Aldo's Fantastical Movie Palace Read online

  The boy shuffled up the aisle, Hobo at his side. He paused at the front seat and turned toward Chloe, as if he could sense her.

  “Why do they call you Scarface?”

  She slumped down and rolled her eyes. Even blind kids know that name.

  “Are you mute too?” He waited, shrugged, and stepped toward the door. Tex grabbed his arm, but Nick yanked free. “I can do this myself.”

  “Easy now,” Tex warned. “What with the dog and the new stop, I was just trying to help. And you need to be okay with that, young man.”

  Nick eased down the steps, reached gravel, and turned toward the bus.

  “You can’t help. Nobody here can help.”

  Tex glanced at Chloe and shrugged. She stood and hoisted her pack onto her shoulder. “Thanks, Tex. You comin’ to the theater this weekend? The Vapor is a first run.”

  “You know I don’t do that frightening stuff. Stop trying to scare the tar out of me. Bambi. Show Bambi and I’ll be there, front row.”

  The thought of an ex-marine, tattooed bus driver watching Bambi made her smile. She hopped down and the bus pulled away. Neither Nick nor his dog had moved.

  “Your house is right there.” Chloe pointed, and lowered her hand. That was dumb.

  “I know where it is,” he muttered. “I really want to know about the Scarface thing.”

  “Well, I want to know about the blind thing.”

  Nick’s brows lowered. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Well, what people call me is none of your business.”

  “Fine, because I don’t care anyway.”

  “Good, because I wouldn’t tell you!” Chloe stomped toward the theater.

  “Nick! You’re back.”

  Despite herself, she peeked over her shoulder and watched as Nick’s mother joined him at the end of the driveway.

  “How was the first day? Did you make any friends?”

  Nick ripped off his backpack and slammed it down onto the dusty road. “I hate it here. I want to go back to Rochester. Take me home.”

  Nick’s mom hugged him, and he wriggled inside her arms. “Oh, honey, weren’t kids kind —”

  Nick broke free, fumbled for his pack, and passed through the gate, his voice ringing out extra loud and clear. “I did meet a … Scarface!”

  Chloe stroked her cheek, faced the Palace, and started walking. Go back to Rochester? What an idiot. Everyone here treated you and that dog like a rock star.

  She stopped and spun. “Well, I met a blind —”

  Papers littered the road in front of Nick’s gate. The light breeze slowly carried them into the ditch and the bushes and —

  “Wait up, Nick! Papers must’ve slipped out of your backpack.”

  Chloe raced back to the spreading mess and gathered frantically. There’s like a hundred sheets here!

  She stood, the dog-eared, dusty mess in her hands, and walked toward the gate. “Open up! You left something!”

  No answer.

  “Great, now I’m a maid for the kid.” She straightened the stack. “No page numbers? That’s good thinking.” She glanced over the top sheet and read.

  ON A BROAD, SMOOTH ROAD IN RETINYA …

  OFF SET: random shouts and cries

  NARRATOR: A strange darkness settles over Retinya, a swirling gray like a coming storm. Nick hears voices, but can no longer see through the evil mass.

  THE DARKNESS: How do you like your world now? (The vortex surrounds him.) There’s nothing more for you to see. (It continues to billow.) You are mine now.

  NICK: (grabs at his eyes) No! I hate you! I hate the darkness!

  THE DARKNESS: (its voice softens) You will learn to love me, to serve me, to be me.

  Stage directions: The darkness swirls back up into the sky. Nick blinks and falls to his knees. The darkness has stolen his sight.

  Chloe leafed through the pages. A screenplay? You’re writing a fantasy screenplay?

  “That’s actually kind of cool,” she whispered and looked back up through the iron bars. “I’ll, um … I’ll keep it safe for you.”

  She nodded, tucked the stack of papers safely beneath her arm, and walked toward the Movie Palace.

  Mom’s truck clinked by. She slowed, grinned, and waved. Q saluted her from the back, and Grif, standing, gave his brother’s head a whack. No wonder they’d been banned from the bus last year. Chloe shook her head and joined Mom in the lot.

  “Well?” Mom opened up her arms.

