You see, Nicholas! You and your griddle cakes!
What did I do?
What did Nick do?
One of these days I’m gonna quit this job and do something dignified, like professional water skiing…
(typing on her Watch/Computer)
I’ll get the jet ready.
The big jet and the little jet. You take the little one and scrounge up some ground transpo. I’ll come in the big jet after I’ve done my workout.
Whatever you wish, O Titan of Industry. Which fantasy automobile do you want to add to the warehouse? A Monza? Surfer Woodie?
Let’s keep a low profile to blend in with the locals. The economy bypassed that part of the nation.
(pulls out a wad of cash)
Get me whatever car eight hundred dollars can purchase.
Eight hundred dollars? For a car? It’ll be a hunk of junk!
F.X.R. pulls out a few more bills.
Make it eight fifty.
(pulls a twenty)
Nick? For you.
Nicholas takes the money.
Thank you, Mister F.X.
EXT. AIRFIELD, SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE—DAY
A single landing strip and a weathered Field Business Office. Not many aircraft land at this place. But look here…
A Big Jet is taxiing up beside a parked Little Jet. Both planes have the Olympus logo painted on the sides.
Ms. Mercury—still in her black on black—sits behind the wheel of a 1970s-era Buick convertible with the top down.
The stairs of the Big Jet pop open, and there is F.X.R. in clothes he thinks the common people wear—a fruity-looking western shirt with too much piping tucked into an old pair of Jordache designer jeans, a belt with a huge Marlboro cigarettes belt buckle, and flame-red cowboy boots.
He wears a too-perfectly-broken-in John Deere cap and has a straw cowboy hat in his hand.
Hey, Duke, or Bo, or whoever you are. Is my boss in that plane?
(re: his costume)
Pretty good, huh? Authenticity is the key.
Glad some of the casino showgirls let you raid their dressing room.
(re: the car)
How’s she running?
I’ve burned half a tank of gas and a pint of oil just driving from the lot. Good news is, I bargained down to seven hundred bucks.
Put the change in petty cash. Here.
(the cowboy hat)
Blend in!
He plops the hat on her head.
(laughing)
Don’t we look great?
All that fortune and your idea of fun is dressing up like a poor mortal with no fashion sense. I can arrange this to be permanent. Just give me all your money and you’ll live happily ever after.
F.X.R. runs around to the passenger seat, trying to hop in over the door. He lands in a heap on the front seat, one foot hooked on the door.
Gangway for adventure!
She hits the gas and the car spins out and away, spewing dust and gravel.
MUSIC: “I’ve Been Everywhere” by Hank Snow
EXT. HIGHWAY 88—LATER
The Buick chugs along down the highway. F.X.R. smiles into the wind.
I should get out of that penthouse more often!
Two weeks ago you were boogie boarding on the Great Barrier Reef!
To see America. Don’t see enough of my native land. Open road. Big sky. Asphalt ribbon with nothing but a dotted line and the horizon. I love this country! God help me, but I do love it so!
(then)
It’s good for the soul to come down from the mountaintop sometimes, Ms. Mercury. Otherwise, all you see are the tops of mountains. I should put that in a memo to all the employees.
Do that. It would inspire us all.
(then)
So, where are we going, cochise?
Sending a message from his Watch to hers…
Here. A little town called Phrygia.
(he tries three different pronunciations)
Population 102.
WATCH: Photos, facts, information about Phrygia…
Formerly a major stop on Route 88 that once billed itself as America’s Hospitality Capital. Let’s see how hospitable they are to the likes of us.
Before you buy up every square inch and acre.
(studying her Watch)
Oh, hell. This drive will take us hours! I’m gonna fry!
EXT. A HUGE SIGN—Faded, ancient, with broken neon tubes and peeling paint that says motel olympus…
Still barely visible are the large figures of a man and woman, both waving to nonexistent traffic, calling out in sun-bleached letters “Stay with us!”
MUSIC: “Que Te Vaya Bonito” on an accordion
SUBTITLES IN ENGLISH OF THE SPANISH LYRICS
EXT. MOTEL OLYMPUS, PHRYGIA—DAY—SAME
Nothing at all like its namesake in Las Vegas…Nothing at all.
Like the sign, the Motel Olympus has seen better days. The best that can be said of it? It’s clean.
The MUSIC is coming from JESUS HILDALGO, who plays the final bars of a song so beautiful it even sounds great on an accordion.
SUBTITLES: “But no one will call me a coward
Without knowing how much I love her…”
An old couple—PHIL and BEA (yes, that’s them on the sign)—applaud as Jesus packs away his instrument and loads it into his old pickup truck.
Talent like I never seen!
Every time you play I find myself all misty. You have a gift, Jesus.
You make me feel so good, Mr. Phil and Mrs. Bea. You have always made me feel I was at home.
That’s because you have been, Jesus. You’ve been at our home.
Good luck there in Chesterton. I hear they get benefits galore at that windshield factory.
Thank you. I will come back to see you many times. I promise I will.
BEA
Bring us a windshield you made yourself.
Jesus climbs in, and the pickup truck pulls out of the motel lot, honking. Phil and Bea watch the truck disappear down the road. They are quiet for a moment.
There goes our only guest. One less bed to make.
Lord, am I going to miss him playing that ’cordine.