Saturdays with Hitchcock

  “What’s so good about being dead?”

  “You can scare people, right? That would be fun.”

  Cyrus’s mother bustles down the stairs, carrying a laundry basket. “What on earth are you two talking about? There’s nothing good about being dead! Don’t even say that!” She drops the laundry basket and flies over to us with her hand over her heart.

  “We’re writing a screenplay, Mom,” Cy explains. “About a ghost kid who was killed in a car accident.”

  “Oh, Cyrus!” She closes her eyes and shakes her head back and forth. “No, no, no. You are not writing about that! It’s bad luck! I forbid it! There are much nicer things you can write about that don’t tempt fate.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “Absolutely not!” She starts to walk away, then turns back. “Why don’t you write about two kids who…find a treasure chest in their backyard?”

  We smile at her until she bends over to take the clothes out of the dryer, then we look at each other and roll our eyes. A treasure chest. Yeah, that’s never been done before.

  “Or how about this,” she says. “Write about two kids who help their mother fold the laundry, after which she makes them strawberry smoothies.”

  Mrs. Hapsburger is no dummy. She knows we love her strawberry smoothies.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” she calls as she hauls the basket upstairs. “I’ve got that vanilla yogurt you like.”

  “Okay, Mom. In a few minutes,” Cy says.

  “We’re not really giving up our idea, are we?” I ask him. “It’s good. Everybody likes ghost stories.”

  “I know,” he says, “but maybe she’s right about tempting fate. I mean, what if one of us did get in a car accident? Wouldn’t you feel bad?”

  “That isn’t going to happen. You just don’t want me to be the ghost.”

  “Well, I don’t see why you always get the good part. When we made the vampire video, you got to be the vampire, and I had to be the one who got bitten!”

  “I thought you wanted to be the dead kid,” I say.

  “The dead kid wasn’t the best part in that one!”

  I sigh. Yes, all right, I do like to have the best part. Well, who doesn’t? Being a ghost would be so much fun!

  “Okay. I guess we could both be ghosts,” I say. But obviously we need to have somebody be the person who gets scared by the ghosts, because that’s how you get the audience to believe in them. And I know who Cyrus will want to play that part.

  Cy turns off the computer. “Let’s take a break. I want a smoothie.”

  We trudge to the stairs. “I’m not going to fold underwear, though,” I tell him.

  “Okay,” he says. “You can do the T-shirts.”

  “Deal.” We high-five and go upstairs to find his mother.

  Uncle Walt is lying on the living room couch with a pillow propping up one shoulder. “Aw, man, I’d like to go with you guys, but I can’t sit in a hard chair that long.”

  “But it’s Psycho,” I say. “How often do you get to see Hitchcock’s best movie on a big screen?”

  Uncle Walt squints one eye. “Best? That’s debatable, Hitch. What about The Birds, or Vertigo? Those are right up there too.”

  “Okay,” I say, “but Psycho is the first American movie to show a toilet on-screen. You have to admit that makes it historically cool.”

  Uncle Walt laughs, but he’s not really looking at me anymore. He’s got his laptop open, probably scanning through the Hollywood Reporter site or other websites that list upcoming auditions, like he does every morning.

  “Are you looking for another job?” I ask.

  “Just keeping up to date. My agent will let me know if there’s something she thinks I should go up for. Of course, I can’t really audition for anything in this condition, but I want to keep up with what’s happening out there.”

  “You need to get another big movie.”

  “Yeah. Easier said than done. Most of the ads this morning are for stupid commercials and student films. Or, listen to this one: ‘Casting an original TV pilot script called Treading Water, about an Olympic swimmer who falls in love with the oddball she rescues from drowning.’ That’s got ‘canceled after two episodes’ written all over it.”

  “If it even gets picked up at all,” I say. Uncle Walt explained to me once that a lot of pilot episodes get produced, but the networks and cable channels only pick up a handful of shows to become actual TV series.

  “Oh, it’s just dumb enough to get picked up.” Uncle Walt sighs. “Maybe your mother’s right. I should give up on acting and get a real job.” But he looks up at me and grins. “Nah!”

