He tried to get the key off but couldn’t.
“Just take the whole ring,” he said. “I won’t be needing them anymore. Here, this one is for the CEO’s office. I’d come with you, but I only have five more minutes before five P.M., when the security guards are coming for me.”
“Thanks, Dr. Heidelberg. I hate to ask, but do you have any kind of secret weapon around here that might help me defeat Fako?”
“Sure. Here’s a Nasal Gun. It enables you to shoot fake boogers out of your nose. And here’s some trick gum that shocks people’s fingers when they touch it. And here’s an edible eraser shaped like a dead chicken. And here’s a LaughBomb. Pull the pin, throw it, and when it lands, it plays a recording of someone laughing really loud.
“And, since you are a wolfman who appreciates quality sticky-stretchy hands—I want you to have the Ultra-Sticky-Stretchy Grabber Hand too. I have not yet explored its full capabilities. Use it only for good.”
I wasn’t sure how any of that stuff was going to help me stop a crazy bank-robbing governor from brainwashing the whole human race, but I could tell it would make the old man feel better if I pretended it was great.
“I guess you’d better get out of the building, huh, Dr. Heidelberg. It’s almost five!”
“Oh, no, you’ve misunderstood me. I won’t be leaving the building.”
“But the security guards! They’re tough guys! Bodybuilders and mimes!”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “They’ll never take me alive.” And he strapped a Nasal Gun to his face and hid behind the jukebox.
“Good luck, Doctor!” I said, saluting the great man.
“And good luck to you, young wolfboy,” he said, returning the salute.
went back into the hall. The bodybuilders were coming, led by two mimes.
For a second, I thought I was done for. Then they stomped right past me and into Dr. Heidelberg’s office.
I heard a soft fizz, fizz . . . then, “AGGGHHH!” screamed one of the mimes. “He shot a booger in my eye!”
A giant ruckus began with shouts, crashes, and the occasional fizz, fizz sound.
People came running from the other rooms to see the action.
I wanted to help Dr. Heidelberg, but I realized that the fight was the perfect distraction. No one noticed as I unlocked the CEO’s door and slipped into the office.
It wasn’t very nice, for a CEO’s office. No windows, no carpet, just a drafting table, a desk, and an adjustable chair.
I looked at a few of the papers on the desk.
“Inauguration Planning” was written on one folder.
That’s odd, I thought. I just saw his swearing in as governor this morning. It wasn’t much of an inauguration and couldn’t have taken much planning.
I opened the folder and then I understood.
National Mall . . . the Capitol . . . Pennsylvania Avenue.
It wasn’t about his swearing in as governor, it was about his swearing in as president. President of the United States of America! Now I understood why he had bought the Heidelberg Novelty Company. It wasn’t just for the mustaches—it was for the voting machines.
Election Day was on November 3, just three days away! And somehow Fako Mustacho was going to get himself elected president.
Behind me, the door opened. I tried to duck behind the desk, but it was way too late.
“Oh, hey! Lenny Junior! How’s it going?”
I peeked over the desk. It was Casper! Or was it Fako Mustacho?
“Hey, dude,” he said, still standing in the doorway. “I wish I could chat, but do you know who’s downstairs? Jodie O’Rodeo! I always had a crush on her. And she’s here! I gotta get down there before her taxi comes. I’ll see if I can get you an autograph!”
It took me about 2.8 seconds to shake off the effects of seeing his mustache in person and spring into action.
“Make yourself at home up here until I get back,” he was saying when I finally did leap over the desk, sorta ninja style, and lunged for the door. But I was 2.8 seconds too late. He closed the door while I was still leaping, and while I was lunging I heard the sound of his key turning in the lock. I grabbed the doorknob anyway, yanking and turning and yelling and banging on the door.
“See you later, Lenny Junior,” he called cheerfully.
And I was trapped ... a prisoner of my ex-best friend Casper Bengue, aka Fako Mustacho.
ait! I still had the keys! But, no, there was no keyhole on this side of the door.
There were no windows and no other doors.
There was a telephone. I picked it up. Yes!
I called my house. My mom answered.
“Mom! I’ve been captured by Fako Mustacho! He’s holding me prisoner at the Heidelberg Novelty Company!”
“Oh, good! I really think it’s the best thing for you. Your father and I have been so upset about your bank-robbing spree. I know you kids like to rebel, but Fako Mustacho is our governor now and deserves your respect. Maybe if you stop acting like the Evil One, he’ll give you some little jobs to do. That would look great on your college applications, wouldn’t it? Sort of like an internship. I hear that—”
ZZAP!
I didn’t hang up on her . . . Really. The phone suddenly went dead. Casper must have remembered that it was in here and had someone cut the line. Not that it mattered. I never would have been able to convince her. And I had a feeling my dad would have said the same things.
I realized I still had my cell phone in my pocket. But who could I call? My parents wouldn’t help me. The police wouldn’t help me. Fako Mustacho seemed to have taken over the whole town. No, the whole state! And soon it would be the whole country.
Everybody seemed to be against me.
Well, except for one person. Jodie.
If I only knew her phone number! Or her e-mail address!
