Chapter 1-2
825 Words
“So do I get to hear what the big deal is about this theater, or do I have to get you drunk and tickle it out of you?”
Marjorie’s light tone cut through his reverie, the same fog-state he’d been in ever since Corrine had left them at the soundstage. Dinner was done and gone, but John had little memory of what he ate or might have said to her while he did so. Now, he sat in the front seat of the Cadillac she refused to give up, his head tilted toward the window, staring at his own reflection as she drove him home.
“It’s in Shakersville,” he replied without tearing his gaze away from the emptiness flashing past.
“And you don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t even want to think about it.” Except it was too late for that, wasn’t it? That was all he’d done since seeing the letter. He shot her an apologetic smile. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you?”
She sighed. In the silvery light streaming in from the streetlights, she looked her age, as tired as he felt at the moment, as world-weary. “I hate seeing you so sad. We’ve known each other how many years now? Twenty? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Her wince was audible. “Of all the things you could remember.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, this might be the first time since we met I haven’t been able to drag you out of a funk. Which means I’m either losing my touch, or this is something very serious.” Winking, she added in her best Julie Andrews accent, “And we both know I’m practically perfect in every way.”
John couldn’t help but laugh. Though it did little to dispel his mood, it helped to loosen his hold on the memories that had plagued him for the past four hours. “Considering I threw up in your mums the last time you tried tickling me when I was drunk, I suppose it’s better for both of us if I just spill.”
“Better for my flower beds, too. And I’m sure my gardener would appreciate it as well.”
He took a deep breath. He hadn’t mentioned The Crown out loud to anyone in over half a century. Christ, was he really that old? How could that be when it felt like it had all just happened yesterday?
“Once upon a time, in a world this one’s nearly forgotten ever existed, that theater was one of only two things that kept me from completely losing it. I loved it to pieces.”
“So why aren’t you more excited that this woman restored it?”
“Because I thought it’d been destroyed ages ago. I preferred it that way. It was easier.”
“Easier than what?”
His eyeballs suddenly ached. He rubbed at them hard, unsurprised by the slight moisture his fingers made contact with. “Remembering that the other thing that kept me sane was gone, too.”
“Oh, John…” She reached across the chasm between them and found his hand, squeezing in sympathy. “We’ve all lost things we loved. You have to let it go.”
“I did. I have. That Eaker woman is the one who dredged it all up again.”
“Maybe that’s good, though. It’s making you face it. You never did that before, did you?”
“You haven’t even heard the story yet, and you’re already psychoanalyzing me?”
“No, just…” Giving his fingers one last squeeze, she let him go and settled back to driving with both hands determinedly on the wheel. “I’ll shut up. You tell me what you want to.”
Neither one of them believed for a second she wouldn’t interject at some point, but he appreciated her efforts to at least try. “The Crown was the only movie theater Shakersville had. The community was small, a few hundred people at most, but so were all of the towns around us. Since Shakersville pretty much sat in the middle, we were the lucky ones who got the theater. If you wanted to go to the pictures, you went to The Crown.”
“Is that where you fell in love with acting?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “We’d save up our money and go every weekend. And when we ran out of money, we’d sneak in.” In spite of the ache in his heart, the corner of his mouth quirked upward. “The very first movie I ever saw was one we snuck into because we lost our money in a marble game the day before. The Fighting Seabees. You remember that one?”
“How could I forget? John Wayne, Susan Hayward. She was lovely, wasn’t she? Though I suppose you were more into John Wayne.”
“Not me. Give me Cary Grant any day. No, Frank was the Wayne fan. He dragged me to all his movies, even the awful ones. Usually more than once.”
Marjorie’s tone grew cautious. “Frank? Who’s he?”
“Frank Hanson.” And then there he was, right in his mind’s eye, as bright and beautiful as he’d always been. Taller than John, never had to worry about his weight, with a twinkle in his blue eyes and a dimple in his cheek to give Shirley Temple a run for her money. A smile for everyone, and then the special one he held in reserve for John. Most of the time. “He was my best friend growing up. He’s what made living in that hellhole worth it.”
Frank and The Crown. The two were indelibly linked for John. The best and worst of his youth.
So how was he supposed to face one without the other?
- Writer
