Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  “May I,” he asks, offering me his arm. Though my insides scream, “Dear God yes!” I reply by smiling and taking him up on his offer. The gesture brings a sense of peace, which is bad. Very, very bad! I’m supposed to trust my gut, but am I sure he hasn’t already smooth talked it into fibbing to me?

  A few steps around the corner I find myself in front of a boarded up, freestanding box office with shades of blue terrazzo tile swirling under my feet. The theatre’s padlocked doors and boarded up showcases that once glowed with movie posters sag my heart. “My God, what happened to the Starbrite?” Seeing this sinking treasure makes me wonder how Greeks and Romans viewed their temples once they began to decline. No modern day super cinema has come close to replicating the beauty found inside these walls.

  “Clearly you know this place.” Dale says cautiously. Apparently the water forming in my eyes has sold me out.

  “GranGran used to take Darla and I here when we were little. Those moments gave me the brightest smiles of my life.” Just standing here reminds me of how GranGran is watching over me. In fact, I feel her warmth holding me now.

  Dale watches my reaction as he says, “Good. I could use an emotional opinion.” He holds out a key and waits for me to nod before unlocking the door.

  Once inside, he reaches down and flips a switch, turning on a trail of work lights. My childhood illuminates before me, and I giggle with the joy of again seeing Art Deco murals of Greek gods frolicking under the stars and the backlit water fountain whose blue glow once held me in awe. The snack bar brings back memories of buckets overflowing with popcorn and drinking so much soda I was always running to the bathroom.

  The bathroom!

  Dale follows as I bolt inside the powder room that sits a threshold away from the ladies room. Just enough light creeps in to reveal remnants of the past. Three of the old mirrors are cracked, but the most important one remains intact.

  I point to the five-sided mirror with blue-tinted wings and a sill to place your purse. An old seat sits before it—torn, frayed, and holding a memory. Though my words race from excitement, my tone holds reverence for what was. “When I was about ten, something happened in front of that mirror that shaped my life. The woman sitting there had been crying. My heart ached for her. But as much as I tried to mind my own business and leave, something told me to wait. Then her friend pulled a makeup bag out of her purse. While she gave a pep talk about how thriving was the best revenge, that friend worked magic. A few minutes later, both of them looked like they were ready to conquer the world. That is when I knew makeup held something special for me.”

  As long as thirty years ago I wanted to help people find not just their look, but also their self-esteem. I am never getting sidetracked again.

  My head whips to Dale, who stands with softened features and locked eyes glued to my every word. “Prepare me,” I say. “What kind of shape is the auditorium in?”

  Even in the dark room I see his eyes turn to diamonds. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand. Just outside the door we turn right and Dale reaches down to flip a power switch. Glow emits from the walkway, and we head down the corridor. Once we take that last step, I again find myself in awe.

  Murals of The Muses dancing around temples under a starlit sky fill the full height of the auditorium and run nearly its entire length. Before me, a sloping aisle leads past battered seats to a screenless stage; yet the deep blue curtains with silver stars and trim reminiscent of a border on a Grecian urn, have refused to leave. Even in need of love, this place is still enchanting.

  Dale’s expression of wonder matches mine, making him as fetching as my surroundings.

  “Hey, why are we here?” I ask. “Why do you have a key?”

  A spark of mischief lights his face, and he tugs my hand. Together we head down the aisle, our entwined hands swinging, our feet nearly skipping as if following a road paved in gold. Up on the stage, we look out onto the auditorium. Work lights outlining the balcony cause gleams to wink off of silver accents and trim, sending sparks into my soul.

  Dale places a tablecloth on the stage and helps me sit before opening a bottle of white wine and handing me a glass. “To keeping things alive,” he toasts. While the meaning is unclear, his words strike me with excitement. I gladly clink glasses with him and drink. “I had an idea,” he says, “and since you are not only someone with shared tastes, but now I find also happens to love this theater, you are the perfect person to ask.” He points to the back of the lower level. “Doesn’t that corner seem like a great place to pull out a few seats and add a bar?”

