by Bryn Roar
“Speaking of Josie,” Tubby wondered, “why’d she stay behind like that?” He tried to make an offhand comment of it, but Rusty Huggins looked sideways at him anyway. “What? I was just wondering.”
“I know what you’re wondering. I saw the way you looked at Joe, down by the lake. I’ve seen that same sappy look from so many of the other fellows that I know it at first glance. I keep telling Red not to be so quick with that Julia Robert’s smile of hers. She’s kinda flirty if you hadn’t noticed. It’s not intentional, mind you! It’s not like she’s trying to lead anyone on or nothing.” Rusty frowned, trying to think of a way to best describe his friend. Seeing the connection, one Tubby could immediately grasp, he smiled. “She’s kinda like Mary Jane Watson in Spiderman. You dig? Always calling guys tiger or love or hon…gives ‘em the wrong idea sometimes. Tell the truth, man…when she turned that Peposodent grin your way, you thought she might be interested. Am I right?”
Tubby made a sour face. “No, not really. I mean, look at me, Rusty! Why on earth would a girl who’s as beautiful as that be interested in a fat putz like me? It’s just she’s the first pretty girl who’s ever paid me any attention before! Well, good attention, anyway,” he said, thinking back. Plenty of pretty girls had teased him before, and not in a nice way, either. Quite frankly, he’d rather be bullied by someone like Lester, than be teased by a pretty girl.
Rusty nodded his head. “I can dig that. Pretty girls aren’t exactly asking for my phone number neither. But you got to know this about Joe, my friend. She’s got it bad for that head case back there. Always has. Always will.”
“How about Bud? How does he feel about her?”
Rusty laughed. “Oh, he’s in love, too! Thing is, that fool’s too dense to ever admit it. If I’m not mistaken that’s why Joe stayed at his side today. To make that boy see the folly of his ways. Rusty laughed again, this time in sympathy. “Poor Buddy boy. He’s finally met his match.”
A few other kids had started to wander over to the school. Word had spread about the fire. It was a fortunate thing, too, for just then Sheriff Henderson emerged from the path, his tan uniform streaked with sweat and soot. He was in an ill mood, the fire having interrupted his supper.
The sheriff scanned the schoolyard for suspects, searching for a guilty face. Fortunately for Rusty and Tubby, they were now two of many. As they made their way through the milling crowd, they heard him mention Lester Noonan’s name to one of the kids.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Rusty giggled. “What inspired you to tell old lady Purcell your name was Lester Noonan?”
“Danged if I know,” Tubby said, suppressing a grin. His eyes were bright at the thought of what Lester would do to him if he ever found out. “It just blurted out! You think he’ll get in much trouble?”
“We can only hope, Opie. We can only hope.”
Surrounding the Drive-In was a brand new, ten-foot-high, wooden fence. The tall fence kept the headlights of passing cars from marring the presentation on the screen. It also kept out all but the most persistent from sneaking on the lot. A revolving marquee, also brand new, spelled out the Drive-In’s name over the concessions building, in bright blue neon (the i in Moonlite was dotted with a slanted quarter moon). This two-story, squat structure stood in-between two freshly tarred service lanes on either side of the building: one for entering the property, the other strictly for exiting. Rusty knew from being inside the concessions building that it also housed the projection booth upstairs, as well as the drive-thru box-office below.
A slender, Mr. Rogers-looking fellow sat behind the box office window, counting out change. Despite the heat, the man even had on a cardigan sweater like Mr. Rogers. Tubby and Rusty walked up to the window, where patrons drove up and paid their admission. The balding gent saw the boys approaching. Smiling genially, he slid the window back on its well-oiled casters. “Ahhh! Our exalted guest arrives! Greetings and salutations, fine sir!”
Mortified, Tubby groaned. “Dad.”
“Sorry, Ralph; didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s good to see you again, Rusty. How are your folks?”
“Evening, Mr. Tolson. They’re fine. Speaking of whom, sir, may I use your phone to give ‘em a call?”
“Sure thing. You fellows go on up to the house and wash up. If you don’t mind, Rusty, use the phone in our kitchen. My business line has been ringing off the hook.”
“You got it, Mr. T.”
Frank smiled. Mr. T. He liked that. “Ralph, tell your mom I’ll be along as soon as my box office girl gets here.”
He answered the ringing telephone as the boys walked past him. “Thanks for calling the Moonlite Drive-In! Where the stars always come out at night!”
Rusty made a gesture that encompassed the whole property. “Damn, boy! Y’all have been busy, haven’t you?” The once weed-choked, trash-strewn lot had gone through an amazing transformation. The grass in-between the long lines of stereo towers was trimmed as neat as a Little League ball field on opening day, and just as green. The lot itself was humped every twenty-feet or so, the length of the entire parking area. Like grassy swells moving towards the screen. This was to ensure each car had an unobstructed view of the movie, as each parking spot was angled upwards. The stereo towers looked brand new, although Rusty suspected they were the same old ones. Just polished up some. Tubby informed him that most people just tuned their car radios to a specified F.M. station, where they could listen to the movie through their own set of high-end speakers. The drive-in speakers were for those people who didn’t like running down their car battery. Rusty’s eyes moved to the center of the lot, where the cruddy playground set still resided. Only now the rusty old jungle gym, swing-sets, and slides gleamed spic-and-span in the falling light. These changes, however, really didn’t amount to anything more than some good old-fashioned elbow grease. The real metamorphosis had occurred in the main building and in the once battered Craftsman, standing off by itself on the far end of the lot, the beach to its back.
