by G. A. Rael
Sure, it was safer for most people to carry a phone around at all times, but the constant fear that her father would somehow track her down made the idea of being off the grid incredibly appealing. Still, she had finally given in after coming to terms with the fact that if she truly wanted to start over, that meant living like a normal person, privacy-erasing technology and all. She had, however, refused to get a smartphone model in favor of a much more manageable flip phone.
The phone stopped ringing and a pre-recorded message picked up. Jordan waited for the sound of the beep only to receive a message telling her Darren's mailbox was full.
She sighed and slipped her phone back into her pocket. She hung her newly tailored costume in the closet and set about choosing an outfit for the evening. She settled on one of the shorter skirts she had picked out in town along with a fitted top and sweater. Her mother's voice rang shrilly in her mind as she examined her own reflection.
"Alyssa June Hurlow, you will not go up on that stage looking like a harlot," had been her exact words when Jordan had tried to get away with wearing blush to a tent revival service when she was eleven.
"But Mama," Jordan had protested. "Daisy wears it, too."
"The Good Lord'll strike Daisy Ford down before he uses her in the ministry like he uses you every night," her mother had replied with no small amount of pride. "Now, you go wash up and toss those paints in the trash while you're at it. And put on a shirt that don't make you look like a trussed-up pig. Your father wants to see you before the service starts."
Jordan shook her head in an attempt to chase the memory away. It had always seemed strange that sometimes she could hardly remember her past, and others the memories flowed freely, usually when she wanted them the least.
The phone rang, a welcome distraction. "Hello?"
"It's Darren," he said in that cool, gravelly voice that could belong to no one else. "I saw you called a little while ago."
"Yeah, I tried to leave a message but your answering machine was full," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
His husky laugh made warmth surge in the pit of her stomach. "I always forget to empty it. You know, you could just text me.”
“I could, but then I’d have to turn in my hipster card.”
He gave a dramatic sigh, but joking was usually enough to erase his suspicion whenever the quirks from her upbringing popped up. Surely he’d noticed the gaps in her knowledge of pop culture and other basic elements of modern life, and knowing that she’d grown up with fanatically religious parents couldn’t explain all of it. Sooner or later, she would have to admit that she’d been raised in a glorified cult, and that was the rosy part of her childhood, but for now, she just wanted to enjoy the only semblance of a normal life she’d ever had.
Despite what anyone said, normal was so underrated. It was heaven, and Jordan wasn’t ready to let it go any sooner than she had to. Even if it was a lie.
“Are we still on for tonight?” he asked.
“Sure are. I’m ready whenever you are."
"Great, I just finished up with my last patient. Give me about twenty minutes to get ready and I'll come pick you up."
"Are you sure? I could come to you."
"Nah, you're on the way out of town."
"Okay," she said, her heart skipping a beat in anticipation of visiting the city. It was their first official out of town date. Granted, Northampton wasn't so much a city as a collection of town squares from what she had heard, but it was certainly more exciting than Cold Creek. "See you soon."
"See ya."
The minutes seemed to stretch into hours, but Darren's car pulled up right on time. Jordan ran down the stairs, stopping when she saw Mrs. Herrin peeking out of her apartment. "You tell that boy he'd better not lose you in the city."
Jordan laughed. "I'm sure we'll find our way back, Mrs. Herrin. What are your plans for the evening?"
"Just watching my shows," she said, pulling her robe closer around her slouched shoulders. "That damn Dr. Chelsea keeps sabotaging things with that nice internist and I've got half a mind to send the writers an email telling them to knock it off."
Jordan pursed her lips to keep from laughing. She had learned the hard way that Mrs. Herrin took the professional and romantic exploits of the beautiful and fiercely independent Dr. Chelsea very seriously. “Well, maybe they need to hear it."
Mrs. Herrin glanced back into the apartment as the sound of the intro music filtered out from her living room. "Gotta go, the opening credits are on. Have fun, dear."
"You too, Mrs. Herrin. Don't worry, I won't be in too late," she said, opening the front door just as Darren arrived on the step.
"Hi, Julia," he said, nodding to the older woman.
"Can't talk now," Mrs. Herrin said with a dismissive wave before disappearing into her apartment.
Darren stared at the door and looked offended. "What's with her?"
"Dr. Chelsea is on," Jordan said, following him out the door.
"Ah," he said with a knowing head tilt. "That broad is just too damn sexy and independent for Dr. Manley to handle."
Jordan giggled, slipping into his car after he opened the door. "I had no idea you were a fan."
"I'm not, but before you got here I was the one she roped into Friday night viewing parties," he said, pulling out of the driveway.
"Believe it or not, I enjoy them."
He cast a doubtful glance her way as they traveled down the dirt road that led through the forest. "You don't seem like the soap opera type."
"I'm not," she admitted. "It's a bit risqué for my taste, but I like spending time with Mrs. Herrin. She's good company."
"She is," he agreed, turning down a road that made Jordan realize just how isolated Cold Creek was, surrounded by miles of nothing but forest on all sides. "When my parents died, she let me stay with her when I was home from college so I wouldn't have to be alone in the house. She gave me the apartment you're in, actually."
