My Top Ten Movies
by Annabeth Prescott
York, Maine, doesn’t have a video store anymore, but luckily, my boss, Mrs. Lansing (I work at an antique stand) has an amazing collection of DVD’s, and even VHS tapes (yikes!). Some of them aren’t the best quality, but they’ll have to do.
Here’s a list of movies that reflect a bit of what I’ve been going through, and my take on each:
1) Chances Are
Chances Are is a rom com about reincarnation! A romincarnation? A reincomration? Anyway, the story centers on a young man (Robert Downey Jr.) who realizes that he’s a reincarnated lawyer. The only wrinkle? He’s dating his own daughter (Mary Stuart Masterson) and is falling back in love with his former wife (Cybill Sheperd)!
2) Stargate
An archaeologist (James Spader) and a team of soldiers goes back in time through the aptly named “Stargate” and discover that the innovations of the ancient Egyptians were actually achieved by aliens! What the heck? This movie is crap! But, a young Kurt Russell…
3) Time After Time
I can’t get enough of movies that involve travel to other eras. In Time After Time, H.G. Wells (Malcolm McDowell) voyages to the 1970’s in his time machine to hunt down Jack the Ripper (David Warner), all with the help of his new, modern girlfriend (Mary Steenburgen). This movie has it all!
4) The Notebook
The Notebook is about an old man (James Garner) whose wife (Gena Rowlands) suffers from Alzheimer’s. He reads her diary back to her every day so she’ll remember their love story. It’s a beautiful tale both in the past and present day, but I have to admit I keep fast-forwarding through the present day parts, because—Ryan Gosling.
5) Sleepless in Seattle
This is the story of a widower (Tom Hanks) who talks about his romance with his deceased wife on a radio show. He becomes something of a sensation, and one listener (Meg Ryan) instantly falls in love with him via his voice. Sleepless in Seattle explores fate in the most heart-warming of ways.
6) Somewhere in Time
In SIT, Richard Collier (Christopher Reeve) falls in love with a photograph of old-timey actress Elise McKenna (Jane Seymour) while staying at the Grand Hotel in Mackinac Island. He hypnotizes himself back in time to be with her, and their romance is truly chill inducing! Damn, I want to watch this with Gabriel. Or C. J.
7, 8 and 9) The Mummy Trilogy
A swashbuckling adventure series, these epic films are an amalgam of archaeology and magic! Starring Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz (and strangely, in the last one, Maria Bello), The Mummy Trilogy is filled with ancient Egyptian flashbacks (my favorite kind) and a healthy dash of romance. And spoiler alert: there’s reincarnation, too!
10) Titanic
What is there to say? Leo, Kate, a sinking ship. And my relationship situation is a disaster lately, so it’s no wonder this film resonates with me!
Annabeth Neverending
Leyla Kader Dahm
Genre: YA paranormal romance/historical
ISBN-13: 978-1518613289
ISBN-10: 1518613284
Number of pages: 300
Word Count: 75,000
Book Description:
At first, teenager Annabeth Prescott thinks she’s found quite a deal when she talks down the price of an ankh pendant she discovers at a flea market. She soon wonders if the bauble is more than she's bargained for when she faints and glimpses images from a past life in ancient Egypt.
The discovery coincides with another new find: Gabriel, a handsome young man who takes an interest in her. When she meets his twin brother C. J. at a Halloween party, she realizes they look exactly like two boys who figure prominently into her memories.
Does C. J. share the heroic qualities held by his past incarnation Sethe, her bodyguard when she was Princess Ana? Does Gabriel possess the same evil powers he wielded as Kha, the black sorcerer who sought her affection?
Love meets the supernatural in this gripping young adult paranormal romance. Readers with an interest in reincarnation, as well as ancient Egypt, will be drawn to its mystical mixture of history and hesitation as Annabeth sways between the two brothers.
Will her reincarnated soulmate win out? Or will Kha finally find the way to her heart?