The house overlooked the screen on a gentle sandy rise. It stood catty-corner with the fence, which encompassed the whole sixty-two acre lot. The Tolsons’ had painted the once peeling, two-story home, a zesty yellow, finishing off the storm shutters in a soft lime tone that was real easy on the eyes. They’d replaced the broken windows, repaired the rotten porch, and re-shingled the once leaking roof. The house literally looked brand new.
The touch of a woman’s hand was evident in the little things here and there. Tidy rows of flowerbeds flanking a flagstone path, leading up to the front porch. Newly planted azalea bushes encircling the foundation of the house. Freshly watered ferns dripping at regular intervals below the overhang of the porch, where a trio of neatly spaced rocking chairs overlooked the lot and the pristine movie screen. Frilly lace curtains fluttered out of the open bay windows, the early evening breeze carrying the scent of a fresh baked apple pie. It mingled with the juicy aroma of fresh cut grass, and set Rusty’s stomach to growling. The last time he’d seen this place, about six months ago, it had been a favorite hangout among the rougher kids on the island, Lester Noonan included, and the house had been a wreck. Now it was one of the prettiest homes on the island!
The impressed look on Rusty’s face sent a surge of pride through Tubby. If nothing else, the Tolsons’ were an industrious lot. He and his family had worked like sled dogs these past four months to get the Drive-In ready by October. “My dad hired a couple of workers to get the worst of the problems fixed before we got here: the graffiti, the leaky roof, drywall, broken windows and structural damage—enough to get her move-in ready, anyhow. There was still a whole lot to do, though. I don’t think Mom will ever be satisfied. Dad and I got the lot ready in one day,” Tubby said with a flick of his hand. “Since then he’s been sweating over the concessions, the new screen, the neon marquee, the stereo towers—most of which had to be rewired—and the booth. Especially the booth! We’re having problems with the projector. Dad thinks we’re going to have
to splurge on a refurbished one any day now.”
“Is that why y’all played The Majestic and Cinema Paradiso on your Grand Re-Opening last week? I was wondering why you didn’t play something new.”
“Dad’s so worried about the projector conking out, he decided to show a couple of older movies instead of first runs. Those are two of his favorite flicks, from his personal collection of film prints. This week I got to choose.” Tubby pointed up at the marquee. Stand By Me and My Bodyguard were playing at 9:00 and 11:30, respectively.
“First runs? What’s that? Newly released films?” Rusty had always been intrigued by the prosaic cinderblock edifice, which oddly enough housed that miraculous machine upstairs. A machine capable of throwing the movies onto the hundred-foot-wide screen at the far end of the lot! Where the stories unfolded like a window onto another world. A movie theater, no matter how dull it is on the outside, is a truly magical place. Even though the joint closed down when he was a little kid, he still remembered those family movie nights vividly. Sitting in the back of the pickup, facing the screen, while his mom and dad necked like randy teenagers in the cab of the truck.
Tubby caught the interest in Rusty’s voice. Ah! A fellow cinephile, like myself. “That’s right. After dinner you want to go up to the booth? It’s pretty cool up there.”
“You kidding me? Hells, yeah! I’ve always wanted to see one of those 35-millimeter projectors at work. I got an old Bell and Howell 16 at home I fool around with.”
Tubby pushed through the screen door. “No fooling? Dad’s gonna love you! He’s got one of those old projectors, too! And here I thought you were going to be my new friend. Wait’ll he hears you—”
“Ralphie? Is that you, son?” said a mouse-like voice in the kitchen.
“Yeah, Ma! Rusty’s here, too,” he said, to fend off any of his mother’s likely hysterics.
Like all boys whose parents raised ‘em right, Rusty unconsciously stood up straight and prepared to be on his best behavior. While they waited in the living room, he looked around, once again amazed at the transformation in what used to be considered around here, a haunted shell of a house. Where ratty, moldy carpeting had once prevailed, polished hardwood floors now gleamed underfoot. The family room had an understated decor his mother would have approved of. A cozy looking blue-and-white striped couch sat flanked by crème colored stuffed chairs; the pale- blue throw pillows at either ends of the sofa harmonizing with the same soft color on the walls. The brick fireplace, once the home of a rather irascible raccoon, had a fresh coat of virginal white paint. It now stood empty and clean, eager for the first fire of winter. A Tolson family portrait hung evenly over the mantle. Their smiles, Rusty thought, looked genuine and unforced. Like his own family, these were folks who enjoyed each other’s company.
An oak staircase led up to the master suite upstairs. Off the stairs below was a hallway, which led to two additional bedrooms and a connecting bath.
