No One Cries for Monå Lizé.... 'A Fantastic Piece of Sh_t!': Arnold Spankergrüber

By Billy Orton

In REEL ONE, readers meet...

-- Sister Grace, one of the title characters, who speaks exactly one word in the whole novel, but shows that film can deliver immortality.

And the principal characters...

-- Lori and December, a soldier and a stripper, who grapple with togetherness, as the married couple drive their kid across America, as COVID and George Floyd show the profound struggles ordinary people face.

-- Major Carl Van Der Bix, who is an American Dougboy in World War One, who flies his wings "over there," in a "War to End All Wars," to discover in the slog of conflict and the Spanish Flu, that even during the most brutal killer to ever strike the Industrial Age, love shown by a Lady of the Angels reveals that Heaven can touch us all.

-- Councilman Larry Van der Bix, the Dork-in-Chief who is Carl's great-grandson, certainly is lucky, having won both money and power, but must learn that privileges add up to little without the meaning of life.

-- Jeanine Harper, the dork's Chief of Staff, who took the job to run the office, only after giving up her own gig on a quirky TV show -- "Duxter," starring Dexter Green, who plays a zoologist who solves murder mysteries, with the help of a flock of wild parrots.

-- Karen Joplin and Bobby McGee, a Dynamic Duo doing their "Maine thing" as PR hacks who hitch a ride with Lori and December, with a hippy in her 50s who shows no hesitation to exercise the privilege of spewing harsh views, and the unemployed comedian who must take a gig as her cameraman, since COVID shut down the clubs.

and

-- The Three Caballeros, a trio of Hollywood stars led by a weightlifter-turned-movie-star-turned-politician, Arnold Spankergrüber, who invades every scene to pitch the dork with a fantastic idea by That Jon Guy and Tom Producer Man for a ridiculous comedy series to poke fun with the 2020 election.

In REEL TWO...

-- Major Carl Van der Bix will deliver that first reel, showing the Lady of the Angels, to her sister, Astrid Ullagård, the ballerina who must choose whether to leave her privileged life and ancestral homeland for a new but uncertain future with the young American pilot.

-- Lori and December discover that even silly material, like a zoologist and parrots, helps their son, Riley, to unlock togetherness.

-- Jeanine Harper again meets Dexter Green, the star of Duxter, to discover that love can indeed be real in Hollywood.

-- And Larry and Arnold link the reels together, because editing drops the duds so as to deliver fantastic stuff.

Thanks for considering my fourth novel.

-- Billy Orton, obscure novelist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Billy Orton
• Release date: Sep 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005440169

Billy Orton

Bill Orton is a writer who spent 25 years working for politicians and organized labor, but, after a stroke, became the luckiest soul in America, as now his only job title is "obscure novelist."

Book preview

Chapter 1 – A Century of Love and Anxiety

December is crazy to drag you and the kid to some tiny town in Maine during a global pandemic, said Long Beach City Councilman Larry Van der Bix, as they entered the elegant foyer of his family’s century-old mansion, where California sunlight bathed the alabaster sculpture commissioned by King Christian Xth that depicts his leading ballerina – Monå Lizé Ullagård – glancing downward.

I don’t even know if we’ll stay married, said Lori Lewis, the athlete who the dork had literally bumped into decades earlier, when each started their first day as freshmen together at Woodrow Wilson high school, in Long Beach California.

Wouldn’t divorce be tough on the kid? asked Larry, hoisting a massive key ring that included several antique ornamental keys, used to unlock doors that a century earlier had lured the ballerina to leave the Danish Royal Ballet and emigrate from Copenhagen, for a new life on Naples Island. "At least you have a kid."

Riley’s not my kid, angrily said Lori, as she took out her beeping phone. Aren’t you supposed to be at your office for some meeting with the former Governor?

My best friend is more important than a wrestler, said Larry, wriggling the key.

"Arnold Spankergrüber wasn’t a wrestler," corrected Lori.

I don’t care if he drove a tank, said Larry, as he kept trying to wriggle the key. Dang it!

Instead of watching her friend again struggle at a door to the past, Lori looked up, to the triangular display cases that bore the American Flag and the other, the Danish Flag. Let me try, said Lori, instantly unlocking the door and handing Larry the keys.

One day I’ll dust those things, said Larry, looking up to the 48 Stars presented by General John J. Pershing – the head of the American Expeditionary Force – to Larry’s great-grandfather, Carl Van der Bix, the pilot from Long Beach who had briefly served as the youngest Major in the U.S. Army, and who finished World War One roaming military hospitals to round up aviators able to still fly for the final push to victory Over There, in that Great War, described as the War to End All Wars.

Larry and Lori walked under the two flags and a reel of 16mm film resting beside them, as Monå Lizé had wrapped the red-and-white Dannebrog around the tin can to protect the reel, after the couple had met while touring a continent shattered by war to raise money to treat injured soldiers, and when she traveled across a world, gripped by the Spanish Flu for a new life in sunny southern California.

