Uncommon Type: Some Stories

Stay with Us

MUSIC: “Mama Said Knock You Out” by LL Cool J

FADE IN

EXT: LAS VEGAS. MORNING

We know this place—the Strip. The casinos. The fountains. But wait…there is a new, huge, luxurious hotel on the skyline.

OLYMPUS.

Bigger than all the others. If you are a Big Roller, you frolic and gamble with the gods at OLYMPUS.

CLOSE ON: EYES OF FRANCIS XAVIER RUSTAN

A.K.A.: F.X.R. Green eyes, flecked with gold, that dance with delight at all they see.

CLOSE ON: COMPUTER SCREENS

Left screen: DETAILED ARCHITECTURAL PLANS, of a vast SOLAR ENERGY COLLECTION FIELD

Middle screen: Google Earth IMAGES of unsettled, bare parcels of land, USGS MAPS, topography CHARTS, and environmental GRAPHS

Right screen: FLOATING IMAGES. A guy catching a marlin, a guy hang gliding, a guy rock climbing, a guy white-water rafting. Steve McQueen in BULLITT. The guy is always F.X.R.

Except for Steve McQueen.

A NEWS TICKER scrolls along the bottom of this screen. Windows pop up with ALERTS and MESSAGES and NOW PLAYING, which switches from LL Cool J to…

MUSIC: “Mambo Italiano” by Dean Martin

A TEXT BOX pops up:

MERCURY: Boss? Breakfast as usual?

CALLER ID shows us MS. MERCURY—Jet-black hair cut short. Slashes of red lipstick.

F.X.R. replies with clicks of his keyboard. F.X.R.: Called it in. Nicholas is bringing it up. MERCURY: Who? F.X.R.: New guy.

INT. SERVICE ELEVATOR—SAME

MS. MERCURY is a stunning specimen, as intimidating as a supermodel. Six feet tall, rail thin, Pilates-shaped physique. Dressed in black on black. She is a woman not to be messed with in any shape or form.

She has read the text, and screams!

What new guy!?

She has been the aide-de-camp for F.X.R. over the last 12 years—a job she lives and breathes every minute of every day.

That a “new guy” is bringing her boss his breakfast is a fact that should never have escaped her!

She is tapping away on a gizmo on her wrist, a large WATCH/COMPUTER— getting MEMOS, TEXTS, SCHEDULES—and finally a series of EMPLOYEE PHOTOS. She swipes the screen until she finds…

NICHOLAS PAPAMAPALOS—19 years old. A look of confusion in his eyes, like a kid starting his very first job ever, which he is.

The elevator doors open and there he is—NICHOLAS PAPAMAPALOS, in the uniform of a room service waiter at Olympus, pushing a table of covered dishes.

(smiling way too much)

Nicky my boy!

Nicky is confused. Why does this tall lady know his name? He enters the elevator.

I’m new here.

You sure are! Look at you in your too-big uniform, with your breakfast order for F.X.R. all ready!

Am I in trouble?

Not yet, kiddo.

How do you know I’m taking this to Mr. Rustan?

Ms. Mercury presses the button for the 101st floor. The doors close and the elevator slowly rises.

Because I know everything that happens at Olympus, Nick-chick. Do you know why?

No. I’m new here.

Let me tell you a little about myself.

(then)

You know what I was doing until three a.m. this morning? Seeing to it that Francis X. Rustan’s collection of one hundred and thirty-two antique motorcycles were moved into a new climate-controlled warehouse, where they will be kept in perfect running order on the off chance that he chooses to someday take one out for a spin. The last time he did that was May of 2013. That he has yet to inspect the new storage facilities for his collection of antique player pianos or the vintage Burma-Shave signs he’s purchased over the years did not deter me from having two dozen men put motorcycles in protective wrapping and gingerly place them in a high-tech garage the size and approximate cost of Bruce Wayne’s Batcave.

(then)

F.X.R. is a very rich man who pretends to be all-knowing and all-seeing when it comes to his vast empire. Accent on, line under, italicize pretends. Here’s something none of his millions of admirers, acolytes, influence peddlers, and brownnosers understand about El Jefe—he couldn’t make his own lunch given a kaiser roll, cold cuts, and a jar of mayonnaise. His head is in the clouds because that brain of his is so damn full of the knuckleheaded schemes that pay off so well. So, we are here—you and I—to make the life he leads possible. I to work twenty-two-hour days at his beck and call. You to prep his meals and taste-test them for poison. I’m kidding. About the poison. Or am I?

