says, “So, you gonna be up to that audition tomorrow? I'd be willing to drop you curbside if you need me to.”

  My mother looks at me, then at the folder and back to me. Finally she whispers, “What do you think, Samantha?”

  I take a deep breath, then say, “What I think is, if you don't get that part, I'm going to be the one who kills you!”

  “Really?”

  “Heck, yeah.”

  She looks down. “Well, you know, there's a good chance that I won't get the part.” She glances up at me. “After all, they're expecting Dominique Windsor, and Dominique Windsor will not be appearing.”

  I just stood there, looking at her. I didn't want to ask. I didn't want to breathe. I just wanted to stand for a minute in this vacuum of hope.

  She smiles at me and says, “Who is going to show up is Lana Keyes, proud mother of a certain thirteen-year-old who goes by the name of Sammy.”

  As much as I tried to stop it, my face crinkled up and my tears gave me away. Completely away. And for the first time in over a year I fell into my mother's arms and hugged her.

  She was back.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  After my mother was released from the hospital, Hali gave us all a ride back to Beverly Hills. It was my mother's first ride on the Bug Blast Express, and during one little do-si-do maneuver on the freeway I thought for sure she was going to wind up back in the hospital with a heart attack.

  Hali did manage to get us home in one piece, though, and while she spent the rest of the day with her mom, Marissa and I spent the day with mine. Not that my mother helped us carry the mattress back upstairs or anything. But she did hover around giving what she thought was good advice, and really, I didn't mind. I was just glad she was up and walking around.

  And while we were untying our clothes, trying to figure out which ones were totaled and which ones would bounce back, my mother was down the hall on the phone, telling all to Grams.

  She came back a little red around the edges, so I knew the update hadn't flown real well at home, but all my mother would say about it was “Well. I'm glad that's done.”

  And after everything was reassembled, we just hung out—by the pool, in the kitchen, just sitting or walking around, talking. Of course, Tammy and the other women kept buzzing up to us, trying to get the straight scoop, but my mom did a good job of holding them off, saying she didn't want to talk about it just then.

  That night we were back in Opal and LeBrandi's old beds, but I was so tired that I didn't even think about them—or Max, for that matter. I just put my head down and click, I was out.

  Until 3:30, that is. I don't know why, but at 3:30 I woke up with a start, and when I sat up and looked over at my mother's bed, she was gone.

  I sat there listening for a minute, then got up and went down the hall.

  My mother wasn't in the bathroom, but there were some fuzzy cottontail slippers in a stall, so I waited, and when Tammy came out I asked her, “Have you seen my mother?”

  She rewrapped one of her bunny-ear pigtails and eyed me. “We don't have a regular date down here or anything, you know.”

  I nodded, then got a drink from the tap and started to head out. But Tammy flicked on her faucet and said, “Check the viewing room.”

  “Where's that?”

  “Downstairs. Basically, it's right beneath us. Can't miss it.”

  I thanked her and took off downstairs, and sure enough, there was a door with a VIEWING ROOM placard on it. I peek inside, and there's my mother, watching an episode of The Lords of Willow Heights, taking notes.

  “Samantha!” she says when she sees me. “What in the world are you doing up?”

  I sit down beside her. “It was 3:30. You were gone, I got worried.”

  She says, “I'm sorry,” then laughs and adds, “I guess I should've left a note.” She points her pen at the TV and proceeds to explain who's who on the soap opera she's watching and what she's looking for.

  Now, to me the acting seems corny and overly dramatic, but my mother is into it, studying it like it's swept the Oscars or something.

  Then suddenly she stops the tape and says, “I know! You can play Roullard.”

  “Roullard?”

  “The man who brings Jew
el back to Willow Heights!” She digs through her papers and says, “Here! I've got the script right here.”

  “But, Mom…”

  “Just pretend you're Roullard and read the lines. It'll be fun!”

  “How do I pretend I'm Roullard? I don't even know who Roullard is!”

  She looks at me, stunned. “Don't you ever watch Lords?”

  “Never.”

  “Well.” She takes a deep breath and says, “Roullard is Jewel's older brother. Half brother, to be exact. Her mother was married earlier to a wealthy businessman who died mysteriously the night Jewel ran off with—”

  “Mom!”

  She blinks at me. “What?”

  “Do I need to know all this?”

  “Well, yes, to get into character.” She was still blinking at me.

  “Can't I just read the lines?”

  “Hmmm…I suppose. But it would help me tremendously if you could get into character. Just a little?”

  “You want me to be a man, older than you, who goes by the name of Roullard.”

  “Yes.”

  I blink at her.

  She holds me by the shoulders and says, “Close your eyes, Samantha. Close your eyes and just imagine. Put yourself into his body, into his mind. Feel his soul. He's tortured that his sister doesn't remember him. He's torn by the knowledge that Sir Melville must be told that she is still alive and the suspicion that Sir Melville has fallen in love with Cassandra Salvador.”

  “Cassandra Salvador? Who is—” I put my hands up and whisper, “Never mind. Can you just tell me what I'm supposed to do?”

  “Here,” she says, handing me a script. “Do Roullard's lines.”

  For the rest of the night I tried my best to be Roullard, and let me tell you, I was terrible. Even after she took a break and showed him to me on tape, I couldn't “touch his soul” or “channel his essence” or “feel his spirit.” I even really tried for a while, but the only thing I felt was dumb.

  Finally she said, “Well, I think I'll do all right. I'm not exactly at one with her yet, but I'm close.” She put her arm around me. “Thanks for the help.”