In a few minutes, somebody from the hospital called the set. Everybody gathered around the phone.

  Ricky was alive, we were informed. He was busted up pretty badly, though. Both arms and legs were broken. There were some internal injuries. His face was messed up, and he would be undergoing surgery to reconstruct it. The doctors were going to have to build him a new nose, taking cartilage from his ears and skin from his neck. Ricky was conscious, but just barely.

  “He was lucky,” somebody said.

  Lucky? If falling over Niagara Falls from a helicopter is good luck, I wondered what bad luck might be. If anybody was lucky, it was me.

  A few minutes after the phone call from the hospital came in, my father came over to the bench where I was sitting.

  “You okay?” he asked, sitting down next to me.

  “Yeah.”

  “This Corvette fellow,” Dad asked, “is he a friend of yours?”

  “He’s just a movie star,” I replied. “He barely knows my name.”

  “That’s the way it is with movie stars. I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”

  We sat there for a few minutes without talking. The crew had begun packing up their lights and other gear and loading it onto trucks. It was uncomfortable. I didn’t know if I would ever see my dad again, or if I wanted to. It was still kind of shocking to realize he was alive.

  I finally broke the ice. “I guess maybe I should have listened to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Doing the gag,” I said. “It was too dangerous. I could have been killed.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Dad replied. “You just have to get on with your life.”

  I looked at Dad. He had made a mistake too, in abandoning me. I realized that he was trying to get on with his life, and contacting me again was part of that. I stuck out my hand and he shook it.

  “I’m sorry about what I did, son.”

  As Mom and I silently packed up our clothes to go back to California that night, I knew what she was thinking. It could have been me. I could have been the one in the canoe. I could have missed the grab. I could have been the one barely conscious in the hospital.

  I could have been less lucky than Ricky. I could have been killed.

  There was a knock on the hotel-room door and Mom opened it. It was Roland, with the Paramount lawyers. They came in and made some small talk, making sure to express their concern for Ricky. Then the Paramount guys got to the point.

  “As you know, the studio has spent a small fortune on Two Birds, One Stone,” one of them said. “We were counting on it to be our biggest blockbuster this year.”

  “The movie was almost finished when Ricky had his unfortunate accident,” the other lawyer said. “We can’t afford to abandon it.”

  “So you want to reshoot the canoe gag with me in Ricky’s place?” I asked.

  “No!” Mom announced. “I won’t let Johnny do that scene!”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Thyme,” the first lawyer said. “Roland believes he can rewrite the ending and use the footage he already shot.”

  “So why are you guys here?” I asked.

  “Johnny,” Roland said, “remember those seven lines of dialogue Ricky was supposed to say? We still have to shoot them. They want you to take Ricky’s place in the acting scenes.”

  Acting scenes? I couldn’t act! I hadn’t acted since I was in my third-grade play. Even then, I only had to play a tree. Roland had to be joking.

  “Johnny,” one of the lawyers said, “Ricky Corvette’s career is over. I saw his face at the hospital, and believe me, he will never play a leading man again. Frankly, his career may have been over even before the accident. He was getting older and his voice had changed. As much as we all hate to admit it, Ricky’s looks and that cute voice were all he had.”

  I looked at Mom. She shrugged.

  “You’ve already appeared in all the other scenes of the movie,” the other lawyer said, more excitedly. “You’re the real star, Johnny. We want Two Birds, One Stone to be a Johnny Hangtime movie. Naturally, you will be compensated appropriately—say, one million dollars—and receive star billing.”

  A million dollars? My allowance was ten dollars a week. I couldn’t even imagine what a million dollars looked like.

  “You only have to say seven lines of dialogue, Johnny,” Roland assured me.

  Seven lines of dialogue. I would have to speak seven lines. In front of a camera. Shooting close-ups of my face. And a crew. And millions of people would see it.