Ding! They are on the 101st floor.

INT. SERVICE HALL, 101ST FLOOR—SAME It’s a long hall!

(still smiling)

Tell me you have his breakfast order perfect or I’ll cripple you.

I had it all set. The seven-grain organic granola, sliced mango and pineapple, tomato juice and cinnamon cafe au lait. But then…

(smile? Vanished!)

But then?

Half hour ago he messaged the kitchen.

Show me the message!

Nicholas shows her his Watch/Computer:

FXR: Stove Team —Flag on play—Me want griddle cakes!

Griddle cakes! GRIDDLE CAKES? No no no no!

She lifts a cover! There, on a plate: griddle cakes. Also known as pancakes.

Jiminy Expletive! Those are griddle cakes!

With boysenberry syrup.

Ms. Mercury is now beside herself with worry.

Oh, Nicky—Nicky. This is not a good sign. My day may have just been ruined, and I tell you this—if I’m going down today I am taking you with me.

Because of griddle cakes? I didn’t do anything! I’m new here!

The Boss only orders cakes from the griddle when he’s antsy with ideas. I’ll have to arrange an expedition to the fjords of Iceland for thirty of F.X.R.’s closest friends so he can paddle a kayak in open water. Or have a zip line assembled over the gorges of the rain forest in Uganda so anyone can look down and see chimpanzees in the wild go by. Or make sure every employee of Olympus is shackled to…

(the Watch/Computer)

…one of these things. And I’ve actually had to make real those very orders. Griddle cakes mean I’m getting a work assignment that wouldn’t make sense to hamsters. Griddle cakes have just ruined my already miserable day.

Why do you do this job?

I have no answer to that question other than my big honker of a paycheck.

They are at the door of the only hotel room on the 101st floor.

Set up by the fake waterfall. Straighten your name tag. And smile. He likes employees who look like they love their jobs.

She pauses. Takes a breath and changes her demeanor to a sunny smile. Her ability to transform this way is frightening.

She knocks… and enters.

INT. PENTHOUSE—DAY

A snazzy place, complete with a fake waterfall, state-of-the-art exercise equipment, wall-size video screen in front of a row of vintage movie-theater chairs. The windows look out on most of Las Vegas.

(happy as could be)

I have griddle cakes for the big boss man!

F.X.R. rises from his computer workstation.

That was fast.

You always say that!

Nicholas sets up the room service table.

You Nicholas?

(reading the name tag)

Looks like it. Welcome aboard. What happened to O’Shay?

O’Shay’s wife had that baby, remember? And yes, I already sent over a new crib and a cold-water humidifier, along with two full-time nurses.

F.X.R. sits for his griddle cakes.

Look at these beauties. If they were made in a pan, they’re pancakes. A griddle, and they are griddle cakes. Were these made in a pan or on a griddle, Nico?

I didn’t actually see, sir. I’m new here.

Sir? Around here I’m plain old F.X.

(then)

I say they’re griddle cakes.

(he pours the berry syrup)

Ms. Mercury. I don’t know what was on the docket for today but cancel everything.

Last time you said that you had me tramping through Mississippi so you could buy up every kenaf farm in the Delta.

Think I nailed down the place for the Solar Pipeline Facility.

Wow. No kidding. Super.

She sighs and plops herself down on the couch. She starts swiping around the Internet on her Watch/Computer.

(to herself)

Gonna be a long day…

F.X.R. picks up his plate and walks to the computers, pulls up images, and points with his fork dripping with boysenberry.

Shepperton Dry Creek ain’t nothing much now. Flat, wide. Dusty. But, a miracle of Mother Nature that gets more sunshine than Taylor Swift gets Facebook likes.

(Ms. Mercury is “LIKING” a post on Taylor Swift’s Facebook page)

That’s a lot.

Old Route 88 cuts close to Shepperton Dry Creek.

Does it? I don’t know anything.

Someone enterprising is going to start buying up the land along that stretch of highway for the influx of traffic it’s gonna bring.

(bored, examining nails)

Uh-huh.

So, let’s get goin’.

Goin’ where?

Along old Route 88. It’ll be fun! Just like that trip we took in Costa Rica on the Pan-American Highway to collect spiders.

Yeah. That was a blast. I was bitten.

You healed.

Make Nick go with you today.

I can’t boss Nick around. He’s in the union.

(then)

You are in the union, right?

I am, sir. Er, F.X.