  “Mom’s just jealous because she’s stuck here in New Aztec while you’re out in LA having fun,” I say. “You’re bound to get your big break soon.”

  “We’ll see. You’d better go collect Cyrus if you don’t want to be late for the movie.”

  I head for the door. I will not let Uncle Walt give up on his dreams!

  He calls after me. “The creepiest moment in Psycho is when Norman tells Marion that a boy’s best friend is his mother. Watch Tony Perkins’s face in that scene—it goes from sweet and vulnerable to what-the-heck-is-going-on-in-that-mind, and then back to innocence. You can read the character’s whole life on Tony’s face. Fabulous performance.”

  I smile. He won’t give up acting.

  Cyrus is just wheeling his bike out of the garage when I bring mine around front. We ride to the Lincoln without talking much, which is not that unusual, but after what he told me last weekend about Hackett, our not-talking seems louder than it ought to be.

  As we’re locking our bikes to the parking meter, I see a familiar figure walking toward us from the bus stop. I hit Cy on the arm to make him look up.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says. “I forgot to tell you. Gary wanted to come too.”

  “What do you mean, you forgot to tell me?” I hiss at him. “Now our Saturday is ruined. What am I supposed to do?”

  “What do you mean? You don’t have to do anything. Just sit there and watch the movie.”

  “Well, he’s sitting by you, not me!”

  Cy doesn’t have time to answer because Hackett’s right there already. He’s wearing shorts, which make his legs look really long. You can tell he plays soccer, because his calf muscles are—ugh! Why am I looking at his legs?

  I say, “Hey,” really fast and head for the box office. Kathy, who sits in the little booth every Saturday afternoon, takes my five dollars and gives me my ticket as if she’s never seen me before. While the boys are getting their tickets, I head inside.

  As soon as I see Mr. Schmitz at the concession stand, I remember Grandma’s stories about him. It’s hard to imagine him dancing with anybody, much less kissing them. Blech. I guess I’m staring at him a little bit. He looks up and says, “Whad-daya want?”

  “Um, popcorn, I guess. Small.”

  He turns around and grabs a red-and-white box from a stack. The popcorn machine whirs, throwing up yellowish white kernels that Mr. Schmitz shovels into the box with a scoop.

  “My grandma says she knows you,” I tell him. “She said I should say hi to you from her.”

  By now Cy and Hackett have come inside too. They’re standing next to me, looking into the candy case.

  Mr. Schmitz turns around and bangs the popcorn box down on the counter so a few pieces jump out. He grunts. “I guess I know a lot of people’s grandmas and grandpas. What’s the name?”

  “Evelyn. Evelyn Hoffmeister. You used to work at her parents’ grocery store on Lebanon Avenue.”

  Mr. Schmitz’s face goes slack, and his mouth falls open like he’s just been hit over the head. It reminds me of what Uncle Walt said about Tony Perkins, about how you could read the character’s whole life on his face. Mr. Schmitz’s eyes go out of focus for a minute, and then he says, quietly, “Evie.”

  “Oh, yeah, people used to call her Evie.”

  “I haven’t seen her in years,” he says, looking at me
now. “How is she?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Doesn’t go to the movies anymore, I guess.”

  “My grandpa liked to watch DVDs,” I said. “But he died a few years ago.”

  “He did?” Mr. Schmitz asks. “I didn’t see that in the paper.”

  “Grandma didn’t put it in. She doesn’t like obituaries. She says they’re half bragging and half crying, and it’s not a good combination.”

  He grunts. “That sounds like Evie. She still live in that house on Jefferson?”

  “No, she moved to a condo last year. Over on Bristow Street.”

  Mr. Schmitz slowly shakes his head. “Evie Hoffmeister.”

  I put my two dollars on the counter, but Mr. Schmitz waves them away. “No charge,” he says. “You’re a good customer.”

  I stand over to the side while Cy and Hackett get their popcorn. Mr. Schmitz makes them pay even though they’re good customers too. It’s Grandma. I got her free popcorn.

