by Various Orca
“AmberLea, this is Spritzer.”
“Spencer,” I say.
“That’s what I said.”
AmberLea looks at me with wide, worried eyes. “Hey,” I say. I hear a squeak in my voice. I’m not that great with girls, even though I’d like to be. I try to get tips from movies, but there don’t seem to be many seventeen-year-old sex-god movie stars with glasses, braces and a minor acne problem.
“Hey,” AmberLea says back. She tries about a one-sixteenth smile, but even that much is hard to do because she’s sucking in her lower lip and her chin is tucked so far into her neck it’s practically in back of her head. Dubious is the word, I think. She looks as if we’re trying to sell her chocolate shoes.
“Hop in the back,” Gloria Lorraine says. “Now.”
AmberLea says, “GL, what’s—?”
“You said you’d do something for me today. This is it. And we don’t have much time. Skinner here—”
“Spencer.”
“That’s what I said—is a busy man. His father is waiting for him. We need your help.”
“But you know I can’t—”
“I’ll deal with it. Get in.”
AmberLea sighs and climbs in back.
“Go.” Gloria Lorraine raps on the dash.
“Where?”
“Amby, guide us. We need a drugstore and a grocery.”
In the mirror I see AmberLea roll her eyes and do an even bigger bite-and-tuck. Then she says, “The Price Mart has both. Turn around.”
I do a not very cool three-pointer that takes us up on the sidewalk a little. There’s another thump from the back. “What’s that noise?” AmberLea says. “Have we got a flat or something?” I want to catch her eye in the mirror and give her an I wish I knew but I’m not in charge here look, but I’m too busy missing a fire hydrant. By the time I look back, she’s got her shades down.
AmberLea directs us to a big supermarket. All the way there, Gloria Lorraine tells me to hurry up. When we get there, she has me park in a far corner, by a Dumpster. She gives AmberLea cash from her purse, and a shopping list. “And make it snappy,” she says. “It smells like hell around here.”
It is pretty ripe. AmberLea and I get out of the car and start across the parking lot. It’s even hotter here than in the parking lot at the Lodge. We don’t look at each other. The automatic door lets us into air conditioning that doesn’t make me feel one bit better. AmberLea grabs a cart and, still without looking at me, says, “So what’s going on?”
“Um, well, I wish I knew.” And I wish I was Johnny Depp too. “Your grandma said she would help me make this movie for my grandpa, but she said before I could make the movie we had to run some errands, and she got really mad when I told her my dad had driven me here, but her car was all ready to go, so we came to get you so you could film us. Sort of.”
I don’t think my speech helps. AmberLea’s chin has now completely disappeared. I’m betting her eyes are wider than ever, but I can’t tell because she still has her sunglasses on. I guess it runs in the family. She says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can tell you two things: it isn’t her car, and she always gets what she wants.”
“But,” I say, “it was out front, with the engine running.”
“People do that at the Lodge sometimes, when they’re dropping someone off or picking them up.”
“You mean—?”
“All I mean is, the faster we do this, the faster we get the car back and get this over with, the better. I’m, uh, not supposed to be out right now. What’s on the list?”
We get the economy-size Dependables adult diapers, five bananas, a little cooler chest, a bag of ice, Vega-Thins crackers and a pack of Marlboros. AmberLea doesn’t say a word. At the checkout, I take a shot at conversation. “Your grandma moves pretty fast for a smoker.”
“She doesn’t smoke them,” AmberLea says, as we pick up the stuff. “She just likes to pose with them. Don’t ask me why.” We walk back out into the heat.
NINE
You can hear the thumping from quite a ways off. Gloria Lorraine is standing at the back of the Cadillac, waving us over. “Open the damn trunk.” She pokes her cane at it like a sword. I dump the stuff I’m carrying into the backseat and go to find the release on the dash. Behind me, the thumping gets faster and harder. “All right, all right,” Gloria Lorraine says. Whack goes the cane on the trunk lid. I find the button, pop the lid, then hustle back. You can see little dents in the metal from the cane. I swing the trunk open.
