Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee

by Jeff Zentner

  * * *

  •••

  I’m still too amped up to sleep, and it doesn’t help when Lawson texts me.

  Lawson: Thanks again for the “pancakes.”

  Me: I guess “pancakes” are my favorite food now too.

  Lawson: Your “pancakes” are the best I’ve ever had.

  Me: I should make you “pancakes” again soon.

  I lie and stare at the ceiling, ignoring the show that burbles from my laptop speakers, and feel him fade from my lips. My whole body is still crackling like a bonfire.

  I keep running through the last part of Delia’s and my text conversation. Before we started talking about the movie. A different feeling is beginning to creep through the euphoria and is winding itself around my stomach (like one of those pythons that apparently now infest the Everglades). I guess Lawson is staying in Jackson. That sucks. That’s another thing to think about. I’d love it if I could avoid making my own life more complicated than it needs to be.

  Dear Dad,

  Yeah, I called you Dad. You don’t know this, but I’ve struggled for a while with what to call you. Sounds like you struggled a bit with that yourself. But I’m calling you Dad because you did in fact make me, so you’re my dad no matter what. I guess I could call you “Father,” but that makes me sound like I’m a hedgehog on some gently whimsical and badly drawn European kids’ show.

  Anyway, graduation was last night. You also wouldn’t know this, but graduating from high school wasn’t a given for me. Mom was there. She looked great in her new dress. My friend Jesmyn and her boyfriend, Carver, drove down from Nashville to be there.

  When I walked across that stage, it felt amazing to have finished something. It felt good that I didn’t quit and run away when things were hard.

  Afterward, Jesmyn, Carver, my best friend Josie, her boyfriend Lawson, and I went back to our house. We talked and laughed until it got really late.

  We watched one of your movies, The House on Haunted Hill. Jesmyn and Carver helped Josie and me get ready for our show. I guess now is a good time to mention that I have a show on TV Six here in Jackson. It’s called Midnite Matinee. I’m a real-life horror host. Just like we used to watch together. My show’s even syndicated in a bunch of cities. But not yours.

  We taped the show tonight, actually. We roped Jesmyn and Carver into it. Jesmyn is an amazing piano player, and she performed this creepy Bach song on her keyboard with the organ sound effect. We made Carver and Lawson dance. They’re both terrible.

  Afterward, Carver asked why we don’t do our show on YouTube. I guess he had a friend who was big on YouTube. I told him that Josie wants to work in TV someday. I said I was specifically interested in TV because I grew up watching TV horror hosts. I didn’t tell him that you introduced me to them and then I watched your tapes after you left.

  But the real reason we did public access and not YouTube is I’d figured you didn’t watch YouTube. You left me hundreds of VHS tapes written on with black Sharpie. I don’t think you’re a YouTube guy. I wanted you to be flipping through channels one night and see me there on your TV. And I wanted you to be proud of me and regret leaving me.

  Boy, is the way I feel about you complicated. I love you for all the things you did. And I hate you for the one thing you didn’t do, which was stay.

  Carver and I somehow got on the subject of losing people. His three best friends died right before he started senior year, so I guess he thinks about it a lot. I do too. I didn’t say this, but I think it might be harder to lose someone the way I lost you because you chose to be dead to me. Even though you’re out there alive somewhere, living a new chapter of your life.

  I wonder a lot how and why. How you left so much of yourself behind all at once. Why you did.

  Next week we’re going to ShiverCon in Orlando, and we’re going to meet Jack Divine. He produced and directed SkeleTonya back in the day. I’ve watched all your SkeleTonya tapes. We’re hoping he can help us make the show bigger. I’m scared if we can’t make the show bigger, Josie will leave to pursue her goal of being on TV professionally. Another person leaving me behind.

  And while we’re in Orlando, maybe I’ll be brave enough to drive to your city and show up on your front porch and ask you why you left. Maybe I’ll figure out what’s wrong with me that you were able to leave me behind so easily and never look back.

  I look a lot different now. Hope you recognize me.

  Your daughter,

  Delia

  By the end I’m crying so hard I have a hard time seeing the screen. I guide the cursor over the “send” button. I sit and chew on my thumbnail. I take lots of deep, trembling breaths.

  I delete.

  “I have some issues with the name Books-A-Million,” I say.

  Lawson holds the door of Books-A-Million open for me. It feels like walking into a cavern, from the floral late-May heat. “Why?” Lawson asks.

  “Because it’s supposed to be a play on the phrase ‘thanks a million,’ but ‘books’ doesn’t sound like ‘thanks.’ ”

  “Maybe.”

  “No. Definitely. What other ‘blank a million’ phrase have you ever heard?”

  Lawson ponders.

  “I see you thinking,” I say. “Stop wasting your energy and admit I’m right.”

  “ ‘Banks’ sounds like ‘thanks.’ You could name a bank ‘Banks-A-Million.’ ”

  “Meh.”

  “Come on. It’s perfect! Million, like how banks have millions of dollars.”