  Interesting …

  Slowly I nod and audibly state my thoughts. “I’m not crazy about changing a treasure, but you have my attention.”

  “See how the aisles lose their slope and flatten before the stage? Now look at how high up the murals start. What if I flattened the floor sooner, but not soon enough to touch the murals? Do you think it would make a good place to dance while a band plays on stage?”

  I turn to him and cock my head in curiosity.

  He raises his flattened palm, asking me to hear him out. “During the week, that dance floor can be protected and sofas moved in from the back, so people can sit there during movies. The snack bar can be brought up to code enough to serve light meals without altering the character-defining elements. During the day, the lobby can double as a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. One building, three businesses. If I could do it without ruining the character or touching the art, would it fly or be a crime?”

  My mind’s eye is already ahead of him, having me on that dance floor, swinging to a live band. This man dreams like I do. “My God, that is brilliant. Can you really do it without messing up the building? Wait, do you own this place?”

  “An architect thinks we can, and no, not yet. The owner gave me a month to figure it out, else the building will be demolished. I’m scrambling over a business plan, but I think I already have a couple of investors lined up.”

  My words fly out. I can’t think of a greater crime than destroying the Starbrite. I’ve never understood why we throw things away instead of repurposing them, be they an architectural gem or a compact. “You have to. You absolutely have to. And your idea is a good one, even if it were not the only way to save the building.”

  “I agree.” His eyes linger over the murals. “If the real temples still exist, those should too.”

  I toy with my lip while trying to take this guy in. He seems so together, so on track with everything. Like me, he is pulling his life together. He’s not only enchanting; he’s inspiring. But what about those playboy qualities Darla warned me about?

  GranGran reminded me to believe in fairytales and assured me sometimes things really can be perfect. My gut says after Carlos, I would know a smooth operator when I saw one. GranGran also said if you don’t know, ask, so I’m diving into my questions before I can get sucked into a trap. “Darla said you have an amazing head for business. Clearly, she was right.”

  He dips his head and smiles just enough for me to notice. “Did she? I’m sure she said some other things, too. I didn’t always treat her and Brandon as well as I should have around business associates.” He sounds as weighted as a remorseful person who improved himself would. It makes proceeding with my questions harder.

  His eyes and lips squeeze closed. When they open, those lips blow out a long breath and those eyes hood. “She probably told you more, too. At least she should have,” he says softly. I’m relieved I didn’t have to bring the subject up. I know he is being earnest when he looks to me—dead, straight at me—not like he is trying to convince me or tell me a story, but like he is just being really damn honest with us both. Is he always this straight forward regarding his baggage? It’s pretty admirable.

  “I never intended to be a playboy,” he says, “just like I didn’t see myself as a workaholic. Both were dumb and both were for the same stupid reason: to escape something I didn’t know how to face.”

  I certainly am not entitl
ed to judge. “If it makes you feel any better,” I say with resignation, “I’m also guilty of stupidity over not facing things.”

  His smile is a humble one. “Thank you for that. I won’t hide Abby from you, but I also don’t want to talk about her now. Even though she is the reason for a lot of the mistakes I have made, there is no excuse for how I lived my life.”

  Again I understand. Compassion was my reason for giving Carlos chances, but I delayed the inevitable. I twisted his excuses for not finding a job into my own for not taking action over how he affected my life. “Every character flaw has both a reason and an excuse,” I tell Dale. “Knowing the difference is the only way to learn from your mistakes. I’m so glad I got a wake up call.”

  “What was that?”

  It is hard to conceal the bitter edge of my tone. “My cheating ex is not just a full-on, bona fide, rope ‘em in and bang ‘em, womanizer—”

  Dale’s brows go sky high. “While he was with you?” His shock over the cheating aspect is refreshing.