Why can’t you get married and make your wife do this stuff?

I don’t need a wife. I have you, Ms. Mercury. Wives don’t put up with guys like me.

But I have to? I’ve got too many things to do right here to keep your empire afloat.

A road trip will do us both good.

She throws up her hands.

You see, Nicholas! You and your griddle cakes!

What did I do?

What did Nick do?

One of these days I’m gonna quit this job and do something dignified, like professional water skiing…

(typing on her Watch/Computer)

I’ll get the jet ready.

The big jet and the little jet. You take the little one and scrounge up some ground transpo. I’ll come in the big jet after I’ve done my workout.

Whatever you wish, O Titan of Industry. Which fantasy automobile do you want to add to the warehouse? A Monza? Surfer Woodie?

Let’s keep a low profile to blend in with the locals. The economy bypassed that part of the nation.

(pulls out a wad of cash)

Get me whatever car eight hundred dollars can purchase.

Eight hundred dollars? For a car? It’ll be a hunk of junk!

F.X.R. pulls out a few more bills.

Make it eight fifty.

(pulls a twenty)

Nick? For you.

Nicholas takes the money.

Thank you, Mister F.X.

EXT. AIRFIELD, SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE—DAY

A single landing strip and a weathered Field Business Office. Not many aircraft land at this place. But look here…

A Big Jet is taxiing up beside a parked Little Jet. Both planes have the Olympus logo painted on the sides.

Ms. Mercury—still in her black on black—sits behind the wheel of a 1970s-era Buick convertible with the top down.

The stairs of the Big Jet pop open, and there is F.X.R. in clothes he thinks the common people wear—a fruity-looking western shirt with too much piping tucked into an old pair of Jordache designer jeans, a belt with a huge Marlboro cigarettes belt buckle, and flame-red cowboy boots.

He wears a too-perfectly-broken-in John Deere cap and has a straw cowboy hat in his hand.

Hey, Duke, or Bo, or whoever you are. Is my boss in that plane?

(re: his costume)

Pretty good, huh? Authenticity is the key.

Glad some of the casino showgirls let you raid their dressing room.

(re: the car)

How’s she running?

I’ve burned half a tank of gas and a pint of oil just driving from the lot. Good news is, I bargained down to seven hundred bucks.

Put the change in petty cash. Here.

(the cowboy hat)

Blend in!

He plops the hat on her head.

(laughing)

Don’t we look great?

All that fortune and your idea of fun is dressing up like a poor mortal with no fashion sense. I can arrange this to be permanent. Just give me all your money and you’ll live happily ever after.

F.X.R. runs around to the passenger seat, trying to hop in over the door. He lands in a heap on the front seat, one foot hooked on the door.

Gangway for adventure!

She hits the gas and the car spins out and away, spewing dust and gravel.

MUSIC: “I’ve Been Everywhere” by Hank Snow

EXT. HIGHWAY 88—LATER

The Buick chugs along down the highway. F.X.R. smiles into the wind.

I should get out of that penthouse more often!

Two weeks ago you were boogie boarding on the Great Barrier Reef!

To see America. Don’t see enough of my native land. Open road. Big sky. Asphalt ribbon with nothing but a dotted line and the horizon. I love this country! God help me, but I do love it so!

(then)

It’s good for the soul to come down from the mountaintop sometimes, Ms. Mercury. Otherwise, all you see are the tops of mountains. I should put that in a memo to all the employees.

Do that. It would inspire us all.

(then)

So, where are we going, cochise?

Sending a message from his Watch to hers…

Here. A little town called Phrygia.

(he tries three different pronunciations)

Population 102.

WATCH: Photos, facts, information about Phrygia…

Formerly a major stop on Route 88 that once billed itself as America’s Hospitality Capital. Let’s see how hospitable they are to the likes of us.

Before you buy up every square inch and acre.

(studying her Watch)

Oh, hell. This drive will take us hours! I’m gonna fry!

EXT. A HUGE SIGN—Faded, ancient, with broken neon tubes and peeling paint that says motel olympus…

Still barely visible are the large figures of a man and woman, both waving to nonexistent traffic, calling out in sun-bleached letters “Stay with us!”

MUSIC: “Que Te Vaya Bonito” on an accordion

SUBTITLES IN ENGLISH OF THE SPANISH LYRICS

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS, PHRYGIA—DAY—SAME

Nothing at all like its namesake in Las Vegas…Nothing at all.

