Set My Heart to Five
Page 15
This gave me D-word feelings.
I did not mind that Amber was a spectacular klutz, and something of a wooden block too, and I appreciated that she never yelled at me about the silverware.
Also, I seemed to inexplicably like her honey-yellow hair, and the fact that it was amber, like her name.
After two weeks living at Mrs Minassian’s pool house, I had not made much progress on my screenplay.
BTW I was deliberately writing like a human again. I had made zero progress.
My intention had been to attend one of the prestigious institutions R. P. McWilliam had written about in his illiterate introduction to Twenty Golden Rules of Screenwriting. I had quickly discovered that I could not afford to attend such a school on the bitcoin I earned at Gordito’s. I doubt even Gordito himself could have afforded to attend such a school on the bitcoin he earned from Gordito’s!
My luck changed at the start of my third week, when Julio brought me a flyer somebody had handed him as he waited for his Automatic Bus. It was for an extension class in screenwriting that was taught by a woman called Maria Salazar MFA. It took place at the City of Los Angeles Technical Community College in downtown Los Angeles. After only twelve weeks of Tuesday night classes, students would have completed a feature screenplay. Scenes from these would then be performed in front of an invited audience of film industry experts!
This City of Los Angeles Technical Community College in downtown Los Angeles had not featured on R. P. McWilliam’s list of prestigious institutions, but this was not surprising. Prestige generally exists in direct proportion to longevity and indirect proportion to the number of letters in an acronym. The flyer said the school had been established in 2051, only two years previously. Moreover, the acronym—CLATCCDTLA—was one of the longest I had ever seen.
But I had no need for longevity or even prestige!
I needed to complete a feature screenplay in twelve weeks!
And have scenes from it performed in front of an invited audience of film industry experts!
Set it to five, I immediately signed up for Maria Salazar MFA’s extension screenwriting class at CLATCCDTLA!
Welcome to Los Angeles!
Welcome to the future, Brad Smith!
EXT. ECHO PARK AVENUE — EVENING
Jared waits at an Automatic Bus stop in Echo Park.
There is a LAKE across the street, and HUMANS are boating around it in PEDAL BOATS.
JARED (V.O.)
Taking the class forced me to suffer the ignominy of traveling to campus by Automatic Bus. But guess what?
An AUTOMATIC BUS pulls up. Jared climbs aboard.
INT. AUTOMATIC BUS —DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES —NIGHT
Jared sits aboard the Automatic Bus on the freeway.
As DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES comes into view, Jared stands up to look at it.
JARED (V.O.)
Downtown Los Angeles at night is an incredible sight! It is all ominous skyscrapers, garish neon signs, and melancholy lights in windows. That is to say, it looks just like the future! Or at least it looks like what humans used to think the future would look like, before the Great Crash!
Jared continues to stare at the buildings in wonder.
A PARTICULAR BUILDING catches his eye.
JARED (V.O.) (CONT’D)
But that should not have been surprising. After all, anytime humans from the past wanted to set a movie in the future, they filmed it in downtown Los Angeles. The story of Batty and Deckard was even filmed there, and as we drove I recognized the top of the building on which Roy Batty saved Deckard’s life!
(Beat.)
Such incredible sights almost made up for having to ride the Automatic Bus.
The Automatic Bus takes a corner too fast.
JARED (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Almost.
INT. SKYSCRAPER —DTLA —NIGHT
Jared enters the reception area. He consults the board by the elevator and finds —amidst many LAW OFFICES and DENTISTS etc —the listing:
CLATCCDTLA—57
Jared presses the button to call the elevator.
INT. FIFTY-SEVENTH FLOOR —DTLA SKYSCRAPER —NIGHT
Jared gets out of the elevator.
The floor is much shabbier than the reception floor, with STAINED OLD CARPETS and DYING POT PLANTS etc.
Jared approaches a BORED-LOOKING RECEPTIONIST at a desk.
JARED
Excuse me, I am looking for the college campus?
RECEPTIONIST
Yeah, it’s those three rooms there.
JARED
But what about the quadrangles? And the campanile?
RECEPTIONIST
Excuse me?
JARED
A campus is the grounds and buildings of a college or university, often including such features as quadrangles and a campanile.
(Off her look.)
A campanile is a bell tower.
RECEPTIONIST
What are you studying?
JARED
Screenwriting.
RECEPTIONIST
Second door on the left with your fellow literary geniuses.
JARED
I am not a literary genius.
RECEPTIONIST
Neither are they.
JARED
You were being sarcastic! Ha!
Jared hurries away before it gets even more awkward.
INT. CLASSROOM —CLATCCDTLA —NIGHT
Jared enters the classroom where VARIOUS ADULT STUDENTS are sitting at tables chatting with each other.
He takes an open seat and waits patiently.
MARIA SALAZAR (40s) hurries in carrying a bag full of papers and looking flustered.
