The Royalscope Fe-As-Ko

In The Royalscope Fe-As-Ko, Northwest cattle rancher Royal Leckner finds himself in the middle of another fe-as-ko, this time in 1915 Hollywood.

Dreams of stardom for her daughter, Elsie, and for herself entice Royal's wife, E.M., to buy a silent film company. She quickly renames it Royalscope Productions in order to convince her fuming husband it's a gift (see excerpt below).

When Royal arrives in Hollywood with his two young sons, Chick'n'Tad, everyone gets into the act. There's a nefarious-looking director who might be a crook -- or just a failure. A handsome but shady leading man who might be after Royal's daughter -- or more of his money. A young English professor cum scriptwriter who might have dreams -- or designs -- of his own. And then there's Western film star William S. Hart, who happens to look very much like Royal. Or is it the other way around? And whose side is he on? It's hard to tell with all the acting that's going on.

Through the homespun storytelling of Royal Leckner, the silent film era of Hollywood takes on a whole new life. Vanity hasn't been this much fun since Thackeray wrote Vanity Fair . Randall Beth Platt has once again taken a fresh, warm, and funny approach to the Old West. And Hollywood to boot.

$21.95 cloth, 288 pages, ISBN 0-945774-35-4

Order from your local bookstore via Book Sense

I never in my life ever saw a room like the one E. M. had for herself in the Ming's Palace Hotel. All I can say is this" take one wall from a palm reader's parlor, one wall from a Roman Senate, one wall from a gilded whorehouse, and the last wall from the 'Don't Do This' column in a decorating magazine, and there you had my wife's hotel room.

I tossed my had down hard to the floor and began with, "What the hell are you up to, woman?" She always hated it when I called her 'woman.'

She looked at me and I looked at her. I walked 'round her, taking in her get-up. "Well?" I said.

Well, I knew better'n to think she'd fly to her knees and wrap her arms 'round my legs, begging my manly forgiveness. She looks down at me and asks, "Well What?"

I closed my eyes to pull back my anger and then answered, "You have exactly five minutes to explain, Genesis to Revelaton, what the hell you've done with all our California money."

"Don't you even want to hear about my arrest? It was awful, Royal, just awful!" Then I saw the chute she was planning on prodding me through. "Royal, don't you even care what happened?" At that she sounded a little weepy, but I just dug my heels in. Then she continued with, "There I was minding my own business. . ."

"Now hold it right there, E. M.," I interrupts.

"All right, there I was holding that torch. . ."

"Torch!" I hollered.

"It was a torchlight parade!" she said a little snappishly. Then the hankie rose delicately to her eyes, which she was casting downward, maybe to encourage the deluge.

"I suppose this has something to do with that sufferage thing of yours," I said.

"Well, it started out that way. Just a nice, simple little rally. Well, anyway, things got out of control and. . .They said I laid fire to the courthouse!"

I swallered. "And did you?"

"Only a little"

"Yes, my torch started the flag butning. . ."

"The flag of these United States of America?" I hollered.

"Royal, it was an accident!" she hollers back. She stopped when she felt the fire in my eyes.

"So, are we getting to the part about the money?" I asked?

"In a roundabout way." "Never mind the scenic route, E. M.!" I growled. "What have you done with our money?"

Her reply was a slow walk to a desk drawer, a pulling out of some contract-looking papers, and these words: "Congratulations, Royal! You own the controlling interest in a brand new moving pictures company.!"

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