  “Yeah, no, I definitely got it. Okay, one, I would never trust my money to a banking institution that used a pun name. Two, each bank is just one bank. At least at Books-A-Million there are lots of books. Multiple books.”

  “There are lots of dollars at banks. Millions.”

  “But no synonym for ‘dollars’ rhymes with ‘thanks.’ ”

  Lawson deftly dodges a table that snuck up on him while he was listening to me talk. “You are tough to win over.”

  “The way it should be. You see the book you want?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do they have it?”

  “I guess it’s possible Books-A-Million decided not to carry the new G. M. Pennington Bloodfall prequel because they’re tired of making money.”

  “Oh ho ho! Is that sarcasm I detect? Huh? Comedian?” I start poking him in the ribs. “You a funny guy?”

  He giggles and fends me off. “Stop. That tickles.”

  “Clever guy?” Poke poke.

  He grabs my hands and spins me around and pulls me backward into him. “Maybe,” he murmurs into the side of my neck, dragging his scratchy jaw down it. It gives me the same feeling as jumping a little higher on a trampoline than you expected to.

  I pull away from him, not because I particularly want to, but because I don’t want to be “that couple” at a bookstore. “What about a fight gym called Spanks-A-Million?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know. Spanking. Fighting.”

  “Spanking’s not a form of fighting. There’s no spanking in MMA.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “I would know.”

  “Then how come when I went to your fight, one of the fights ended in an absolutely devastating spanking?”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not. One fighter put the other fighter over his knee and spanked him until he cried and said he wanted to stop fighting.”

  “How’d I miss that?”

  “Same way you missed this.” I turn around slowly, holding his book like a game show host.

  His face gleams. “Yes!” He reaches for it. I pull it away. He reaches again. I pull away. He stands with his arms at his sides, looking crestfallen in the way of someone whose spoon fell into their soup. I extend the book to him. He
reaches for it. I pull it away and boop him on the head with it.

  “Too slow.”

  He feigns deep sadness and turns, his shoulders slumped.

  “Awwww, here.” I come around in front of him and hand him the book. We laugh. When he takes the book, our hands touch and he lingers for a beat or two longer than necessary.

  We stroll the aisles, browsing. This is our first bookstore date, and I’m deeply enjoying the look on Lawson’s face. There’s an unguarded softness to it. He keeps turning his (extremely thick) book over and over in his hands. Where did you come from, you surprising boy? How did this happen?

  “Where do you think Bermuda is, by the way?” I ask.

  He looks at me like I asked him if we should drop our pants and start pulling books off the shelves using our butt cheeks. “Bermuda?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Random.”

  “Just guess.”

  He goes for his phone. I grab his hand. “No cheating.”

  “Uh. Like by the Bahamas.”

  “Nope.”

  “By Jamaica.”

  “Nopers.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s seriously no place on earth that’s less where you think it is than Bermuda.”

  “Can I cheat already?”

  “Now you can.”

  He gets out his phone and looks. “What?!”

  “I know.”

  “It’s like in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “I know!”

  “It’s basically on the same longitude or latitude or whatever as North Carolina.”

  “Yep.”

  “That blows my mind.”

  “The world is a magical place, dude.” Filled with things you weren’t expecting.

  I pull a book with an interesting cover off the shelf and leaf through it.

  “You wanna get something for your drive this weekend?” Lawson asks. “Orlando’s far.”

  “Nah, Delia and I’ll talk and listen to music.”

  “What is it you’re doing down there again?”

  “Going to ShiverCon. Meeting with this big TV producer and director named Jack Divine.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “I hope so.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sounded sad there.”

  “No.” Every time I think about what’s at stake from this meeting, it makes me nervous and sad. I guess my voice betrayed me.

  “So this TV guy might make you guys big time?”

  “Hopefully. Or at least bigger than we are now.”

  “I hope you’ll still let me on the show to break boards even if you become huge.”

  “I mean, obviously.”

  We meander through the store. We aren’t even looking at books anymore. We’re just being together. Our hands brush and we smile at each other, maybe each thinking the other did it on purpose.

  “Do you…wanna come?” I blurt out. Hey, mouth, check in with brain first next time?

  He turns to me with a look of pleased incredulity. “What, like, to the con? In Orlando?”

  “If it’s okay with Delia. I gotta check with her. But yeah.”

  “Where would I stay?”

  “Delia’s mom got us a hotel room. You could stay there with us.” My heart churns in my chest like a turbulent spot in a river. I’m sweetly adrenaline-sick in my lower belly. “If your parents would be down. It’d be totally innocent.”

  “Yeaaaah, my mom’s religious enough that she might not be down.”

  “She left us alone in your room with the door closed.”

  “True, but I guarantee she thought there’d be no way I’d want to get romantic right after I lost a fight.”

  “Get romantic? That phrase stresses me out so much.”

  “Whatever. Insert any phrase you want.” Before I can speak, he sees how he left himself open. He raises a finger. “Don’t.”

  “What? I wasn’t gonna.” (I absolutely was gonna.)

