Page 6 of View With Your Heart

“It’s a film, actually,” I clarify, clearing my throat to swallow the lump in it. I don’t bother explaining the difference between a film and a movie—how one connotates giving information while the other is more entertainment. We tried to make this film informational with a touch of entertainment, adding in the personal trials and tribulations of our young star. “A documentary about baseball.”

“Baseball,” Dad snorts.

“The crew followed a young man for a few years through the start of his career. It’s meant to showcase the ups and downs of professional sports.”

My parents will be seeing the film on Thursday, but the expression on my dad’s face says he isn’t excited.

“We can’t wait to see it,” Mum states, and she must be squeezing my dad’s hand hard under the table because his face is red, and a vein stands out on his neck. Not to mention, it’s uncharacteristic of him not to speak.

+ + +

Later that night, a cocktail party is held at a resort in Traverse City. It’s ticketed to keep out the enthusiasts, allowing filmmakers, producers, and actors to mingle among themselves before the showing of films, question and answer sessions, and presentations from various names in the industry begin the next day.

I attend in hopes of shaking off the awkward dinner with my family, which I escaped as quickly as I could. Ethan asked me to hang out longer, but he understood when I said I have a thing.

“Yeah, a big shot filmmaker can’t hang with us little people,” he mocked. He didn’t understand I didn’t feel like a big shot. I felt like a man just trying to make his way in the world and continually struggling to get it right.

Once in TC—as the locals call Traverse City—I drink a locally brewed beer, shake hands, and take photos with actors for their social media. As a has-been baseball player, I don’t have quite the same status as them. After an hour, I need air and decide to cross the byway to the downtown business district. It’s late enough the stores are closed, but the streetlamps remain on. The town is quiet as I walk the few blocks, eyes fixated on the old State Theatre, a historical landmark.

Looking up at the marquee, I stop and allow a movie from yesteryear to play out in my memory.

I’d gone to the movies. I just needed an escape. I’d most likely had a fight with my dad, and I wanted to be alone, which wasn’t possible to explain to friends as a teen. Watching a movie alone was unheard of. I slipped into the broken-down theater in Elk Lake City. With one screen, there was a matinee and an evening showing of some outdated film I can’t even remember. It wasn’t the movie that was important.

When I was in line for concessions, only one other person was ahead of me. A lithe-limbed blond with subtle curves and tan legs. For some reason, I just knew she wasn’t from the area. Her short skirt showed off those legs, and a soft voice ordered popcorn—a giant tub of it. When she turned, startled to find someone waiting behind her, the most beautiful blue eyes met mine as she fumbled with such a large container.

“Sorry,” she whispered, although I have no idea why she apologized. Maybe it was because she was just too beautiful for words.

I purchased a package of red licorice and took it to the theater after her. She’d taken a seat in the middle while I sat in the back until the opening credits began, and no one else entered the place.

Suddenly, it seemed silly to sit alone in a theater with all this space around me. I got out of my seat, walked down the aisle, and turned into the row where she sat.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked. She sat a little straighter, dropping her feet from the back of the chair in front of her. Holding the popcorn bucket on her lap, she looked over her shoulder, scanning the dim, empty space and the hundred other empty seats.

“I guess not,” she teased, squinting up at me. Despite my desire to be alone, I no longer wanted to be. I took a seat next to her. The movie began, and we remained awkwardly silent. Neither of us moved. She didn’t even reach for her popcorn.

Eventually, I cracked, making a comment about something. The lack of blood, maybe. The costumes, perhaps. She flinched when someone was shot and then giggled in her surprise. Slowly, she loosened up, returning her feet to the chairback before her. We continued watching the movie, commenting on every bit of impossibility in the film.

“Licorice?” I held up the package, offering her the ropey, red strips.

“Sure,” her soft eyes met mine as she pulled the stringy candy from the bag. I watched as she bit off a piece, suddenly struggling with my thoughts. Her sweet mouth closed around the candy, and I wanted those lips around a spot on me. Her teeth nipped the end of one long piece, and I swallowed a groan as I imagined her skimming her teeth along my dick. She slowly chewed, but when she swallowed, I’d almost lost it in my shorts. Her mouth was made for sin. I just knew it.

“Gonna offer me any?” I inquired of the popcorn on her lap, but my tone dropped, my voice deep as my eyes lowered for her thighs. I didn’t want the damn popcorn. I wondered what she’d taste like instead.

“I’m not good at sharing,” she stated, eyes still on the screen while mine were held to that thigh, tan and jiggling a little with the container on her leg.

“You just took candy from a stranger,” I reminded her.

“I did, didn’t I?” she squeaked, glancing over at me. “Shiitake.” The sound of an attempted curse word on her lips made me laugh.

“What?” I choked.

“I’m trying not to swear. It’s a summer goal.”

“Huh. What else is a summer goal of yours?” I asked.

“To watch this movie,” she teased, keeping her eyes on me.

Yeah, well, my summer didn’t have a goal other than to finish it and get out of this town but plans change. And now, my goal was to get to know her.