Aren’t politicians supposed to show up on time? said Lori, studying her phone. We can talk on a call tonight after the first day of driving to Maine.

Most elected officials show up late, opined the dork serving in his first term elected to anything, and who was ignoring his schedule by tossing his keys onto his family’s couch, next to the Victrola record player that Carl and Monå Lizé had gotten from the Old Man, as a wedding gift. Doesn’t it get really cold in Maine?

December only cares about winning that contest, said Lori, studying her phone, "and since COVID closed the school, all the kid does is read my Sgt. Rock comics."

The Councilman’s cell phone buzzed. Spankergrüber keeps threatening me, he said, "and my Chief of Staff wishes she still did ‘Duxter’ instead of working for me."

Who’s happy with what life dishes out now? asked Lori, pocketing her phone, to ignore text messages from her wife.

"Politics certainly doesn’t make me happy," said Larry, who had won his only election by dressing like Will Rogers, while dumping millions of his lottery winnings into mass mailings, television and radio commercials, full-page ads in the local newspapers, a campaign staff, and an aggressive social media campaign.

Then why’d you run? asked Lori. Aren’t you incredibly privileged?

At being laughed at over my ‘Blinker Day’ idea? said the Dork-in-Chief.

So we both won and neither got what we wanted, said Lori, the fifth generation of her family to be born in Long Beach and to volunteer for military service, and the only one to earn five medals at the Olympic Games.

Is COVID why the marriage is falling apart? asked Larry, known for lottery winnings and his absurd campaign, but who otherwise achieved little in life beyond a trust fund and friendship with Lori. My Chief of Staff mentioned something like that… about marriage and COVID, and stuff, before she went on vacation a month ago.

December’s so afraid that she’s invoking rank as a mom to demand we move, said Lori, as she gazed around the room where the ballerina had spent hours each day, in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, teaching rich kids to dance ballet or giving performances for the Long Beach elite. I’ll have to make up some reason other than the kid.

By the love of Grace, don’t lie, said the dork, cranking the Victrola. At least tell the truth... or don’t say anything.

We’ve fought about the kid since our wedding night, said Lori, glancing up to a framed-but-yellowing newspaper clip from August 1928 – just months before Carl died – that showed presidential candidate Herbert Hoover watch the Danish ballerina perform, before his own speech to 100,000 gathered for the annual Iowa Day Picnic, held each August at Bixby Park.

That’s the only pictures my grandmother got to keep, said the dork, went Monå Lizé went back to Copenhagen alone after Carl’s plane crash.

I’ll just stay silent on marriage and the kid, said Lori, reading the newspaper clip, with a single sentence that misspelled the name of Monå Lizé Ullagård and inaccurately stated that she had danced for the King of England. Unmentioned about her was the departure from Copenhagen during a global pandemic or her months traveling in close quarters on steamships and trains, before arriving in Long Beach, California, the small-but-growing beach town incorporated just 30 years earlier.

Remember, said Larry, offering a lesson typically disregarded in his business, you can’t be called a liar for what you don’t say.

You’re the only person I can talk to about divorce, said the athlete and soldier.

"Well, perhaps you need something old to help find something new," said Larry, as he ruffled up his sleeve and – presto! – produced a huge antique key from his key ring. I’ve got extra, since I’m getting the house.

At least you’re privileged to know your own future, said Lori, taking the key, "but I’m afraid to say anything about the kid, cuz everything feels like a long march."

Maybe you can just accept feeling afraid, said the dork. Just a little.

"There’s a difference between fear and the will to survive," said the soldier.

Since COVID freaks us out about the future, let’s comfort ourselves in the past, said Larry, as Lori studied the ornate lettering – Long Beach CA – on her giant new key. The dork lowered the needle onto the thick disc spinning on the turntable, filling the suite with ancient sounds.

As Enrico Caruso sang Over There, the dork witnessed Lori Lewis – an NCAA champion swimmer, an Olympian, and a decorated combat soldier – display doubt.

I don’t know if we’ll make it to Maine, said Lori.

Chapter 2 – ‘Over There’ Before COVID

The first air show in America took place in Los Angeles, in January 1910, only seven years after the Wright Brothers flew outside Kitty Hawk. To boost tourism to southern California, LA County made available some empty unincorporated land and encouraged the Pacific Electric Red Car to lay track for tourists visiting for the Dominguez Hills air show. One year later, a young man from nearby Long Beach – Earl Daugherty, son of a real estate tycoon – became the first to land a plane in town – on the shoreline – and was the 87thAmerican to receive a federal license needed to fly. Earl Daugherty later went on to be the leading aviator in Long Beach, ran a flight school and bought the land that later would be used to construct the initial Long Beach Airport. In December 1928 – while the greatest film ever made in the Silent Era, Wings, still filling movie houses with the first live-action footage shot in the air – Earl had been talked into a barnstorming flight by a local newspaper editor, and the men spent ten minutes in the air, when – 2000 feet over Compton – one of the biplane’s wings snapped, and the plane plunged to the ground, killing all three.

