Movieland

Chapter 17

I woke up ravenous. We only had half a bowl of Golden Grahams left so I topped it off with Lucky Charms, scarfed two more bowls, and slurped the sugar milk. Mom mentioned a message from Channel 4 asking about an interview and then left to run errands. Dad left a note saying he was recording a Tim Burton retrospective at noon.

The phone rang as I scrambled eggs around a frying pan. The answering machine clicked over.

"Hey, Art, it's Paul. This is the only number I have for you. Just like the old days. Only phone number I remember anymore. Anyway, I read your screenplay. Donna was right: It's excellent. I'll be in town next week. Let's grab some coffee. Until then, do me a favor, and I know this probably won't happen, but you never know, don't let anyone read this. If we're ever going to publish any version of this, we need to tweak some things. Send my love to the family. Talk soon."

Dad kept his laptop in the office. I don't know why he left it out. He never used it. It was as old as me and allergic to software updates. I'd be better off using a typewriter than waiting for his word program to load. Fortunately, his password had been "JHughes1984" the entire time.

The only time I used it was to play the old pinball game that came with the computer. I probably could download it on my phone or our PC, but there was something pure about playing it on the device it came with.

I never bothered with his documents folder because who the hell knew he had anything worthwhile in there. If Paul Graham Jones said something Dad wrote was excellent--not great, but excellent--I had to read it. Maybe he had a secret talent I never knew about.

The file names read like a life's laundry list: "W2.2008", "Resumev2", "Mom's recipes", "Christmas List 2010".

Until one.

I clicked on a file labeled "Land of the Movies."

"THE LAND OF MOVIES"

BY

ART MAGEE

698 AxelFoley Lane

Lindley, MI 49438

555-765-4565

artmageewrites@email.com

FADE IN:

EXT. MOPR TESTING FACILITY -- NIGHT

A BABY WAILS (O.S.) as rows of lights illuminate...

My phone beeped. Caroline: "Meet us at the library. Time to find Frankie."

Excellence would have to wait. I closed Dad's ancient computer and headed out.

"Dude, Dudette, run this back for me," JP said. We sat in the library courtyard at the same type of picnic table JP stole my 8th grade girlfriend. The sun warmed me. I had shivers all morning every time I remembered the sandworm and the smell of burning rabid rats and "Hey, kid."

JP showed up late, allowing us time to concoct our crazy plan, fueled by Frankie's suggestion and Carolina's genius. There's no way it would work. But we had to try.

A white-haired man read a newspaper with the leisure of a Sunday drive. A thirteen-year-old boy with Harry Potter glasses sat at the picnic table next to the old man and held his newspaper at the same angle, licking his finger just like the old man before turning the page. The courtyard was large enough to talk at normal volume. Still, top secret plans meant whispering regardless of circumstances. Carolina lowered her voice. "Have you watched National Treasure?"