“Aghh!” I jump back. AmberLea gives a little shriek and drops the Dependables. Gloria Lorraine says, “Aw, for the luvva…”
There’s a man in the trunk, bound and gagged. Beside him is a Chihuahua dog, also bound and gagged. The man is wearing the kind of preppy clothes with lots of stripes that movie dads wear when they go golfing. Jer and Deb don’t golf, to put it mildly.
The man and the dog both blink in the light. Then their eyes go wide and they both start wriggling like crazy.
I’m frozen. I don’t know what to do. “Help them,” AmberLea says, and she reaches for the dog.
“Not so fast,” says Gloria Lorraine. “Frisk him first.”
“What?” I say.
“You heard me. Frisk him.”
“GL,” AmberLea says, “somebody’s already tied him up. Why would—?”
“Because sometimes they’re stupid, that’s why. That’s exactly what happened in Shadow Street, remember?”
“That was a movie,” says AmberLea.
“What difference does that make? It still happened. Frisk him.”
Let me tell you it is so not cool running your hands over a wriggling, sweaty fat guy and sticking your hands in his pockets, even when it turns out there’s a gun and a cell phone in his back pockets. I tug out the gun and stand there, holding the thing with my fingertips, as if it’s a used Dependable. I’ve never touched a gun before. I’ve never seen a gun before, except in movies. It’s surprisingly light.
“See?” Gloria Lorraine says to me. “I thought you said you watched my movies. Give it here.” She snaps her fingers.
I hand her the gun. The guy wriggles some more and turns even redder in the face. His eyes follow the gun. Gloria Lorraine handles it like a pro, flipping a little lever on the side back and forth with her thumb. It’s pointed at the guy in the trunk, and probably at the gas tank of the car too. The guy in the trunk starts making a noise like a clogged vacuum cleaner. He’s squirming so much the car starts to rock. Gloria Lorraine snorts. “It’s just a toy. It’s too light to be the real thing. I hefted a lot of pistols in my day. Watch.”
She flicks the gun to one side and pulls the trigger. There’s a dry crack, then a whang and a ricochet whine, just like in the movies. A dent magically appears in the side of the Dumpster and there’s a neat little hole in the Cadillac’s windshield. “I’ll be damned,” says Gloria Lorraine. “It is real. Well, Spanky, let’s get him out of there. I’ll keep you covered.”
AmberLea has already untied the dog’s legs. When she gets the muzzle thing off, it starts yapping like crazy. The big guy in the trunk is harder to deal with. I peel off the duct tape from his ankles and help him swing his legs out of the trunk. He scooches forward, arms and hands still tied behind his back. I reach in and rip the duct tape off his mouth. I don’t see there’s a mustache underneath until it’s too late. Some of it comes off with the tape. When he stops squealing, he switches to gasping. AmberLea puts down the yapping dog and helps me haul the guy up. Underneath him are what looks like a small gas cylinder for a barbecue and some clear plastic bags, the five-pound size that Jer uses to buy flour and sugar at the bulk store. These are filled with white powder and taped shut. Maybe this guy likes to bake as much as Jer does.
After he stops yipping like the dog when I pull duct tape off his hairy arms, he says, “You ever gotta do that again, try cutting the tape. Then a guy can soak it off, ya know?” He touches what’s left of his mustache. He stop
s glaring at me long enough to say to the dog, “Mistah Bones, you all right?”
AmberLea has put the dog in the backseat. Now it goes crazy, scrabbling up the upholstery to get to the guy. The guy can hardly move. His arms are stiff as boards and his hands look all swollen. “Hey, hey, Mistah Bonesy, how we, how we, how we?” He leans down and the dog starts licking his face. There’s a big red patch around the guy’s mouth where his mustache was.
“Enchanting,” says Gloria Lorraine. “We have to go.”
The guy stands up stiffly. “Yeah. Right. Me too.” He looks around. “Thanks fa helpin’. Ya wanna give me the gun before there’s an accident? You can probably catch a bus at the corner.” He sticks out a puffy hand and takes a tottery step forward.
“Not so fast,” says Gloria Lorraine, and she points the gun right at the guy’s belly. It’s a big target. “We need the car.”
He stops dead. “What? That’s my car!”
“I doubt it,” she says. “But even if it is, I doubt you’ll call the cops.”
“Hey,” says the guy, “I’m an honest businessman.”
