“For the record?” the woman said to the two. “I don’t even care about losing the kids. What I just saw? That was totally worth it.”
No one acknowledged her. The two men took off in a bizarre, stiff-legged run that made them look more like puppets than people.
* * *
The Cast Member beauty salon was like a prop shop for a horror show. Along the tops of the cabinets that surrounded the room and the six well-padded salon chairs were plastic heads wearing wigs—Snow White, Cinderella, Belle, and a dozen others—as well as latex prosthetics like noses, ears, chins, cheeks, and bald caps. The salon was a special effects laboratory possessing the theatrical cosmetics and technology needed to turn an ordinary Cast Member into an extraordinary Disney character—one who looked nearly identical to the character’s image in a Disney film.
Dillard Cole and Kenny Carlson entered the empty salon on top secret orders, received from Wanda Alcott by encrypted e-mail. They’d been told where to find the salon: forward on Deck 2 through a locked Cast Member–only door; the salon was part of the Walt Disney Theatre’s lower-level backstage area, shared by the stage productions and the character appearance groups. They’d also been advised of the safest time to be there: one hour past the conclusion of the Canal celebration, a rest time for the dozens of characters involved.
Dillard stepped through and locked the door from the inside.
“Find a hiding place. I’m going to put a chair by the door. If it opens, we’ll hear the chair slide. We hear that, we hide.”
Kenny found a closet of hanging crinoline petticoats; there was space enough to tuck in behind. It was the best spot in the small room for a boy so tall. Dillard was able to squeeze into a dark area under the makeup station farthest from the door; thus hidden, he was nearly invisible to the naked eye. A risky spot, but one he liked because it afforded him a view of the room.
With their hiding places planned, they followed procedures outlined in YouTube videos showing various techniques and practices of people working in salons. They’d memorized most of it.
The hair was not the problem. Both boys had previously booked appointments in the Senses Spa and Salon and brought magazine photos of the haircuts they desired. It was nothing new to the experts in Senses to work from such photographs—kids often wanted to look like their favorite film, television, or rock star.
The challenge was the choice of, and application of, the latex prostheses that would transform their faces as Wanda had requested. They tried a variety of different noses and cheeks, finally gluing them into place, each boy serving as the other’s beautician. Dillard had to shave off his eyebrows and use stick-ons to match color and shape; Kenny was able to use his freckles and red hair to his advantage. Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. Bit by bit, the boys saw themselves slowly transform. The coloring and application of makeup was a different matter.
“This is way harder than it looked in the video.”
“I don’t get how much time this must take for girls every morning. What do they do, get up at four or something?”
“I don’t think they’re as slow as we are.”
“You look like some ninety-year-old geezer with bright red cheeks and fake eyelashes.”
“You’re the one doing this to me.”
“And I’m really sorry about that, but you look ugly and ancient and a lot like a girl.”
“Get it together, would you?”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
Dillard had done a good job on Kenny, but the reverse was not true. No matter how many times Kenny cleaned up Dillard’s face—itself a time-consuming job!—and reapplied the cosmetics, Dillard looked only slightly better, and still nothing close to the person he was supposed to resemble.
“It’s going to work, but I need more practice,” Kenny said.
“Yeah, you’re pretty pathetic at this.” Dillard couldn’t keep it in any longer. “We should tell Finn what we’re doing.”
“Wanda said not to.” Kenny tried adjusting Dillard’s latex nose.
“He needs to be told.”
“You worship that guy,” Kenny said.
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
“We’re neighbors. I’ve known him since first grade.”
“So what? You are so weird about him. It’s like he walks on water or something.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“He’s the leader. He should be told.”
“Wayne’s the leader and Wanda’s his daughter, and she says no.”
They left the salon ten minutes later, still arguing.