Zach read the entry over his father’s shoulder. “It sounds cool.”
Robbie shook his head adamantly. “She was completely nuts. Obsessed with all this New Age crap, aliens and crop circles. She thought that planes could only fly from certain places, and that’s why all the early flights crashed. Not because there was something wrong with the aircraft design, but because they were taking off from the wrong spot.”
“Then how come there’s airports everywhere?”
“She never worked out that part.”
“‘We must embrace our galactic heritage, the spiritual dimension of human flight, lest we forever chain ourselves to earth,’” Zach read from the screen. “Was she in that plane crash?”
“No, she’s still alive. That was just something she had a wild hair about. She thought the guy who invented that plane flew it a few years before the Wright brothers made their flight, but she could never prove it.”
“But it says there was a movie,” said Zach. “So someone saw it happen.”
“This is Wikipedia.” Robbie stared at the screen in disgust. “You can say any f**king thing you want and people will believe it. Leonard wrote that entry, guarantee you. Probably she faked that whole film loop. That’s what Leonard’s planning to do now—replicate the footage then pass it off to Maggie as the real thing.”
Zach collapsed into the beanbag chair. “Why?”
“Because he’s crazy, too. He and Maggie had a thing together.”
Zach grimaced. “Ugh.”
“What, you think we were born old? We were your age, practically. And Maggie was about twenty years older—”
“A cougar!” Zach burst out laughing. “Why didn’t she go for you?”
“Ha ha ha.” Robbie pushed his empty beer bottle against the wall.
“Women liked Leonard. Go figure. Even your mom went out with him for a while. Before she and I got involved, I mean.”
Zach’s glassy eyes threatened to roll back in his head. “Stop.”
“We thought it was pretty strange,” admitted Robbie. “But Maggie was good-looking for an old hippie.” He glanced at the Wikipedia entry and did the math. “I guess she’s in her seventies now. Leonard’s in touch with her. She has cancer. Breast cancer.”
“I heard you,” said Zach. He rolled out of the beanbag chair, flipped open his phone, and began texting. “I’m going to bed.”
Robbie sat and stared at the computer screen. After a while he shut it down. He shuffled into the kitchen and opened the cabinet where he kept a quart of Jim Beam, hidden behind bottles of vinegar and vegetable oil. He rinsed out the glass he’d used the night before, poured a jolt and downed it, then carried the bourbon with him to bed.
THE NEXT DAY AFTER work, he was on his second drink at the bar when Emery showed up.
“Hey.” Robbie gestured at the stool beside him. “Have a seat.”
“You okay to drive?”
“Sure.” Robbie scowled. “What, you keeping an eye on me?”
“No. But I want you to see something. At my house. Leonard’s coming over, we’re going to meet there at six thirty. I tried calling you but your phone’s off.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Robbie signaled the bartender for his tab. “Yeah, sure. What, is he gonna give us manicures?”
“Nope. I have an idea. I’ll tell you when I get there; I’m going to Royal Delhi first to get some takeout. See you—”
Emery lived in a big town house condo that smelled of Moderately Successful Bachelor. The walls held framed photos of Captain Marvo and Mungbean alongside a life-size painting of Leslie Nielsen as Commander J. J. Adams.
But there was also a climate-controlled basement filled with Captain Marvo merchandise and packing material, with another large room stacked with electronics equipment—sound system, video monitors and decks, shelves and files devoted to old Captain Marvo episodes, and dupes of the grade Z movies featured on the show.
This was where Robbie found Leonard, bent over a refurbished Steenbeck editing table.
“Robbie.” Leonard waved, then returned to threading film onto a spindle. “Emery back with dinner?”
“Uh-uh.” Robbie pulled a chair alongside him. “What are you doing?”
“Loading up that nitrate I showed you yesterday.”
“It’s not going to explode, is it?”
“No, Robbie, it’s not going to explode.” Leonard’s mouth tightened. “Did Emery talk to you yet?”
“He just said something about a plan. So what’s up?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
Robbie flushed angrily, but before he could retort there was a knock behind them.
“Chow time, campers.” Emery held up two steaming paper bags. “Can you leave that for a few minutes, Leonard?”
They ate on the couch in the next room. Emery talked about a pitch he’d made to revive Captain Marvo in cell-phone format. “It’d be freaking perfect, if I could figure out a way to make any money from it.”
Leonard said nothing. Robbie noted that the cuffs of his white tunic were stained with flecks of orange pigment, as were his fingernails. He looked tired, his face lined and his eyes sunken.
“You getting enough sleep?” Emery asked.
Leonard smiled wanly. “Enough.”
Finally the food was gone, and the beer. Emery clapped his hands on his knees, pushed aside the empty plates, then leaned forward.
“Okay. So here’s the plan. I rented a house on Cowana for a week, starting this Saturday. I mapped it online and it’s about ten hours. If we leave right after you guys get off work on Friday and drive all night, we’ll get there early Saturday morning. Leonard, you said you’ve got everything pretty much assembled, so all you need to do is pack it up. I’ve got everything else here. Be a tight fit in the Prius, though, so we’ll have to take two cars. We’ll bring everything we need with us, we’ll have a week to shoot and edit or whatever, then on the way back we swing through Fayetteville and show the finished product to Maggie. What do you think?”
“That’s not a lot of time,” said Leonard. “But we could do it.”
Emery turned to Robbie. “Is you car roadworthy? It’s about twelve hundred miles round-trip.”
Robbie stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The Bellerophon. Leonard’s got storyboards and all kinds of drawings and still frames, enough to work from. The Realtor’s in Charleston; she said there wouldn’t be many people this early in the season. Plus there was a hurricane a couple years ago; I gather the island got hammered and no one’s had money to rebuild. So we’ll have it all to ourselves, pretty much.”