Chapter 33

We broke for lunch then I went to the schoolhouse to meet Mr. Danson. He informed me that I passed the Spanish exam and then took me over to Hollywood High. After checking in at the office we headed for the Biology Lab.

Miss Powell was ready for me. There was also another student there a nice looking girl my age. She was taller than average with light brown hair and brown eyes.

I would say all her features were average, but when put together she had a nice look. I could see as she got older she would look very high class. Dignified is the word I was looking for.

Miss Powell introduced me to Nina Monroe.

Nina very quickly said, “No relation to Marilyn.”

“Of course not, she is Hollywood, you are Paris.”

Where that came from I had no idea but it worked. Nina lit up. Miss Powell told Mr. Danson.

“We are going to have to watch this one.”

Nina was to be my teammate in the lab exercise. She had been out with whooping cough and had missed the lab portion of Biology. This was one of her study hall periods.

Nina asked if I was the actor in the paper that was feuding with Paul Grant. I told her I didn’t know I had a feud going. Miss Powell broke in and told us it was time to get to work. I decided I like the inside of machines better than the inside of frogs.

I had done the study portion of the lesson so I knew the names and where to look for things but it still took a while to figure out what I was looking at.

I’m sorry to say on the subject of frog innards Nina was all girl. She wanted no part of them. She held up her end by taking the notes and drawing diagrams. That worked out very well as her writing was so much neater than mine and we had to turn the notes in. I’m afraid the typewriter had ruined my handwriting. Use it or lose it!

We worked most of the lab period while Miss Powell graded papers. If we had any questions we were to ask for help, but she preferred we sort things out for ourselves. While Nina and I cut up, poor late Mr. Froggie who would no longer go a courtin, we talked a little about our backgrounds.

She loved the line about Paris and couldn’t wait to repeat it to her friends. Too soon the session was over and it was back to the studio.

I told Mr. Danson that I was going out with Mr. Wyman to look for a new car this evening. He was pleased to hear that. I could drive myself to class.

Back at the studio, I headed to the stunt area. After my sword work and lifting, I sat and listened to a bull session while waiting for Dick Wyman to show up. They were talking about parachuting as a sport. There were World War II surplus parachutes available for a couple of bucks each.

Apparently, there was a small airline company out at Bakersfield that had modified an aircraft so that it was easy to jump out of. They were talking about buying chutes at an Army-Navy surplus store and trying it. It sounded like fun. I asked them to keep me posted on when they were going to try it.

Dick showed up and asked about my day. I updated him as we pulled out of the studio.

He then said, “Now let’s talk about the important stuff like a new car.”

“I’m holding out for the 58 Thunderbird convertible in red.”

“You can afford that?”

“I’m fifteen years old, single, working in the movies, yes I can afford that,” I said smugly.

“Well if you are going to be snotty about it I can drop you off at your apartment.”

“Hey, wait, I’m sorry. I do have the money and my parents have approved. It is from the money I earned before this movie ever came up.”

Dick knew most of my history. I filled him in on the rewards from the bank robbery and capturing the rustlers. How I had helped set my parents up in a successful business. I didn’t say anything about gold sitting in a safe deposit box. That was my ace in the hole.

“So the movie money is all gravy. Good for you kid. I guess you have earned whatever car you want.”

As we were finishing the conversation I realized that we had pulled into a Ford dealership. He had never intended to take me home.

“You got me, Dick.”

“I have noticed that teenage boys need that occasionally to keep them straight.”

When we went into the showroom there it was, sitting on a rotating pedestal, was my dream car. The 1958 Ford Thunderbird convertible in red was beautiful. The sticker said it was an eight-cylinder with 352 cubic inches and a four-barrel carburetor.