Woof, There It Is Read online

  “She almost wrecked our flow, that’s for sure,” Do’ Re Mi says with a sigh.

  I put my arms around her. “I’m so proud of you—you didn’t barf once!” But what I’m thinking is, Next time, share the Cloud Nine tablets!

  Pedro waits to get our luggage off the carousel. I notice a big sign that says: SOME LUGGAGE LOOKS ALIKE. MAKE SURE YOU READ THE TAG CAREFULLY BEFORE YOU GRAB YOURS.

  “Hmmph. Our luggage doesn’t look like anybody else’s,” I chuckle to my crew, as I see Mom’s cheetah suitcases coming around the bend of the carousel.

  All of a sudden, Do’ Re Mi’s old orange plaid suitcase comes out of the chute. It hits the bottom of the carousel and pops open, dragging her clothes behind it—cheetah bloomers and all!

  “No! No! I’m not having it!” Do’ Re Mi groans, putting her hand up over her eyes.

  Pedro comes to the rescue. “Don’t worry, señorita, I fix for you!” he says. He starts pushing people out of the way to get Dorinda’s suitcase and her floating clothes before they go around the baggage carousel once again, for the whole crowd to see.

  Just our luck—at that exact moment, some bozo wearing a Lakers cap beats Pedro to the punch. As Do’ Re Mi’s pooped-out suitcase goes by him, he grabs a pair of cheetah undies, and holds them high above his head. Then he yells, “Yo, who these belong to?”

  I can hear some other guys laughing, and looking around to see who’s gonna claim the cheetah underwear.

  “Oh, so now I get it, they’ve got bozos out here, too,” I humph. I cross my arms, just waiting to see what the pinhead in the Lakers cap is gonna do with Do’ Re Mi’s teeny-weeny undies.

  Thank gooseness, Pedro pipes right up. “Please to give to me, sir!”

  “Oh, it’s like that,” Pinhead responds, but you can tell he’s a little disappointed that he didn’t get to meet the owner of the bloomers.

  Do’ Re Mi looks like she just wants to do an “abracadabra” and disappear up the luggage chute.

  Pedro retrieves the undies from Pinhead and grabs Do’ Re Mi’s suitcase. He places it on the floor and tries to snap it shut, but the latch is broken.

  A nice lady walks over to Pedro and hands him one of Do’ Re Mi’s undershirts. “Sir, you forgot this one. It didn’t get too wrinkled, dear,” she adds, looking sympathetically at Do’.

  Pedro thanks the lady a thousand times and keeps trying to close the suitcase. Finally, he looks up sheepishly and says, “No fix, señorita. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Do’ Re Mi says, her eyes planted downward, as if she’s afraid to look up at all the people watching us.

  Pedro carefully places Do’ Re Mi’s suitcase in the luggage cart, then puts ours on top, and pushes the cart along to the lot where he’s parked his car. Mom, Pedro, the twins, and Chuchie are already inside the car, a fabulous Town Car limo, when I hear someone calling us from the other side of the parking lot.

  “Yo! Cheetah Girls!” I look up to see who it is, and I nearly lose my lunch right there.

  “Stak Jackson!” I gasp, as he and his brother, Chedda, come loping toward us, big pointy-toothed grins on their faces. The two of them are a rap group, Stak Chedda. And they’re not too cheesy, either. They actually beat us in the Apollo Theatre Amateur Hour Contest.

  Yes, we, the fierce Cheetah Girls, actually lost the Apollo Theatre Amateur Contest to these two bozos, who are carrying duffel bags bigger than they are. And now I feel like I’m seeing a mirage. They’re even wearing the same yellow satin baseball jackets and caps they had on at the Apollo. Somebody better yell for “wardrobe!”

  “What are y’all doin’ in L.A.?” I ask, thinking that this can’t be a “coinky-dinky,” a coincidence.

  “We wuz just gonna ask y’all the same thing!” Chedda says.

  “Um, we’re …”

  Words fail me, as I realize I can’t tell the truth. If these two bozos hear about the Def Duck Records showcase, they’ll wind up worming their way into it—and we don’t want them movin’ in on our groove—you know what I’m saying?

  “Um … we’re here to make a music video,” I say, wincing. I know it’s a fib-eroni, but it’s all I can think of at the moment.

  “Music video?” Aqua pipes up, oblivious. “Wha—OWW!” she says, as Do’ Re Mi gives her a little kick in the shin.