Available at Amazon
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Mrs. Lansing
pulls her SUV into the dusty, unpaved lot, which is located behind two antique
malls. I exit and unload her trunk, suppressing a groan as I hoist a heavy
cardboard box and set it carefully on the dirt.
I take in the
ramshackle affair. I’ve heard that the flea market is a popular meeting place
for bargain hunters and collectors, and it looks as strange as its name sounds.
There are rows of rickety wooden tables, and it’s surprising that none of them
buckle from the sheer number of goods they hold.
“This is the
Arundel Flea Market. It’s the hub of Maine’s secondhand economy,” explains my
elderly neighbor, who now doubles as my boss and triples as my tour guide.
As we make our
way through the helter-skelter maze of booths, the buzz of negotiation can be
heard coming from every direction. I drag along the cart of wares, but stop
when I’m seized by a sneezing fit, courtesy of free-floating dust and mold.
When Mrs. Lansing offers me a handkerchief instead of a Kleenex, I’m made
acutely aware of the fact that I’ve entered a new…er, different world.
Mrs. Lansing’s
stooped over just low enough that her poor posture has probably cost her a
couple of inches, but that doesn’t slow her down. She shuffles toward a vacant
table nestled under the welcoming shade of a chalky-white birch tree.
Seeing that
she’s claimed a prime spot, I follow her lead by setting out everything from
orphan candlesticks to shell cameos to tin wind-up toys. Then, Mrs. Lansing
adds a few eccentric items like yellowed tarot cards and an iridescent crystal
ball to the collection.
“What’s the deal
with this?” I ask while turning over the fortune-telling device.
“It reeks of
mystery and the supernatural, which I love. Besides, the weird stuff always
sells,” explains Mrs. Lansing, her eyes twinkling.
“So, who usually
comes here?”
“Most of the
sellers are serious dealers, but there are also everyday folk looking to earn
extra cash. Usually by cleaning out their musty attics or basements.”
“I’ve never sold
anything before. Not even girl scout cookies,” I admit.
“You’ll get the
hang of it. Why don’t we try some role-playing?”
Mrs. Lansing
lays down a parchment document with what looks to be a children’s book
illustration of an old masted ship. This is something I’ve seen before. Many
times. It’s a Mayflower Society certificate.
“My mom’s a
member, you know.”
“Now that’s a
great angle. The certificate’s going to be passed, in a manner of speaking,
from one Pilgrim descendant to another,” states Mrs. Lansing, her voice
crackling with wear.
“I’m not a blood
descendant. I was adopted, remember?” I gently remind her.
She looks
ruffled. Of course, the subject makes everyone feel awkward, especially me.
“Oh, that’s
right. I’m so sorry. My mind isn’t the steel trap it once was.”
I shrug it off,
not wanting her to feel bad when it’s a common slipup, and we engage in a
marathon training session as we try to sell her product that goes on for hours
and hours. In addition to the finer points of salesmanship, she fills me in on
all the vital information I need to know regarding the current stock and
teaches me how to handle the money that comes in.
While learning
how to work the old-school cash register, my friend Bernadette, wearing a
floppy straw hat and oversized sunglasses, steps up to the stand. She looks
over the merchandise, with a mouth that’s either puckered in interest or
disgust—I’m not sure which.
“Can I wait on
this person I’ve never seen before?”
Mrs. Lansing
nods and crosses her arms while standing back to observe my efforts.
“Miss, are you
looking for anything in particular?” I ask in my most professional tone.
“Not sure if you
noticed…all these things are used but still expensive,” Bernadette states, as
though she’d doing me a favor by educating me.
“They’re
antiques.”
“In that case,
I’ll take none of everything.”
My lips tighten
in displeasure.
“You sure about
that?” I ask.
Mrs. Lansing
chuckles.
“Annabeth
Prescott, I’m impressed. Not every new employee cons a friend into acting like
a fake customer,” she says with a smile so wide I can see all her dentures.
“You recognized
me?” asks Bernadette, sounding genuinely puzzled. She pulls off her hat and
glasses, revealing her delicate Asian features.