I was sure Jodie O’Rodeo had her own website, so I thought maybe I could guess what her e-mail address would be.
I sat down and started entering every e-mail address I could think of into a blank message.
[email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] And so on . . .
Then I wrote and sent my message.
My cell phone said it was 5:13 P.M. What a day! I’d been running around like crazy for twelve hours and all I’d had to eat all day was part of a crab rangoon and some of the lieutenant governor’s Jell-O.
Suddenly, I remembered that I had stashed all those Vienna sausages and beef jerky in my backpack. I decided to ration them out, since I didn’t know how long I would be locked in.
After I ate a bit, I dumped a bunch of papers on the floor to make a bed and lay down to try to get some sleep.
ust as I was about to get to sleep, my cell phone buzzed. NEW TXT MSG.
BEST. DAY. EVER. MET JODIE. THNK SHE
LIKES ME. I LIKE HER. IF U C HER AGAIN WILL
U ASK HER IF SHE LIKES ME? SORRY CANT
TRICKRTREAT 2 NITE. BIT BUSY. L8R, CASPER
After that, I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. But it didn’t matter. I was a prisoner in a fake-mustache factory. I could sleep late the next day. And maybe the next and maybe the next and maybe . . .
ey, everybody, it’s me, Jodie O’Rodeo.
This whole thing is pretty crazy, huh? I mean, if this was the plot to an episode of The Jodie O’Rodeo Showdeo, you’d be like, “Jodie’s totally lost it.”
Well, hold on, because it’s about to get all jacked up like you wouldn’t believe!
But you’re just going to have to wait a minute.
I’d better start back where Lenny left off.
While he was being held prisoner, that creepy ex-friend of his, the so-called Governor Fako Mustacho, escorted me out of the building. He tried to act like he was a gentleman, not a dipwad with a fake mustache. I think he was trying to hit on me. No ding-dang way, you creep!
I was so happy to get away from that guy and into a taxi and back home.
I tried to tell my parents about what happened, but I think they were brainwashed from watching too much Good Morning Hairsprinkle. They just loved Fako Mustacho.
So that was pretty much it. What could I do? I didn’t know how to reach Lenny. In fact, back then I didn’t even know his name was Lenny Flem Jr.
I went out to feed my horse, Soymilk. Yes, Soymilk is really my horse, not just a TV character.
When we moved back to Hairsprinkle from Hollywood, I said no way was I going to leave Soymilk behind. Luckily, there was enough TV money left for my parents to buy this house, which has a small stable and enough room for Soymilk to run around a bit.
My parents may not have clue one about what’s going on, but I can always talk to Soymilk.
I told her about Fako and the Heidelberg factory, but mostly I told her about Lenny Jr. The only problem was, like I said, I didn’t even know his name back then.
“I met this really great guy,” I told her. “It was like we became friends instantly. And he wasn’t like all the kids at school who want to be my friend just because I was on TV. He seemed like a real friend.
“Of course, it’s kind of hard to tell what someone is like when they are dressed up like you, but I thought he seemed really cute and smart and kind . . . and that yodel of his sounded so beautiful and yet so lonely . . .”
Soymilk understood. I can always tell if she thinks I’m right or if she thinks I’m crazy.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, though. But I am glad I helped him escape. I wonder where he went and what he’s doing.”
Soymilk didn’t know either.
I went back in the house for supper. My mom asked me if I would take my brothers trick-or-treating.
“Whoa back!” I said. “What did I do to deserve this chore?”
“Just because you’re a big star doesn’t mean you’re not still a big sister! Besides, you’ll probably have fun.”
That seemed unlikely, but I didn’t have anything better to do, so I went. And as predicted, it stunk. The twins are hyperactive little boogers, especially when they’ve eaten a pound of candy.
he next day, Sunday, was more of the usual—hanging around the house, taking care of Soymilk, and avoiding the twins.
When I was in Hollywood, there was always something going on, like learning lines for the show, practicing stunts with Soymilk, or getting my picture taken for Jodie O’Rodeo licensed products. But now . . . Nothing!
After supper, I got so bored that I decided to check my e-mail. Lots of times I put it off, because it’s kind of dangerous to my mental health. Sometimes it cheers me up; sometimes it makes me feel terrible.
A few years ago I got thousands of messages every day, and somebody on the TV show staff would pick out twenty or so and print them out for me and I would skim over them. Maybe.
But now that the show is in reruns I get just a few. And half of those usually say “You suck!” What makes people decide to send someone an e-mail like that? What makes them decide to make someone else feel bad? I got so many “You suck”s on my Facebook page, I decided to just delete it. And you wouldn’t even believe the nasty stuff I got on Twitter.
I came close to deleting my e-mail address too, but the e-mails that don’t say “You suck” usually make me feel good. They’re from kids who still watch reruns or DVDs of the show and really like it. And they want to know stuff like, can I really rope a cow and ride a horse. And I always write back and tell them “Yes, I can” and suggest that they take horseback riding lessons or join Girl Scouts or 4-H and learn to do stuff too.
The funny thing is that nobody ever asks “Was that really you singing?” Everybody just assumes I can sing but can’t do anything wild and exciting. But it’s really the other way around. The singing was fake and the stunts were all real.
