“I can pull it off,” Pete said.
“My sister could play Rock Bockner better than you.”
This went on for another few minutes until Pete put his director’s hat back on and insisted that they move on.
Auditions continued for the next couple of hours. The boys all came desiring the role of Rock and had their hopes dashed. But the best girl’s part was still up for grabs. It was the role of Ginger, Rock’s love interest and leading lady. Pete got to live out the dreams of pretty much every teenage boy in Odyssey—to choose from a long line of girls exactly who got to be his love interest.
At 1:13 that afternoon, the girls who were still standing in line realized they had no hope of being Ginger when they saw Valerie Swanson take her place in the audition chair. Like most of the guys in town, Pete was secretly in love with Valerie. She sat down and read for the part, but he never heard a word she said. He just stared at her with his chin resting sloppily in his hand. After she was done he said, “Wonderful.” She smiled, flipped her hair back, and left.
After the main characters were cast, Pete held auditions for stuntmen. A dozen boys lined up to do whatever Pete asked, unconcerned with the danger. To refuse a challenge in front of a crowd of other boys would be unthinkable.
At one point Pete said, “All right, line up and jump off this cliff.” The drop was about 10 feet. The landing didn’t appear to be terribly dangerous, but no one knew if there were rocks beneath the surface of the dirt. “Who’s first?” Pete asked as he took his chair and notebook down to the bottom of the cliff. Everyone casually shuffled backwards to allow someone else to go first. “Come on, people!” Pete shouted. “You can’t be a stuntman if you’re afraid to do what I tell you.”
The boys looked at each other. They were hoping to find a hint of fear in one another’s eyes so that they knew they were not alone. Finally, Scott, whom everyone knew didn’t have a courageous bone in his body, asked a question that everyone would love him for. “Can we have some pillows down there?”
“Pillows?” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Scott went on. “Whenever stuntmen jump off buildings and stuff, they always get one of those big balloon things to land on. I figured at least we could get some pillows.” Some of the others nodded in agreement, casually shrugging their shoulders. No one wanted to admit that they needed pillows.
Pete rolled his eyes and sent a boy to get pillows. “Does anybody want to really impress me and do it without the pillows?” Pete challenged. But everyone collectively agreed to wait for the pillows.
The boy came back with a pile of laundry. “My mom wouldn’t let me have pillows, but she gave me some old beach towels.”
Towels? I didn’t think towels would absorb much of the shock. It was, after all, a 10-foot drop. Pete laid the towels out on the ground, covering a fairly wide area at the bottom of the cliff. All in all, the towels appeared to provide about an inch and a half of padding.
Pete patted the towels, showing the prospective jumpers just how nice and soft the ground was now. He looked up at them, then backed into his director’s chair. “All right. Who’s first?”
They all looked at each other. “Scott,” Pete said, “you got your padding. Why don’t you give it a try?” Scott scratched the back of his neck and took a step forward to look over the cliff. He licked his lips and clenched his teeth.
“All right, everybody back up,” Scott said. They obeyed. He backed up 20 feet and took a deep breath. The other boys were in awe. He closed his eyes, took a running start, and hurled himself off the cliff. He let out a small squeal and landed on the edge of the towels, fell awkwardly, and took a violent turn to the right, rolling into the bushes. He screamed in pain. Pete ran over to him, and the other boys peered over the top of the cliff to see what damage had been done.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked. Scott’s eyes were closed. He grunted a bit and gingerly pulled a branch away from his face. He wiggled his toes as if to test for paralysis. Pete scanned his body for blood, but saw none. “Do you want me to help you up?”
Scott said with difficulty, “I’m okay.”
“Anything broken?” Pete asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Here. Let me help you,” Pete said, grabbing his arm.
“No!” Scott shouted. “I got the wind knocked out of me. I’ll just stay here for now.”
“Under the bush?”
“Sure.”
“You want me to just leave you here?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
Pete looked up at the boys at the top of the cliff. He walked to his chair. “Okay, good. Who’s next?”
The boys looked at each other, waved a group good-bye, and went home. Pete went back over to Scott, who hadn’t moved. “Congratulations, Scott. You’re our stuntman.”
On the way back into town the next morning, I noticed something very odd and disturbing. Jake’s new house was not made of tarp, as I thought it would be. It was made of wood, just like everyone else’s. Why would somebody pay top dollar to buy wood from Max when he could have a perfectly good house made of tarp for much less?
I got my answer seconds later. Max came up from be-hind me.
“Hey, Ryan. I met your buddy Jake.” I practically bit my tongue in half. “I hear you guys go way back,” he said.
“What did he tell you?” I asked, hoping he didn’t notice the tremble in my voice.
“Just that you two have a special bond between you that goes back to your kindergarten days. Nice guy.”
“Sure is.”
“I look forward to getting to know him. In fact, he may just turn out to be one of my best friends.” He winked at me and left. The lump in my throat was so large that I couldn’t swallow. Max never wanted to get to know anyone. He didn’t care about having friends. Why would he want to be Jake’s friend? And why did Jake agree to buy Max’s wood? Did Max give him the wood at a special price in exchange for … information? I could handle Max most of the time. Jake would be tougher, but I still thought I could deal with him. But the two of them together …
I expected the first day of filming to be like a soccer practice for five year olds—one person trying to organize 10 other people who would rather just kick stuff around. But when I got there, I was amazed to see that Pete had everything under control. In fact, he looked as though he knew exactly what he was doing every step of the way.
