Finding King – Chapter 2
A tabloid writer for the Weekly World Daily and a Columbia grad student are on the hunt to discover if Elvis is still alive.
Chapter 2 – I’m Counting On You
(Aaron King comes running back around the corner where the mysterious man disappeared and puts his hands on his knees, panting..)
AARON: I lost him.
(Helen holds up the note the man left..)
HELEN: I found him. The letterhead on this note paper says ‘The Alouette’.
AARON: That’s the fanciest hotel in New Orlea–
(Aaron trails off as a woman in a flowing white gown steps outside the church to light a cigarette. She looks up and drops the cigarette..)
(Helen hustles around the rental car and shoves Aaron into the drivers seat..)
HELEN: Uh, this isn’t the Aaron you’re looking for, Penelope.
PENELOPE: How do you know my name?
HELEN: (hustles back around car into the passenger seat) Uhh, we’re ghosts. You’re dreaming. We’re dream ghosts. (shuts door) Drive!
AARON: (staring at steering wheel) Guh.
HELEN: Okay, you’re catatonic. I’ll drive.
(Helen awkwardly crawls over Aaron and switches seats with him — grunts bellowing, legs akimbo — as Penelope looks on in bewilderment and lights another cigarette. Helen leans over Aaron out the passenger window as she peels out..)
HELEN: Best of luck!
(Aaron & Helen are entering the lobby of The Alouette..)
HELEN: So you’re just not talking for the rest of the day, huh.
HELEN: How were you gonna break up that wedding if you can’t even speak upon seeing her.
HELEN: Boy, she really did a number on you. Guess I’ll carry the journalist weight today. (turns to an older wild-eyed man in a suit and vest at the front desk) Hi, are you the concierge of this fine establishment?
MALCOLM: (in a Scottish lilt) What the fook do you want?
MALCOLM: Look, I don’t got fookin’ time to be ninnying about with fookin’ interlopers who aren’t going to buy a fookin’ room.
HELEN: Aaron, pay for a room.
(A glassy-eyed Aaron mutely hands over his credit car as Malcolm gives him a once-over..)
MALCOLM: You two gettin’ into some horizontal rumba or what? Is he the married one or are you?
HELEN: What? No. Well, he tried to break up his ex-girlfriend’s wedding this afternoon; but he–Look, have you seen this man? Aaron, show him the picture.
(Aaron glumly holds up a computer-generated photograph of what Elvis Presley may look like at seventy-nine years of age..)
MALCOLM: Aw yeah, I remember that piece of shite. He skipped out on his bill this morning. The man ordered about five fried banana, bacon and peanut butter sandwiches last night.
(Helen turns to Aaron excitedly. Aaron blinks in acknowledgement..)
HELEN: Do you have any idea where he’s going?
MALCOLM: He kept going on about Memphis in his dreadful Southern accent. He was so pilled-out, the fook couldn’t speak. He was all, “Hommina hummina, Memphis. Memphis, hummina hey. Thankyaverymuch.” He kept fookin’ thanking me. I don’t trust grateful people.
HELEN: Looks like we’re going to Memphis. Thank you, sir.
MALCOLM: You can thank me by payin’ that old fook’s bill.
(Aaron forlornly hands over his credit card again, a single tear trickling down his cheek..)
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