* * *

On September 3rd1918, U.S. Army Air Service Captain Carl Van der Bix, of Long Beach CA, stood at the Victrola and squinted, to see a gray sky over Paris France. He yawned and lowered the needle, and the world’s greatest performer passionately struggled with English lyrics.

Johnnie, get your gun

Get your gun, get your gun

Take it on the run

On the run, on the run

Hear them calling, you and me

Every son of liberty

Attention! burst a voice, and every officer in the room jumped.

At ease, said General John J. Blackjack Pershing, entering the Officers Lounge, accompanied by a One Star General and a Bird Colonel. As the Italian singer sang Over There, the Supreme Commander of the American Expeditionary Force waved Carl Van der Bix away from lifting the needle of the Victrola. No need, Captain.

Carl remained at attention, as Pershing walked directly to the 28-year-old airman, who had begun flying seven years earlier, after being dragged – along with his school friend, Earl Daugherty – by his stern father to the Los Angeles International Aviation Meet held at Dominguez Field, where the Old Man had ordered Carl and Earl to pass out flyers promoting the family’s real estate business to lure potential homebuyers from the crowds of wealthy privileged tourists who had crossed the country by train or ship, or even a new automobile, to attend the first air show in America.

"How on earth did he become a Major?" mused Pershing, staring at the 88th American to have been issued a federal license to fly and one of the first to earn wings in the fledgling U.S. Army Air Service.

Cuz he’s still alive after six years with an Army air rating, said Colonel Oliver Spaulding, stepping forward, and extending a tiny box.

Patrick and Mitchell say you’re one of the best in the Air Service, said Pershing, opening the box and producing the Gold Leaf that signifies the rank of Major. Spaulding needs an aide.

Major Carl Van der Bix remained at attention while being pinned by General Pershing, but his eyes clouded, as he hadn’t slept in two days since being ordered to hurry up and wait in Paris.

* * *

Wake up, Boy! boomed what seemed to be the harsh voice of Carl’s father, known simply as, the Old Man. You’re at work.

Seeing only a gray sky over what he believed to be Belmont Shore, Carl Van der Bix imagined himself getting dressed, donning his cap, and making his way to the kitchen, where the Old Man was packing into a wagon printed literature that advertised the family’s real estate business – California Living in Sunny Long Beach! The Old Man put placards, a tiny folding table and one stool onto the wagon and secured everything with twine.

The lanky 19-year-old – now a high school graduate, but with no prospects beyond the family’s business – put four apples in the crate.

The Old Man and Carl marched up Bayshore, through the newly-developed neighborhood, to wait for the Pacific Electric Red Car, on Ocean Blvd.

VeeBee! yelled a voice, as Carl and the Old Man hoisted the wagon into the Red Car. Are you going to the Air Show, too?

Carl nervously smiled to his classmate, Earl Daugherty – also a privileged son of a Long Beach real estate tycoon – as the Old Man bought two tickets for the train line that had been laid specifically for the Dominguez Air Show.

"I’m gonna fly me one, said Earl, climbing on board. I’m gonna git me one!"

Keep your mouth shut, Boy! bellowed the voice that Carl perceived as the Old Man, pushing his tall son away from Earl, before yanking him onto a seat.

Earl sat next to Carl, but neither spoke aloud during the trip to downtown Long Beach.

Who needs Coney Island? whispered Earl, as the Red Car slowly passed the waterfront pleasure zone that had quickly become the second-most-visited beachfront tourist spot in America. Carl looked beyond, to the enormous warships of Teddy Roosevelt’s Pacific Fleet.

With a huge crowd waiting for the special train bound for the Air Show, the Old Man relied on his gruff voice and his cane to part the Red Sea. Coming through, barked the mogul who had gotten rich by developing Naples Island and Belmont Shore. Sickly child… Make room…. Those who wouldn’t step aside, the Old Man poked with his cane.

Inside the special train, Earl Daugherty again sat next to Carl. Don’t you wanna fly? whispered Earl, to Carl, who looked torn between orders and dreams.

The Old Man scowled at his lanky son, before turning to the dashing young Daugherty. Yer good enough looking to make privileged women pause.

The Red Car clattered as the two young men took orders.

"Remember, printing costs money, so never hand someone a flier, ordered the Old Man. Look ’em in the eyes and say, ‘Considering a move to sunny California?’"

The two young men said nothing.

Let ’em vote with their fingers! demanded the tycoon responsible for new housing that had turned Long Beach into a direct competitor with Los Angeles. "Make ’em take it."

The Red Car reached its terminus, at the ticket gate for the Dominguez Hills Air Show.

The Old Men leapt to be first out of the Red Car, blocking the door