He had his lead actors in place. Valerie was standing behind the camera, ready to go on set. A boy named Kirk had won the part of the bad guy. He was wearing a black suit and he had a smirk on his face. His longer hair gave him a convincing bad-guy look.
Pete had put the camera tripod on wheels and bought some plywood from Max so that he could easily roll the camera, making a sort of make shift dolly. He watched through the viewfinder and yelled “Action!”
Kirk was already on the set, sitting at a table in what looked like an outdoor café. Valerie approached him cautiously. She spoke with a hint of fear in her voice. “What do you want?”
“Thanks for coming, Ginger. Have a seat.” She sat down. Pete whispered something to his cameraman and motioned to two production assistants standing nearby. They wheeled the dolly slowly to the left.
“I want the computer disk,” Kirk said.
“What if I don’t have it?”
Kirk laughed. Pete had the cameraman move in slowly. “Well, then … I guess I don’t have your mother, either.”
Valerie gasped. “What have you done with my mother?”
“The question should be, ‘What will we do to your mother if you don’t comply?’ And the answer, for now, is that we haven’t done anything … yet. She’s safe and sound and could remain that way, but that’s up to you.”
Pete signaled to a guy who was operating a large fan. A fairly heavy breeze suddenly hit the scene and Valerie’s hair fluttered. Then Pete motioned to Patty, who was off-camera. She approached with a tray full of food in one hand, and a plastic pitcher of water i
n the other.
“The shrimp looks good,” Kirk said, seeing the tray.
Valerie didn’t care about the shrimp. “What’s to prevent me from going to the police right now?”
“Oh, I don’t think you want to deal with the police. Not with your past, Ginger … or should I say … Gretchen.” Valerie gasped again. She was really good at that. She exhaled, and then pushed her hair back casually as if to mask her fear. Suddenly, she glanced upward. Her eyes widened when she saw Patty, the waitress. The wind from the fan had blown a large oak leaf into her face, and it had stuck there. She was powerless to do anything because both her hands were full. Valerie snickered a little, but quickly looked away. Patty was jerking her head to the left, trying to get the leaf off, but it remained stuck.
Kirk noticed Valerie’s snicker and looked up at Patty. He made a funny noise, then grabbed his water glass and drank. Valerie and Kirk tried to regain their composure and continue with the scene. Charlie, the guy holding the microphone, noticed the leaf and tried to stifle his laughter, but the microphone began shaking above Kirk’s head. Pete saw the microphone and the sudden change in the actors, and he looked around. He finally noticed the leaf that appeared to be a part of Patty’s face. She swung the pitcher up toward her face to scrape it off, but instead the water flew up out of the pitcher and spilled over the front of her shirt. She remained calm. Pete bowed his head and his body shook with laughter.
Heroically, the actors continued on. “You see, Ginger …” Kirk said with a slight smile, “we have many ways of getting that disk, even if you don’t give it to us.”
Valerie covered her mouth and was barely able to deliver her line. “What are you talking about?”
“Well … we could … we could …” He was starting to lose it. “We could glue a leaf to your face just like we did to her!”
The entire cast and crew burst into hysterics. Patty grinned, threw the plastic pitcher down, and peeled the leaf off her face. Valerie and Kirk laughed until they cried. Pete fell on the ground headfirst. I had to hold my side to keep it from bursting. Valerie stood up and gave Patty a sympathy hug. Patty laughed at herself.
After five full minutes of utter frenzy, Pete began to get everything set up again. The crew went back to their places, Patty reloaded her tray and pitcher, and no one was upset that they had to do the entire scene over again.
It was one of the nicest moments in the history of Kidsboro.
I left the set for a while and took a leisurely walk around. There were several people playing on the miniature golf course. Mark had made a few changes in the course. It was actually possible to make a decent score on a couple of the holes.
Nelson, Eugene, and two employees were giving their newest model a road test: a stylish, red pickup truck. He’d gotten several more orders for this model. Nelson had a stack of wood nearby, and the truck had a small stack in its bed. Eugene had a pencil behind his ear and a pad in his hand. He was smiling as though he was impressed. Apparently, they were testing to see how much weight the truck would hold.
I stopped by the bank, and Marcy was signing a few papers. A customer was opening up a new account. Marcy explained the concept behind interest, withdrawals, and deposits. She entered some figures into her computer.
I went into my office, sat back in my chair, and smiled. I was proud of my city. This was how it was supposed to be.
Suddenly, the door crashed open and Scott burst in. “There’s been an accident!”
6
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
SEVERAL PEOPLE WERE ALREADY AT the scene when I got there. Jill, the newspaper reporter, was there with her notebook and pen. Roberto, assistant newspaper editor/reporter/photographer, was taking pictures of the scene. And lying on the ground, holding his ankle, was Jake. James, the town doctor, was kneeling down beside him with his medical bag. I suppose I should have asked Jake if he was okay, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
He offered the information on his own. “I think I pulled something.”
