Chris Mitchell by Cast Member Confidential: A Disneyfied Memoir

corner texting on his Sidekick.
    “Hey.”
    “Oh hey,” he said, pretending to see me for the first time. “I saw your Myspace post about moving to Orlando. I didn’t know when you were coming or I would’ve…” He closed his Sidekick, opened it, closed it again. “I didn’t recognize you with your Disney Look. Nice haircut, by the way. You look like a constipated CNN stock analyst.”
    “Thanks.”
    “When I need my taxes done, I know where to turn.”
    “Very clever.”
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Parker, I’ll have Debby home by midnight.”
    “Are you finished?” I allowed him a couple more zingy one-liners before I cut him off. “How’s it going?”
    “What? You mean the outing thing? That’s bullshit, bro. I just let him say all that stuff so we could get on with the party.” Nick wiped his nose on a rainbow wristband. “I’m not gay, you know.”
    “I know,” I said.
    “Not that I have a problem with it. I mean most of the guys here are, and they like totally hook me up with their girlfriends, so I get pussy like all the effing time!”
    “That must be fun.”
    “It is, bro. Believe me.” Nick gulped his drink. “Besides, it doesn’t even matter. I’m leaving in three weeks anyway. There’s this new Cirque show opening in Vegas and they want rollerbladers.”
    “Vegas? What happened to life everlasting in Disney World?”
    “Oh yeah,” Nick snorted. “Well, Cirque pays better. Hey, what are you doing here anyway?”
    I didn’t feel like rehashing the events of the last few months, so I summarized. “I just needed a change of scenery, you know? LA was getting stale.”
    A group of Cast Members ran past us giggling. As they disappeared into the bathroom, a cute brunette grabbed Nick’s hand. “Come with me,” she said to him. “I want you to try something.”
    “Cool.” When she turned around, Nick mimed an “O” face for my benefit. “Just so you know, dude, you’re only seeing Alice’s antechamber here. This rabbit hole goes all the way down.”
    “How deep?”
    He let the brunette pull him to his feet and smiled at me. “You’re staying in Orlando for a while, right?”
    I shrugged. “Sure.”
    He put his hand on my shoulder. “Even candy apples can be rotten, but you have to take a bite to know for sure.”

I Just Can’t Wait to Be King
    “D isney World!” Considering it was just after midnight in LA, Michael sounded surprisingly awake. “What kind of Peter Pan bullshit is this? What did Mom and Dad say?”
    “I haven’t told them yet.” The lights were dim in the parking lot of the Budget Lodge. A family of opossums scrambled for the shrubbery when I pulled in. “And who cares what they say? I’m twenty-nine.”
    “Just so I’m clear on the plan,” he growled. “What exactly are you doing out there?”
    “Hurricane relief.” I said it with a martyr’s pathos because I knew it would piss him off.
    I could hear him rubbing his temples, breathing through his nose. It was something he did when he was frustrated. “This is about Mom, isn’t it?”
    “No.” I was twelve again, and an authority figure was asking if I wanted to stay after school. I cut my engine and slammed my Jeep door. It felt good.
    “Really.”
    I tried to slam the hotel door too, but the lightweight particleboard made an unsatisfying swoosh. “Why did I even call you?”
    “Because you thought I wouldn’t answer.”
    “You’re an ass.”
    “Are you finished?” There was a long silence before he spoke again. “She starts on chemotherapy next week. It’s a long road and it won’t be easy on her. The body reacts in unpredictable ways when you introduce these kinds of chemicals into the bloodstream.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Chemo works,” he explained, “because it destroys rapidly dividing cancer cells. The problem is that it can’t distinguish between healthy and malignant cells, so it affects all tissue. Her hair is going to fall out. Her nails will break. And