  I hate walking my bike when I could be riding it. It’s hot and muggy, and it would feel good to have a breeze blowing over me. But Hackett walked to the movie, and now he wants to come back to Cy’s house with us (or that’s what he says), so we walk our bikes the whole way home. It makes the trip twice as long. Or maybe it just seems long because I’m so twitchy and uncomfortable around Hackett now.

  Maybe Cyrus is wrong about Hackett hanging around us because he likes me. That’s what he meant, right? That Hackett likes me that way. Of all the possible boys, why him? I mean, he’s nice-looking, I guess, if you don’t mind that his hair is always hanging in his face, and he’s not one of those jerky guys who try to be funny by insulting people, but he’s still a boy. I guess when I think about it, Hackett is actually one of the better boys.

  It’s just that I don’t want anybody to like me like that. I’m not usually afraid of stuff, but in this one way, I guess I’m a little like my grandma—I’m kind of scared about boys.

  The thing is, if a boy likes you and then you like him back, everything starts to change. I’ve seen it happen to other girls—one day they’re regular twelve-year-olds, and the next day they’re giggling and squealing and acting like their brains have leaked out of their ears.

  Cy and Hackett are walking a little bit ahead of me, but I can still hear them.

  “Man, that shower scene is scary, even when you know it’s coming,” Hackett says.

  “Yeah,” Cyrus says. “I read that Janet Leigh was afraid to take showers after she saw herself in the movie.”

  “No kidding. I think I’m afraid to take showers now too,” Hackett says. He turns around and looks at me. “I can see why it’s your favorite movie, though. I liked it a lot.”

  “It’s not my favorite movie,” I say. “It’s my favorite Hitchcock movie.”

  He nods. “I haven’t seen any others, so I guess it’s my favorite too.”

  “You should see The Birds and Vertigo before you decide,” I tell him. “Those are my uncle’s favorites.”

  “Okay!” Hackett seems ridiculously happy, like I just gave him a puppy. “Maybe they’ll come to the Lincoln, and we can go see them together!”

  Ugh, I didn’t mean that. But against my will, my mouth seems to be curving up at one corner. He looks so pleased, it’s hard not to be happy along with him. I wish he was wearing long pants.

  “You know, it took a week to shoot that shower scene,” Cyrus says. “They used fifty different camera angles.”

  I correct him. “Seventy-seven camera angles. There were fifty cuts—that’s probably what you’re thinking of.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “What do you mean, cuts?” Hackett asks me.

  “You know, in the editing. There are fifty cuts in that one three-minute scene. You see it in quick pieces instead of one long shot, which makes it more frightening. That’s the genius of Hitchcock.”

  Hackett has dropped back so he’s walking with me now, behind Cy. He leans in a little bit too closely. “How come you know so much about movies?”

  “Because I want to. Because I read about them. I love movies…and so does Cyrus. Right, Cy?” As I’m talking I manage to speed up so I’m walking next to Cyrus, and Hackett is following behind us. Yes, this is much better. Hackett makes me nervous. I take a deep breath and sneak a look at Cy. He’s staring down at the sidewalk like he’s searching for loose change.

  By the time we get back to our neighborhood, I’m exhausted trying to figure out what to say to Hackett and how to act around him. The boys turn in to Cy’s driveway, but I have to get away.

  “I’m gonna head home,” I say. “I told Uncle Walt I’d help him…do some laundry.” Weak excuse, but I started the sentence before I knew how it was going to end.

  “Can’t he do it himself?” Hackett asks. He looks disappointed. “He can still use one of his arms.”

  “He gets tired out fast.” I shrug. When you’re lying, it’s better not to give too many details that the listener can pick apart.

  “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hackett says.

  God, he doesn’t give up! I try to catch Cyrus’s eye, but he’s not looking at me. “I’m not sure what I’m doing tomorrow,” I say, “but I’ll probably see you at school on Monday.” And then I drop my bike and dash into the house before he can come up with some plan for hanging out on Monday. What did I ever do to Hackett to make him like me? And how can I get him to stop?

  I’m hoping to get a few minutes alone with Uncle Walt, but the whole family is home, all of them out in the backyard. Grandma always comes over for dinner on Saturday night, but I’ll bet she spent most of the day at our house today because of Uncle Walt being here. I can tell Mom has been dealing with Grandma for at least a few hours because Mom has a hard look in her eyes that says, Don’t bug me, Maisie. I’m at the end of my rope already.