MARIA
Everybody, welcome. I’m Maria. Does anybody have any questions before we start?
One of the students puts up a hand.
STUDENT 1
What are the names of the experts that will be coming to the showcase?
There is a murmur of approval.
MARIA
I think that’s a record. The name of the expert is—
The class groan loudly.
MARIA (CONT’D)
I know. The flyer said ‘experts’, plural.
But that was a typo. It’s expert. Singular. If you have a problem with that, you can get your money back. Anyway, the expert is Don LaSalle.
This changes everything for the class.
STUDENT 1
The Don LaSalle?
MARIA
I only know one.
STUDENT 2
And he’s coming to the showcase?
MARIA
He’s coming a few times before then too.
STUDENT 1
Don’t take this the wrong way, but why would Don LaSalle come here?
MARIA
Because he has some community service hours to make up and he mistakenly thinks aspiring screenwriters are less intimidating than at-risk youth. Now, any more questions?
Jared glances around, then puts up his hand.
MARIA (CONT’D)
Yes, you there?
JARED
Who is Don LaSalle?
The rest of the class laugh —who is this rube?
MARIA
Great. Somebody that’s actually taking the class to learn about screenwriting. You are very welcome here—
JARED
Jar—Brad. I’m Brad. Brad Smith.
MARIA
Well, Brad, Don LaSalle is a well-known producer. And if he likes your script, the sky is the limit.
On Jared. This is great news to him.
MARIA (CONT’D)
Now, to break the ice, why don’t we go around the class and each tell
a brief story about ourselves from when we were growing up?
INT. CLASSROOM —CLATCCDTLA —NIGHT
As STUDENTS stand to tell their stories, Jared looks nervous.
JARED (V.O.)
Stories from growing up are hard for bots. After all, I did not grow up but was rapid-aged in a factory in Detroit!
STUDENT 1
...and she said it was the greatest paper she had ever read by a fourth grader...
CUT TO:
STUDENT 2
...I just figured, what could Harvard ever teach me...
Jared sits at the back of the class, looking terrified.
CUT TO:
Another student is standing in front of the class.
STUDENT 3
...at eighteen months, I could recite the alphabet...
Jared looks around at his classmates. They are all bored.
CUT TO:
Jared reluctantly takes his place at the front.
JARED
I don’t really have any stories from growing up.
MARIA
Just tell us anything —who your friends were, or some time you got into trouble. Anything like that. Anything at all.
Jared initially looks panicked, but then inspiration visibly strikes him.
JARED
When I was growing up, an evil property developer attempted to sell off our entire neighborhood. My friends and I were going to have to move to new towns and never see each other again. Fortunately, there was a legend in our town about an old pirate. My friends and I discovered a map leading to where his treasure was buried. So we went on an adventure to find it. Unfortunately, a notorious gang of recently released criminals wanted it too, but we beat them to it. That meant that our parents did not have to sell our homes to the evil developer and we did not have to leave the neighborhood we loved after all.
There is a silence, and then the rest of the class break out in a round of applause.
INT. CLASSROOM —CLATCCDTLA —NIGHT —LATER
The class members continue to introduce themselves.
STUDENT 4
...at eighteen months, I could recite the alphabet in French...
But everyone is bored. Nobody’s story is as interesting as Jared’s.
JARED (V.O.)
As my classmates spoke, I noticed a pattern.
Their stories were all about making sure other humans understood that they were smart or funny or had once endured a minor injustice. None of them seemed to be familiar with R. P. McWilliam’s seventh golden rule, which is that a story must always be told for the benefit of the audience.
INT. CLASSROOM —CLATCCDTLA —NIGHT —LATER STILL
The final classmate is telling her story.
STUDENT 5
...and to this day, nobody has scored better in English Literature at Greenville Middle School!
MARIA
Thank you, everyone. I certainly learned a great deal about you all. I’ll see you all next week.
(Beat.)
Brad, could you see me for a moment, please?
Jared looks around for Brad, then realizes it is him.
As the other students leave, Jared approaches Maria.
MARIA (CONT’D)
So I really liked the story you told.
JARED
Thank you, Maria Salazar MFA.
MARIA
What? Why do you call me that?
JARED
It was on the flyer.
MARIA
Just Maria is fine. Look, I really liked your story...
JARED
Great!
MARIA
...but I liked it even more when I saw it in a movie.
JARED
Oh.
MARIA
I’m not mad. It’s terrific that you’ve watched old movies. Your classmates probably all just watch killer-bot movies.
JARED
Killer-bot movies. I mean, I cannot. Ha!
MARIA
Look, the point for me is that you told the story for your audience and not for yourself.
JARED
I did! Because that’s R. P. McWilliam’s seventh golden rule!
MARIA
R. P. McWilliam? That guy? Really?
(Shrugs.)
Look, just keep up the good work, okay?
JARED
I will!
