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)
…one of these things. And I’ve actually had to make real those very orders. Griddle cakes mean I’m getting a work assignment that wouldn’t make sense to hamsters. Griddle cakes have just ruined my already miserable day.
Why do you do this job?
I have no answer to that question other than my big honker of a paycheck.
They are at the door of the only hotel room on the 101st floor.
Set up by the fake waterfall. Straighten your name tag. And smile. He likes employees who look like they love their jobs.
She pauses. Takes a breath and changes her demeanor to a sunny smile. Her ability to transform this way is frightening.
She knocks… and enters.
INT. PENTHOUSE—DAY
A snazzy place, complete with a fake waterfall, state-of-the-art exercise equipment, wall-size video screen in front of a row of vintage movie-theater chairs. The windows look out on most of Las Vegas.
(happy as could be)
I have griddle cakes for the big boss man!
F.X.R. rises from his computer workstation.
That was fast.
You always say that!
Nicholas sets up the room service table.
You Nicholas?
(reading the name tag)
Looks like it. Welcome aboard. What happened to O’Shay?
O’Shay’s wife had that baby, remember? And yes, I already sent over a new crib and a cold-water humidifier, along with two full-time nurses.
F.X.R. sits for his griddle cakes.
Look at these beauties. If they were made in a pan, they’re pancakes. A griddle, and they are griddle cakes. Were these made in a pan or on a griddle, Nico?
I didn’t actually see, sir. I’m new here.
Sir? Around here I’m plain old F.X.
(then)
I say they’re griddle cakes.
(he pours the berry syrup)
Ms. Mercury. I don’t know what was on the docket for today but cancel everything.
Last time you said that you had me tramping through Mississippi so you could buy up every kenaf farm in the Delta.
Think I nailed down the place for the Solar Pipeline Facility.
Wow. No kidding. Super.
She sighs and plops herself down on the couch. She starts swiping around the Internet on her Watch/Computer.
(to herself)
Gonna be a long day…
F.X.R. picks up his plate and walks to the computers, pulls up images, and points with his fork dripping with boysenberry.
Shepperton Dry Creek ain’t nothing much now. Flat, wide. Dusty. But, a miracle of Mother Nature that gets more sunshine than Taylor Swift gets Facebook likes.
(Ms. Mercury is “LIKING” a post on Taylor Swift’s Facebook page)
That’s a lot.
Old Route 88 cuts close to Shepperton Dry Creek.
Does it? I don’t know anything.
Someone enterprising is going to start buying up the land along that stretch of highway for the influx of traffic it’s gonna bring.
(bored, examining nails)
Uh-huh.
So, let’s get goin’.
Goin’ where?
Along old Route 88. It’ll be fun! Just like that trip we took in Costa Rica on the Pan-American Highway to collect spiders.
Yeah. That was a blast. I was bitten.
You healed.
Make Nick go with you today.
I can’t boss Nick around. He’s in the union.
(then)
You are in the union, right?
I am, sir. Er, F.X.
Why can’t you get married and make your wife do this stuff?
I don’t need a wife. I have you, Ms. Mercury. Wives don’t put up with guys like me.
But I have to? I’ve got too many things to do right here to keep your empire afloat.
A road trip will do us both good.
She throws up her hands.