  “You were gonna.” Lawson appears to be running calculations. “I could tell my parents I’m going to a training workshop in Orlando and staying with some other fighters.”

  “It’d be nice to have some muscle. I’ve heard cons aren’t always cool places for women.”

  “So, like, your bodyguard.”

  “Basically.”

  “Who you’re having an affair with.”

  “Gross!”

  “Too far?”

  “Just.”

  “Your bodyguard who you kiss.”

  “I’ll reluctantly allow that. So?”

  “So.”

  “You wanna come?”

  “Hell yeah, I do. If Delia’s cool with it.”

  “Drop me by her work on our way back and I’ll ask her.”

  We pay for Lawson’s book and walk out of the cool of the store into the sultry dusk heat of the parking lot. It smells like warm tar and french fries. The sun is setting orange in the pollen-hazed sky.

  Lawson suddenly falls quiet. The sort of silent that calls out, that demands an explanation.

  “What?” I pinch at his arm playfully.

  He smiles a little, wistfully, and shakes his head.

  “Come on! What?”

  Same smile, still looking away from me. “There’s something I want to tell you, but you can’t joke.”

  He has a vulnerable timbre in his voice. Things are going great between us, but it’s way early for him to be telling me he loves me. I’m definitely not ready to hear it or say it. My heart quickens. “Okay.” Fingers crossed it’s not that.

  He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for a punch. “I’ve never had someone I could go to the bookstore with. My brothers used to give me tons of grief for loving to read, and I guess I didn’t have the right friends? Anyway.” He looks at me and back down. “It’s good when your life starts turning out how you want it to. When you get the right people in it.”

  I’m deeply relieved not to be dealing with a premature I love you. I measure my response carefully, making sure there’s no hint of teasing. I don’t say anything for a second but grip his biceps and rest my head on his shoulder as we walk. He rests his head on mine. He smells like icy, clean, neon-blue deodorant.

  Finally, I say, “I’ve had boyfriends who liked to go to the bookstore, but mostly so they could pretend to be smarter than me and brag about all the Kurt Vonnegut and Charles Bukowski they’ve read.”

  “Who and who?”

  “You can’t imagine what a relief that question is.”

  “No guy who tries to make you feel dumb deserves you.”

  “Extremely agree.”

  “Bet I can plank longer than any of them.” Lawson plays it as a joke, but there’s a territorial edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before, and I like it.

  “And isn’t that what really counts?”

  We reach Lawson’s truck, and he comes around to open my door for me. I lean back against it. The metal’s warm on my skin through my sundress. I reach out and gently take Lawson’s book and hold it away from him. “Keep away. You gotta kiss me if you want it.”

  He smiles, puts one hand on my hip and one hand on the book, and presses into me. It makes me ache.

  “Oh no, anything but that,” he says softly, leaning in.

  And now we’re “that couple” in the parking lot, but who cares?

  Here’s what it feels like: he’s the first days of summer, when I would play outside until my heart pounded with hot blood and sweat plastered my hair to my face and I’d come inside and watch TV and sit by the air conditioner and eat lemonade popsicles so tart they’d make tiny beads of sweat
well up on my eyelids.

  And while we’re kissing, sweet melancholy wells inside me. The kind you get when you’re already reaching the end of a beginning.

  I don’t want to grow up.

  I want to keep living in this moment forever. With Lawson. With Delia. Take the hourglass and lay it on its side.

  “I still can’t believe where Bermuda is,” Lawson says, pausing the kissing.

  I’m about to say, “I know, right?” But his lips are back on mine before I get the chance, and it doesn’t seem that important anymore to say anything, even if I could.

  “You’re depraved,” my boss Trish says. She takes another bite of baked potato.

  “Am I, though? Baked potatoes taste like wet toilet paper rolled up in a wet paper bag. They taste like a hot mop,” I say.

  “False. Put some butter and cheese and sour cream and bacon bits on one and get back to me.”

  “Like, if you’re going to bury a hot lump of mud-flavored white starch in twenty delicious things, sure, maybe you can choke it down.”

  “I should fire you right now.”

  “But look how efficient I am.” I lean against the shelf I’ve just finished inventorying.

  “Are you seriously done already?”

  “Yep.”

  Trish eyes the calendar. “So you’re gone this weekend.”

  “Correct. ShiverCon.”

  “Fun. You back by Monday morning?”

  “Can be.”

  “Good, I’ll need you.”

  I give her a thumbs-up.

  “Okay, I can finish up here if you wanna clock out,” Trish says.

  “I’m gonna hang out for a bit. Josie texted me and said she’s getting dropped off here, and I’m giving her a ride home.”

  Trish takes another bite of baked potato and talks around it. “Some good stuff maybe gonna happen for your show from going to this con?” Trish watches us sometimes. It’s one reason she hired me.

  “I heard back from Jack Divine’s assistant. We’re meeting him Saturday afternoon.”

  “I spent many a drunk Saturday night in college watching SkeleTonya with my roommates. You gonna quit on me if you get big?”