Like the sign, the Motel Olympus has seen better days. The best that can be said of it? It’s clean.

The MUSIC is coming from JESUS HILDALGO, who plays the final bars of a song so beautiful it even sounds great on an accordion.

SUBTITLES: “But no one will call me a coward

Without knowing how much I love her…”

An old couple—PHIL and BEA (yes, that’s them on the sign)—applaud as Jesus packs away his instrument and loads it into his old pickup truck.

Talent like I never seen!

Every time you play I find myself all misty. You have a gift, Jesus.

You make me feel so good, Mr. Phil and Mrs. Bea. You have always made me feel I was at home.

That’s because you have been, Jesus. You’ve been at our home.

Good luck there in Chesterton. I hear they get benefits galore at that windshield factory.

Thank you. I will come back to see you many times. I promise I will.

BEA

Bring us a windshield you made yourself.

Jesus climbs in, and the pickup truck pulls out of the motel lot, honking. Phil and Bea watch the truck disappear down the road. They are quiet for a moment.

There goes our only guest. One less bed to make.

Lord, am I going to miss him playing that ’cordine.

Sixty-two less dollars a week. Why would anyone want to leave this little spot of paradise to live in a podunk burg like Chesterton…

Oh, stop serving crab apples. Do some weeding.

Phil sizes up the woman he married. The woman he still finds so very beautiful…

Don’t treat me like some hired hand.

(then)

Unless you wearing that pretty dress means you want to play Seduce the Hired Hand.

You go out there with the weedwacker and flex your rippling muscles, maybe I’ll get all heated up.

Tell you what, woman. Give me twenty minutes to clear the south forty, then meet me in room 10. I just might be naked in the shower.

It’s a date.

A Buick convertible is coming down the road, its turn signal blinking.

Hold on. Looks like we have guests.

Rats.

(shouting)

Come back in an hour, folks!

The car pulls in to the motel. Hey, it’s none other than F.X.R. and Ms. Mercury! The top is still down.

He is smiling. She looks like hell after driving three hours in a convertible with the top down. They pull right up to Phil and Bea.

Howdy!

Howdy-do?

Howdy-do to you.

How-diddly-dee-dooty-do.

(all “folksy”)

As you can see, we happen to be weary travelers who have been on the road too long.

With no sunblock.

We seek a respite from our journey. You know—some real hospitality.

How about trying a motel of some kind?

Know any good motels around?

Well, let’s think here. Motels. You need a motel…

Best motel in the world is right here on the outskirts of Phrygia. Called the Olympic or the Olympian or something.

F.X.R. looks at the faded sign.

Motel Olympus!

That’s the one.

Ms. Mercury! Motel Olympus! This is fate!

Ms. Mercury wants out of the car and into a shower ASAP.

It must be. This parking lot screams destiny.

Welcome. I’m Bea. He’s Phil. Stay with us!

These two adorable old folks immediately freeze in the positions of the sign behind them, complete with waving arms.

F.X.R. and Ms. Mercury share a look. Phil and Bea have not moved. They are still frozen in their “sign” position. They remain so. For a beat. Then another.

And another.

So, do you have a vacancy?

(breaking her pose)

Nothing but.

INT. MOTEL OFFICE—SAME

CLOSE ON:

A faded photo from fifty years before—young Phil and Bea, in that same pose. Obviously the model for the sign back when it was constructed.

The office is clean and cozy. F.X.R. inspects the photo as Bea prepares the paperwork.

If it seems like you have the place to yourself, you do.

Business slow, is it?

Ever since Eisenhower built the interstates.

That how long you’ve owned this place?

Not quite. But Phil and I have been here since Phrygia was a three-star stop with the Autoclub.

She hands him a registration card and a cheap ballpoint pen.

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS—SAME

Ms. Mercury is parking the car. The engine is making lots of horrible noises. Phil comes up.

I think the squirrels are dying.

Three or four quarts of oil and the gnashing sound disappears.

Smoke starts coming from under the hood.

The woods are on fire!

(then)

Shut it down, honey.

Did he just call Ms. Mercury “honey”?

Okay, lamb chop.

She shuts down the engine just as something EXPLODES. The motor stops, but the after-chug makes the car seem alive.

This thing has a life of its own. Pop the hood!

How exactly does one pop that?

She finds a lever and pulls. The hood goes up, emitting a column of smoke.

INT. MOTEL OFFICE—DAY

F.X.R. sees the smoke as Bea inspects the registration card he’s filled out.

F.X.R?