  I wondered if somebody had turned up the heat in the room. Beads of sweat gathered on my forehead. I could feel it under my arms too.

  This was silly, I thought to myself. In the last four years I had been run over by trucks, hit by machine-gun fire, thrown through plate glass windows, and drowned in quicksand. But none of those things frightened me as much as the thought of saying seven lines of dialogue.

  Seven lines. A million dollars. I began to feel lightheaded, woozy. And that was the last thing I remembered.

  19

  A PRESENT

  When I came to, I looked around and saw I was in a hospital room. Oh, come on, Mom! I thought. You didn’t have to put me in the hospital just because I fainted!

  I looked to my right and saw I had a roommate. The poor guy was bandaged up from head to toe, like a mummy. He couldn’t even turn his head.

  “Hi,” I said softly, not sure if the guy was awake.

  “Hi,” he replied.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I fell.”

  “Must have been a pretty bad fall,” I said.

  “Yeah, over Niagara Falls.”

  “Ricky!” I exclaimed. “It’s me, Johnny Hangtime!”

  “What happened to you?”

  “I must have passed out,” I explained. “The last thing I remember, Roland was asking me to take your place for the acting scenes.”

  Ricky laughed, even though I could tell it was painful for him. “Roland told me he was going to ask you,” he said, still giggling. “That cracks me up. You’re not afraid to jump off the Empire State Building. You’re not afraid to go over Niagara Falls. But you’re afraid to say a few lines.”

  “It’s scary.”

  “What you do is scary,” Ricky said. “Until yesterday, I never appreciated how tough it is to do what you do. Any jerk can read lines. Doing stunts is another thing.”

  “A lot of guys wouldn’t have had the guts to try that gag,” I told him. “You’ve got guts.”

  Ricky’s mouth curved up in a little smile. “Hey, stunt kid,” he said. “I got you a little present. Open the drawer next to you.”

  I opened the drawer of the night table between the two beds. There was a box in there, about the size of a shoe box. It was wrapped, and had a bow around it. I peeled off the paper and opened the box.

  Inside was a can of Mountain Dew. The note with it read: “To Johnny Hangtime: Thanks for making me a movie star. Now it’s your turn.”

  I cracked open the can and chugged half of it. Then I held it up to Ricky’s mouth so he could have some too.

  “Break a leg,” Ricky said. “But not like I did.”

  20

  ACTING

  Roland gathered the cast and crew at the Rainbow Bridge, where we were to shoot the last two scenes of Two Birds, One Stone. The wardrobe people dressed me in clothes that looked just like the clothes Ricky was wearing when he went over the falls. I was drenched with water, so I’d look like I just climbed out of the river.

  “Okay,” Roland explained, “I rewrote the script a little, so let me set the scene for you, Johnny. You survived the falls, but Augusta is dead. Well, she’s not really dead, but you think she’s dead. You crawl out of the water and flop down on the bank. Go ahead.”

  I looked at my script….

  BOBBY

  (sobbing)

  Why, why, why did you have to die?

  You meant so much to me!

  I loved you. I’ll never forget you.

  “Are you kidding, Roland?” I asked. “I have to say this?”

  “Yes, and with feeling. Quiet everybody. Roll camera!”

  “Why, why, why did you have to die?” I moaned. “You meant so much to me! I loved you. I’ll never forget you.”

  “Cut!” Roland shouted. “Johnny, you look like you’re acting.”

  “I am acting.”

  “I need for you to act without looking like you’re acting. I need real emotion here. Try thinking of something sad. I’m sure you have some bad memories you can dredge up from the recesses of your brain. Let’s try it again. Roll camera!”

  I thought of all the sad things that had happened to me. Like the time some kid beat me up in third grade when I wouldn’t let him cheat off me in a spelling test. And the time I left my baseball card collection on a bus and never saw it again. I thought of how I felt when Dad went over Niagara Falls and we all thought he was dead. I thought of how I felt when Dad showed up again and told me that he and Mom never really got along. And then I thought of Squirt.

