Bedtime Stories

[Man] I'm going

to tell you a story now.

But as any good storyteller knows,

one must first be sure

the audience is prepared.

Is everybody comfortably seated?

Does anyone need to use the bathroom?

Oh. You, sir, in the back?

Well, hold it in.

[Laughs]

You ready? Here we go.

My name is Marty Bronson.

I owned and operated

the Sunny Vista Motel,

which I established on the corner

of Sunset and La Cienega Boulevards

in Los Angeles, California,

in the year 1974.

The motel was my labor of love,

and I ran it with the help

of my children:
Wendy...

[Marty] Wendy, the key, please,

for Mr. And Mrs. Dixon.

Thank you.

And Skeeter.

May I help you with your bags,

Mr. And Mrs. Dixon?

- Yes, please.

- Why, thank you, young man.

[Grunting]

You, uh, need a hand?

No, no. I got it.

[Mr. Dixon] OK.

To my boy Skeeter,

the motel was a wonderland.

Way too hyper.

The galaxy's not big enough

for the both of us.

A magical place.

[Chatter, laughter]

Full of new adventures

for a six-year-old boy.

[Laughs] Oh, Skeeter. Come here.

Skeeter loved the old place

as much as I did.

And he always tried to come up

with ways to make it even better.

I've got a lot of ideas how

to improve things around here.

I was thinking we could put

an extra pair of socks in each room

because people always forget to pack

enough socks when they go on a trip.

That's a good idea.

Time for bed,

I'm meeting with Mr. Nottingham.

Wait, Dad. I'm not even tired.

Well, how about a bedtime story?

Yay!

Now, once upon a time,

there was a little boy,

and that little boy's name

was Skeeter.

Well, I could tell a pretty fair tale

when the muse was with me.

And making my little boy smile,

now, that was truly magical.

Yeah, I was a pretty good dad

and a pretty good host.

But unfortunately,

a pretty bad businessman.

Can't you read the writing

on the wall, Bronson?

This motel is sinking in red ink...

and I'm offering you the last lifeboat.

[Sighs]

I don't know.

[Nottingham]

I've seen the books, Martin.

If you don't sell to me,

you're going to go bankrupt.

Yes, well, I...

I'd always hoped this place

would be a home for my children.

[Nottingham] How about this?

If your boy works hard and shows

some smarts when he grows up,

I'll let him run this place.

[Sighs] You promise?

Yes. Now sign the bloody papers.

That's my boy, Bronson.

Trust me, I'm going to turn this place

into the finest hotel in Los Angeles.

It's going to be uptight

and out of sight.

[Marty] And just like that,

our modest little Sunny Vista Motel...

... metamorphosized into the

mighty Sunny Vista Nottingham.

And for the past 25 years,

it has been lovingly maintained

by my now grown-up son,

Skeeter Bronson, the handyman.

Yes, though Mr. Nottingham's promise

for Skeeter to run the place

- seems to have been forgotten...

- Hiya, Pop.

... my boy always works diligently

with a hopeful heart,

still waiting for his shot.

Mrs. Dixon?

Is there a problem with her room?

Nothing you should bother

your tiny mind about.

Mrs. Dixon has been taking the nip

bottles of liquor out of her mini-bar,

and doesn't want to pay for it.

I never even touched

that evil little refrigerator.

I don't drink alcohol.

Of course.

There's probably a mix-up.

- I saw who took it.

- OK.

He had red hair and a beard.

He was wearing a green suit

with brass buttons.

And he stands about ten inches tall.

So we're talking about a leprechaun?

There you go.

Oh, I didn't know your brother

was in town.

So, um, here's what

I think we should do.

Put all the missing bottles

on my tab.

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