Present!

No credit card, huh?

Lord no. Had one once. For a department store in Flint, Michigan. Ran up a tab, then had to split town.

He never did any such thing.

We’ve seen some of that.

(then)

I’ll need cash. In advance, ’cause I don’t know you.

How much?

Two rooms’ll be thirty-eight fifty.

As he pulls out his western-style wallet, a prop he picked out himself.

(worried)

Oooohhh…

Or, one room with double beds—twenty-two fifty.

(digging around in his wallet)

That much, eh?

Single room, double bed, sixteen fifty.

Turns out, I’ve only got… twelve dollars… and some change.

Well… we’ll give you the only-guests-in-the-motel special, then.

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS—DAY

Ms. Mercury leans over the hood of the car with Phil, who is monkeying around with a wrench.

What do I know about cars? I just put gas in it and go.

You’d think it’d be that easy, wouldn’t it?

(he pulls out the oil pump)

You know what this is?

She looks at the part like it is a dead rat.

A dead rat?

This is a De-Hypoxified Fusion Accelerator with Calcitrant Oxyspoilers.

Really?

I can get you another. Just gotta make a call to Tommy Boyer. He’ll run a rebuilt one out here soon as he can.

Fine. Great.

I can put it in for you so you’ll be on your way with the dawn.

At dawn I’ll be in bed for another three hours, but you go ahead.

A shout is heard.

Ms. Mercury!

Heads swivel. F.X.R is with Bea as she unlocks the door to one of the rooms.

Come and see our accommodations.

INT. MOTEL ROOM—DAY

Bea and Phil stand and watch as F.X.R. tests out the bed while Ms. Mercury inspects the bathroom.

I hate to be a pest, but I have a bad disc from a fall I took chopping trees in Alberta.

Ms. Mercury shoots him a look. He never did any such thing.

This mattress will kill me before it gets me to sleep.

(thinking)

Doesn’t room three have a newer mattress?

Only a few months old. I’ll change it, pronto.

(feeling the sheets)

And these, um, “sheets”? Way too scratchy. I have a skin condition.

I can break open a fresh set.

Will they be washed? Nothing is worse than brand-new sheets.

Not even heart disease. I’ll soften them up for you.

(concerned)

Better try the pillows. Too firm won’t be any good for that back of yours.

Too firm and I can’t move my neck in the morning.

(he tries a pillow, grabs his neck)

Ouch! No way!

We sleep with some good down models. We’ll put fresh cases on them and let you have them for the night.

And, finally, this picture here over the bed.

The one of a babbling brook and a farmhouse.

It reminds me of a foster home I once spent an eternity in. Do you have some other painting we could hang?

Ms. Mercury mouths the words “foster home”?

Room twelve has one with some ducks.

I have a fear of waterfowl.

There’s one with some wagon wheels on it in Eight.

Wagon wheels? Why paint wagon wheels? I don’t understand.

There’s a clown face in Room Thirteen.

No way. The thought makes F.X.R. shudder.

How about we just remove all the artwork?

Problem solved.

INT. MOTEL ROOM—DAY

Later. Phil is moving in a new mattress. Ms. Mercury is marveling at the softness of the bath towels, and Bea is putting pillowcases on the borrowed pillows.

(completely amazed)

What do you use to make this towel so soft? It’s like mink!

I just wash ’em, honey. Then I hang them out to dry.

I can’t wait to take a shower!

When you do, let the hot water run. It takes a while.

Okay. Last item. How does a soul get nourishment around here?

Used to be a cafe right across the road. Truman’s, it was called. Great pie. Even better pot roast. Closed in 1991.

Fast-food places over in Chesterton. Thirty-six miles as the crow flies.

I’d rather eat crow than fast food in Chesterton.

Just as well. We’re stuck here. The car blew its oxyspoiler.

(remembering, and bolting)

I gotta call Tommy Boyer!

As he leaves…

Any chance of room service?

If you don’t mind getting your hands a little dirty.

EXT. BACK OF MOTEL—LATER

A mini-farm. Complete with henhouse and garden. Beautifully kept. Bea is expertly inspecting vegetables while Ms. Mercury tries to get tomatoes off a vine.

(tossing into a basket)

Okay. Tomatoes. Radishes. Those long green things. And half of my fingernails.

Wouldn’t avocados be perfect? I’ve got to plant some avocado trees.

They grow on trees?

Yes. But you need two. One male tree and one female tree. Otherwise no avocados.

