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“One, please,” I tell the cashier.
I fish out the wad of tips from my pocket that I made tonight and dole out the seven-fifty for the ticket. Not that I have money to spare with rent coming due and a small pile of bills on Cole’s and my desk back at our apartment that we can’t pay yet, but it’s not like seven bucks will make or break me.
And it’s my birthday, so…
Walking inside, I bypass the concession stand and head for the next set of double doors. There’s only one theater, and surprisingly, this place has survived for sixty years even in the wake of the bigger twelve-theater cinema centers built in the surrounding towns. The Grand had to get creative with midnight showings of classic movies like tonight, but also dress-up events and private parties, too. I don’t get down here much with my school and work schedule, but it’s a nice, dark place when you want to get lost for a while. Private and quiet.
Stepping through the doors, I check my phone one more time to see that Cole hasn’t called or texted yet. I turn my ringer off and slide it back into my pocket.
Some ads loop on the screen, but the house lights are still on, and I quickly scan the room, seeing a few loners spread out. There’s also a couple sitting in the back row to my right, and a small group of guys are in the middle—young by the sound of their inconsiderately loud laughter. Out of about three hundred seats, two hundred eighty-five are still available, and I pretty much have my pick.
I walk down five or six rows, finding an empty one and slide in, taking a seat midway in. I set down my bag and quietly pull out the purple box of wine, reading the label in the dim light.
Merlot. I was hoping it was white wine, but I’m sure Shel needs to get rid of this stuff. We only serve it when there’s an outdoor event and don’t want glass outside.
Unscrewing the cap, I sniff the pungent scent, not sensing any of the fancy aromas in the least that sommeliers seem to grasp from wine. No hint of oak with a “bold aroma of sweet cherries” or anything like that. Sliding my tray in front of me, I take advantage of the empty row ahead and bend up my knees, fitting my Chucks in between the empty seats on the arm rest.
Setting the box down, I slip my phone out of my back pocket, just in case Cole calls, and plop it on the tray next to the wine.
But instead, it spills off the tray. It falls down between my legs and onto the floor, and I jerk up my knees to try to catch it, but they bump the tray and send the open box of wine spilling to the floor.
My mouth falls open, and I gasp. “Shit!” I blurt out in a whisper.
What the hell?
Planting my feet on the floor again, I push the tray off to the side and dive down to the floor, feeling around for my phone. My fingers dip in the spilled wine, and I flinch at the mess. Glancing up over the seats, I see the group of three guys a few rows down, dead ahead of me and right in line of the oncoming winefall.
I groan. Great.
A light layer of sweat cools my forehead, and I stand up, yanking my scarf out of my bag to dry off my fingers. I hate to ruin it, but I don’t have any napkins.
What a mess.
So much for escaping for two hours.
I look around for an usher with a light, pretty positive this theater doesn’t employ them, especially at this time of night, but the only flashlight I have is on my phone, and the floors are dark.
Seeing no one, I take my scarf and bag and travel up to the next row, bending down and peering under the seats to see if I can see my cell. When I find nothing, I move up to the next row and then to the next, pretty sure I heard it slide a ways. Since the rows of seats are on a decline, it could’ve gone far, too. Dammit.
Moving up to the next row, I set my stuff down and drop to my hands and knees, peering under the rows to my left and right, feeling with my hands. A pair of long, jean-clad legs sit ahead, and I look up, seeing a man sitting in the seat with fingers full of popcorn halfway to his mouth. He stares down at me with raised eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I dropped my drink and my phone went sliding down here somewhere. Do you mind…?”
He hesitates a moment and then blinks, sitting up. “Yeah, sure.” He moves his tray aside and stands up, digging something out of his pocket. “Here.”
He turns on the flashlight on his phone and squats down, shining it under the seats.
Immediately, I spot my phone under the seat next to his and snatch it up. Thank goodness. We both stand up, and my shoulders relax. I can’t afford a replacement right now. I smooth my fingers over the screen, making sure I don’t feel any cracks.
“Got it?” he asks.
“Yeah, thank you.”
He kills his flashlight but reaches over, swiping his fingers over the bottom of my phone, and brings them to his nose, smelling.
“Is that…” he winces, “wine?”
I glance down at the floor, seeing he’s standing in the drink I spilled three rows up.
