The Fight for Kidsboro (21 page)

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

S
EVERAL 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, but … 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.”

“You know, I don't want to pull rank, but who's the artist here?”

“Are you kidding me? You call this art?” Valerie turned back a page in the script and pointed to a selection. “This line, right here. This line that you are expecting me to memorize and say on camera.
This
is art?”

Pete scanned it. “That's
beautiful
. It's practically
poetry
!”

“This is garbage! Listen to this, everyone.” She began reading, “‘Rock, ever since I met you the stars seem to shine brighter, the mountains seem taller … flowers seem to smell sweeter. I love you because of the way you make me feel, Rock.'”

“You don't like that?”

“That's
terrible
!”

“You're just so used to your soap operas that when you see a well written love story, you don't even recognize it.”

“I guarantee you I could write better than this.”

“Then be my guest, Valerie!
You
rewrite that scene, and we'll see how artistic you and your little soap-opera brain can be.”

“Love to.” Valerie closed the script and headed off to work on the rewrite. Pete shook his head back and forth violently to illustrate to everyone around him how frustrating actors can be.

With that over, Pete got ready for the bike-chase scene. Scott was ready, and Pete gave the signal for the cameraman to roll.

Scott took a deep breath and started pedaling. He veered toward the tree he was preparing to hit. Kirk started up be-hind him.

“Faster!” Pete called out. Scott stood up on his pedals to gain more speed. Kirk came up behind him.

“You're too close together!” Pete yelled. “Speed up, Scott!”

Scott obeyed again. He clenched his teeth and looked directly at the tree.

“Now look back a couple of times, like you're scared he's catching up!”

Scott glanced toward Kirk and swerved around a rock. There was nothing between him and the tree now.

“Faster!” Pete shouted. Scott pedaled faster, and it really did look like he was starting to lose control. I put my hand over my mouth and prepared for the impact.

Scott closed his eyes, hit a root, and lost control of the handlebars, swerving to the right and crashing into the tree at an angle. His left leg hit sharply against the bark, sending him flying out of the seat. The bike flipped and fell on top of him. The back wheel pinned his leg to the ground. Scott lay motionless, the front wheel still spinning.

Everyone nearby ran toward him.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Scott opened his eyes. He breathed heavily, glancing around at all the faces staring down at him. “I'm fine,” he said.

“Fantastic!” Pete shouted after seeing that Scott was still alive. “Wonderful, Scott. Now let's go to another angle and do it again.”

Scott's eyes opened wide. “You're crazy,” he said, still lying on his back. “I'm not doing that again.”

“We have to get it from another angle, so that we have something to cut to,” Pete said, as though Scott should understand this logic.

“Forget it, Pete. I quit.”

“Come on, Scott, you did great. I need you.”

“You're crazy! You're insane, and I will never do another thing you ask for the rest of my life. Never.”

Pete turned back to his cameraman. “He just needs a little time to get over the trauma … of running into a tree and all.”

I tried to help Scott, but he didn't want to be touched. I did manage to pull the bike off of him.