  “I hate it here.” Chloe dropped her gaze. “I want to go back to Rochester.”

  Mom squinted and brushed the hair off Chloe’s face.

  “Forget it. Just heard the blind kid say it, and it felt about right to me too.”

  Mom pursed her lips, and Chloe continued. “Same old. Same name.”

  “If you want to move to Rochester, I’ll help you pack,” Grif jumped down and winced. “I tell you, that old man started something —”

  Mom froze him with a glance.

  “Do you know I had to stand in every class like a dunce?”

  “About time they put you in the right place. You get one of them dunce caps to wear?” Q grinned.

  “Inside, you two. I asked you to help on opening night, not to drive customers away. And Grif, that old man is your grandfather.”

  Chloe tossed her backpack into the truck and slammed the door.

  “Maybe Nick will end up being a friend.” Mom unlocked Aldo’s and they stepped inside. The dank, cool air enveloped Chloe. Safe at last.

  “Doubt it. Nick’s worse than the others. He talks short and angry.” Chloe stared down at the screenplay. “I just don’t think —”

  “He’s been through a lot.” Mom exhaled long and slow. “Don’t give up on him.”

  Whatever. I never started with him.

  Chloe cranked the handle of the hot dog heater to activate the motor. “I have enough problems at school. I don’t need more.”

  Mom nodded. “I’m sure you’ll figure it all out. I did invite Nick’s family to dinner Friday, so try to make nice by then.”

  Chloe stopped cranking. “You didn’t.”

  “They’re new to the neighborhood. You know how your father likes to be hospitable.”

  “To everyone but me!” Chloe ran up to the projection room, set down Nick’s play, and lifted reel one into place. What do you think? Should we invite Nick over? Let’s ask Chloe how she feels. “A little courtesy would help around here!”

  A cough echoed from the theater seats. Chloe glanced out the window. Mr. Simonsen.

  “You all right up there, Chloe?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” She clicked the reel and dimmed the lights. “Never better.”

  Dinner with Nick. That’s a real horror movie waiting to begin.

  She slumped to the floor and Streak jumped onto her lap. “Been waiting for me? Sorry. I’ve been cleaning up after Nick.” Streak licked her front paw. “Don’t worry, you don’t want to know him.”

  Chloe peered up at the screenplay, thought for an instant, and reached for the stack. Soon the sheets spread out over the entire projection room floor.

  “Streak, there has to be some order to these, but I can’t figure it out.” She picked up two papers and glanced back and forth. “There’s hardly any description of this world. It’s all dialogue. Where do these river dwarfs come from? And here, what’s a Calainian?”

  She held a sheet in front of Streak, who curled up and closed her eyes. “Take these guys who live underground. He calls them Quints. I have no idea what they look like or —” Chloe bit her lip and grabbed a pen off the counter. “Quints. Sounds like Quenton. They’d be short and fat.” She scribbled a few lines in the margin.

  It’s not like he’s going to see it.

  “And then there are five massive cities. Medahon, Shadowton, the City of Reckoning … and some I can’t quite pronounce. No description.” She looked out the small window into the expanse of Aldo’s Palace. “Let’s make Medahon a city Aldo wo
uld love.”

  Chloe scrawled Notes on Medahon on the back of a page.

  Stairs to the sky, leading nowhere.

  Walls, thick, but filled with labyrinth-like tunnels

  Beneath Medahon lives an entire race of —

  The door to the projection booth flew open, Streak shot off her lap, and Nick stumbled forward, his screenplay crinkling beneath his feet. He released Hobo and turned a complete circle.

  “You can’t be up here,” Chloe hissed.

  “Please tell me you have my movie script and please say I’m not standing on it right now.”

  “You dropped your script, and I was kind enough to save it. As for stepping on it … yeah, you are, but people don’t just burst up here, and I was only trying to get the pages in order. What kind of screenplay has no page numbers?”

  “What kind of person steals my script?”

  “The same type who tried to return it, but the owner was too busy whining to come out and get it!”

  “So now you’re using it for a rug?”

  “Chloe!” Mr. Simonsen hollered. “Hold it down, please.”

