Aldo's Fantastical Movie Palace
Page 1
Aldo’s
Fantastical
MOVIE PALACE
JONATHAN FRIESEN
To Emma, my hero.
Map
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Map
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
About the Author
Other books by Jonathan Friesen
Copyright
About the Publisher
Share Your Thoughts
CHAPTER
1
I’M A GENIUS, CHLOE.” Dad raised his fists to the sky. “Someday, a teacher will ask you to name the world’s greatest inventor, and your answer will not be Thomas Edison, no siree.” He lowered a hand, placed it on his chest, and bowed. “You’ll say, ‘It’s none other than humble Ray Lundeen.’”
Chloe laughed. “Humble?”
“Okay, humble is a stretch. But great? Absolutely.” Dad led her around the barn to the daisy field and the rusted horse trailer. He pointed to his head, and then shook his finger at heaven. “Today, I will pull Inky, and her trailer, using magnetism!”
“Magnetism?”
“No more need for expensive hitches. And to prove it, I’ll haul your horse to the trailhead using the junker.”
Chloe squinted. “We don’t even drive the Escort anymore. How are you going to pull the trailer with that?”
Dad hooted, threw his baseball cap into the air, and raced across the farmyard.
“You are crazy, Dad,” Chloe whispered. But a good kind of crazy.
The tiny wagon wheezed and sputtered toward the daisies. Dad turned off the engine and sprang out of the beater, heading straight inside the barn. He reappeared moments later fumbling with a chain connected to a series of metal plates.
“Here.” He thrust the mess into Chloe’s hands. “My latest invention — patent pending, of course. The Connect-It-All. A farmer’s dream.” Dad straightened and thumbed his suspenders. They snapped against his strong chest. “Now anything can pull anything. What do you think?”
“I, uh, think it’s great if it works.”
“Sure it works!” Dad scowled. “How dare you doubt your own father?” He snatched the plates from Chloe’s hands then bent over, and soon the Escort was fastened to the trailer.
“Prepare to be amazed. She’s strong enough to pull three tons.” Dad hopped back in the car. “I’m going to pull the chain taut. Then see that white clamp on top of the bumper? Press ‘er down and we’re good to go.”
Tires spun and the engine revved and the Escort inched forward. The chain tightened and creaked against the weight, and Chloe stepped forward.
The Connect-It-All. You finally invented something that works.
“Now?”
“You bet! Clamp ‘er! Your mom’s gonna be so proud.”
Chloe bent over and pushed. “Dad, this is so —”
Snap.
Chain links whipped across her face, and she fell back onto the dirt.
“Darlin’!” Dad’s voice faded. “Sweetie! Can you hear me?”
When Chloe opened her eyes, Dad cradled her head, but his face blurred, as if a thick cloud floated between them.
“Am I okay?” she whispered.
That cloud began to rain.
CHAPTER
2
HOP TO, DARLIN’. It’s time to walk Grandpa!”
Chloe let her head thunk against her bedroom door. I’m fourteen, had the upstairs bedroom since I was eleven, but Dad’s never once climbed the stairs.
“I need to get creatin’, Sugar-nut.”
“You’re calling me a nut?” she muttered.
Chloe bit her lip, hard. Why couldn’t he talk like a normal dad? No more “Mount ups” or “Giddyaps.” There’s not a drop of cowboy blood in him; the man’s never left Minnesota.
“Bean Chunk! You hear me up there?”
“Fine,” Chloe said.
Sadness washed over her. Short and quiet — those were the only words she could offer him. She wanted to say more, and maybe she would … someday.
Chloe dressed and bounded down the steps into the kitchen of the old farmhouse. Mom stood at the stove. Even from the back, she was beautiful. Her hair was black like night was black, her skin smooth and dark.
Dad used to say we looked alike. He doesn’t say it anymore.
Chloe stroked the raised, jagged scars that stole all beauty from her face and neck. Each night she begged God to erase the ugly white lines. So far, he hadn’t.
Chloe watched as Mom’s smooth hand cracked an egg on the counter. The yolk dropped all lazy-like into the fry pan before she glanced over her shoulder and forced a smile.
“The twins are ate and gone. I’m sure up to no good.” Mom stared out the window where morning haze had all but burned away over the Snake River valley. “It’s going to be a hot one today.” She exhaled slowly and shook her head. “Hot and sunny and beautiful.”
Most people were happy when the weather was nice. But not Mom. Sunny, late-summer days meant kids bought wristbands and filled the pool in Melmanie, instead of buying tickets to fill the seats of Aldo’s Movie Palace, the theater she owned.
“Yeah, rotten weather,” Chloe said. “Maybe it’ll rain tomorrow.”
Mom peeled bacon strips and laid them beside the eggs. They crackled and shriveled in their greasy bath. “You’re unusually optimistic.” She kissed Chloe’s forehead and swatted her backside. “Now hurry up. Breakfast is almost ready and Grandpa’s waiting.”
Chloe scampered out the front door and sprinted to the barn. The doors were shut, but she heard Dad’s laugh, his and all the husky-voiced men. Dad’s “employees.” He paid them with sleeping space in the barn and seats at one of two picnic tables in the Lundeen dining room.
