Maybe Ron Howard Should Have Made This Movie

This isn’t a meeting of the JA.O Literary Club, but Spencer Allen sent me the following short story he wrote. (I especially like the way Soapy’s voice works.) Enjoy!

The Dan-Brown-Wants-Your-Money Code

By Spencer Allen

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FACT:

All imitations of tacky prose, corny dialogue, and Christian-bashing bigotry in this parody are accurate.

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      In possession of the shocking and suppressed truth about The Da Vinci Code, our hero Rupert Handsome evades the relentless pursuit of psuedo-intellectual conspiracy theorists and anti-Christian zealots.  Finally, accompanied by the naïve, yet beautiful Soapy Neauclieu, he seeks refuge at the home of his close friend, Sir Steve Teapot.   

      As Handsome tore through the night, a thick wall of quiet elms eventually gave way to a sprawling estate, within which a massive two-story house sat a safe distance back from an impregnable black gate.

      “My goodness,” Soapy said, her voice trembling with ecstasy. “Is that where Teapot lives?”

      “Hardly.”  Handsome smiled.  “That’s the house Dan Brown built after the con job he pulled on Christians.  Teapot lives a few miles down the road.”

      They raced into the night until finally pulling into the driveway of a small white house, where a single light shined from an upstairs bedroom.

    “I have to warn you before we go in, Teapot is a bit of a
character compared to many other Catholics you might have
encountered.”  He smiled knowingly.

      “What do you mean?”  She asked, her voice bubbling with confusion.

      “Well, he actually believes in following the Spirit-guided
teachings of the Church.  He even goes to confession on a regular
basis.”

      Leading the way to the front door, Handsome knocked firmly and
straightened his tweed jacket, which intellectual characters should
always own when the author is trying to trick you into thinking they
are smarter than you are.

      “I saw you pull up, old friend,” a voice called from an upstairs window.  “Come on in.”

      The living room was nothing like Soapy had expected.  While
stacked with books, the furniture was modest and nondescript.  A
painting of the Virgin Mary hung over the divan.  “I thought it would
be much fancier,” Soapy said, her voice oozing with disappointment.

      “If this were a Dan Brown novel, it would be.  He likes to
make his characters wealthy, sophisticated, and dashing.  It’s sort of
like a magic act, where the illusionist uses a half-naked assistant to
distract you from the cheap trick.”  He chuckled.

      “I see,” she said, her voice dripping with understanding.

      Just then a figure appeared at the top of the stairs,
descending them carefully.  He wore jeans and a T-shirt and struggled
down with the help of crutches.

      “Did you get crippled from polio when you were young like the
guy in that novel?” Soapy asked, her voice bursting with hasty
conclusion.

      “No.  Softball,” Teapot said, hopping down the last couple stairs.  “Twisted my ankle rounding third.”

      “Steve,” Handsome said, “I’ve been telling her about The Da Vinci Code.”

      “So you’ve read The Code, my dear?”

      “Oh yes.”  Her eyes lit up.  “Did you know that book says
Jesus got married and had a kid and the Catholic Church has been
killing people to cover it up and there’s all kinds of books missing
from The Bible.  And it’s all true!”

      “Of course it is,” Teapot said, gesturing for her to have a
seat.  “After all, a fiction author would never stretch the truth to
make a sale, now would he?”

      “Well, even if not all of it is true, it does raise some very important questions.”

      “Tell you what, Soapy, why don’t you indulge me in a little game.”

      “Monopoly?”

      “Not quite, dear.  Rupert, grab me that copy of The Da Vinci
Code off the shelf over there.  Make sure you grab the illustrated
version Dan Brown put out for Christmas so he could even further insult
the faith.”  Taking the book, he placed it in Soapy’s lap.  “Close your
eyes a moment.”

      She did as he asked, her silence weighted with anticipation.

      “Now,” he said, “Can you tell me how much integrity is in this novel?”

      It had been a few months since she had reread it, but Soapy
thought she knew the answer to this one.  Dan Brown included a “fact”
page at the beginning.  He’s done interviews with highly discerning
journalists like Matt Lauer.  His main characters smile smugly all the
time.  “I know!” she shouted.  “Lots.  It has lots of integrity.”

      “Open your eyes, my dear.”  Teapot said, smiling smugly.  “It turns out there is no integrity here at all.”

      “Surely serious historians and art critics would have noticed that,” she said, her voice teeming with contradiction.

      “But they have,” Handsome said, leaning in.  “Scholars have
torn apart Brown’s understanding of history, Christianity, and Leonardo
da Vinci, but most readers don’t care about that.  They just want
controversy.  It makes some people feel smart to read a book like this
and pretend they’ve read something intellectual.”

      “Wait a second.”  She opened the book and began flipping
through the pages.  “This book tells all about this secret organization
called . . . hold on, I’ll find it . . .”