  Dad is pushing the lawn mower up and down the yard, and whenever he gets close to the patio you can’t hear anything but the angry whine of the engine as the mower chews up grass. I swing my video camera up and get some footage of him breathing heavily as he passes by. His sweaty scowl says, I’d rather be bowling. Mom is filling the patio pots with potting soil and geraniums, and I get her wiping a muddy glove across her forehead so it’s streaked with dirt. She glares into the camera and draws a finger across her throat. Cut.

  Instead I turn the camera in the other direction. Grandma is perching on a chair next to Uncle Walt, who’s sprawled on a chaise lounge. His head is back, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and his arm on the broken side rests on a pillow. I get an interesting two-shot of them that I think I might even be able to use in my history project video.

  “Come sit down, Cindy,” Grandma says in her insistent voice, the one she uses with Mom but seldom with anybody else. “It’s your day off.”

  “I want to get these planted, Ma. If I don’t do it on my ‘day off,’ when will it get done?”

  “Weekends are for resting!” Grandma says, as if Mom was breaking some law by planting flowers on a Saturday.

  Mom smears another swish of dirt on her face. “I don’t want to rest. I want to accomplish something. Besides, when did you ever rest when we were kids?”

  Uncle Walt laughs. “She’s got you there, Ma. You never sat still. Pop used to say you were on springs. He’d try to make you sit down, but you’d bounce right back up again.”

  Grandma ignores him and turns to me. “Maisie, come and talk to me. What have you been up to this afternoon?” She pats the chair next to her, and I lower the camera and sit down.

  “I went to the movies with Cy.”

  “You two are quite the couple, aren’t you?” she says, smiling. I’m not sure what she means by that. Cy and I are certainly not “a couple.” Unless she means a couple of friends.

  “How was Psycho?” Uncle Walt asks.

  “Great. But I knew it would be.”

  “Psycho?” Grandma turns wide eyes on me. “That terrifying Alfred Hitchcock movie? You
’re much too young to see that!”

  “Grandma, I’ve seen it three times already. The shower scene is the only scary part.”

  “As I recall, the ending is terrifying! Oh, that movie gave me nightmares.”

  “By the way, I told Mr. Schmitz you said hello. He remembered you right away. He asked me where you lived.”

  “He did? Really? Isn’t that sweet.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes and folds her hands carefully in her lap.

  “Who’s Mr. Schmitz?” Mom wants to know. “You mean that old guy who runs the Lincoln?”

  I nod. “He used to have a crush on Grandma.”

  “What?” Uncle Walt sits up straight and removes the baseball cap. “I never heard that story!”

  “Neither have I,” Mom says. “You dated that guy before you met Pop?”

  “Oh, I never dated him. There’s no story,” says Grandma, although I know better. “We were kids. He worked at your granddad’s store. He was a nice boy.”

  “He’s an old grouch now,” Mom says. “Last time I went there, he bit my head off because I didn’t have exact change for a bag of M&M’s.”

  “Well, life can make you that way, I guess,” Grandma says. “He was very kind to me in the old days.”

  “He gave me free popcorn today,” I said. “Just like he used to give you.”

  Grandma smiles, but she looks kind of sad too. She pushes out of her chair and stands up. “I’m going inside to get some lemonade. Can I bring anybody anything?”

  “I’ll have some too, if you can carry it,” Mom says.

  “Of course I can carry it.” Grandma sounds insulted. “Anybody else?”

  “Sure,” Uncle Walt says.

  “I’ll help you, Grandma,” I say, and I get up to go with her. I get a little sidetracked when I see Cy and Hackett walking down the street, so I sneak to the side of the house to watch them. I wonder where they’re going, and why they didn’t ask me to go along. Not that I want to hang out with them. I mean, I’d want to hang with Cy if Hackett wasn’t always with him now.

  When I get to the kitchen, Grandma is standing in front of the open refrigerator, staring at the gallon milk jug as if she expects it to speak to her.