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I wanted to get some shots of the grand, high ceilings and the old movie posters, and by the time I saw her sitting behind a folding table near the concession stand, she had already spotted me and it was too late to back out. After I got over my initial shock, I was more than a little happy to see her after what felt like a year instead of a few days. She wore a prim and proper white blouse that did nothing to hide her sexy curves, and a glance down below the table showed her bare legs crossed at the ankle, leading up to a hint of gray skirt. Her curls were wrangled into a bun at the back of her neck and the whole look should have screamed off-limits schoolmarm, but it had the complete opposite effect on me.
She had a big, empty jar on the table, along with a bunch of notecards. A sign invited people to submit their favorite memory of the theater. There were only a few folded cards in the jar, and I felt a bit sorry for her, even though she had to know better by now that this place was as good as gone.
“Stalker,” she said jokingly, her face turning red as I approached.
She wouldn’t call me that in such a teasing voice if she didn’t think I was interested, and she wouldn’t even notice my presence ifshewasn’t interested. I was overthinking because she looked so adorable and pretty, and the sight of her mostly empty jar made me pick up one of her cards. Of course it was futile, but at that moment, I only wanted to make her happy. I scribbled a couple lines, folded it up, and stuffed it in the jar.
She beamed at me and the few people milling around in the lobby filed into the theater to watch the special children’s matinee that was about to begin.
“I came to take pictures,” I said, motioning at the lofty ceiling.
“I came to try and get people to commit to the gala. I sold one ticket and got three people to fill out a card.” Her grimace told me she wasn’t happy with her morning’s work.
“It might help if you showed movies that people couldn’t stream at home for free,” I said. The film that was playing was from my childhood, so I imagined if kids today were even interested in it, they’d have seen it a dozen times or more.
Her frown grew deeper. “Do you know how expensive it is to license a new movie? It’s a lot more than we can afford. Even paying for the license for these old ones is putting the town in the red.”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reiterating that this was why they needed a shopping center instead. How would it be good for the town if they went bankrupt keeping this place open due to nostalgia? Plus a shopping center meant jobs. She’d definitely kill me if I mentioned that.
“Well, I’ll get my pictures and get out of your hair,” I said, not moving. Hoping she’d suggest lunch.
“Would you like a tour behind the scenes?” she asked.
Even better. Who was I fooling? I just wanted to keep spending time with her. I’d actually missed her the last few days.
“Absolutely.” I held out my arm, and she linked hers around it, pulling me toward the concession stand. I snapped photos as she explained how everything worked, and while I didn’t care one little bit about how the fifty-year-old popcorn machine functioned, I was enthralled by her and how much she knew about the place. There was a small kitchen behind the ballroom where I’d first encountered her and thought she was both batty and annoying. Still batty, but now I understood her a little better. It turned out the big room had hosted wedding receptions before and I mentioned the couple at the gazebo.
“Oh, yes, Laurie and Mitchell. They’re so sweet.”
Of course she knew them, and I listened to her chatter away as she took me through the projector room.
“That one’s digital,” she said in a hushed voice as if the people in the theater below us could hear. “But look at this.” She swung open a metal cabinet to reveal an old behemoth of a film projector. “I think we should display it once we get the renovations done. Don’t you think a little museum type area would be so great?”
Ah, it plucked at my heartstrings to see her talking like that, as if this place wasn’t a few weeks from being taken off life support.
“It would be,” I agreed, unable to burst her bubble.
I’d be safely back in New York when she finally realized the truth, and I wouldn’t have to see the fallout. Surprisingly, that thought didn’t make me feel better at all. It was much more of a shame that she’d be disappointed than the building getting torn down.
Next, we went down a hallway to a large dressing room. The walls were exposed, red brick and there were several curtained partitions still up where I could imagine actors getting changed in between scenes. A long, dusty mirror lined one wall, with a few vanity tables pushed to the side underneath it. Old photographs lined the far wall and Luna took my hand and pulled me over to them.
“This is of the cast of the first play they put on here, back in 1925,” she said.
I glanced at the faded picture of some costumed young people, then looked at her. I only had eyes for her reactions to these pictures, not much caring about the subjects themselves. She had a far off look on her face as we moved down the row and she explained how the local elementary school used to put on a Christmas play every year, with each grade doing either a song or a skit.
“This is my parent’s class when they were in sixth grade,” she said, first pointing out a young girl with dark curls like Luna’s, then a stone-faced boy with a buzz cut. She tugged me past a bunch of the pictures to stand proudly in front of a portrait of an older man with steel gray hair slicked back from a patrician forehead, shoulders ramrod straight, but a hint of a friendly smile on his face. I could see Luna in that slight smile.
“That’s your grandfather?” I guessed.
She nodded, pleased I’d seen a resemblance. “He bought this place from the family who owned it when my father was a kid. They went off to California to try and make it in the real movie industry. I used to help out around here when I was little.” She put air quotes around help. “I’m sure I was always in the way, but he never acted like it. He died when I was twelve and my parents got divorced the year after that. My dad couldn’t get out quick enough and unloaded the theater on the city for next to nothing.” She sighed deeply, staring into her grandad’s eyes. “They had pretty big plans for it and it was successful for a while, but then time passed, and Mayberry got the big multiplex a few years ago. The school hasn’t done a play in about six years. Everyone lost interest.”
“Except you,” I said, stepping closer, resisting the urge to put my arm around her. She looked so lost, and not just in thought.
She shook her head. “So much of my childhood was spent here. My mom used to run the projector with me in my car seat when I was a baby, and my dad used to let me scoop out the popcorn for people when I was around seven or eight. And all the Christmas plays. It felt so glamorous being here late at night, waiting behind the curtain for our turn to go on.” She blinked a few times as if dragging herself back to the present. “My family was happy here. I was happy here.”
“Sorry about your parents,” I said, giving up and pulling her close. “I’m lucky mine are still together.”
“Yeah, my dad’s down in Florida with his new family now. I haven’t seen him in about ten years. He just doesn’t care.”