It took a moment for Jordan to recover from the shock that Darren was speaking so openly about his parents. "Really? That was kind of her."
"Yeah. Suffice it to say I owe her more than a weekly soap watching session."
"I'm sorry about your parents," she murmured, wondering if she should admit that she already knew they were gone. "Cindy said they were indispensable to the town."
"They were," he said, clearing his throat. "My mother especially. My father was the town doctor, but my mother was everything to everyone. Nurse, therapist, guardian angel. Hell, she even changed a few tires on the side of the road," he said with a fond laugh.
"She sounds amazing."
"She was," he said, glancing over at her. "She really would've liked you."
Jordan looked down at her hands. "That's a pretty big compliment."
"No, really," he insisted, turning onto the highway. "She was sort of a lapsed Catholic. She was into all that spiritual stuff, and it didn't matter if it came from Jesus, Buddha or the Dalai Lama himself."
"Really?" she asked, unable to hide her surprise.
"What you really want to ask is, 'How did someone like that raise such a crunchy atheist?'"
"Well," she said sheepishly, "I wouldn't put it quite like that."
"It's a valid question. Honestly, I guess her faith is part of the reason I lost mine, if I ever had it to begin with. The fact that someone like my mother, someone who had so much faith in the Higher Good and devoted her life to helping people, could just get blown away by some asshole who thought he could drive himself home from the bar kind of soured me on the idea of a benevolent universe. Even if there is a God, which I doubt, believing in him doesn't seem to count for much."
Jordan listened in silence, her heart aching for the man who was both a practical stranger and the closest friend she had ever known. "I'm so sorry, Darren." She knew the words weren't enough, but at the same time she couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't diminish his pain.
He shrugged. "I try not to jud
ge anyone else for their beliefs, but between my mother and my father, I'd say my dad had it right. He didn't expect anything from the world and at least I know he wasn't surprised by what he got in the end."
Jordan didn't know how to respond to that, either. Before she had the chance, he added, "Sorry, didn't mean to be such a downer."
"You're not," she murmured. "I'm just glad you felt like you could share that with me."
"You're easy to talk to."
The lights of the city came into view and Jordan leaned towards the window to get a better look. "It's beautiful."
He snorted. "It's Northampton, but I'm not sure I'd call it beautiful. I’m sure it’s like any other small city.”
"I lived in one briefly but I grew up in the country," she admitted. "My parents thought it was better to live in a rural setting."
"Ah. Avoiding the temptations of the big city," he said dryly.
"Something like that," she said, leaning to watch the buildings as they passed. There were restaurants and bars with brightly lit signs, apartment buildings as tall as they were narrow all lined up in a row, and people moving around shielded by big black umbrellas. The lightly falling rain made all the lights glisten off the pavement, casting a surreal glow on the bustling little city.
Darren pulled into the theater parking lot and came around for her door, holding an umbrella that was more than big enough for the both of them. "Hope you don't mind if we eat after the movie. It's a pretty limited showing."
"I don't mind at all," she said, trying to contain her excitement as they headed towards the theater. "What are we seeing?"
"It's an old movie, but I think you'll like it," he said cryptically, leading her towards a glass booth in front of the theater. He took out his phone and flashed what looked like a barcode on the screen to the boy behind the booth. The ticket salesman scanned his phone and it beeped just like the grocery store register. Jordan's eyes widened as Darren ushered her into the theater so the next person could take their place in line.
"But we didn't pay," she said, confused.
He laughed. "I bought the tickets earlier with an app. One of the many wonderful things you can do when your phone has a screen instead of buttons."
She wrinkled her nose distastefully. “I like my buttons.”
"Wait here and I'll get us some snacks," he said. "What do you like?"
"Whatever you want, I'm not picky.”
He gave her a strange look. "Don't tell me you don't have a favorite snack at the movies."
She looked at him blankly and the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her answer.
Darren frowned. "Wait. Jordan, have you ever been to the movies?"
"Well, my parents--"
"Not wholesome enough," he muttered. "Right. Okay, wait here and I'm gonna fix this travesty," he said, walking over to the refreshment counter before she could argue. A few minutes later, he came back with a giant tub of popcorn, a tray of soda and a bag full of candy boxes.
Jordan's eyes widened, rushing to take the soda from him. "What did you do, buy everything they had?"
"Hey, you won't know what you like until you try everything," he said, leading her down the hall towards the theater. "Quite frankly, as a red-blooded American citizen I simply can't date anyone who hasn't indulged in the pastime of stuffing your face with overpriced movie candy and stale popcorn. It's downright unpatriotic."
She giggled at his sanctimonious tone. "Well, I wouldn't want to come between a man and his country."
Once they were in the theater, Jordan realized that the line of people outside hadn't been waiting for whatever showing they were attending. The commercials had already started, but they weren't for any of the upcoming films she had seen advertised between Mrs. Herrin's shows. She followed Darren down an aisle toward the center of the theater and sat down, helping him arrange the array of snacks he'd bought.
"We're never going to finish all of this," she said worriedly.