I sigh,
disappointed that my plan failed so wretchedly. I should’ve figured that
Bernadette could never fully disguise her…Bernadetteness.
“Shocking, I
know. But it does show that you really care about this job, dear,” Mrs. Lansing
says, before jotting something in her inventory log.
“Well, I better
get back to work. Thanks for coming. Don’t forget to make a purchase before you
go,” I say loudly and somewhat pathetically.
“I don’t think
so.”
“If you don’t
buy something from me, who will?”
“Excellent
question,” she agrees.
“Please?” I ask,
eyes pleading.
“Begging. Interesting
strategy,” Mrs. Lansing says, pretending to mull it over.
“No offense, but
I’m heading to the Kittery Outlets. Later!” Bernadette cries as she scurries
off.
“Don’t worry. My
associate, Gabriel, will help you refine your sales technique. He’s the master.”
I gaze around
and notice an elderly army of gray-and-blue hairs surrounds me. I’m the
youngest person manning a table by a long shot.
“So he’s…older,
huh?” I ask.
“Yes, you could say that. Of course,
everyone seems like a baby to me. Now, let me give you some details about this
Bakelite phone.”
I scan my
surroundings some more and shake my head in hopes of clearing it. My waning
attention must be obvious.
“All right, I’ve
been doling out a lot of information. Why don’t you take a break? Walk around
the market; get an idea of what the others have for sale? We can pick this up
when you get back.”
“OK, but when I
do, give me your worst piece of merchandise, and I’ll unload it,” I say with
false confidence, hoping to salvage things.
“That’s the
spirit!”
I peruse the
market, and a strange sense of stillness falls. Brass wind chimes break the
silence, eerily clinging and clanging as I wind my way through the many stands.
I keep passing one table in particular. Though nothing interests me at first, I
repeatedly find my way back to it despite myself. It’s as though I’m on
autopilot.
I dig in and
pick up a broken tassel necklace, which is entangled with several others. While
trying to pry them apart, I knock to the ground a box chain holding a pendant.
They’re both caked with grime. I bend down and grab the necklace. I look over
the charm, which is roughly three inches long and resembles a cross with a loop
on top.
My hands
tremble. The wind whips through my hair and whistles in my ears. Are the
northeastern breezes whispering to buy it?
I give the piece
to the table’s merchant, a middle-aged Mainer in a threadbare brown overcoat
and scuffed L.L.Bean rain boots. He turns it over in his stubby, chapped
fingers.
“How much is
this?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to hide just how much I want it.
“Uh, twenty
dollars oughta do it,” he says, in a regional accent so thick it sounds like he
has a speech impediment.
“Twenty? That’s
kind of steep…I really shouldn’t…” I grumble sadly.
“Ten?”
***
I gleefully run
toward Mrs. Lansing, hardly able to contain my excitement. But I manage to rein
it in. Which is hard because I suspect that I’ve achieved a tiny triumph.
“Wait till you
see what I bought!”
“I thought the
point of this job was to make money, not spend it,” she replies tauntingly.
“I know, I know.
But you’ll be happy to know that I totally haggled. And this seems…special.”
I give over the
encrusted ornament to Mrs. Lansing, who offers to clean the piece. She takes
out a cloth and some jewelry cleanser and polishes the necklace in a flash.
“This shape is
an ankh. It’s an ancient Egyptian symbol.”
“Do you know
what it means?” I ask, curiosity seeping in.
“I believe it
represents some sort of key.”
Now that it’s
been spiffed up, Mrs. Lansing and I admire my find, which sparkles in the muted
autumn sun.
“Is it real
gold?” I wonder aloud.
“I’d say so. In
fact, this is the darkest, most beautiful gold I’ve ever seen. Just enough
alloy was added to the precious metal to make it durable while maintaining its
warmth of color. What did you pay for this?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Looks like
somebody’s a born negotiator,” Mrs. Lansing states, with a hint of pride. “You
got quite a bargain, kiddo.”