Mom smiled and called them riffraff. “Proof of your father’s kindness and goodness.” Chloe called them hungry drifters who made Mom work twice as hard.
Chloe tried to ignore them — to keep running, to keep looking left and not peek at the thistle bed that long ago choked out the daisies. But her head turned, like it always did, and there was the horse trailer. And the Escort. And the busted chain. Her feet grew heavy.
“When we’re done building the wings —” Dad stepped out of the barn. His gaze bounced from his daughter to the thistles, then to the ground.
“I’m fixin’ to rid us of that contraption real soon.” His voice softened. “Real soon, sweetie.”
Chloe nodded and ran away from the barn, from him, from his promise.
She reached Grandpa’s trailer home, parked in the field between the hen house and the dairy farm beyond. Slow-moving cows mooed in the distance. They looked like black and white boats floating through a sea of green.
“Grandpa?” She pounded on the door. “Grandpa, you ready?”
“In back.”
Chloe walked around to the other side of the trailer. Grandpa Salvador was painting again.
He finished with a flourish and stepped back, squinting
at his work.
“What do you think, Chloe?”
She stepped back too. “I think you just painted melting fish erupting out of a volcano all around your new … really obnoxious, bright-blue window.”
“Yes, yes. I did. It’s a wonder my bad heart was up to it.” He winked and tousled her hair. “What do you think about my paving stones? Do they remind you of anything?”
Chloe scanned the row of decorative rocks, painted blue and waiting to dry in the morning sun. “It’s like they’re from the Wizard of Oz … except they’re not yellow.”
“Ahaa! This is correct. They are blue! And very difficult to paint. My father would have been proud of me. How I miss dear Aldo, but …” He grabbed Chloe’s hand. “You have come to walk your poor, weak grandpa. Let’s put on a good show.”
She shook her head and smiled as he dropped the paintbrush.
“Now walk very near today, and keep your arm in mine. I will lean on you from time to time, especially as we pass the house.”
“I’m ready.” They snuggled close and shuffled across the center of the farmyard. The porch door slammed and Mom stepped out. She shook her head, smiled, and waved.
“Lift my arm and return the gesture.”
Chloe did. Mom wiped her eye with her apron.
Together, they made their way onto the path that cut through the fifty-acre field. Only their shoulders and heads would be visible from the house above the wild wheat and hay. Grandpa pulled free and stretched. “Will you go to the pool today? I’ve heard some swimmers practice before trying out for the swim team.”
“Maybe tonight. After … after the kids are gone. But I’ve been thinking I won’t go out for swimming this year.”
“Ah, yes. The other swimmers frighten you.”
“They don’t scare me,” Chloe said. “I could beat them all, it’s just …”
Grandpa peeked down. “Because in your swimsuit a certain mark is more noticeable?”
Chloe rolled her eyes, and frowned. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“No, my dear, we don’t. We can continue to ignore what you continue to run from —”
“Who says I’m running —”
In the distance, they heard a shout, and then a laugh, followed by a string of words Mom would never allow.
“That was Mr. Henks’s yell.” Chloe stared at the dairy farmer’s herd.
“And that was Grif’s laugh.” Grandpa sighed. “Again, your brothers are up to foolishness.”
From the far end of the field they appeared — tall, lanky Grif and short, pudgy Quenton — bounding toward home, paint guns in hand.
“It looks like I’m not the only one painting this morning.” Grandpa pointed at a cow splotched with green. “While it’s nice to see they’ve inherited Aldo’s creativity, I have no desire to explain this to our neighbor right now. Come.” He picked up the pace.
Chloe glanced from the cows to Grandpa’s step. “You look strong today. Why did you pretend?”
“When I’m weak, your mom feels good and needed. She won’t feel this way tonight — it will be a slow day at the Movie Palace.” He gestured around. “Sunny day and all.”
They walked quietly for a long time.
“Do you think my painting will help the green cows erupt with more milk?”
Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Yes. This is what I thought.” Grandpa plucked a piece of wheat and put it in his mouth. He chewed and rubbed his stubble and chewed some more. “I lie in bed sometimes and wonder what Aldo would paint if he were here.”
Chloe plucked a stalk of hay. “You were lucky to get along with your dad.”
“No.” Grandpa spit out his wheat. “There was no luck to it. Aldo was stubborn and demanding, and living with him was hard work.” He stopped.
“He never called you Sugar-nut.” Chloe kicked at the grass and pounded on ahead.
They reached the end of the trail and Chloe slowed. Grandpa caught up and leaned on her shoulder. “Take me to my volcano … Sugar-nut.”
She tried not to laugh, but a giggle squeezed out.
“So you aren’t really angry about the name.” Grandpa smiled.
They stopped in front of the trailer door, and he stroked Chloe’s cheek, traced the scars down her neck, up her chin, and across her upper lip.
“My Chloe. You are beautiful.” He gazed over her head. “As beautiful as a distant memory. Young folks do not know how lovely memories are. Without them, what are we?” Grandpa looked back to her. “With them, we are beautiful, as are you.”
