by Mari Madison
Okay, fine, that was definitely it.
When we’d first arrived at the theater I’d assumed it would be no big deal. We’d sit down, watch the movie, and we’d go on our merry ways. But I hadn’t taken into account the way my traitorous body would react when Troy sat down beside me—sending me into an instant tailspin, my skin practically humming from his nearness, goosebumps breaking out up and down my arms. At one point, when his right thigh accidentally brushed mine as he moved to get comfortable I was pretty sure I was going to spontaneously combust on the spot.
It had been five years, but clearly my body had a great memory. And I found it nearly impossible to concentrate on the film while my mind was hell-bent on rolling flashback reels of our shared past through my brain. I would catch a glimpse of his hands and remember how they used to rove over my body. See his mouth and be reminded of how it was never content to leave one inch of me unexplored. And how could I forget the one time we’d actually gone to the movies together—and we’d been the only ones in the theater? Let’s just say I’m still not certain what that particular film was about.
I watched now as he tapped a finger to his chin. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I was born an overly intelligent man. Because I’m pretty sure I lost a measurable amount of brain cells in the last two hours, just from sitting in the theater.”
I started to laugh, then sobered as I caught a couple of the studio PR people lingering outside the theater, handing out press packets.
“I mean seriously,” Troy continued, “I’d say it was a train wreck, but that would be an insult to trains.”
“Shh,” I scolded, poking him in the arm. “Keep your voice down!”
“Why?”
I gestured around the parking lot. “Uh, because we’re still standing amongst the people who made the movie?”
He followed my gaze then shrugged. “So? I thought the whole point of this was for us to tell people what we thought. We are doing a film review segment, right? Which requires, I assumed, us to review the film? I’m just practicing in advance.”
I sighed. “Yes, yes. Of course. And you can. But you have to remember these companies are also our advertisers. So maybe try to be a little more . . . diplomatic with your criticism?”
“Wait one second.” Troy stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at me. “Are you saying I can’t say the film sucks—for fear of pissing off advertisers?”
“Of course not. I’m just saying when it comes to reviews you need to think glass half-full,” I explained. “For example, saying, ‘the plot didn’t exactly work for me,’ is nicer than saying ‘the plot had so many holes it resembled Swiss cheese.’”
“Please. Swiss cheese is delicious. This film made me want to throw up a little in my mouth.”
I groaned, shaking my head.
He held up his hands in innocence. “Okay, okay! Positive! Right.” His mouth quirked to a mischievous grin. He cleared his throat. “Swiss cheese lovers unite!” he declared in an overly dramatic movie-announcer-style voice. “This is the film you’ve been waiting for. So holey, it’ll make your favorite fromage feel frumpy!”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “I’m not sure that’s any better.”
“Okay, okay. How about this?” he asked, obviously now on a roll. “Sick of always feeling like the smartest person in the room? Then you’ll definitely want to catch this film. Guaranteed to make your friends seem like little Einsteins in comparison.”
I laughed. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Now save the rest for your review!”
We reached my car and I slipped into the driver’s seat, Troy getting in beside me. I reached down to activate the convertible top, then pulled out of the parking space. I glanced over, surprised to see him writing something down into his Moleskine notebook.
“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.
He looked up. “Just taking some notes for my review. It was hard to write anything when I was in the theater, it was so dark. But I didn’t want to wait too long and forget what I wanted to say.”
I nodded, feeling an unexpected rush of appreciation whoosh through me. He was living up to his promise to me to take the job seriously—even if the film itself was a joke. Which, to be honest, was even hotter than his six-pack abs.
I watched for a moment before pulling out onto the street. The way his eyelashes swept across his cheeks as he intently scribbled on the page. The way his mouth set into a firm line, as I remembered it used to always do when he was concentrating.
Oh God. I swallowed hard as my body unnecessarily started to rev its engines all over again. Calm down, girl. We are coworkers. Nothing more than coworkers.
And . . . maybe, possibly friends?
“Look,” I said, after he finished his notes and put the notebook away. “I was thinking . . .”
He glanced over at me. “Yes?”
“If you wanted to see some real movies. . . . There’s this big film noir thing happening this weekend. Four films each afternoon, many of them rare prints from the foundation’s private collection that haven’t been publically shown in decades.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting. Are you going?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got an all-weekend pass. It’s just for fun, though. Not something I’m covering for News 9.”
“Yeah, no advertising bucks in old movies, I’m guessing.”
“Not exactly. But a nice palate cleanser after digesting the Hollywood trash buffet all week.”
“Makes sense.” His eyes zeroed in on me. “Who are you going with?”
I kept my eyes glued to the road, feeling my face suddenly flush. Oh right. Of course he would ask me that. Problem was, I didn’t have a good answer.
“I was . . . uh, thinking of taking Ben,” I stammered, my heart fluttering in my chest. When I had started explaining this, I hadn’t meant it to sound like I was asking Troy on a date. “He loves all those old movies.”
