Small Steps - Louis Sachar [36]
“Hello?”
“Hi. I hope it’s not too early.”
“Uh, no, I just got up.”
“We don’t have to leave for Dallas until one. You want to get together and have breakfast or something?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
“Cool! I’m staying at the Four Seasons. It’s next to a river or lake or something. If you want I can look up the address.”
“No, I know where it is,” said Armpit. He had seen it from the bus.
“Oh, and when you come, don’t ask for Kaira DeLeon. You have to ask for Samantha Stevens.”
“Is that your real name?”
“Yeah, I’m a witch.” She laughed. “No, I always check in under a fake name. Have you ever watched that old TV show Bewitched?”
“Is that the one with the genie?”
“No, dummy, the one with the witch! It’s not called Begenied!”
Armpit told her he’d be there in forty-five minutes. He had to shower first.
He hung up, then walked over to the bed and scooped up the money. “Two hundred and ninety-eight dollars?”
“It cost four dollars to make the copies. I figured we’d split it.”
Armpit stared at him.
“Okay, fine,” said X-Ray. He tossed in another two bucks. “So who was that?”
“Kaira DeLeon. Can you give me a ride to the Four Seasons? I’m supposed to meet her for breakfast.”
19
X-Ray’s car was parked out front facing the wrong way. He opened the only door that worked, then slid over to the driver’s side. “So really, where are we going?” he asked as Armpit got in beside him.
“The Four Seasons.”
“Right, because Kaira DeLeon wants to have breakfast with you.”
“Yes,” said Armpit.
He didn’t tell him anything more. It was his payback for the phony tickets.
The whole way there, X-Ray kept glancing sideways at him, trying to see a hint of a smile, or some kind of clue, but Armpit remained cool, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
The X-Mobile turned off Cesar Chavez Avenue and into the hotel’s circular driveway. A doorman opened Armpit’s door for him.
“Excuse me,” X-Ray said to him. “Is Kaira DeLeon staying here?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Yes, you would. She’s not here. You’d know if she was here.”
Armpit thanked X-Ray for the ride, then walked through the revolving door into the hotel.
The inside of the hotel reminded Armpit of pictures he’d seen of ancient Greek temples, with stone pillars and marble floors. He had no idea where he was supposed to go. The concierge seemed too intimidating, so he asked one of the bellhops, who directed him to the house phone.
Armpit picked up the receiver and dialed zero.
“How may I direct your call?” the operator asked him.
He hung up.
He’d forgotten the name she’d given him. It was the lady from Bewitched, he knew that, but he couldn’t remember her name. He could picture her perfectly, and could even hear the musical notes they played whenever she twitched her nose. Mary? Mindy? He was pretty sure it started with an “M.”
A family of four came out of the elevator and headed in his direction. They all had blond hair. The husband could have been a tennis pro, and the wife looked like a model. The girls were twins, about seven or eight years old.
“Excuse me,” Armpit said. “You ever watch the show Bewitched?” He knew he must have sounded crazy.
The father crossed in front of his daughters to protect them. He would have kept on going, hurrying his family along, but the mother stopped.
“What about it?” she asked.
“Do you remember the name of the woman, you know, the one who was the witch?”
She tried to remember. They all did.
“Elizabeth Montgomery,” said the father.
“That doesn’t sound right,” said Armpit.
“I’m sure,” said the father.
“That’s the name of the actress,” Armpit realized. “I need the name of the person on the show. You know, the name of the character.”
“Oh, I thought you wanted the name of the actress,” the father said, disappointed not to have been given the credit he thought he deserved.
“Her husband’s name was Darren,” said the wife.
“Samantha,” said one of the girls.
“That’s right!” said her mother. “Darren called her Sam, but her name was Samantha. Very good, Ashley.”
“Do you remember her last name, Ashley?” Armpit