Carrie hung the costume on a pair of hooks in the locker. She said, “This damn thing weighs a ton, I wish you’d write that down. It’s about a hundred twenty degrees inside, too. OSHA made them put in air conditioners, but they’re always broken.”
Winder stepped closer to examine the raccoon costume, not Carrie Lanier in her bra (which was the type that unhooked in the front; pink with lacy cups).
Winder held up the animal suit and said, “Where’s the AC?”
“In the back. Here, look.” Carrie showed him. “The batteries last about two hours max, then forget about it. We tried to call the feds and complain—what a joke. They haven’t been out here since the day Petey Possum died.”
“Do I want to hear this story?”
“Heart attack,” Carrie Lanier went on. “This was Sessums. Billy Sessums. The very first Petey Possum. He’d been twenty-two years with Disneyland—Goofy, Pluto, you name it. Billy was a pro. He taught me plenty.”
“So what happened?”
“One of those days. Ninety-two in the shade, one twelve inside the possum suit. The AC went out, and so did Billy.” Carrie Lanier paused reflectively. “He was an older fella but still…”
“I’m sorry,” said Joe Winder. He put his notebook away. He was starting to feel prickly and claustrophobic.
Carrie said, “You’re gonna put my name in the press release?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s company policy not to identify the actors who portray the animal characters. Mr. Kingsbury says it would spoil the illusion for the children.”
Carrie laughed. “Some illusion. I’ve had kids grab my boobs, right through the costume. One time there was a Shriner, tried to goose me in the Magic Mansion.”
Winder said, “How’d they know you were a woman?”
“That’s the scary part.” Her eyes flashed mischievously. “What if they didn’t know I was a woman? What if they thought I was a real raccoon? What would Mr. Francis X. Kingsbury say about that?” She took a pair of blue jeans out of the locker and squirmed into them. “Anyhow, I don’t want my name in any stupid press release,” she said. “Not for this place.”
“Maybe not, but you did a brave thing,” said Winder.
As Carrie buttoned her blouse, she said, “I don’t want my folks knowing what I do. You blame me?”
“You make lots of little children happy. What’s wrong with that?”
She looked at him evenly. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Joe Winder said.
“My job’s crummy, but you know what? I think your job is worse.”
Joe Winder wrote the press release in forty minutes. “Theft of Rare Animals Stuns Amazing Kingdom.” Ten paragraphs on the crime itself, with a nod to the heroics of Robbie Raccoon (“who barely escaped serious injury”). Three paragraphs of official reaction (“a sad and shocking event”) from Francis X. Kingsbury, chairman and president of the park. Three graphs more of scientific background on the blue-tongued mango vole, with a suitable quote from Dr. Will Koocher. A hundred words about the $10,000 reward, and a hundred more announcing new beefed-up security precautions at the park.
Winder put the press release on Charles Chelsea’s desk and went home. By the time he called Nina, it was nearly one in the morning. He dialed the number and hoped she would be the one to answer.
“Hello, sugar,” Nina said.
“It’s me.”
“God, I need to talk to a real man,” she said. “I had a fantasy that got me so hot. We were on the bow of a sailboat. Making love in the sun. I was on top. Suddenly a terrible storm came—”
“Nina, it’s me!”
“—but instead of hiding in the cabin, we lashed each other to the deck and kept on doing it in the lightning and thunder. Afterwards the warm rain washed the salt off our bodies….”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Joe?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Why don’t you ever listen?”
“Because they don’t pay me to listen,” Nina said. “They pay me to talk.”
“I wish you’d get a normal job.”
“Joe, don’t start.”
Nina was a voice for one of those live dial-a-fantasy telephone services. She worked nights, which put a strain on her personal relationships. Also, every time Joe Winder called, it cost him four bucks. At least the number was easy to remember: 976-COME.