Troy’s mouth quirked. “Of course he does.”
I sighed. Ben and Troy had met briefly on his first day. And let’s just say it hadn’t gone too well. And by hadn’t gone too well I mean it was amazing Troy had the patience not to punch Ben in the face. I tried to explain to him later where Ben was coming from. How disappointed he was that he didn’t get the He Said, She Said job. That he was really a good guy, despite his open hostility to Troy, and was sure to come around in the end. Troy, at least, seemed to accept this.
My talk with Ben, on the other hand, didn’t go quite so well. And so I’d ended up blurting out the only consolation prize I had at my disposal. For him to come to the festival with me.
And now, somehow, I’d gone and managed to invite Troy to come, too. This was sure to work out great . . . or not.
The silence stretched out between us, long and insufferable. I bit my lower lip, trying to focus on the road. Trying to focus on anything except Troy’s presence at my side. Why had I even brought this up? Did I want him to come with me? To sit by my side all weekend long—when I’d barely been able to stand his presence for one lousy screening today? It had been all I could do in that theater not to grab him and jump his bones. Now I was suggesting eight more hours in the dark?
At last he laughed. “So?”
“So what?”
“Are you ever going to ask me if I want to come, too?”
Oh God. My face burned. “What, you need a formal invitation?” I barked back, with a little more force than necessary.
He shrugged. “Not really. I just like the way you blush when I pretend that I do.”
Oh my god. Oh. My. God.
“Well?” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I’m waiting . . .”
I sucked in a breath. He was going to be the death of me. “Hey, Troy, want to go to a film festival?”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, let m
e check my busy social schedule. . . .” He reached down and grabbed his phone, making a big show of looking through his calendar. Then he looked up. “Well, what do you know? I’m free for the next forever.” His eyes sparkled. “Miss Martin, it looks like you have yourself a date.”
fourteen
SARAH
The week went by in a blur, and before I knew it the weekend had rolled around and with it the film festival. Troy was good to his word, waiting by the concession stand as I rolled into the theater with Ben. Ben had insisted on driving, saying my house was totally on the way anyway. And me, still feeling guilty about him getting passed over for the He Said, She Said job, reluctantly agreed.
I’d tried to get Stephanie and some of my other girlfriends to join us as well—safety in numbers and all that. But they had looked at me as if I was suggesting we cut off the heads of puppy dogs and eat them raw when I used the words film noir and uncovered prints in the same sentence while inviting them to go. Evidently the only prints these girls were interested in uncovering were the fingerprints of the hot guys at Bar West after they ravaged their bodies.
Besides, Ben had wanted to go so badly. And he deserved to go, as well. He knew more about the noir genre than anyone I’d ever met. In fact, the entire trip over he’d been peppering our conversation with little-known trivia.
“Did you know in Double Indemnity Fred MacMurray wears his real-life wedding ring throughout the film? Even though his character in the movie is single?”
“Did you know an uncredited second-unit cameraman was the first to use the now-famous dolly zoom in Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo? It cost nineteen thousand dollars to film that staircase scene alone.”
“Did you know the photos of the young Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard were actual, genuine publicity photos from Gloria Swanson’s younger years?”
And so it went. And as we walked up to Troy I was relieved beyond belief at the possibility of new, non-noir related conversation. Ben, on the other hand, looked displeased.
“What’s he doing here?” he demanded.
“He works with us now,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t know this was a work trip.”
I shot him a look. “Be nice,” I scolded. “You’re lucky I didn’t decide to go solo.”
As I approached Troy, I couldn’t help but give him a quick once-over. He looked freshly showered, his hair still a little damp and his cheeks clean-shaven. He was dressed casually, in a tight black T-shirt that nicely accentuated his abs, and a pair of well-worn jeans. I sighed. Why did he have to be so cute? It only made this whole thing harder.
His blue eyes locked on me, sparkling in a way that should by all rights have been illegal. “There you are,” he said. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”
“Sorry. Ben had to stop at the store on the way here to grab some contraband candy bars to smuggle in.”
Something flickered in Troy’s eyes as he looked over at my producer. But all he said was, “Hello, Ben. It’s good to see you.”
Ben made a face. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Young?” he asked. “I mean, you do know the Rock isn’t starring in a single one of these films right?”
“Are you serious?” Troy feigned horror. “Next you’re going to tell me Taylor Swift isn’t doing the soundtracks!”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, Ben. Troy may not know as much about noir as you do, but I think he’ll hold his own. Right, Troy?
“Only if you hold the popcorn,” Troy shot back with a grin. He pushed the tub into my hands. It was practically as big as my head. “To make up for that terrible popcorn-free screening,” he explained. “Extra butter. Extra salt.”
My heart squeezed a little more than it should have as I realized he remembered my popcorn order. Something so small yet so impressive, all at the same time. This man standing before me was practically a stranger. Except he once knew everything about me—things no one else in the world knew. What else was stored deep down in the recesses of his brain beyond my favorite popcorn? My mind flashed back to that thing he used to do with his tongue and I felt my face heat.