  My nod pounds as sturdy as a jackhammer does. “But also a mooching one whom I suspect was always on the prowl for a backup sucker.”

  “Yikes! I may not have been discerning, but at least those are sins I have never been guilty of.” He shakes his head and blinks before pausing to absorb everything. “You know though, in some ways, I wasn’t much better. I may have only been a playboy, but being a womanizer is the evil stepchild of being a workaholic. There is no dispute I had work obsession issues.”

  “What? How do you link those?”

  “Because both are addictions that will bite you in the rear.”

  I chuckle. “Carlos loved playing with ladies, but working? Not on your life!”

  Dale shifts his weight, adjusting his legs so he can recline and lean on his elbow. I go for another sip of wine. As much as I need to learn his story, the subject is making me uncomfortable. I can’t help but fear twisted logic is coming and excuses for being a playboy are about to roll.

  “Bear with me,” he says. “I’m seeing a parallel for the first time, so God only knows if I can state it in a way that makes sense to anyone. My goal was always to settle down, but I had issues to escape. Because of how I lived, the women I attracted were not ones I wanted. Then I came to see anyone I would want, wouldn’t give me the time of day for fear of being cast aside. A workaholic is just like the victim of a womanizer. One day he is likely to find himself dumped for someone younger and with fresher ideas. How he gives his life to someone else is just like how a player, or even a misguided playboy, gives his life to chasing a rainbow. I don’t want any of those things to define me.”

  So I get the analogy, but I have yet to understand why Grandpa thought it was okay to convince GranGran that Dale is a good match for me. I have so many questions about who those women were and why he chased them. But when you get down to it, there is only one thing that matters—his reasoning. “You said you were escaping. Did you?”

  “No one ever escapes grief, but I stopped letting it rule me.” He sits up, and the dead serious look I saw before returns. “I got tired of wasting the time life is handing me with diversions from pain instead of enjoying the people I love. Once that happened, I found my time was further limited because of my job. We need to spend our lives growing and striving for things that make us better—like friendship, family, and working relentlessly toward dreams that make you a better, stronger person. That is where I am today, and I am not going back.”

  My previous sense of awe is returning, and this time it is not over the theatre. “So in the end you left the life you had so you could love your friends more?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat before saying, “I sure did.”

  My God, how beautiful is that?

  I get him. I actually understand where he is coming from. Carlos rarely gave a crap about anyone but himself. The difference between Dale and Carlos is vast, but Dale and I certainly have parallels.

  Oh GranGran, again you got me to ask the right questions.

  Dale’s honesty fills me with hope, not just for us, but for this theatre as well. If he can change himself through love and passion, he can make this place swing again.

  “So um … Are you disillusioned now?” he asks.

  “In this place, no. In you?” I shake my head in faked disappointment in him, then smile. “Not in the least. I’ve been a fool before, Dale. A really stupid fool, and as much as some would say it should make me paranoid and avoid men, instead I see all I need is honesty. I truly believe you have given me that. Then again …” I stare at him—a solid, narrow-eyed stare that causes his eyebrows to raise. “Can you dance? Because if you can’t, then I will be disillusioned.”

  “Oh, honey, I can dance. And I’m not talking about doing the Funky Chicken.”

  Now it is my turn to take his hand. “Come on. Let’s go test the waters.”

  He stops me before we head off. “Are you talking about testing the waters dancing or in spending time with me?”

  I take a step closer, because for some reason, I can’t resist. “Both. Got a problem with that?”

  He shortens the distance between us as well. “None at all, but you had better be ready to love both.” Dale’s eyes gleam, much like the ones on an imaginary boy once did. When I was a child, we sat on swings while I shared my deepest thoughts with him, hoping he would someday enter my life. Dale really has been in my head for a long time.

  Hand in hand, we race toward what will someday be the dance floor Dale dreams of. Suddenly he stops and looks dead ahead. He seems to nod to someone I can’t see, as if understanding a message. Dale then spins to face me. “Two years,” he says confidently.