  So much had happened, I had almost forgotten about Squirt’s death. When we finished the movie and went back home, it would be the first time Squirt wouldn’t be there. Tears started welling up in my eyes.

  All my life I had trained myself not to cry. Dad always said crying was for babies. Big boys didn’t do it. But I felt tears coming on and for the first time I didn’t try to stop them. I was going to wipe them away, but I didn’t. That made them worse. My eyes were all watery and I couldn’t see out of them, and I started to weep. I couldn’t control myself.

  “Why, why, why did you have to die?” I moaned. “You meant so much to me! I loved you. I’ll never forget you. I used to love the way your hooves clattered down the gravel road. The way—”

  “Cut!” Roland yelled. “Beautiful, Johnny! We’ll just cut that part out about the hooves. It will be great. You’re a natural!”

  Everybody gave me a standing ovation. Roland gave me a big hug and handed me the new last page of the script….

  Jennifer embraces Bobby.

  BOBBY

  (shocked)

  You’re alive! I can’t believe it!

  JENNIFER

  (stroking his hair)

  I couldn’t die without you.

  Just as I can’t live without you.

  BOBBY

  And now you’ve given

  me a reason to live.

  Bobby and Jennifer kiss.

  I had to read that last part twice. Bobby and Jennifer kiss. Nobody mentioned to me that there was a kissing scene. Not that I was opposed to it or anything, but…

  “Roland,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder. “I need to talk to you about something. In private.”

  “What is it?” he asked as he walked me toward the road.

  “This is kind of embarrassing, but I…I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

  “Hmm,” Roland said, rubbing his beard. “This could pose some problems. I could cut the scene…”

  “No!” I protested. “It’s just that she’s…”

  “So beautiful?” Roland asked. “Perhaps I could get some really ugly girls for you to practice with. Then you could work your way up to Augusta?”

  “No,” I said. “She’s Ricky Corvette’s girlfriend. And he’s lying in a hospital bed—”

  “Ricky’s girlfriend?” Roland roared with laughter. “Ricky and Augusta despise each other! That boyfriend/girlfriend nonsense is merely gossip twaddle to keep them in the news. Just pucker up and do what comes naturally. You’ll be fine.”

  A limousine pulled up and Augusta Wind got out, looking like an angel. Her mother quickly followed, wearing earrings that were so big, I wondered why they didn’t rip her earlobes off.

  “Roland!” Augusta’s mother shouted, waving her script. “I need to have a word with you!”

  “Yes, Marcia?” Roland walked over to her, like a man on the way to his own execution.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” she asked. “I didn’t send my daughter to acting school for four years so she could kiss a stunt boy!”

  She said stunt boy almost like she were saying vermin.

  “Who was it,” Roland asked, “that you sent your daughter to acting school to kiss?”

  “A star, like Ricky Corvette, you twit!”

  “Marcia, as you very well know, Ricky Corvette is unavailable. Johnny is taking his place, and I’m sure he will do an excellent—”

  “Augusta’s not happy, Roland!” her mother said angrily. “Nowhere in her contract does it say she has to kiss any stunt boys.”

  Suddenly, Augusta broke out of the comatose cloud she always seemed to walk around in. She glared at her mother.

  “That’s it!” she shouted, waving her arms around. “I’ve had it! I’ll kiss anyone I want!”

  With that, Augusta wrapped her arms around me, bent me backward, and kissed me hard on the lips. I was too surprised to do anything but gasp.

  “How do you like that, Mother?” Augusta yelled. “I’m almost sixteen years old! You can’t control my life anymore. I’m not some mannequin that you can cart around and pose any way you want!”

  “Augusta Wind!” her mother said, shocked. “How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!”

  “My name is not Augusta Wind,” Augusta said. “That stupid name was your idea. My name is Gladys Shmutz, and that’s what I want to be called from this moment on.”