The truth is, the ding-dang TV show people wouldn’t let me do half the cool cowgirl stuff on the show that I really can do, like barrel racing and hog-tying an ornery calf. Most of the plots were set in shopping malls and all I did was ride in, buy clothes, and then pretend to sing some song that was more electronic than cowgirl.
The other thing about me that was fake were the stories about me dating all these Hollywood stars and stuff. I met a lot of those guys at parties, but I didn’t really like them or the parties. The parties weren’t even real parties where people have fun. Instead, some publicist made me go and another publicist made some famous dude go. And we had to stand there and be all “I liked that movie you did with the talking dog.”
And while we were standing there pretending to be happy, someone would take a picture, and then that picture showed up in a magazine saying I had another new boyfriend! But really I didn’t have any boyfriends. Or any real friends either, but I didn’t find that out until after the show was canceled.
So, anyway, it’s nice to hear from a couple of kids who still like the show. It makes it feel like all that crazy stuff was worth it. Because most of the time, other than all the money we got, it doesn’t.
The e-mails I got were:
Three “You suck”s. They didn’t all say exactly that, but that was the main idea.
And there was a weird message from somebody’s cell phone. The subject line said “Help!”
It looked like spam, but I decided to check it out.
TO:
[email protected] SUBJECT: help! im being hid prsoner n fake mustch factry!
i dnt knw wht u cn do but I dnt knw who else 2 ask. Parnts + police wont hlp. brainwshed by fako.
mybe u cn brng me sum food 2mrrw? flat enuff to fit under door. Not beef jrke pleez. Im n ceo offic. top floor.
nice 2 meet u 2day!!!
btw fako rggng elction trying 2 tke ovr whle wrld!
your pal lenny
Holy hamburgers! He didn’t get away after all! That was my first thought. Then: His name is Lenny. And he liked meeting me! And then: And Fako wants to take over the world.
I hit reply:
Don’t worry, Lenny, I’ll do better than bring you some flat food. I’m going to get you out of there. Right now!
And it was REALLY nice meeting you too.
See you soon.
Your pal,
Jodie
XOXOXO
I wasn’t 100 percent sure if I should add the XOXOXO part, but I couldn’t help it.
told my mom I had to go out. There was a big whoop-de-do about it, and my mother said her usual line: “Just because you’re a big star doesn’t mean you don’t have to get up for school tomorrow morning.”
“It’s only eight o’clock,” I said. “I’ll be back by bedtime.”
That turned out to be a total lie, but I didn’t know it then.
I raced back to my room to get ready. I put on my riding clothes and grabbed some other things I thought I might need: lasso, fence-mending tool, throwing knives, and the sequined holsters with the pink pistols I used in one of the episodes. They only shoot water, but they are totally real-looking movie props. They might fool those idiots at the factory, I thought.
I have to admit that I spent a few extra seconds deciding which leather jacket to wear. I wanted to look my best when I saw Lenny again. I picked the long black one with the fringe and the beaded black cat on the back. Seemed like the right thing to wear when you’re about to break bad.
Wearing a backpack messed up the effect a little bit, but I needed a way to carry all my stuff. Plus, I brought along a bunch of Pop-Tarts for Lenny.
I put on my hat and headed to the stable.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said, “are you ready for a wild ride?”
Soymilk snorted. She’s a smart horse. She could tell I was serious.
“No time for the saddle tonight,” I told her. “We’ll do it bareback, just like the old days.”
She snorted again.
“Hey-YO-yo-te-do, let’s go!”
oymilk’s horseshoes rang and spa
rked on the pavement as we hurtled out of my subdivision, scattering some kids who were busting pumpkins in the street.
“Look out, ya little woolbusters!” I yelled. “I got a license to fly.”
It’s several miles from my house to the Heidelberg factory. We cut across Hairsprinkle Park, skipping the bridge and jumping across the little stream. Soymilk used to enjoy all those TV stunts, but now she was cooped up in our little field, doing the same old hurdles over and over again. She was happy to see some real action. We both were.
I saw a couple of weird groups walking around as we rode through town, a bunch of barbers and another bunch of grocery store clerks with aprons and name tags. Either these people had all picked the same Halloween costume and then forgot to take it off, or they were more of Fako’s brainwashed gangs, like those awful bodybuilders from the trolley.
When we got near the factory, I slowed Soymilk down. I wanted to scope the place out a bit before I tried to get in. It’s like Ol’ Gramps always said on my TV show, “Sometimes you gotta use your brains or you’ll get your butt kicked.”
t was pretty dark by this time. Kind of hard to see, but that might work in my favor, I thought. I was glad I was wearing black.
I was surprised by the number of guards around the Heidelberg factory. They looked like plumbers. Sagging pants, tool belts, plungers . . . and machine guns.
I dismounted Soymilk and left her in an alley. Then I took a lap around the building, keeping as far away from it as I could. There were six plumbers guarding the main gate and four at the big doors the trolley had gone through. These were the only entrances—everywhere else, the building was surrounded by a high metal fence. There were a bunch more plumbers driving around and around the perimeter in golf carts.