Get your mind out of the gutter, I scolded myself.
Suddenly I was very happy to have Ben as my chaperone. At least he could play third wheel and keep anything from happening when the lights went low. His little trivia could be the social equivalent of a cold shower.
“Shit,” Ben muttered, looking at his phone.
“What?” I frowned.
“I’m sorry.” He looked up. “I completely forgot. I’m supposed to take care of my grandmother today.”
“Wait, what?” I stared at him, incredulous. “You’ve been asking to go to this thing for like three weeks now. I got you an all-access pass. You’re just going to bail?”
Leave me alone in the dark with Troy? I thought but didn’t add.
Ben shot Troy a withering look before answering. “It’s not like you’ll be alone,” he sneered.
I swallowed hard. Was Ben jealous of Troy? Had he thought this was some kind of date? But no, I’d been very clear that this was just a favor for a friend. And besides, he genuinely loved noir. He’d been talking about the festival for weeks. Surely he wasn’t that petty.
“Okay,” I said doubtfully. “If you’re sure . . .”
“I can pick you up later. Just call me and I’ll come by.”
“That’s okay, I can Uber it,” I replied. “Thanks for the offer though. And I’ll see you . . .”
I trailed off, realizing Ben was no longer listening. Instead, he was hurrying out of the theater as if the devil himself was on his heels. I shook my head, puzzled.
“That was . . . odd,” Troy remarked.
“Yeah.” I bit my lower lip. “I worry he has a little crush on me.”
Troy’s lips quirked. “Is there any red-blooded man alive who doesn’t?” he teased.
“I can think of a few . . .” I said, then immediately felt my skin flush. I had been thinking of Asher, of course, when I said it, but I realized the statement could be taken very differently, given Troy and my shared past.
Sure enough, the teasing expression faded from his face. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “I think the first movie’s about to begin.”
I nodded and accompanied him through the theater doors, trying to balance the huge popcorn in my hands. The screenings were being shown in an old-fashioned movie house, complete with a top balcony overlooking the main seats. I had tried to score balcony tickets—there was something romantic about being up there in the rafters, looking down on the world—but they had long been sold out by the time I’d inquired.
We took our seats, which weren’t terrible, then settled in to watch the first show. A moment later the stage lights came on and the spokesperson from the Southern California Film Noir Foundation stepped onto the stage to talk about the first film. A restored edition of a 1940s noir with a science fiction twist called Repeat Performance—where a young woman who may or may not have shot her husband goes back in time to live the year over again. Will she make different choices this time around? Or was everything predestined to happen all over again?
I had to admit, the subject matter rang a little close to home.
I glanced over at Troy. His attention was locked on the speaker. Absently, he reached over, without looking, to grab a handful of popcorn from the tub on my lap. I watched as he brought his hand to his mouth, my stomach twisting a little. That definitely shouldn’t have been as erotic as it felt.
Easy, girl, I scolded myself. You do not want to go back there.
And yet, I realized, in some ways I did. And that was becoming a big, big problem. After all, the last thing I needed was to go back to the days when I was hopelessly in love with this man. Ready to do anything to see that look of approval in his eyes. Even betray my own family.
The host walked offstage and I sh
ook my head, pushing thoughts of the past away as I tried to focus on the film. I loved movies like this—rare prints dug up from some archives and carefully restored. In a world like ours, where everything was cataloged and backed up on the cloud, there was something special about these lost little gems you couldn’t just Google and stream via YouTube.
I settled into my seat, taking another bite of popcorn. Soon I was so immersed in the story I almost forgot the man who was sitting by my side. It wasn’t until nature called that I realized I needed a break. Those damn extra-large sodas . . .
I leaned over to Troy. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered. Then I started rising from my seat.
Whoosh!
Something hard and heavy flew by my face, missing me by inches. I screamed. What the hell?
For a moment, I had no idea what had just happened. I looked around, confused, as the theater erupted in chaos. Glancing above me, I caught sight of a lone figure up in the balcony, pushing by people to get out in a hurry. From there I couldn’t catch his or her face, and at first I assumed it was some kid who thought it would be funny to throw his popcorn or drink down on the audience below.
But then I looked down at my feet.
It was a rock. A large rock.
“Oh my God!” I cried, alarm rioting through me. My mind raced with horrifying possibilities. If I hadn’t picked that moment to get up, it would have hit me square on the head.
That couldn’t have been an accident, right?
I turned to Troy, but he was already on his feet. He pushed past me, running out of the theater. I could feel the eyes of everyone else staring at me, horrified, as the film played on with no one watching. For a moment I felt frozen in place, a deer in headlights, not sure what to do. Then, somehow, I found my feet and excused myself down the aisle, my whole body shaking as I ran to the exit.
A moment later I burst into the lobby. The manager met me, his face as ashen as mine probably was. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I tried to swallow past the huge lump that had formed in my throat. “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Did you . . . find him? The guy who dropped the rock?”