  Gladys Shmutz?

  “How could you?” Mrs. Wind—I mean, Mrs. Shmutz—moaned. “I’ve been grooming you to be a star since you were three! When I think of all the money I spent on ballet school, hair stylists, singing lessons, makeup, photographers, nutritionists, tutors. And this is how you treat me?”

  “Leave me alone!” Gladys yelled. “I want you out of my life! I never asked for any of those things! All I ever wanted to do was go out and play like a normal girl!”

  And then she stormed off down the road.

  Man, what an exit! Those four years of acting school really paid off. I felt like she should get a standing ovation. I would give her an Oscar for Best Actress in a minute.

  Roland led the disraught Mrs. Shmutz back to the limo and sent it back to the hotel. Then he retrieved Gladys and set up the scene. I had to lie down against a rock, looking half dead. Gladys knelt down and held me. All the camera guys, gaffers, grips, and everybody else were standing around staring at us. There must have been fifty people watching.

  “Hello,” I said to Gladys as Roland monkeyed with the camera. “I’m Johnny Thyme. I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.”

  “I’m Gladys,” she smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. I was always too shy to come over and—”

  “Okay, enough chitchat,” Roland called. “Roll camera!”

  “You’re alive!” I emoted. “I can’t believe it!”

  “I couldn’t die without you,” Gladys replied. “Just as I can’t live without you.”

  “And now you’ve given me a reason to live.”

  Gladys put both arms around my neck and slowly moved her face to mine until our lips met. As we held it, my heart was beating so fast, I thought my chest was going to explode.

  “Cut!” Roland yelled.

  I didn’t look at Gladys. It was too embarrassing. I was ready to get up, but Roland held up his hand.

  “Okay, let’s try that again, everyone,” he announced. “Move the light a little to the right to pick up Augusta’s face.”

  “Again?” I asked.

  “Johnny, it’s not like falling off the Statue of Liberty, where you have to get it right in one take. We might have to shoot this scene over and over all afternoon until we get it perfect.”

  “Do I get paid each time?” I joked. “That’s the way it always worked before.”

  Gladys punched me on the arm, but she was smiling.

  “If he doesn’t want to kiss her, I’d be happy to take over,” one of the cameramen shouted. Everybody laughed.

  Roland was right. I did just fine. In fact, after about ten takes, Gladys and I had gotten so good at kissing that we were still doing it after Roland yelled “Cut!” Finally he had to tap us on our shoulders and tell us to knock it off.

  21

  THE THIRD SUBSTITUTE

  Two Birds, One Stone came out a few months later. I went to the premiere in Hollywood with Mom and Gladys. It was really cool, even though I had to wear a tuxedo and my neck itched the whole time. My name was up on the marquee in big letters. Flashes were popping all over the place when Gladys and I got out of the limo.

  Going to school Monday morning after the movie opened was really strange. Instead of Boris Bonner waiting on the front steps to beat me up, there was an enormous banner:

  CONGRATULATIONS JOHNNY HANGTIME!

  Everybody swarmed all over me, shaking my hand and pounding me on the back. Some of the teachers even came over and asked for my autograph. Suddenly I had more friends than I knew what to do with. And all the girls who used to totally ignore me were gawking at me with this goofy look in their eyes that I had never seen before. I guess being in movies suddenly makes a guy a lot better-looking.

  At the end of the day, after I had signed about three hundred autographs, I went to my locker to get my books. Everyone else had gone home by then. The peace and quiet felt good.

  And then Boris Bonner came over.

  I knew I would have to deal with him at some point. I wondered what he would say to me now that he knew the truth about why I couldn’t take gym class, why I never went to dances, why I used to be such a bore at school.

  Bonner reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollar bills.

  “I’m sorry about the way I treated you,” he said, holding the money out to me. “I didn’t realize you were cool. If you’ll forgive me, I’d like to be friends.”