Tom Hanks - Uncommon Type - Some Stories

“Wow!” Virginia loved it.

“Beautiful,” Carmen said.

The first fireworks broke into the sky, bursting into cascading comets, fading to smoke.

That’s when Bert felt a ball-peen hammer strike his forehead. His eyes went painfully dry and scratched terribly. His nose and ears started to run with blood. His legs went numb, and his lower back seemed to separate from his hips. A hot, searing pain shot through his chest as the molecules that made up his lungs began to separate. He had the sensation that he was falling.

The last words he heard were Virginia yelling, “Mr. Allenberry!” The last thing he saw was the fear in Carmen’s hazel eyes.

MUSIC: “Mama Said Knock You Out” by LL Cool J

FADE IN

EXT: LAS VEGAS. MORNING

We know this place—the Strip. The casinos. The fountains. But wait…there is a new, huge, luxurious hotel on the skyline.

OLYMPUS.

Bigger than all the others. If you are a Big Roller, you frolic and gamble with the gods at OLYMPUS.

CLOSE ON: EYES OF FRANCIS XAVIER RUSTAN

A.K.A.: F.X.R. Green eyes, flecked with gold, that dance with delight at all they see.

CLOSE ON: COMPUTER SCREENS

Left screen: DETAILED ARCHITECTURAL PLANS, of a vast SOLAR ENERGY COLLECTION FIELD

Middle screen: Google Earth IMAGES of unsettled, bare parcels of land, USGS MAPS, topography CHARTS, and environmental GRAPHS

Right screen: FLOATING IMAGES. A guy catching a marlin, a guy hang gliding, a guy rock climbing, a guy white-water rafting. Steve McQueen in BULLITT. The guy is always F.X.R.

Except for Steve McQueen.

A NEWS TICKER scrolls along the bottom of this screen. Windows pop up with ALERTS and MESSAGES and NOW PLAYING, which switches from LL Cool J to…

MUSIC: “Mambo Italiano” by Dean Martin

A TEXT BOX pops up:

MERCURY: Boss? Breakfast as usual?

CALLER ID shows us MS. MERCURY—Jet-black hair cut short. Slashes of red lipstick.

F.X.R. replies with clicks of his keyboard. F.X.R.: Called it in. Nicholas is bringing it up. MERCURY: Who? F.X.R.: New guy.

INT. SERVICE ELEVATOR—SAME

MS. MERCURY is a stunning specimen, as intimidating as a supermodel. Six feet tall, rail thin, Pilates-shaped physique. Dressed in black on black. She is a woman not to be messed with in any shape or form.

She has read the text, and screams!

What new guy !?

She has been the aide-de-camp for F.X.R. over the last 12 years—a job she lives and breathes every minute of every day.

That a “new guy” is bringing her boss his breakfast is a fact that should never have escaped her!

She is tapping away on a gizmo on her wrist, a large WATCH/COMPUTER— getting MEMOS, TEXTS, SCHEDULES—and finally a series of EMPLOYEE PHOTOS. She swipes the screen until she finds…

NICHOLAS PAPAMAPALOS—19 years old. A look of confusion in his eyes, like a kid starting his very first job ever, which he is.

The elevator doors open and there he is—NICHOLAS PAPAMAPALOS, in the uniform of a room service waiter at Olympus, pushing a table of covered dishes.

(smiling way too much)

Nicky my boy!

Nicky is confused. Why does this tall lady know his name? He enters the elevator.

I’m new here.

You sure are! Look at you in your too-big uniform, with your breakfast order for F.X.R. all ready!

Am I in trouble?

Not yet, kiddo.

How do you know I’m taking this to Mr. Rustan?

Ms. Mercury presses the button for the 101st floor. The doors close and the elevator slowly rises.

Because I know everything that happens at Olympus, Nick-chick. Do you know why?

No. I’m new here.

Let me tell you a little about myself.

(then)

You know what I was doing until three a.m. this morning? Seeing to it that Francis X. Rustan’s collection of one hundred and thirty-two antique motorcycles were moved into a new climate-controlled warehouse, where they will be kept in perfect running order on the off chance that he chooses to someday take one out for a spin. The last time he did that was May of 2013. That he has yet to inspect the new storage facilities for his collection of antique player pianos or the vintage Burma-Shave signs he’s purchased over the years did not deter me from having two dozen men put motorcycles in protective wrapping and gingerly place them in a high-tech garage the size and approximate cost of Bruce Wayne’s Batcave.

(then)

F.X.R. is a very rich man who pretends to be all-knowing and all-seeing when it comes to his vast empire. Accent on, line under, italicize pretends. Here’s something none of his millions of admirers, acolytes, influence peddlers, and brownnosers understand about El Jefe — he couldn’t make his own lunch given a kaiser roll, cold cuts, and a jar of mayonnaise. His head is in the clouds because that brain of his is so damn full of the knuckleheaded schemes that pay off so well. So, we are here—you and I—to make the life he leads possible. I to work twenty-two-hour days at his beck and call. You to prep his meals and taste-test them for poison. I’m kidding. About the poison. Or am I?

Ding! They are on the 101st floor.

INT. SERVICE HALL, 101ST FLOOR—SAME It’s a long hall!

(still smiling)

Tell me you have his breakfast order perfect or I’ll cripple you.

I had it all set. The seven-grain organic granola, sliced mango and pineapple, tomato juice and cinnamon cafe au lait. But then…

(smile? Vanished!)

But then?

Half hour ago he messaged the kitchen.

Show me the message!

Nicholas shows her his Watch/Computer:

FXR: Stove Team —Flag on play—Me want griddle cakes!

Griddle cakes! GRIDDLE CAKES? No no no no!

She lifts a cover! There, on a plate: griddle cakes. Also known as pancakes.

Jiminy Expletive! Those are griddle cakes!

With boysenberry syrup.

Ms. Mercury is now beside herself with worry.

Oh, Nicky—Nicky. This is not a good sign. My day may have just been ruined, and I tell you this—if I’m going down today I am taking you with me.

Because of griddle cakes? I didn’t do anything! I’m new here!

The Boss only orders cakes from the griddle when he’s antsy with ideas. I’ll have to arrange an expedition to the fjords of Iceland for thirty of F.X.R.’s closest friends so he can paddle a kayak in open water. Or have a zip line assembled over the gorges of the rain forest in Uganda so anyone can look down and see chimpanzees in the wild go by. Or make sure every employee of Olympus is shackled to…

(the Watch/Computer)