Gemma Halliday - Scandal Sheet aka Hollywood Scandals

“There,” I said, pointing to a vendor’s booth, as the aunts wiped their fingers on a paper napkin. “Soda bottles. Let’s go.” I jumped in line and purchased a large, plastic souvenir Buzz Light-year soda bottle with a sparkly purple shoulder strap and handed it to Aunt Sue.

“Go put Mrs. C. in this,” I told her.

Aunt Sue gave the bottle a once over. “I’m not sure Hattie was a Toy Story fan.”

“Just do it!” I shouted, my nerves frazzled to their breaking point.

Luckily, Aunt Sue recognized a woman on the edge when she saw one and scuttled off to the ladies’ room to transfer our passenger. Ten minutes later she came out, the bottle slung over her shoulder and a grin of triumph on her face.

I glanced down at Buzz Lightyear. “She in there?”

Aunt Sue nodded and gave me a wink.

“Good. Let’s get this over with,” I said, leading the way toward the Small World castle.

“Oh, look!” Aunt Millie said as we exited Adventure Land, “The Enchanted Tiki Room. Can we-”

“Not on your life,” I yelled, cutting her off.

She snapped her mouth shut. “Killjoy.”

I ignored her, instead navigating around a line of kids waiting to have their picture taken with Cinderella, and skirted the Sleeping Beauty Castle, pressing through Fantasyland, which, at this time of day, was bumper to bumper strollers. I pushed my way through, only getting dinged in the heel twice. We reached the Small World ride just as the big moon-face guy and cuckoo clock people with their drums and cymbals were chiming the hour.

We hopped in line, winding our way through a maze of ropes and shrubbery trimmed to look like zoo animals until we reached our boats.

The last time I’d been here the ride had been shut down for refurbishment. When I’d asked why, I was told that they had to dig a deeper moat. When Walt Disney had first opened the ride, it was built to accommodate six average-sized men. Well, the size of your average American has almost doubled since then, and the weight of our fatter selves meant that the boats frequently bottomed out, getting stuck along the narrow canals. Every time this happened, the ride had to be shut down and the larger persons had to be escorted off the ride in a flurry of apologies and embarrassment. Consequently, the ride had been shut down to outfit it with deeper canals and new boats that were designed to hold guests of every size.

At the time, I’d been tickled to no end by the irony. Apparently, it isn’t really a small world after all.

We all crammed into a boat, Millie and Aunt Sue in front again, and started into the tunnel of singing dolls, the strains of that infectious song hitting my ears even before we entered.

As in the pirate ride, the smell of recirculated water permeated the cool caverns. The corners of the rooms were dark, but dozens of colored lights shone down on the main displays. There were so many things going on at once-dolls and animals and dancing, creatures popping out from corners-it would take a dozen trips through the ride to see them all.

We were about three minutes into the journey through the world of children when the repetitive song began to get to me, and I started getting antsy again. I leaned forward and poked Aunt Sue in the back.

“Hey! Let’s do it.”

Aunt Sue gave an exaggerated over-both-shoulders look, then winked at me. “Operation Hattie Drop commence.”

Oh, brother.

I bit my lip, scanning the rows of dolls for some sort of hidden watchtower as I heard Aunt Sue unscrew the top from her souvenir bottle.

“Shouldn’t we say a few words first?” Millie asked.

I shot her a look. “You’re serious?”

“She deserves to be laid to rest with dignity.”

“We’re in a moving ride, surrounded by the most annoying tune known to man, sung by a bunch of talking dolls, carrying a woman’s ashes around in a Buzz Lightyear soda bottle. I’m pretty sure we passed dignity at least two harebrained schemes ago!”

Again, I could swear Cal was snickering beside me, but he quickly covered it with a cough as I whipped my “don’t start with me, pal” gaze his way.

“Alright, alright, let’s just do this,” Aunt Sue said. “We’re almost to Africa.”

Aunt Sue leaned over the edge of the boat, slowly tipping the contents of her bottle into the water. Grainy white ashes mingled with the chlorinated water, swirling under the boat.

“The Lord is my Shepherd,” Aunt Millie began to recite in a solemn tone. “I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures.”

I bowed my head, at a loss for what else to do. Cal followed suit beside me. Though, that snicker kicked up again when Millie recited, “He leadeth me beside the still waters.”

I guess in our case, flowing waters and tourist boats. But I kept my trap shut, my head bowed, trying my best to think dignified thoughts as Aunt Millie’s parting words mingled with the strains of “It’s a small world after all!”

Finally she closed with, “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”

“Amen,” we all repeated. Then I raised my head.

Just as the ride came to a screeching halt.

Oh. Shit.

We’d been caught.

I wildly whipped my head around, my gaze pinging from Aunt Sue’s empty Buzz Lightyear bottle to the singing dolls. I squinted through the darkness, trying to make out if any had glowing red eyes like the security skeleton.

Aunt Sue shoved the bottle back in her bag, clutching the tote closed. Millie sat up straight, clasping her hand in her lap. Cal tensed next to me, instinctively reaching for his missing gun.

We sat like that for a full thirty seconds, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I felt each bruising beat. I held my breath. What was the penalty for unlawful disposing of human remains in a theme park? A slap on the wrist? A fine? Surely not jail time, right?

Just when the patrons of the boats in front and behind us were starting to fidget in their seats, a voice came over the loudspeaker.

“We’re sorry, folks, but there seems to have been a slight mechanical malfunction. We’re going to have cast members escort you from your boats and to the nearest exit one at a time. Please remain seated until a cast member can assist you.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Mechanical malfunction. Thank the gods. We hadn’t been made. We’d just broken the ride.

Fleetingly I wondered if Mrs. Carmichael’s sinking remains had anything to do with that malfunction, but I brushed it aside, telling myself maybe they hadn’t made the canal quite deep enough still in some parts.

Five minutes later, a pair of women in cheery blue uniforms appeared, leading the people three boats ahead of us out of their seats and toward an exit behind one of the curtains. As soon as the people in the boat in front of us saw movement, they got up too, completely ignoring the instructions to wait for a cast member. Pretty soon, every boat had emptied out and the two women in blue were frantically trying to herd people in one straight line out the exit.

“Let’s get the heck out of here,” Aunt Millie said, still nervously glancing back to where we’d deposited Mrs. Carmichael.

I couldn’t agree more.

Cal helped the aunts out of the boat. I followed a step behind, tripping on an animatronic dog and losing my balance. I pitched forward, but a hand grabbed my arm, stopping me from plowing headfirst into a little doll wearing a sombrero.

“Thanks,” I said, turning to thank the kind tourist.

Only, when I looked up, instead of a Panama hat and camera, I came face-to-face with the muzzle of a gun.

“Stand up slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves,” a voice said. I couldn’t have told you who it came from, though, as my entire being was focused on the gun barrel pointed right at my forehead.