James fumbled around in his bag. He had never actually treated anyone, so he looked excited to finally get a chance to use his limited knowledge of first aid. He pulled out an Ace bandage.
“Let’s wrap that—”
“Get away from me, you quack!” Jake shouted.
“What happened?” Jill asked.
“I fell on one of Nelson’s stupid cars. It came out of nowhere and I tripped over it.”
“Can you walk?” Scott asked.
“I haven’t tried.”
Scott and James helped Jake up, and he tried to walk on his own. His ankle buckled and he almost fell. They gently helped him sit back down.
Nelson ran up. “What’s going on?”
“You!” Jake screamed. “You and your stupid cars!”
“My cars?”
“I fell over one! And I might’ve torn something.”
“I’m sorry …” Nelson noticed one of his cars upside down on the grass. He turned it over and saw that the entire length of the car had been crushed. He went over to help Jake.
“Don’t even come near me! Haven’t you done enough?”
“Jake, I’m just trying to help. It’s not my fault that you fell on the car.”
“And why not?”
“Who was driving it?”
“I don’t know. But you’re the one who invented these death-mobiles.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It’s your fault. And I’m gonna take you for every penny you’ve got.”
“What?” Nelson asked with his eyes open as big as saucers.
“I’m suing you,” Jake said. Nelson stepped back as if he was going to faint. Kidsboro had gotten sue-happy before, and it had hurt the town badly. I didn’t want to go through that again.
“Now come on, Jake,” Nelson said. “You don’t need to sue me.”
“What do you care? You’re rich.”
Scott went to get Mr. Whittaker, who rushed out the back door of his shop, and down the main street of Kidsboro. He bent down at Jake’s side. “Can you walk?”
“No.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“I’m okay. I just need to get home.”
Mr. Whittaker pulled Jake up, threw his arm around him, and half-carried him off. Jake moaned until he was out of earshot.
The whole story was in the Kidsboro Chronicle the next day, along with a picture of the scene of the accident, some quotes from Jake, “our newest citizen,” and comments from Nelson. Jake’s threat to sue Nelson “for every penny” was in there too. I was hoping that part of the story wouldn’t appear in the paper.
I didn’t want anyone to think there was any kind of trouble in paradise during this “golden age” of Kidsboro, as I liked to call it. But now It was out there, and all I could do was hope that it wouldn’t lead to anything worse.
“Come on! I’ve been behind the camera for an hour and a half, and I haven’t even filmed anything yet!” Pete’s cameraman complained. It had been a long day and tempers appeared to be running high. This was the fifth day in a row they had been filming.
“Hang on,” Pete answered. “I just have to work some things out.” Pete was explaining the next scene to Stuntman Scott.
“Okay, you’re being chased by Kirk. You’ve got the disk in your pocket and you’re trying to get it to Rock. Over by the creek, you jump on your getaway bike, and you have this high-speed bike chase through the woods. Kirk will be behind you. When you get over here, you lose control of your bike and run into this tree right here.”
“What?”
“And make sure you hit the jagged branches.”
“You want me to run into a tree?”
“Yes.”
“At full speed?”
“Yes.”
“On an out-of-control bike?”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me for being sane, but are you crazy?”
“Are you not my stuntman?”
“Sure, b
ut … don’t you think that’s kind of dangerous?”
“What? You want me to nail some pillows to the tree?” Pete asked, throwing his arms up in disbelief.
Scott thought a minute, then said quietly, “Yes.”
Pete looked disgusted. “We can’t put pillows on the trees; the camera will pick them up. Now if you want to remain my stuntman, I suggest you get on that bike and start plummeting headfirst into that tree!”
Scott put his head down and headed for the bike. Several times he turned back and glanced at the tree as though wondering how to escape certain discomfort.
As Scott prepared for his big scene, Valerie came over with a script in her hand. She was as fed up as everyone else seemed to be.
“What is this?” she asked Pete.
Pete looked at where she was pointing on the script, acting as if he had no idea what she was talking about. But he obviously knew what she was going to complain about.
“What?”
She began reading from the script, “‘Rock gently pulls her toward him and kisses her on the lips. Ginger knows she must resist, but cannot. She melts into his powerful arms.’” She looked up. “I am not kissing you, nor am I melting into your powerful, yet completely unmuscular, arms.”
“But … Valerie …” Pete responded with all the confidence he could muster. “It’s very important to the script. This is a turning point for your character. Ginger has never let herself become vulnerable before. Now she’s falling in love and has no choice. She has to trust him.”
“I think I can communicate that in other ways.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll give Rock a little thumbs-up sign or something.”
“Dramatically, that’s a little less impressive than what I was going for.”
“I know what you were going for,” Valerie said suspiciously. “I’m not kissing you, and that’s final.”
“Do you want this to be a good movie or not?”
“More importantly, I will have a life after this movie. And I would like to be able to sleep at night and not have nightmares about your disgusting little lips coming at me.”
The Fight for Kidsboro Page 12
