So, what does this have to do with the matchmaking?
Well, the second part of this task is to get Graham Deadwyler to sit with you in the front row during the show.
I know what you’re thinking, Beverly, the man is fine, but he’s pricklier than a porcupine with a full set of knives. Don’t be discouraged. You will figure this out and maybe have a little fun. After all, every character must struggle to reach their happy ending. It’s the hero’s journey and the way we learn best.
What else is there to do with your one big, beautiful life?
The key to the reel room is in this envelope. You will need to pick a reel worthy of this task.
Truth is, ticket sales have been declining for years, and without me around to bully people into showing up, I’d be surprised if they’re filling a full row anymore.
I’m counting on you to find a way to bring them back in and find yourself a little slice of happiness.
Give Spencer a ticket to the show and make sure it’s the seat behind you and Graham (for accountability). Once it’s all said and done and he’s ensured you and Graham sat through the whole movie (pee breaks are okay), he will give you letter three.
Good luck. I’ve always believed in you.
* * *
Beverly
* * *
I set the letter down in my lap, grief and irritation warring within me.
Taking a sip of wine, I trace over her words again, rubbing the corner of the paper between my thumb and forefinger. My heart aches. I miss her so much.
Filling the theater is one thing. How am I supposed to get Graham, a man who just told me to never darken his doorway again, to come to a movie with me? Holding his squash hostage probably won’t work a second time. Maybe blackmail? Gunpoint? Those are honestly the only options that might convince him.
I need to call Daphne.
Crap, I don’t think I have her number.
I drink more wine.
I’m definitely going to need help with this one.
Chapter Nine
Spencer
* * *
I stare down at the limp, sad, combination pizza. It looked pathetic frozen, but it’s worse now.
How is that possible?
I can’t believe I’m feeding Vivien Hart a take-and-bake that was on sale for $5.99 and has been sitting in my freezer for three months.
Maybe if I give her more wine, she won’t taste the freezer burn.
“Do you want more wine?” I call out.
“Sure. Do you need any help?”
I eyeball the plates, the napkins, and the wine. What else do I need? Will she want a fork? Do people eat pizza with a fork? Maybe I’m overthinking this.
“Yes, please.” I toss back a couple of quick gulps of wine.