  “Sorry!” Chloe yelled down, still facing Nick. “Here!” For the second time that day she scooped up the papers, this time stuffing them into Nick’s hands. “Take your stupid script. I’m so sorry for trying to help you! Why do you carry it anyway? You can’t read it.”

  “Again, none of your business.” Nick hugged the script.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Nick spun to leave, and Hobo moved to the front of the open door. “Let’s go home, boy.”

  Chloe pushed her hand through her hair. “Hold it. Okay, I shouldn’t have put it on the floor, all right? And I shouldn’t have looked through it or … made minor notes in places.”

  Nick froze. “You made notes.”

  “I just thought some of your descriptions needed spicing up —”

  “If I wanted your help —”

  “You’d ask for it. I know. I’m sorry, I just thought —”

  Nick walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Well.” Chloe took a seat. “We can continue this delightful conversation over dinner at my place.”

  The week at school passed slowly and painfully.

  It wasn’t much better on the farm.

  Dad’s over-the-top sense of hospitality turned Nick’s visit into a major event, and by Friday cleanup reached fever pitch. Mom even closed Aldo’s Palace for a day to help with the straightening.

  Chloe finished feeding the animals and cleaning their pens, and stood in the middle of the farmyard.

  We are an Italian version of the Addams Family.

  Dad mowed the yard with his new invention: the Green Machine. He bragged, “No damage to the environment.” And he was right on that point. Of course, two slow-moving cows pulling an old tractor pulling fifteen fainting goats that chewed up grass was mighty hard to control.

  “Plus, she don’t take an ounce of gasoline. Now, I admit to an uneven chew — er, cut — but Plum Cake, I think I’m on to somethin’.”

  Yeah, more public humiliation.

  Q snuck cigarettes behind the chicken coop, and yelled “boo” when Dad’s contraption passed. All fifteen of those fainting goats toppled to the ground. So did Q, in fits of laughter.

  Near the field, Grandpa repainted his home, covering it with blue windows.

  “Everybody’s losing it.” Chloe tongued the inside of her cheek and glanced at the house. On the porch, an angry Grif cleaned his pellet gun, occasionally aiming at Grandpa Salvador’s backside, and in the garden Mom fought wet wood to start a bonfire.

  Yep, the strangest family in Kanabec County. Good thing Nick won’t see any of it.

  By late afternoon, all was in order. Which was one reason Chloe dashed outside at the sound of Dad’s idling truck. Her brothers hooted and hollered and threw each other against the side of the truck bed.

  “Where are you guys going? Dinner is in a few hours!”

  “Fishing.” Q stepped toward Chloe. “Um. Dad said he wanted a fish fry when your friend comes over.” He paused. “You want to go dig some crawlers? He didn’t ask you to come, did he.”

  “When does he ever ask me?” Chloe felt her jaw tighten.

  Q exhaled. “It’s been a while.”

  “Hey, Q, get my tackle box!” Grif shoved his brother, who stumbled into Chloe. “Oh, didn’t see you there, sis. You might want to make yourself scarce. Dad’ll be here soon and it might be awkward, him not wanting you along and all.” Grif raised his eyebrows, grinned, and climbed in the cab.

  Q looked at Chloe, started to speak, but then closed his mouth.

  “Okay, boys, let’s mount up and hightail it outta —”

  Dad came around the back of the truck and ducked his eyes at Chloe. He breathed deep and removed his cap.

  “Reckoned we better catch some fish for your friend,” Dad said, and dug his toe in the dirt.

  Chloe stepped back and spoke quietly. “I like to fish.”

  “Don’t you worry none.” Dad backed away too. “We’ll provide a feast.”

  “I like to fish.”

  Dad took another deep breath and forced a smile. “Come on, boys. Chloe’s countin’ on us.”

  They all hopped in, and the truck pulled away, Q’s face pressed against the glass.

  “No, Dad. I stopped counting on you long ago.”

  Chloe raced to Grandpa’s, her heart pounding.

  “I hate him, Grandpa. I hate …” She burst into tears. It took several minutes, enveloped in Grandpa arms, before her crying slowed.

  “I think I would like a date with you. Do you have some time, Chloe?”

  “Now?”