  I’m lost.

  He closes the distance and takes my other hand. “In two years your life will have spun its way into perfection.”

  For as odd as that disjointed statement sounds, I believe him.

  “Trust me. I have the inside scoop.”

  Taking me in his arms, he draws me closer before whipping me into a twirl …

  Cheek To Cheek

  BAILEY

  Golden light blurs as I spin—my dress whirling, Dale’s tailcoat swishing, and my head dizzy with delight. As the band finishes its final song of the night, I land in Dale’s arms, only to get swept off my feet again by a tender kiss. His brow meets mine, and our eyes lock. Between our gazes, hunger grows but love reigns. His hand glides through my hair, separating my curls and covering my heart in stardust. Again his lips meet mine, and the butterflies that filled my stomach when he first did that two years ago flutter their wings.

  Bittersweetness fills me. I spent so long planning, and this day was over in a heartbeat. I don’t want to leave, but I’d rather go now and have my final memories of this day be ones filled with smiling faces instead of dimming theatre lights.

  Two years ago this very day, and in this very place, Dale told me my life would spin into perfection. He was right.

  After a kiss to my cheek, my husband guides me off the dance floor. The bright hues of Darla’s hair play off of her royal blue gown, somehow making her colorful mane elegant. She helps me put on my white fur bolero, which is perfectly cut to accent the V-neckline of my silk dress that flows with the grace of poetry. As much as they drove me crazy earlier, I wish I could put my train and floor-length veil back on and live the day over again.

  I try not to laugh as Katherine waddles toward me with her hand firmly planted on the middle of her back. The poor woman looks exhausted, but hey, I planned this date long before she found out it would be in the middle of her eighth month of pregnancy.

  She steps to the side so I can hug her without Brandon Junior (my go to for whatever name they are pondering today) getting smashed. Seriously, it’s easier to track how many times I cried today (I lost track when I hit eleven.), than it is how many names they have cycled through.

  Her tight hug sends our tears flowing. “You did it,” she says. “You made it through the day without crying more tha
n twenty times.”

  “I did?” I don’t believe her, but there is no way I am pulling out of this hug to check the expression on her face.

  “Please! You know I am totally lying. You hit twenty-two on your first dance. I gave up at twenty-six when Darla won the bet. Now I have to score her a walk-on role in my next film.”

  We may be laughing, but I am pretty sure she is right about the amount of crying I’ve done. “We did it, Katherine. We two girls standing in that trailer, searching to find answers … We found them.”

  Her hug tightens, warming my eyes. “We sure did.”

  Once we let go, Darla slips in as if Katherine’s embrace never ended. “I know,” she says. “Check your messages twice a day in case any of your clients have a problem. Pop into the store at lunch and after work to make sure things are going well. Yes, I have the combination to the safe memorized. Yes, I have all the keys. No, I don’t promise I won’t replace the contents of your lipstick tubes with crayons.”

  I thwap her on the arm, then laugh while tightening my hold. “For some crazy reason, I’m not worried.” Then the tears fall again, “I love you, you know. Thank you for looking out for me. Thank you for not saying a word all of the times you wanted to set me straight and knew I needed to figure things out on my own. Thank you for making sure I didn’t spend that money until I was ready to open my shop doors and for nothing else. And as much as I wish I knew sooner, thank you for not telling me about GranGran until I was ready. You always know the right thing to do.”

  “She is so, so very proud of you,” Darla says through sniffles.

  “I know she is. More importantly, I’m proud of myself.”

  There once was a time I wasn’t so sure I would ever take pride in myself again, but I, and I alone, changed that. Everyone can move forward. You just have to make room for magic.

  With a kiss to my head, my husband slides his arm around me. “Hey, lovelies. My wife and I have to get home and change. We have a plane to catch. Greece is calling.”