The trees… have sex?

Once a week. Just like that old man and me.

Bea LAUGHS. Even the chickens SQUAWK in jest.

That is way too much information…

EXT. POOL AREA—DUSK

Phil has been preparing an old barbecue, where a scrawny chicken rotates on a spit. The pool, empty of water…

So you never had kids?

(shakes his head)

Couldn’t. Didn’t mind though. Back in the old days this place was swarming with kids all the time. That’s ’cause of this swim pool. A dozen motels along Eighty-eight before the interstate cut us off. Only three had swim pools. I put up signs every twenty miles, saying, ‘Mount Olympus—Swim Pool.’ Guess where the kids demanded to stay?

With Phil and Bea.

You ever work in the hospitality business?

Not legitimately.

Phil gives him a look.

It’s a line of work you can’t learn. Has to come natural. You have to like people and trust ’em. And lie a little when those with crazy eyes ask if there’s a vacancy. No shame in that. Wisdom.

You must like the motel business.

I like this motel. Could use a bit more business.

MUSIC: “Last Date” by Floyd Cramer

EXT. LANDSCAPE—SUNSET

At the very moment the sun blinks out, gone, beyond the horizon.

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS—THE WHOLE PLACE—NIGHT

The sign is not lit up itself, but has only a cheap garden light shining up on it.

Down by the pool we see that a picnic dinner has been enjoyed by the two innkeepers and their guests.

Tell me something. How long you kids been together?

What?

You two. You an item?

Phil, whose business is that?

(her eyes go wide!)

Are we an item? An item? Item?

A man and a woman drive up. In a car together.

Check in together. Have a room together. It’s only happened about a million times…

Ms. Mercury rolls her eyes. Then she shakes her head. Then she laughs to herself.

(pointing to F.X.R.)

This man could no sooner be my half of an “item” than I could fart toast.

Oh, I’m gonna steal that.

As Ms. Mercury says, we have an employer-employee relationship that is proper in every way.

If he isn’t sleeping on the couch, and he isn’t because he’s never slept on a couch, I sure as hell am!

Okay.

(then)

You a gay lesbian, Ms. Mercury?

No, I’m not that fashionable. I’m just single.

No man in your life?

Look… Let me explain this aspect of my life to two relative strangers, as nice as you are.

(then)

A man would complicate my life in the extreme. I need a man right now like your chicken coop needs a satellite dish. I am unattached, connected to no one. The day will come when I chuck it all and bid my boss adieu, and go for the mate, the kids, the hand-made Halloween costumes, all of it. Until then, I’m happily solo, working for this guy…

(F.X.R.—who nods)

Who drives me nuts but can take a joke. I’m making good bank and I see the world, from Tasmania to this lovely inn. I. Have no room. For a boyfriend.

Things are silent for a beat.

Then there’s my answer.

And another beat. The quiet is all-encompassing, beautiful.

Listen to that.

To what? I don’t hear anything.

You’re not listening.

I sure as hell am.

The quiet. He means listen to the quiet.

Oh.

(she does)

I am really trying here… but I don’t hear anything.

The only time I feel like this quiet makes me feel is…

(whenever it is he keeps it to himself)

And it never lasts.

It does around here.

I’ve come to marvel in its totality. No matter the problems or worries, there’s solace in the quiet of the night.

Phil looks at his wife. F.X.R. also looks at Bea. Ms. Mercury looks out into the night.

Oh. I hear it now. Nothing. You mean the sound of nothing.

(she listens)

Ooh. Aah.

A distant CAR HORN honks. Headlights appear, and a panel truck pulls into the motel lot.

So much for that.

That’s Tommy Boyer.

With that part for Bachelorette Number One’s car.

(to Ms. Mercury)

Since you’re not fashionable, you might like Tommy.

(more eye rolling)

Gosh, let me fix my hair…

(calling)

Tommy!

From out of a truck comes TOMMY BOYER. He is the most gorgeous male creature on the planet Earth.

That’s Tommy Boyer?

(she is transfixed)

My lord…

She immediately starts primping her hair.

Oh my. My my my…

He loves to cook.

(licking her hair into place)

Are. You. Shitting. Me?

The great Tommy Boyer approaches. He carries an engine part.

Evening, Bea. Folks.

You eat, Tommy?

I did, thanks. You call for an old GM fuel pump, Phil?

Yep. For this little lady right here.

Everyone can see that Ms. Mercury is smitten with Tommy.

Hi.