  “Um, what are y’all doin’ out here?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Us? Um, we’re …” Chedda starts, but Stak cuts him off.

  “We’re visiting our uncle Dudley,” he says. “He’s rich, and we’re trying to get him to back our act.”

  “That’s dope,” I say. “Well, toodles. We gotta go. See you back in the Big Apple.”

  “No doubt,” Stak says. “Oh, by the way,” he adds, turning to Do’ Re Mi. “Nice cheetah undies.” He and his bozo brother crack up, and slap each other a high five.

  Dorinda practically sinks into the pavement. These two must have been in the crowd by the carousel!

  “Put a lid on it, bozos!” I blurt out, losing my temper. “We can’t all be carrying duffel bags!”

  Right away, I’m sorry I said it. I know I was only trying to represent my crew, but now I’ve gone and made Dorinda feel even worse—calling attention to her broken-down suitcase. I could kick myself!

  “Come on, yo,” I say, putting my arm around her and helping her into the Town Car. “We’re out,” I tell Stak and Chedda, and get into the car myself.

  As I shut the door behind me, I can feel the sense of doom and gloom that has descended upon my crew. “What?” I say. “Just because we happen to run into them out here doesn’t mean it’s an evil omen or something. It’s just a coinky-dinky!”

  Silence. I know they don’t believe me. All my crew are superstitious, and you know this cannot be a good sign.

  “It’s so dope that they provided a car for us, isn’t it?” I ask, trying to lighten things up, as we pull out of the lot and onto the freeway of loot in sunny Los Angeles.

  “This car is la dopa!” Chuchie says, beginning to get in the mood. All it takes is a little luxury, and she always perks right up.

  “Dag on, look at all those fancy cars we’re passin’,” Aqua says. “They got some serious money in this town!”

  For now, it seems, they’ve forgotten our little meeting with Stak Chedda. I decide to do the same. So they were on the same plane with us, and saw Do’ Re Mi’s underwear doing the float. So what? It doesn’t mean they’re gonna find out about our showcase and crash it.

  I decide not to worry. Good for them if their uncle Dudley’s rich, and wants to back them. They need all the help they can get in the wardrobe department. Let them think we’re out here doing a music video! Ha! That was a pretty good fib-eroni, if I say so myself. Good thing Do’ Re Mi stopped Aqua from opening her trap at the wrong time!

  I give Do’ Re Mi a big hug and start tickling her. I’m trying to get her mind off the suitcase drama, but the way she’s still staring at the floor of the car, I don’t think I’m succeeding.

  “Anything with its wheels firmly planted on the ground is a welcome sight after that plane ride,” Mom says, settling into the soft leather seat in front.

  “I can’t wait to take a nice bubbly bubble bath,” I whisper to Chanel, as we enjoy the supa-spacious ride. “Check it, don’t wreck it, ’cuz we are V.I.P., yo!”

  Chanel starts yapping away to Pedro in Spanish, then tells us that he is “Chicano,” which means he is Mexican-American. She says he grew up in East L.A.

  “He says they have a lot of Chicanos here—like millions,” Chuchie tells us, sucking on her Dolly lollipop.

  “We got a lot of Mexicans in Texas, too—they’re called Tejanos, right, Angie?” Aqua asks her sister, then burps. “Excuse me,” she giggles.

  “Yeah, but this place is definitely bigger,” Angie responds. They go on to compare which city—Los Angeles or Houston—has the biggest skyscrapers. Thank gooseness the barfing twins have recovered. I don’t want anything else
to ruin our trip, now that we’ve come this far. We’ve had enough drama and kaflamma already!

  “It’s actually twice the size of New York,” Pedro explains.

  “Yeah, and I bet twice the fun,” I giggle, poking Chanel, who is sitting next to me in the back.

  “This is kinda like a limo, right?” she whispers back to me.

  “It’s a Town Car limo,” Mom explains.

  “I’ve never been in car with a bar!” Do’ Re Mi exclaims, finally perking up. See, Dorinda lives with her foster mother, Mrs. Bosco, and about a million other foster kids, in this little apartment in the projects. She has never been anywhere but New York—I can tell she is supa-excited to be in Cali.

  Now we are driving along the freeway into the city. “Wow, they’ve got trees and mountains everywhere,” I exclaim. It looks a lot like the hills in Italy, as a matter of fact. Only all the buildings here are new, not hundreds of years old like over there.