“In a pig’s eye,” says Gloria Lorraine. She nods at the trunk. “Next you’re going to tell us that the nose candy in the plastic bags is icing sugar.”
“Exactly right,” says the guy. “I’m a baker. Really. Lookit.” He fumbles a card out of a pocket and hands it to me. “Al Capoli, King of Cannoli. See that tank in there? Helium, so’s we can do balloons for kiddies when we deliver a deluxe birthday cake. ” He grunts as he reaches in the trunk and pulls out a bag of balloons.
“Uh-huh,” says Gloria Lorraine. “King of Cannoli, huh? I hope you bake better than you lie. Ever hear of Little Moe Chopsticks, Dragon of Dim Sum?”
Al shakes his head.
“My third husband,” she says. “Nothing to do with you, AmberLea. Your grandpa was number four.” Then, to Al, she says, “How about Rocco Wings?”
Al’s whole head goes from leather-interior red to Cadillac white.
“Thought so.” Gloria Lorraine smiles. “He knew Moe and he’s a fan of mine. Now, you could get in my way and make him very angry, or you could help me and have him owe you one. My guess is you wouldn’t mind staying on the move with us a while, since someone clearly wants you gone. If not, we can just leave you here—with your ‘icing sugar.’ I’m sure someone can help you carry it to the bus.”
Al Capoli, King of Cannoli, bites his lip. His eyes dart around. AmberLea and I stand there. I can’t believe what’s going on. AmberLea’s chin has disappeared again, so maybe she can’t either. Even the dog is quiet. Then Al looks up and his eyes flare, and all of a sudden he hits the pavement in a belly flop. Beyond the Dumpster, through the trees at the edge of the parking lot, I see a black SUV with tinted windows roll by. It keeps going.
“You can stay here and keep your mouth shut,” says Gloria Lorraine, “or you can come along and keep your mouth shut.”
“Let’s go,” Al says, scrambling up and brushing himself off. “Fast.”
As we get in, Gloria Lorraine says, “You must have baked some awful cupcakes.”
TEN
We get in the car. “Put the top up,” says Al.
“Not on your life,” says the movie star in the front seat. “Here, put these on.” She rummages in one of her bags and comes up with a blond wig just like the one she’s wearing, and another scarf. “AmberLea, help him.”
“What?” says Al.
Gloria Lorraine says, “You know, shooting a man is like straightening your stockings. A lady’s not supposed to do it, but sometimes you have to.”
He puts on the wig and kerchief.
“And these.” She tosses him some big sunglasses. The whole thing looks pretty interesting with what’s left of his mustache. Al slouches low in the seat.
“Let’s go,” says Gloria Lorraine.
That’s when I remember. “I have to call my dad.”
“Not now, Sparky.”
“Let’s go,” says Al.
All at once I realize that I’m in the driver’s seat. Literally. “No,” I say. “I call or we don’t go. Grandpa would want me to call.” I don’t know if the last part’s true, but it’s worth a shot. I wave my hand to make my point, and the car keys fly away into the Dumpster. Now everyone groans.
“Now what?” says AmberLea. “Maybe we should all just take a cab home.”
“Mistah Bones,” says Al, from under the wig and kerchief.
“What?”
“Mistah Bones. Put him in there. He finds my keys for me alla the time. Watch.”
Al scoops up the Chihuahua, gets out of the car and hoists the dog to the top of the Dumpster. The dog goes crazy, all four legs pedaling as if he’s on an imaginary bicycle. It probably smells like dog heaven to him. “Keys, Mistah Bones,” croons Al. “Keys for Papa.” Al lets go. The dog dives. There’s a lot of yipping, thumping and scrabbling, then the sound of Mister Bones whining. “Told you,” Al says proudly. “Get him out.”
“Cell phone first,” I say to Gloria Lorraine. She hands it to me. I climb up the side of the Dumpster. The smell makes my eyes water. Mister Bones is perched on a green bag, the keys in his mouth. I lift him out. The smell comes along. Everyone groans again as I put him in the backseat. I ignore them and punch in Jer’s number. It’s time to get out of this zoo.
“Yo.” Jer sounds as if I woke him. “Spence. What’s happening?”
“Well,” I say, “I’m with Gl—Miss Lorraine.”