      “The Priory of Sion,” Handsome said.  Smiling smugly.  “They
are the guardians of the truth, right?  They’ve passed on the secret of
Christ and Mary Magdalene for centuries?  Leonardo da Vinci was a
member?”

      “That’s right!”  She finally opened the book near the front
and read a paragraph about The Priory.  “It says ‘FACT’ right at the
top of the page, so it has to be true.”

      “Hmmm.  I guess he forgot to mention that about fifty years
ago, the guys who invented The Priory of Sion admitted they had made it
up as a joke.  One of them had even spent time in jail for fraud.”

      “Dan Brown lied?  But look how nice his smile is.  I thought I could trust him.”

      “This is the second book Dan Brown has written to trash the
Catholic faith,” Handsome said, lifting a copy of Angels and Demons
from the shelf.  “When someone has an agenda that strong, there’s no
telling how low they’ll stoop.”

      “But wait – The Da Vinci Code says Jesus was married.  Isn’t that possible?” she asked, her voice riddled with enigma.

      “Actually, that’s one place where Brown was right on.  Jesus was married.  It even says so in The New Testament.”

      “He was?  It does?”

        Teapot smiled smugly, pulled his Bible from the coffee
table.  Handsome watched on, smiling smugly, as well.  “Sure.  Over and
over again Scripture tells us about Jesus and his beautiful bride.
Only it’s not Mary Magdalene.”

      “Who is she?”

      “She is the church, and that’s why he wouldn’t have married
any certain woman.”  He showed her several passages from the gospels
and from Revelation.  “Dan Brown likes to point to obscure quotes in
the “Gnostic” gospels, like where Jesus kisses Magdalene on the lips.
What he doesn’t tell you is that those Gnostic gospels were most likely
written over a hundred years after Jesus died.  Like Brown, the
Gnostics were willing to write anything, no matter how far fetched, to
destroy the church that Christ built.”

      “But why?  Why would Dan Brown mislead his readers like that?”

      “The secret, my dear, lies within the book itself.”  Teapot
opened the front cover of his copy and pointed at a series of letters
and numbers.

      “Oh my!” Soapy exclaimed, snatching the book from him.  “Is that a secret code?”

      “Secret code?  Oh hardly.  That’s just the price tag.  Now
think of all the people who have questioned or left their faiths
because of how hard Brown has worked to pass this fiction off as fact.
According to this, the price of a human soul must be worth $24.92 in
the US and slightly more in Canada.”

      “Wow, the whole book just falls apart now,” she said, leaning
back into the cushion.  “And to think I trusted Dan Brown.  I guess,
now that I think about it, I really hadn’t taken the time to do the
research necessary to really . . .”

      Her words were cut short by heavy footsteps from the hallway.  “Mr. Teapot.”

      Soapy turned toward the deep voice and her worst fears were
realized as a tall albino stepped into the room.  “Rupert!” she cried
out, her voice charged with alarm.  “It’s the killer from The Da Vinci
Code!”  She leaped up and tripped over Steve’s crutches as she dashed
for the door.  Handsome stooped down to help her up.

      “Relax, my dear,” Teapot said.  “This is just my friend Milan.  He’s doing some electrical work for me in the basement.”

      Milan’s lower lip trembled.  “Everywhere I go now, people
think I’m a monster.”  A single tear crawled down his pale cheek, and
he wiped at it with the back of his hand as he walked past them and
sulked out the front door.

      “Don’t feel bad, Soapy,” Teapot said.  “After all, you’re not
the one who created a hideous character at the expense of albinos like
Milan.  But then again, such a cheap shot from Brown shouldn’t surprise
us, now, should it?”

      She stood and walked to the door, watching the saddened man
climb into his truck and drive away.  “But what that group, Opus Dei?
Dan Brown makes them out to be a bunch of murderers.”

      “Opus Dei is just an organization of people trying to get a
closer connection to God,” Handsome said.  “I joined a few years back
and can assure you Dan Brown was just up to more of his
slight-of-hand.”

      “Yes dear,” Teapot said, glancing nervously out the window.  “The real enemy here is a group called Opie Dei.”

      “Opie Dei?”  She asked, glancing at Handsome, who was smiling
knowingly.  And somewhat smugly.  “Do you mean as in little Opie from
the Andy Griffith Show?”

      “He’s all grown up,” Rupert said, nodding.  “And he’s ready to
make millions off the souls of your friends and family by making The Da
Vinci Code into a high-budget movie.”

       “And he’s not the only one,” Teapot cried pointing sharply as a menacing figure ripped the screen door off its hinges.

      “God help us,” cried Soapy, her shriek laced with recognition.

      All three shrank back as the figure from the porch stepped into the room.  “Greedy is as greedy does,” he said.

The End

Copyright (c) 2006 by Spencer Allen. All rights reserved. Used by permission.