  “The City of Angels is definitely more scenic than the Big Apple,” Mom says, nodding her head approvingly.

  “What’s the City of Angels?’” asks Aqua.

  “That’s what Los Angeles means in Spanish,” Chanel coos.

  “Oh, that’s real nice,” Aqua says, smiling like a dumb sugarplum.

  “Oooh, look at the birds!” Chuchie says excitedly, looking at the formation of big black birds flying in the sky. “They must be flying south ’cuz winter is coming.”

  “They don’t have real winter out here,” I point out.

  Then I notice the twins, who both have spooked looks on their faces.

  “Look, Aqua,” Angie says. “They’re spreading their wings.”

  “Yeah—and?” Aqua retorts.

  “Remember what High Priestess Abala said?” Angie continues. “‘Look for the Raven when she spreads her wings.’”

  “Who can forget what she says?” Aqua humphs. “I’d like to just plain forget her.”

  “I know,” Angie says. “She gives me the creepy-creeps! I wish Daddy would stop seeing her.” Then she repeats High Priestess Abala’s mysterious prediction for our future in L.A.: “‘Look for the Raven when she spreads her wings.’”

  I look up at the black birds. “They look like sparrows or blackbirds to me. They’re too small to be ravens,” I say. But the twins just give each other a scared look.

  Man, I hope the high priestess doesn’t put the royal whammy on us. It’s bad enough she’s got the twins’ father in a trance of romance! See, he and Mrs. Walker are divorced, and she lives back in Houston, so I guess it’s okay he’s got a girlfriend. But what a girlfriend!

  A few minutes later, we pull up to the Royal Rooster Hotel, on world-famous Hollywood Boulevard. “The Cheetah Girls are definitely about to spread their wings, cock-a-doodle-do-style,” I say. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  Chapter

  3

  A man wearing a bright blue top hat, and even brighter blue satin tails, opens the big glass door of the Royal Rooster Hotel for us. “Cock-a-doodle-do! How are you this fine morning, ladies?”

  We are tickled by his salutation. “We’re the swelliest we can ever be, sir!” Do’ Re Mi chimes back at him.

  “Glad to hear that, miss, and welcome to the Royal Rooster Hotel, where dreams are hatched by the Hollywood batch!”

  That sends Chuchie into a fit of giggles. As soon as we get inside, a bellhop in a bright blue suit with gold embroidery on his jacket loads our luggage onto a gold luggage cart.

  When he picks up Do’ Re Mi’s luggage, she apologetically says, “I’m sorry, this one is busted.” Then she quickly drapes her jacket over her suitcase, like she’s trying to hide it from plain sight.

  Walking to the elevator, Angie and Aqua are looking around in awe. “Look at the ceilings,” Aqua says in hushed tones. She pokes Angie to get her to look upward, then points over at the mosaics on the wall depicting roosters laying golden eggs, and farmers running after them like they’re the cat’s meow.

  Whether we snag the record deal or not, I think, the Cheetah Girls definitely have something to crow about now, because at least we’ve stayed at the Royal Rooster Hotel!

  “Holy cannoli, that reminds me of the mosaics in Venice,” I gasp.

  Aqua and Angie look at me like they’re impressed, which makes me feel a little embarrassed for bragging. “My father has dragged me to museums all over Italy from the time I was two,” I offer, waving my hand in the air like I just don’t care. “He loves Venetian glass, too,” I say, pointing back to the ceiling.

  “Oh,” Aqua says, nodding her head like she doesn’t know what to say.

  “You’re so lucky, Bubbles,” Do’ Re Mi says. “You’ve traveled to places. I wanna go to Italy, too.”

  “Yeah—wait till you see it. Don’t you worry, though, we’re gonna have our own Cheetah Girls gondola take us around everywhere!”

  Do’ Re Mi shrugs her shoulders at Aqua, like she doesn’t understand what a gondola is, so I try to divert their attention. I don’t want them feeling bad, just because I’ve lived “la dolce vita,” or “the good life,” as they say in Italy.

  “Look at the gilded columns!” Aqua gushes as we continue on down the hallway. “All that glitters is golden.”

  “Even the elevators are gilded,” Mom says, pointing to the glass-walled, gold-trimmed elevators that are shooting up and down the exposed elevator shafts like golden rockets!

  All of a sudden, I see fear creep into Aqua’s and Angie’s faces as they clutch each other’s hands. Oopsy, doopsy! I should’ve told Mom about their fear of elevators! Wait a minute—what if our room is on a high floor? I wonder.

