The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [147]
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We’re stalking Snow White. Watching the way she moves and who she talks to. I lean back against the wall. Gillian’s next to me, pretending to make chitchat. Charlie, more nervous than usual, flutters in and out around the crowd. But all we do is stare… study… make our mental notes. Naturally, Snow White has no idea we’re there—and as we stick to the shadows behind Cinderella’s Castle, neither do the autograph-seeking kids and photograph-snapping parents who currently surround her. Right now, the swarming crowd is six kids deep, which makes her hard to miss.
From the moment we entered the park, we were hunting for characters. Up Main Street, through the castle, and straight into Fantasyland. But it wasn’t until we heard the six-year-old shriek behind us—“Mom, look!”—that we spun around and saw the instacrowd. There she was at the center of the storm: Snow White, the fairest of them all. To the kids, she appeared out of nowhere. To us, well… that’s the whole point. If you want to find the employee tunnel, you have to start with the employees.
One by one, she lets each child have his moment. Some want a signature, others want photos, and the smallest ones simply want to hold her skirt and stare. Next to us, a mop-haired teenage boy is wearing a “Why do they call it Tourist Season, if we can’t shoot ’em?” black T-shirt. That’s Charlie when he was fifteen. Next to him, a brother and sister are in the middle of a vicious slap-fight. That’s us when we were ten. But as Snow White waves to all three of them, they can’t help but wave back. I clock it right from the start. Eight minutes after Snow White appears—just as the crowd hits critical mass—a college-aged kid with a Disney polo shirt arcs around to the back of the mob and gives the signal. Snow White looks up, but never falls out of character. That’s all she wrote. Stepping back and throwing goodbye kisses to the crowd, she makes it clear it’s time for her to go.
“Why’s she leaving?” a clearly displeased curly-haired girl asks.
“She’s late for her date with Prince Charming,” the college kid announces as pleasantly as possible.
“My ass,” Charlie whispers. “I hear they divorced years ago. She got everything but the mirror.”
Gillian slaps him on the arm. “Don’t say that abou—”
“Shhhh—this is it,” I tell them.
A few flashbulbs go off, a last-second autograph is signed, and one final photo is taken by a parent who begs, “Please, just one more… Katie, smile!” Then, like a movie star waving to her fans, Snow White recedes from the crowd, all of whom are still grumbling until…
“Winnie the Pooh!” a little boy shouts as everyone turns. Thirty feet away, the familiar red-shirted bear magically appears and gets enveloped by tiny hugs. I have to hand it to Disney—they certainly know how to throw a distraction. The crowd runs. We stay. And that’s when we see the old wooden door. Snow White and the college kid go straight for it—behind Cinderella’s Castle, to the left of the Cinderella fountain—just under the arches, it’s on the back corner of Tinker Bell’s treasure shop. The way it’s set off from the main path, it almost looks like a bathroom. But it doesn’t say “Men” or “Women.” It’s just blank. A blank old door that’s right in front of our faces. Perfectly designed to be overlooked.
The college kid takes a last-minute glance over his shoulder and checks for stragglers. All three of us look away. Convinced no one’s watching, he pulls open the door and escorts Snow White inside. Just like that, they’re gone.
“Open sesame,” Charlie says.
“You think that’s it?” Gillian asks.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I ask, barreling forward.
“Wait!” Gillian calls out, grabbing me by the back of the shirt. “What’re you doing?”
“Getting some answers.”
“But if there’s a guard…”
“… then we’ll say ‘Oops, wrong door,’ and