(giddy)

Howdy-oo-doody-doo!

Car problems, huh?

Yes indeedy. Terrible that pesky little car problems with of mine.

That it over there? The Buick.

Is it a Buick? Yes. Our sad, bad broken Buick…

Let’s see if we can’t get ’er running.

Okeydokey. I’ll come pop the hood…

(whispers to Bea)

I keep talking like a six-year-old. Help me.

Tommy divorced three years ago. Has a little girl. Gave up smoking last summer. Reads a lot.

Got it. Thanks.

Off she goes with Tommy Boyer.

Once again, the Motel Olympus works its magic spell.

(rising)

I’m going to clean up. You men waste time like you always do when women start cleaning up.

Okay.

(then to F.X.R.)

Care to patrol the perimeter?

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS—EDGE OF PROPERTY—NIGHT

Out on the perimeter of the motel property, Phil and F.X.R. walk.

(pointing)

I was hoping to do something with those ten acres over there, but nothing ever came of it. I once almost put in a snake hut.

A snake hut?

Yeah. We’d have signs out on Eighty-eight—“Visit the Snake Hut: 140 miles.” “Snake Hut: 62 miles. Air-Conditioned!” But then Bea pointed out that I knew very little about raising snakes. So, we just made do with the motel.

It’s a lovely motel. An hospitable little place. I love the name.

Can’t stay here 24/7 without going nuts. One day a week, each of us gets a solo trip to Chesterton to go to the bank, do some shopping. Use the wi-fi at Theo’s Coffee Hutch. Connect to the outside world a couple of hours a week.

(wistful)

That’s the way to do it.

(recovers his“folksy” personality)

If I ever get one of those laptop computer pads, I’ll try that.

Phil eyes F.X.R. as they walk.

What middle name starts with X? Other than Xavier?

(then)

Francis Xavier Rustan.

F.X.R. stops. Knows he’s been busted.

Bea fingered you, when you signed the register. F.X.R. You ever heard the phrase ‘nom-dee-plume’?

(no longer “folksy”)

I’m sorry I was dishonest with you.

You weren’t. Other than being a rich and famous man in a poor man’s car.

(then)

You on some incognito vacation lark?

Well, no.

You going to sue us over the name, like Olympus is a trademark you own?

I don’t operate that way.

You’re one of the few.

I’m looking for land and sunshine.

Lotta both around here. The land will cost you. The sun is free.

(then, pointing)

We own from over there to over there. We ain’t going to be around much longer, according to both the doctors and common sense. We would like to close out our days someplace as nice as what we’ve had here.

So, should I make you an offer?

(stopping him with a hand)

You talk business with Bea. She’s my boss.

(then)

I’m going to head back for a cup of Ovaltine.

F.X.R. watches the old man go.

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS, PARKING LOT—NIGHT

The hood is up on the Buick. Ms. Mercury is holding the light for Tommy Boyer, passing him tools.

So, the metric tools are different from standard tools?

Them’s the facts.

(then)

Okay. Try to start ’er up.

She hops behind the wheel.

Okay! Startin’ me up!

She turns the key. The Buick roars into life!

Hot damn! You must have read a lot of books on car fixing!

F.X.R. walks up.

Boss! Tommy Boyer and me are going to take the car out…for a test drive.

We are?

Gotta see how it handles a long stretch of Eighty-eight! We’ll be gone for a while. So don’t wait up. Not that you would. Wait up. For me to come back. From test driving the car…

(finally, to Tommy)

Wanna take shotgun?

Tommy gets in the car and buckles his seat belt. Ms. Mercury hits the RADIO on and then gears into REVERSE. She and Tommy peel out into the night.

MUSIC: “We’ve Only Just Begun” by the Carpenters

INT. MOTEL OFFICE—NIGHT

TYPING is heard. F.X.R. enters to find Bea at a desk pecking on a typewriter. An Olympia.

It true you have Ovaltine?

The hot plate.

F.X.R. finds a pan of milk, a cup, a jar, and makes himself a hot malty beverage.

I’m gouging you a little on the facilities, knowing you’ll tear everything down anyway.

You planning on getting all the land around here?

If I can.

Then we’ll be your first purchase. Kind of an honor for us.

He looks at the photograph of Bea and Phil, the original source for the dead sign out front.

How old were you when this was taken?

She sees him looking at that photo.