  But I guess there’s a reason why Mom is our manager, because she looks right at the twins and asks, “What’s wrong? You look like we’ve just stepped inside Madison ‘Scare’ Garden instead of the Royal Rooster Hotel.”

  “Ms. Dorothea, you know we don’t want to be any bother at all,” Aqua says, “but we don’t want to stay on the tippy-top floor, or something like that—if you don’t mind? Angie and I are, kinda, well, afraid of heights.”

  “Darling, don’t worry about a thing! That’s why I’m your manager. I’ll take care of that.”

  When the front desk clerk informs Mom that our suite is on the 27th floor, she asks him to switch us into two suites on a lower floor.

  “You’ll have to give us a second then, ma’am, because we don’t have anything available right now,” the clerk responds.

  Oh, swelly, I think, rolling my eyes. Now we’ve gotta wait for a room, lest the fabulous Walker twins get another barf attack! Pouting, I walk over to the gold brocade Victorian armchair in the lobby, remove the plump pillow, and plop myself down.

  Do’ Re Mi wanders over, while the rest of the crew waits by the desk with Mom. “I’m starving like Marvin, yo,” she moans, then sits on the carpet.

  “Cheez whiz, there are roosters everywhere,” I say. “It’s enough to make anybody hungry!” I hand the pillow to Do’ Re Mi so she doesn’t hurt her butt. I notice that the pillow is decorated with an embroidered rooster. “I hope that means we’re about to lay a golden egg or something!” I say.

  “Yeah. I hope so, too. Aren’t you scared though—about tomorrow night?” Do’ Re Mi asks me, her voice cracking.

  Even though I am scared, I don’t want to tell Do’ Re Mi. I don’t want her getting any more ideas about leaving the group. It’s only been a few weeks since she almost took a job as backup dancer for Mo’ Money Monique’s national concert tour. If we don’t bag a record deal from this showcase, Do’ might figure she made the wrong choice. Then the next time an opportunity comes along …

  No! She can’t leave the group—I won’t let her!

  “You think the other acts got it going on more than we do?” Do’ Re Mi asks timidly, swallowing my own fears.

  “We’re not going out like that, Do’,” I humph. “Well probably have to deal with some more ‘burnt toast’ bozos, though!” I snicker.

&nb
sp; “Like Stak Chedda?” Do’ Re Mi asks me. “Those ‘bozos’ won the Apollo Contest over us.”

  “Word. I bet you that competition was rigged, yo,” I say. Not that Stak Chedda was wack or anything. They were pretty dope, but I still think we were better.

  Do’ Re Mi scrunches her legs up and wraps her hands around them. “I’m so hungry, I could eat some burnt toast right about now!” she says, giggling.

  I giggle, too, and we do the Cheetah Girls handshake.

  “Girls! Come on, now. We’re in there like swimwear!” Mom yells, motioning for us to hop to it like hares. “Seven is our lucky number, girls, and the only thing I want right now is the biggest bubbly bubble bath this town has to offer.”

  “Grazie,” I say. “Thanks for everything, Mom.” I give her a big hug, to tell her how much I appreciate all the sacrifices she’s making for us.

  “Thanks for getting us a room that’s not so high up, Ms. Dorothea,” Angie says.

  “Of course, darling. We don’t want the best two-fifths of our group to irritate their precious vocal cords, now, do we?” Mom snickers. Looking at Aqua and Angie, I can tell they would be turning red for sure right now, if they weren’t so brown to begin with.

  “I’ll bet you the bathtub is big enough to dive into,” I giggle.

  “Well, don’t think you’re gonna turn into Flipper before I do,” Mom says, opening the door to suite 777. “And remember, just because we’ve got adjoining suites doesn’t mean I can’t keep all four eyes on you, girlinas.”

  Opening the middle door that connects to the adjoining suite—778—she instructs Aqua, Angie, and Chuchie to put their stuff in the other room. “Dorinda, Galleria, and I are gonna share this one,” she instructs us.

  Chanel gives me a look like “What’s the deal-io, yo?” but I just wink at her. I think Mom wants to keep a closer eye on Dorinda. She’s not worried about her goddaughter Chuchie, who sure won’t be getting into any trouble sharing a room with the “goody-two-shoes twins”—our latest nickname for Miz Aquanette and Anginette Walker.