The living room flowed past the dining area and into the kitchen, where Tubby’s mom was taking an apple pie out of the oven. She wiped her plump hands on a kitchen towel as she waddled over to greet them. “I declare! I should ground you for an age, young man!” she brayed joyously. She gathered her son in a bear hug and gave him a kiss on each cheek.
“Good grief, Ma!” Tubby said, wiping away the flour she’d left on his face.
“Ralph Emerson Tolson, that’s not your shirt!” Emma said, holding her son at arm’s length. “And what on earth happened to your britches? They’re filthy! For goodness sake, how did that cuff get torn?”
Before Tubby could insert his size 12 into his mouth, Rusty came to his rescue. “That’s my fault, Mrs. Tolson. We were playing around after school and things got a little out of hand. Tu-uh, I mean, Ralph’s shirt got ripped, and our friend, Bud Brown, gave him one of his to wear.”
Rusty blushed at his near faux pas. He wondered if Ralph’s folks knew about their son’s nickname.
“It fits better, Ma,” Tubby said, expecting a fight but not getting one. His mother bought Rusty’s lie, hook, line and sinker. Emma could always see through one of his fibs, but Gnat had her eating out the palm of his hand.
Rusty felt bad lying to Tubby’s mom. He liked Mrs. Tolson. A carbon copy of her son. A sweet, gentle soul, who despite society’s shallow sneer held on to her sunny disposition. Sure, she was fat, but not necessarily in a stagnant sort of way. She moved like his own mother—as if she had a lot to do and was only half begun.
She smiled warmly at Rusty and something unspoken passed to him. Gratitude. The simple plain truth of that put a lump in his throat. He wondered at this thing called loneliness and how he’d taken for granted the companionship he’d always known in his own life. Her soft brown eyes were moist, and for a paralyzing moment, Rusty thought she might start to cry. To his relief she distracted herself by checking her watch.
“Gracious me! Look at the time! You boys wash up! Rusty, I’m sorry I don’t have anything better than Sloppy Joes. But that’s what we have on Fridays. I declare, my family would pitch a fit if I dared to change their precious dinner schedule.”
“That’s fine with me, Mrs. Tolson. I love Sloppy Joes. Would you mind if I call my mom, first?”
“Go right ahead,” she said, gesturing at the phone on the wall, “and please say hello for me, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tubby was waiting for Rusty in the hallway when he finished his call. “Thanks for bailing me out in there. What’d your folks say?”
“Mom told me not to make an ass out of myself. Where’s your room?”
Tubby led the way. “No, I mean about tonight.”
“You mean the meeting later on?”
Tubby looked around as if they were discussing something indelicate.
“My folks are always cool with that. Same pretty much goes with Josie’s mom, and Bud’s pop. We do it all the time, Tubs. You think it’s gonna be a problem with your folks? I was hoping you’d come over to my house afterwards. Maybe spend the night.”
Tubby opened the door to his room and they dumped their backpacks on the floor rug. He and Rusty settled down on the foot of his bed. “My dad won’t mind, but mom’s a different story. She’s a bit overprotective.” He slid his totaled lunchbox underneath his bed. The broken glass in the thermos rattled. He wondered why he wasn’t more distressed over the loss of his lucky lunchbox. It had always been one of his most prized possessions. He supposed having friends put stuff like that in perspective.
“Just leave her to me,” Rusty said, sniffing importantly. “I know how to smooze the ladies.”
He got up and checked out the room, startled at the similarity to his own bedroom. Come to think of it, it was pretty similar to his friends’ rooms as well! No doubt about it. Tubby was a natural bornCreep. One whole wall was devoted to the familiar 8x10 cut outs from back issues of Famous Monsters. As promised, a one sheet from John Carpenter’s Carrie graced the wall over Tubby’s bed: Sissy Spacek, drenched in pig’s blood, framed in a halo of fire. Her wide-open eyes filled with cold fury. And on Tubby’s dresser the same set of Aurora models Bud collected.
“Hey, you didn’t tell me you collected these, too! Dude! All you’re missing is Mr. Hyde! Just like Bud!”
“Yeah, I know.” Tubby glanced over at his bookbag in the corner of the room. He quickly changed the subject. “So how are you going to get my mom to let me out tonight? You don’t know her, Rusty. She’s—”
“C’mon, boys!” Emma Tolson yodeled down the hallway. “Get it while it’s hot!”
The Tolsons’ ate all their meals in the kitchen, just like Rusty’s family. Another reason he felt comfortable and at peace here. Despite his mother’s admonition, Rusty put away three Sloppy Joes, two buttery ears of corn, and fistful after fistful of Emma’s hand-sliced, deep-fried potato chips. He looked up from the carnage on his plate to see the whole family gawking at him. Tubby actually looked offended. As in, “Gee whiz! Why isn’t he fat?”
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“Sorry,” he said, running his finger among the meaty droppings on his plate, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking it clean. “Sometimes my appetite knows no bounds…much less manners. These homemade potato chips are awesome, Mrs. Tolson.”