  “It’s not too late. Go get your swimsuit and meet me by the river path. It’s been a while since I’ve gone for a swim.”

  Chloe sniffed and nodded. When she reached the path, there stood Grandpa Salvador, white wisps fluttering out from beneath a bright orange knit cap.

  “It’s not hunting season yet.” Chloe grinned.

  “No, it is not. But this does not seem to stop your brothers. Besides, I think Grif, when he returns, would not think twice about peppering me given the excuse.”

  He took Chloe’s hand and walked down toward the river. The east turned a deep shade of blue while the western sky blazed with pinks and purples.

  “Your father does not know what he’s missing,” Grandpa said.

  “He knows. I know. Everyone knows. He’s ashamed of me.”

  “He is many things —”

  “Yeah,” Chloe interrupted. “Crazy. Cruel. Cuckoo. A lot of C words, actually.”

  Grandpa squeezed her hand. “Your father is many things, but ashamed of you is not one of them.” He straightened. “My Chloe, I’ve come to enjoy our late swims over the years, and yet I can’t help thinking you would have more fun at the pool with your friends.”

  “I have classmates. I don’t have friends.”

  “Hmm. I have a feeling that some are not too far away.” Grandpa looked to the clouds. “Do you see those puffs? Your great-grandpa Aldo used to tell me that one day he would figure a way to ride them across the sky. Then he’d take me for a ride. What do you think?”

  “I think Aldo was crazy.”

  “Perhaps.” Grandpa swept a clump of grass from the path. “But when I see the sky, I am sure I see him looking down on me. All these years, and I still care what he thinks.”

  “He thinks you look weird in that hat.”

  Grandpa removed it and stuffed it over Chloe’s ears. “I can’t be caught looking weird.”

  They stomped through the trees that lined the Snake River and stepped down onto the sandy shore. Chloe relaxed and slipped off her outer clothes, setting the orange hat beside the pile. The cool sand squeezed between her toes and she relaxed. She was near water. She could dive in and disappear.

  After Aldo’s, the Snake River sand strip was the safest place she knew.

&
nbsp; “And what is your goal tonight?” Grandpa asked.

  “To reach the Northern Bridge.”

  “But this is against the flow.”

  She nodded. “And what is your goal?”

  “I will jump into the water and forget. All the problems that feel so large, I will leave on the shore. They will wait for me and be there when I emerge. I will worry about them then, but for a few moments, I will forget.” His eyes twinkled. “Will you join me in forgetting? Just for tonight?”

  Chloe smiled. A late evening mist hung low, and she checked her entry for rocks and dived into the cool relief. She felt the undertow and began a gentle stroke.

  Go ahead and catch fish, Dad. I’ll be here, in a world for Grandpa and me.

  A splash, and then bubbles everywhere. Chloe surfaced and looked at Grandpa now wearing his orange hat — and only his orange hat. The rest of his clothes were balled up on shore.

  “Grandpa!” She laughed.

  “It has been too long. Avert your eyes from this wrinkled old man. Swim now!”

  And Chloe swam. The last hint of twilight shimmered the water as she reached the bridge. In the distance, headlamps and shouts lit up the driveway. Dad was back.

  The end of a perfect night.

  CHAPTER

  7

  NICK HARRIS’S SUBURBAN crunched to a stop near the barn.

  “Go on, Chloe.” Mom pushed her away from the stove. “You should be the one to welcome them.”

  Chloe’s shoulders drooped. “But you don’t know Nick.”

  Mom pointed and Chloe shuffled outside. Little clouds of dust surrounded her work boots and vanished into the air. Lucky dust clouds.

  The car doors opened and out popped two smiling adults, one surly kid, and a dutiful dog.

  “Hi, I’m Chloe. Welcome to our place.”

  Nick and Hobo brushed past her and marched toward the barn.

  Chloe puffed out air, and Mrs. Harris walked over and offered a hug. “You’ll have to forgive Nick.”

  I’ll think about it.

  “Thank you,” she continued.

  “For what?”

  “For being so kind to Nick. He talks about you all the time.”

  Chloe glanced at Nick, who, with his dog, stepped inside the barn to do who knows what. “I think you’re hugging the wrong kid.” She pulled away.