Movieland

Chapter 5

Frankie sucked popcorn off the movie theater auditorium floor with a vacuum that sounded as tired as he looked. He wore black pants and a black long-sleeve button up with a gold vest embroidered with a cursive Lyric Cinema. His gold bow tie took us an entire weekend to figure out when he got the job three years ago.

"So," he said," Quick recap for those at home and for me because I've been telling you for years: Carolina finally lost it because you spent the last, what, six years stringing her along like a puppy with a stick of jerky?"

"She didn't lose it," I clarified, trailing behind him, picking up candy wrappers and the occasional smuggled bottle of water.

"Of course, she didn't lose it. Carolina doesn't lose it. She's the bleeping Katie Holmes of this town. You pushed her too far, Max."

"The thing is," I started.

"You're not still holding onto that." He dumped a half-eaten popcorn tub into a trash can.

"You weren't there. You didn't see her reaction. Frankie, you've watched Singin' in the Rain. It's not just a musical. It's a film about film. About history. About progression. About love. And yes, a musical. The best musical. And she yawned eight times. Eight! I counted after the second one. And do you know what she said when it ended? Not even after the credits, because we know those weren't playing through without comment. Do you know what she said?"

He brushed the final stray kernels off a seat back and posed like Carolina, which was two fingers at his temple. "I understand your admiration. The 'Good Morning' song was fun. It just didn't do it for me."

I dropped onto the seat he had just cleaned. "Didn't do it for me! Who says that? Didn't do it for me. I understand you like Frattelli's pizza, but it just doesn't do it for me. You know what just doesn't do it for me?"

He unplugged the vacuum and wound the cord over his arm. "What's that?"

I hesitated, not quick enough for a comeback to my own joke. I needed a scriptwriter. "I don't know."

"This is grade school stuff. Admit you like her. Maybe--" he gasped "--tell her you like her. Or else this weekend I'm enacting Rom Com Protocol."

"You say that like it's a punishment."

"This time we're starting with Gigli."

"Yeah, yeah," I murmured, moving back down the aisle to retrieve a Sour Patch box. I shook it. "Who leaves one Sour Patch? You want it?"

He shook his head. I dumped the abandoned candy into my palm and enjoyed the sour sweetness.

He continued cleaning. The theater was his second job, although he'd already worked up to assistant manager. His first job was weekends at Glik's Pet Store. His mom couldn't work. He went to school and then worked to keep the lights on and food on the table.

I tagged along for moral support. And for the free movies.

"By the way," Frankie said, "The other day Peter mentioned that we should all hang out one more time before we graduate. Get the Friday night movie crew together again."

I barked before I could think, "Why are you still talking to him?"

Frankie cared too much. He saw my anger and rather than side with me, he sided with the past. "I agree with him. I miss those days. The four of us arguing over who got to use that ratty old blanket. That platter with three sections: one for salsa, one for nacho cheese, and one for nacho cheese mixed with salsa. How many movies did we watch in this theater alone? Then he moves like eight miles, and it stops? That's stupid."