I take the ankh
back into my possession and caress its cool, smooth surface. I feel everything
around me go topsy-turvy, upside down and inside out…
***
I’m enveloped by
heat stronger and more intense than any I’ve experienced before. Drops of
perspiration tickle my skin as they run underneath my flowing linen gown. I
feel arms clasping a chain behind my neck. My hands fly up to find the ankh
resting on my collarbone, but I didn’t move them there. It’s as though I’m a
mere observer, instead of a participant, when it comes to this body’s actions.
The man who has
just bestowed the necklace upon me pulls away, and I’m allowed a good look at
him. He’s a hideous fellow with bulging eyes, a hooked nose, and a shock of
bright-red hair that peeks out from underneath a black-and-white headdress. His
outfit, the way he has about him, makes him seem important. Is he a pharaoh?
He grins,
semitoothlessly, and I feel myself smiling in return.
“This is all for
you, to commemorate your sixteenth year, your entry into womanhood,” says the
probable monarch.
“My gratitude
runs as deep as the Nile,” I reply, in a voice that is not my own, in a
language that is not my own, and yet I know exactly what I’m saying.
The man, who’s
wearing a tunic covered with fringe, motions to a procession of beautiful
objects, the likes of which I never could have imagined. Priceless treasures zoom
past, carried by servants wearing loose shift dresses and stiff black wigs.
Elaborately carved pieces of ivory and ebony furniture, lion and leopard skins,
gem-encrusted gold jewelry in the shape of beetles and butterflies, and granite
statues of animal-faced men and women are all presented to me individually.
Clearly, these are gifts for a very privileged young lady. What I wouldn’t give
to own them myself.
Another
Egyptian, a young man who is ostensibly a prince, looks to be seething with
anger. His arms are crossed, his face set in a scowl. He watches on in disgust
as the gifts continue to appear.
“This show of
generosity shall stir jealousy in her sisters,” he states venomously.
“I reserve the
right to spoil my favorite daughter as I see fit,” replies the suspected ruler.
And now, the
last offering, the one with the place of honor at the end of the parade, is
finally brought before me.
A boy! Or is he
a man?
“This prisoner
of war is such a fine specimen, he would be wasted as a lowly house slave. He shall
serve as your bodyguard,” announces the intimidating ruler.
“His name is
Sethe.”
The captive has
shackles on his hands and feet. I can even make out a brand upon his chest. It
seems as though it’s still scarring over, which is understandable, since he was
not born into slavery. Regardless, he looks like somebody who has done nothing
but labor in the sun. His skin is bronzed, and his muscles are impossibly
defined. He seems reluctant to look at me.
Finally, his
gaze meets mine. I’m at a distance, yet I can still make out the flecks of gold
that dapple his hazel eyes. For a blissful moment, I’m lost in them, swimming
in their beauty, floating in their comfort.
***
I come to amid a
background of concerned chatter and find myself surrounded by a crowd of curious
onlookers…and a strange boy. His muscular arms are holding me tight, making
sure I don’t RSVP to the gravel’s invitation. He’s impossibly good looking,
with the palest-possible blue eyes and the darkest-possible black hair.
He couldn’t be
less like the slave in my…hallucination?…but he’s just as handsome. Not like
it’s a contest.
“You passed out.
Good thing I was here to catch you,” says my hero, while wagging a pair of
thick brows.
About the Author:
Leyla Kader Dahm popped popcorn and dreamt of a career in show business when working in a movie theater while in high school. The small-town Midwestern girl went another route and studied communications at Carroll College and Cornell University, but still found herself drawn to the big screen when a temp agency placed her in a production and development gig at Miramax/Dimension Films.
Dahm went on to work as a script consultant for numerous production companies. She appeared in the acclaimed spoken word show Sit ‘N Spin and had her comedy feature spec, Due North, optioned by Michael Levy Enterprises. She sold her pitch, Survival Instinct, to Nickelodeon Original Movies. Dahm lives with her husband, sitcom writer Richard Dahm, and her children in Los Angeles.
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2 comments:
This book looks interesting and I look forward to reading it
Thanks so much, Jeanine! I hope it lives up to your expectations.
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