I was nineteen. Phil was twenty-three. Our honeymoon. In Greece. An island so warm, so quiet we didn’t want to leave. Had to, of course. He went into the Air Force. I finished school. Came driving up old Eighty-eight and saw a place to sink all our savings into. Worked out pretty well.

She pulls the paper from the machine and hands it to him.

Your lawyers will put their fingerprints all over this, but it’s the basics—take it or leave it.

He doesn’t even look at it.

Ever go back to Greece? On vacation?

We’re moteliers. Every day is a vacation.

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS, PHRYGIA—PARKING LOT—LATER

F.X.R. folds a typed piece of paper, tucks it into his breast pocket as he walks back to his room. Behind him, the lights go off in the office, and the dim spotlight goes out on the old sign.

He pauses in the quiet night…

MUSIC: “Mi Reina y Mi Tesoro”

SUBTITLES: “Now I know

That I truly love her…”

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS, PHRYGIA—EARLY EVENING

The sun is well down as the light of day fades to blue.

SUBTITLES: “I will work hard

To conquer her heart…”

A PARTY is going on. LIGHTS strung across the parking lot bring a magic to the growing night.

Jesus Hildalgo is there with his BAND playing to COUPLES dancing. As he sings about his queen and loving her with all his heart, his extended family is there, with KIDS splashing in the newly filled swimming pool.

Tommy Boyer is there with his little DAUGHTER and her PALS playing JUMP ROPE with a very different looking Ms. Mercury, who now sports jeans and a halter top.

WORKMEN swarm around trucks, storing away tools, finally quitting work for the day.

Nicholas, the room service waiter, puts the finishing touches on a superb dinner that looks like something served on the lido deck of the Love Boat.

LOCALS from as far away as Chesterton have come around for the big party, having brought their own lawn chairs.

F.X.R. is dressed in a fine, yet casual suit. He is talking over plans on a blueprint with a HALF DOZEN ARCHITECTS.

In two chairs, dual places of honor, sit Phil and Bea, who both have To Tell the Truth–style blindfolds over their eyes.

Oh, I’ve missed that man and his ’cordine!

From the way things sound, we’re gonna see a circus when we take these things off.

As Bea sways to the Mexican melody, a Foreman, COLLINS, comes over and whispers something to F.X.R., who then smartly dismisses the architects.

Ms. Mercury! We’re ready.

(turning that jump rope)

Who is Ms. Mercury?

Oh. Sorry. Old habit.

(tries again)

Diane! We’re ready!

Okay, F.X.! Be right there!

(to Tommy’s daughter)

Come on, Lizzie. Let’s go see the show!

Jesus concludes his music with a flourish. There is applause for the band.

F.X.R. goes to Phil and Bea.

You guys peek? Tell the truth.

No!

You aren’t lining up a firing squad, are you?

Diane, is it dark enough?

I say yes.

Okay. Collins!

Collins is at the main power switch.

Shutting down!

Collins shuts OFF all the lights in the motel lot. The place is dark now.

Okay. You may remove your blindfolds.

They do. All is dark.

Hell, I can’t see a thing.

Where am I supposed to look?

Where’s the bloody circus?

(a shout)

Let there be light!

Collins throws another switch. The parking lot, and all the people in it, are suddenly bathed in… shades of red, blue, and golden neon light.

Ms. Mercury’s face sees something so very beautiful. Tommy Boyer is with her, holding his daughter.

Wow…

The guests, every one of them glowing, look up in awe into the sky.

Oh, lord! What a heavenly light!

CLOSE ON: Phil and Bea, the lights playing across their faces like a magic show in the heavens, are silent…

THE SIGN

Big Phil and Big Bea, illuminated in colors brilliant and bold, greet the world like twin giants in the nighttime sky. “Stay with us!” they say, arms raised, bright, hospitable, young.

The sign is beautiful. Truly beautiful.

Bea reaches out and takes her husband’s hand. They look into each other’s eyes.

It’s like we’ll live here forever…

F.X.R. hears this. He looks up at the sign. The colors play on his face, too.

EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS—THE WHOLE PLACE—SAME

The sign dominates the vision of the Motel Olympus.

And then…

The landscape slowly TRANSFORMS into that of a…

BUSTLING CROSSROADS.

The empty desert becomes filled with neatly ordered buildings, each an architectural gem.

The OLYMPUS SOLAR ENERGY COLLECTION FIELD has been built, stretching far into the distance.

Phrygia has grown into a lovely small city…

Around that landmark of a sign…

Around Bea and Phil, who will, for generations, bid all who pass by to Stay with us.