"'Life is a journey, not a destination,'" said Darren, tossing a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
"Emerson?" she laughed.
"Ah, so you were allowed some secular influence in that convent," he teased.
"I may have sneaked some books out of my father's library a time or two," she admitted, watching the screen as the commercials disappeared and it went black. "What are we watching?"
"Shh, it's starting," he said in mock severity, holding a finger to his lips even though they were the only ones in the theater.
Jordan's curiosity faded into excitement as she recognized the red credit text overlaid on footage of a series of brick apartment buildings seen through an all too familiar window. "Rear Window? It can't still be playing," she whispered.
He laughed. "This theater brings back the classics every now and again. I thought you might like the chance to see it on the big screen after I fell asleep on you.”
"But it's so old," she said, looking around. "No one else is here."
His silence fueled her fast-growing suspicions.
"Darren, did you--?"
"I may have put in a suggestion with the owner," he admitted reluctantly, "whom I may or may not have gone to college with."
Jordan let out a gleeful squeak and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him hard on the cheek.
"Whoa, easy," he laughed. "I almost got a lap full of soda."
"This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," she said, gazing at him.
"That's a shame," he said, cupping her cheek in his hand. "You deserve a hell of a lot more than this."
As Darren leaned in, Jordan felt sure he was going to kiss her, but a shadow passing over the screen drew their attention. The tall man wore a hoodie that he left in place as he took a seat towards the front of the theater.
"Guess you're not the only one with a taste for the classics," Darren said, clearly irritated by the other man’s presence. He draped an arm around Jordan’s shoulder and settled in to watch. Jordan watched the screen but couldn't keep from glancing down at the stranger every now and then. Soon enough, he faded into the background as she became enraptured in the film she knew well enough to silently mouth the lines to her favorite scenes.
Darren was right. Watching it on the big screen really was something else.
Jordan had nearly forgotten about the man in the front until he rose from his seat a few minutes away from the ending. It was impossible to make out his features in the dark and he moved so quickly that he was gone before she could really try.
“Must not have liked where it was headed,” Darren mused.
“Yeah, maybe,” Jordan murmured, struggling to return her focus to the screen. She was still on edge after the only other occupant's quick exit, so she jolted when Darren's hand crept up her thigh.
“Darren,” she laughed breathily as his hand slipped between her legs.
“Making out in a dark empty theater as the credits roll is an American pastime in and of itself,” he purred, pressing his lips against her neck. When he started stroking her through the thin fabric of her panties, Jordan found herself squirming for more. She glanced behind her just to triple check that they truly were alone, but Darren’s touch was making it hard to care.
“We're in public,” she whispered.
“No one's around and it's dark,” he reminded her, slipping a finger past the cotton of her panties. His lips claimed hers and when his tongue slipped into her mouth, all the thoughts of decency fled her. She moaned softly as he swept a finger along her slit before slipping it inside. It hurt a little, but the way it felt when it moved inside of her more than made up for the pain.
It was a bit unnerving that Darren seemed to know her body and the sensations it was capable of better than she did, but mostly it was mesmerizing. His kiss was hard and searching and while Jordan wasn't entirely sure what it was that he was seeking, every inch of her wanted to give it to him.
A familiar warmth began to surge inside of her, mounting with every expert stroke of his finge
r. Her legs trembled as he held her and pressed against the strange spot inside of her he had awakened with more fervor until she tensed violently and a whirlwind of pleasure swept over her. She gasped but he kissed her before she could give them away.
He slipped his hand from underneath her skirt and gazed down at her with that familiar look of satisfaction and arousal. That look was capable of doing almost as much to her as his touch. If he had asked her to leave the theater then and there to go to a hotel, Jordan knew what her answer would have been.
Instead, he draped an arm around her and put up the arm rest so she could nestle against his side. Jordan struggled to catch her breath and refocus on the movie, but it was a lost cause. As the credits continued to roll, Darren started cleaning up the empty containers, most of them his. Jordan had been right that they couldn't finish it all but was alarmed by how much they had. "We're leaving?"
"Well, yeah," he said, giving her a confused look. "It's just the credits."
"Oh."
He laughed. "This movie is more than sixty years old, I think we'd know by now if there was a secret ending."
"It's not that. It's just, look how many names there are," she said, glancing at the scrolling text. "Each one of those people worked so hard. Most of them didn't even get to appear on screen. Maybe it was the best thing they ever did, and the only recognition they get for it is their name flashing up on screen for a second after everyone has already left."
Darren returned to his seat, frowning. "When you put it that way, I kind of feel like an asshole. Didn’t you miss half of them anyway?“
She laughed a little. “I just try to pick one name anyway, and it’s usually toward the end.”
"One person, huh? And then what?"
She shrugged. "I just think about how hard they must have worked and what they might have done that the movie wouldn't have been the same without."
He snorted. "Alright, I'll give it a try. Who'd you pick this time?"
Jordan leaned forward, pushing up her glasses. "Bill Lang, Background Visuals. Maybe he's the one who decided the floor should be checkered. Maybe it even inspired the patterns in Vertigo."