And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 70: Charlie, the American

I usually don't like watching films alone.

Sometimes I do, though, when I need a little time to myself. I could smuggle some chocolate into the theater using my coat pocket and find a cozy corner against a wall. But The Parent Trap was going to be shown in theaters tomorrow, July 21st, and I didn't want to watch this type of film alone.

John was a sure bet to go with before we had broken up. Blimey, I loved watching films with him because he loved watching films and I loved watching him enjoy the film as well as watch the film itself. We would go to the theater and find a good seat, normally against a wall somewhere in a private corner where we could make the room seem as small as possible to fit just the two of us. If the film wasn't good we would neck, feeling simultaneously private and public in the dark space filled with people, but I always enjoyed going with him. He was my go-to film partner. Well, for this film I was going to have to find another go-to film partner, I thought with a pang of sadness.

Martin agreed to go with me in the end. I had called him and we had chatted for a bit, and then I asked him brusquely if he wanted to see The Parent Trap. I could feel him hesitate, but he must have noted the shifting tones in my voice because he said to meet him at the theater in half an hour.

"The film was amusing," I told him after the film as we sipped drinks inside a large restaurant. The owner didn't do anything to hide his annoyance as we stepped in fifteen minutes before closing time but Martin, looking sharp as usual had wordlessly requested a table for two.

"The ending was amusing, but it was expected," he commented.

"Well, what else were they supposed to do?"

"I liked Psycho," he said dryly, knitting his eyebrows, which pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "It had an open ending."

I nodded. A member of the wait staff came round with a broom and dustpan and started poking under tables and chairs with the instruments. "When are you going to come see our shows?"

The right corner of his mouth turned upwards. "Hmm. Rock and Roll."

"Rock and Roll," I imitated him. "You know, there aren't a lot of differences between rock and roll and your classical music."

"Oh?" he asked and reached for the cookie that came with his drink. "Like what?"

"Both have secondary dominants," I pointed out. "Till There was You. Diminished chords and the like. You know, a lot of rock n' roll musicians were probably directly or indirectly influenced by musicians like Chopin and Ravel."

He pondered this. "I don't want to admit you're right. So... I'll just leave it open."

"Martin!" I said. "You know I'm right." Smiling, I shook my head. The waiter came round again with the broom, giving us a look like We're going to close soon, and I'd like to get home. "Please, please say you'll come tomorrow," I told him, ignoring the waiter's body language for a minute. "It'll be so fun. You can analyze the music if you'd like."

Martin stood, pushing in his chair and putting his spoon gently against the side of his glass. "You know what? Maybe I'll go. Maybe you'll see me there. I'll be the one calling out 'Five seven of Four'."

"Walk me to the bus stop, five-seven-of-four."

***

"And now..." George mock-announced, putting the beer bottle close to his lips in an impersonation of a microphone, tilting his head and giving us his best smirk. "Welcome back to the Ed Sullivan Show! We have with us today," he roared, stealing a swipe of drink from his microphone, "Elvis... and...and..."