Jared is delighted. Nobody has ever praised him before.
EXT. AUTOMATIC BUS —101 FREEWAY —NIGHT
As Jared rides the Automatic Bus home, he takes out his Feelings Wheel.
JARED (V.O.)
I left my first class feeling elated! I had never felt elated before.
It was such a powerful feeling that I did not even mind being on the Automatic Bus.
Jared looks out the window and sighs with elation.
The Automatic Bus takes the exit for Echo Park.
It takes it a little too swiftly.
Each night Gordito’s endured an abundance of birthdays and therefore cosmic insignificance. When the corresponding rush on silverware was over, I would take my break on the patio. I did this in order to seem as human as possible. After all, humans adore taking breaks. Especially on patios.
One night when I got to the patio I found Amber already there. Unfortunately, she was crying, and crying humans are a notorious nuclear minefield of politeness! I attempted to retreat, but alas, Amber noticed me before I could make my escape.
I therefore asked her what her problem was.
BTW that is the polite thing to do when confronted with a crying human.
Amber replied that I already knew what her problem was.
I protested that I did not!
Amber then stated that her problem was she was a klutz.
Ha! She had been right. I apologized and agreed I had indeed known Amber was like a block of wood since our very first encounter. Amber did not understand what I meant, so I explained to her that the word ‘klutz’ means ‘block of wood’. Unfortunately, this only made her cry more.
BTW I really was not kidding about crying humans being a nuclear minefield of politeness!
I tried to cheer Amber up by telling her that in many movies klutzes are highly desirable. It often takes most of the movie for everybody to realize just how desirable a klutz is, but as soon as they do, klutzes invariably find and make wonderful life partners. Amber agreed that sounded nice, but said being a klutz only ever seemed to make her life more difficult. The other waitstaff treated her terribly and they were right to. After all, she was the worst goddamn waitperson in the whole place!
I corrected Amber that she was in fact the best waitperson in the whole place. Amber looked puzzled by this, and asked me why I would say such a thing. I explained that she was the only waitperson who never yelled across the kitchen at me about a silverware shortage which was anyway not my fault.
That made her stop crying!
Ha!
I was skillfully navigating a path through the notorious nuclear minefield that is a crying human!
Thus emboldened, I went further and told Amber that I also liked the fact that her hair was amber and her name was Amber, and she was therefore a sort of hilarious walking pun. When this made her laugh, I even admitted that I listened out for the sounds of plates smashing because I liked to know that she was nearby.
This made her cry again, but fortunately, she also laughed at the same time.
Ka-boom!
Ha!
Ka-boom!
Ha!
10/10 crying humans truly were a nuclear minefield of politeness!
Amber then said she was ashamed that she did not know anything about me. I told her there was not much to know, as I was just a typical Ame
rican everyman that worked as a dishwasher and lived in Mrs Minassian’s pool house. After all, even my name—Brad Smith—was that of a typical American everyman! But Amber was not interested in these things. Instead, she asked me to tell her a story from growing up. Luckily I already knew a good one!
BTW humans are almost as irrationally obsessed with stories from growing up as they are with their own birthdays!
When I had finished telling my story, Amber said that her childhood had not involved anything nearly so exciting as finding a pirate’s treasure. She seemed embarrassed and I felt a strong urge to confess that my youth had in fact not been spent recovering the lost treasure of pirates but in an industrial freezer in Detroit.
But of course I could not tell her that! The only human I could safely tell anything to was Dr Glundenstein. If any other human found out that I was a fugitive bot—even a kindly human like Amber or Julio—they would almost certainly report me to the Bureau of Robotics. And then I would be incinerated, and perhaps have unpleasant experiments performed on me too.
Amber thanked me for cheering her up and said she had to get back to spilling things on her customers, as those Gordito’s Dolares were not going to deduct themselves.
This puzzled me, as it implied she was intentionally being a klutz.
I asked her about this, and she explained she was being sarcastic.
Ha!
BTW when Amber did sarcasm, it curiously was not the worst.
It might even have been the best!
As I watched Amber go, I experienced a new feeling that was related to yearning and also feeling contemplative. When I got back to Mrs Minassian’s pool house, I looked at the reverse of my Feelings Wheel and discovered it was wistfulness.
I must have been the first bot ever to feel wistfulness!
Feelings are the best!
Later that night, I wrote Dr Glundenstein a postcard I had bought with a picture of the HollywoodWorld sign. I wrote it to him in the character of ‘Brad Rynearson’, a fictitious human patient of his who was vacationing in California.
I even told him that the treatment he had prescribed for my ingrowing toenail had worked!
That would surely fool Inspector Ryan Bridges if he ever read it.
After all, us Brads could suffer from ingrowing toenails just as much as the next guy.
Us Brads truly were American everymen.
* * *
Over the next days, Amber’s name began to appear unprompted in my Word Cloud.