“Cool. So, mission accomplished? You’ve been a while. I must have snoozed. You done soon?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” I know I have to be careful here. Gloria Lorraine still has the gun in her lap. “We’re not exactly at the Lodge right now. We’re, um, running some errands. Kind of. And it’s going to take us a couple more hours—”
“Days,” says Gloria Lorraine.
“Days,” I say.
“DAYS?” That’s me, Jer, Al and AmberLea all at once. Our voices go up like roller coasters.
Gloria Lorraine nods.
“Uh, yeah, days,” I say to Jer.
“Or no kiss,” says Gloria Lorraine.
“Or no kiss,” I repeat. Oh yeah; for a moment I’d forgotten that. “I guess I have to.”
“Listen, Spence.” Jer’s voice gets firmer. “No, you don’t. This is screwy enough already. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
It sounds good to me. I look around. But what do I tell him? That I’m sitting near a supermarket, behind a Dumpster, in a white Caddy with a trunk full of something that probably isn’t icing sugar. I’m with a grumpy girl, a sketchy baker, a stinky Chihuahua and a ninety-year-old with a loaded gun? Do I just say, You’ll know us when you see us? For a second I wonder what Bunny would think of this. What will I tell him? I think of my cousins in France or Spain or Africa. What will I tell them? And AmberLea, who, while not superhot, is still pretty nice in skinny jeans: am I going to wimp out in front of her, just because her grandma waves a pistol with the safety off? What would I tell Grandpa? I think of how I dreamed of making my own movie. I take a deep breath. “No,” I say, “it’s okay. I’m cool with it. I have to make the movie.”
Behind me, Al says, “Movie? Over my dead body.”
“Obviously that can be arranged,” says Gloria Lorraine. Mister Bones yelps.
“Was that a dog?” Jer asks.
“Yeah, we’re at one of those dog-grooming places.” Where did that come from? I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve got to finish this. “Why don’t you go back to Aunt Vicky’s?”
“Tell him to go home,” says Gloria Lorraine. “I’ll get you back there.”
“Or go home,” I say to Jer. “Miss Lorraine promises to get me back.”
“But—” Jer says.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Damn right,” Al says.
I ignore him. “A couple of days. I’ll call. I promise. Nothing to worry about.”
“But, Spence—�
��
“Trust me,” I say. I switch off the phone. My heart is pounding, but it’s a good pounding. I think.
“That’s more like it,” says Gloria Lorraine. “I bet that’s what your grandpa would have done.” She points to the GPS. “Now, aim that thing north and get us to Canada.”
REEL TWO
EXT.—LONG SHOT—DAY
A white Cadillac convertible, top down, rolls slowly to a fortified border crossing on a country road: guard tower, machine guns, tank traps, sandbags topped with concertina wire. Armed sentries man the gate. As the Cadillac stops, a SOLDIER steps to driver’s side. SPENCER is driving, AMBERLEA (Amy Faris?) in front passenger seat, GLORIA LORRAINE (Betty White) in backseat with MISTER BONES on lap.
EXT.—WIDE SHOT LOOKING UP TO SOLDIER FROM SPENCER’S P.O.V.—DAY
SOLDIER
(snapping fingers twice)
Papers. Passports.
EXT.—WIDE SHOT INTO CAR FROM OVER SOLDIER’S SHOULDER—DAY
SPENCER
(handing over everyone’s papers)
You keep good time.
AMBERLEA
(stroking the back of Spencer’s neck)
Must be all that marching.
INT.—GUARD HOUSE
A JUNIOR OFFICER watches through binoculars as the GUARD at the car reads the documents. He lowers binoculars and picks up a telephone.
EXT.—WIDE SHOT INTO CAR FROM OVER SOLDIER’S SHOULDER—DAY
GLORIA LORRAINE
(glaring at soldier)
How much longer is this going to take? If I don’t get a Dependable soon I’m going to need to use your helmet.
EXT.—WIDE SHOT LOOKING UP TO SOLDIER FROM CAR—DAY
SOLDIER ignores comment and continues to read.
INT.—GUARD HOUSE—WIDE SHOT
A bald SENIOR OFFICER wearing a monocle strides in. JUNIOR OFFICER hands him the binoculars. He looks through them at camera.