She couldn’t answer, because like their show for Mom, she knew it wasn’t the truth. Chloe pulled back from his hand.
“You doubt this?” Grandpa said.
Loud laughter came from the barn, and he continued. “The accident also haunts your father.”
“Why can’t he talk normal to me? Or even look at me?” She shook her head. “He laughs at Grif and Q and all their … creativity. I mean, what’s the difference between my brothers and me? Only one thing.” She pointed at her neck.
Grandpa closed his eyes. Chloe turned toward the house and stormed back passed the barn, where she peeked again.
You sold my horse. Get rid of that trailer.
CHAPTER
3
CHLOE WAS FEEDING CHICKEN SCRATCH to the hens when the brown delivery truck crunched up her driveway.
The truck’s tires crackled to a stop. Chloe dropped her sack and Mom dropped her hoe and stepped out of the garden, where she’d been battling weeds. The two stared at each other.
“Hallelujah!” Mom screamed and bolted toward their deliveryman, Mitch.
Chloe laughed and jumped and pumped her fists in the air as Mitch gently laid two canisters on the ground.
“Here!” Mom was out of breath. “Let me sign for these.”
Mitch straightened. “So is this going to be a blockbuster?”
“Guaranteed,” Chloe said. “Bring your whole family!”
“What movie is it?”
Chloe bent down and stroked the outside of the canisters. “The Vapor. Rated R, on six beautiful reels.”
She glanced up. Mom gave her the look, and turned to Mitch. “No, this isn’t for your young kids. Sometimes Chloe gets a bit excited.”
He tongued the inside of his cheek.
“But, Mom, you’ll let me see it.” Chloe danced around the cans. “Hundreds of times.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “You, my dear, are different.”
“Nice try, Chloe.” He chuckled, climbed back in the truck, and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“A first-run movie.” Chloe shook her head. “How long has it been since we’ve shown a first-run movie?”
Mom threw back her matted hair. “Too long, and this one cost us dearly. We’ve a lot to do before it opens tomorrow. Better go in early.”
Mom and Chloe hopped in the work truck with the movie canisters strapped safely between them. Streak, their best mouser, purred in Chloe’s lap; her skills were about to be tested. They drove the familiar two miles north toward Fallon and veered left on the Hemming turnoff. Her heart raced, then calmed. Aldo’s Movie Palace towered in the distance.
Set on tiny Route 19, and surrounded by nothing but fields and cattle, the theater was Great-Grandpa Aldo’s crowning achievement. Nearly eighty years old, the Palace looked nothing like the new theaters with pastel outsides and twenty small screens. Aldo’s theater was huge and impressive and built by New York City’s finest architects. The Palace was the beginning of another New York City right here in the Midwest.
At least that’s what Grandpa Aldo had intended.
Mom eased into the empty parking lot and stared at the marquee.
“I’ll start with the sign. Fire up the concessions, and get to work on splicing this together. There are three trailers to add front end and one public service announcement.”
“Check.”
“Oh, and Chloe … we have a first-run movie!” Mom high
-fived her and hurried out of the truck.
“Streak, it’s showtime.” Chloe set her down in the parking lot. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Chloe reached into a canister, extracted the first reel, and carried it up to the projection booth. Five climbs later, sweat dripped off her forehead and coated her fingertips. She grabbed a towel, wiped herself dry, and stared at the two projectors, loaded with this afternoon’s feature.
One more day of The Enchanted Island is about all I can stand.
Chloe raced down the steps and flicked on the wiener warmer, still loaded with yesterday’s hot dogs. She flipped the light switch on the popcorn and popped a kernel into her mouth. And winced.
“We’ll definitely need a fresh batch tomorrow.”
One hour later, all was ready — Chloe set aside the The Vapor, now spliced together on two large projector reels. Her large task done, she bagged the three mice Streak neatly laid out in the foyer and met Mom in the ticket booth.
“We don’t have enough ones. We don’t have enough fives or tens either.” Mom forced a smile. “Never mind. Check the climate of the auditorium, make one last sweep, and then we open.”
Chloe carried Streak through Aldo’s massive auditorium doors and took a deep breath.
Far above her head, painted storm clouds billowed and spiraled, poking black, spindly fingers across the ceiling. Chloe stared at the strange cloud, and the longer she stared, the more it seemed to spread, to shift. Against the ominous backdrop, friendlier, whiter patches scooted gently across the plaster sky.
“Really freaky, Aldo.”
Around the ceiling’s edges, three-dimensional planets and moons glowed in front of hidden house lights. They lit up Aldo’s wild wall paintings of dripping clocks orbiting skyscrapers in bloom. But even with every light turned on, the room stayed dark, just as Chloe liked it.
The screen didn’t.
It seemed to glow with a faint, translucent glow. More than once, Chloe had tried to touch it, only to recoil, her hand tingling and her heart racing. Hands weren’t supposed to pass through solid objects. But hers had — right through the screen. Despite what Mom said, Chloe knew.
The screen pit was the one place Chloe didn’t dare go.