The Orpheum Miracle

by Pat Henshaw

  Hot damn. I loved the Circus. First of all, we could walk there, so I didn’t have to think about how I was getting to wherever he wanted to eat.

  Secondly, I ate there whenever I was treating myself to real food. Shit, I’d even taken Randy there once before he booked.

  Thirdly, I liked the whimsy of the place. The owners had put all these clown dolls and elephant figurines and other circus-related shit around the place that they wanted customers to pick up and look at.

  Most importantly, the Circus served huge meals, so I could take home food that would last for days in the employee fridge, and the prices were cheap.

  I was kind of surprised he’d suggested the Circus, though. Wasn’t he too classy for somewhere that was really only a gussied-up dive diner?

  While I was busy salivating and thinking, he started putting on his leather jacket, then turned to me and asked, “Why don’t we walk? It’s a nice night.”

  We went out the side door, into the dark alley next to the theater parking lot. Only one lonesome car sat in the lot. I was guessing it was his. I could have been wrong because it was a beat-up old Jeep.

  We walked side by side down the alley and turned toward the Circus. He was right. It was a nice night, considering it was winter. The cold, which had been brutal for a few days, had lightened up with a not-so-freezing breeze. The air smelled like autumn leaves and pumpkin pie spice blowing around us.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” the owner asked.

  I almost laughed but pulled back right in time.

  “Oh, the usual,” I replied, like Thanksgiving meant something to me other than longer lines at the shelter to get food. “You?”

  He gave a short laugh. “I have to go out of town. Otherwise, I’d probably come down here to the theater and watch a movie.”

  Well, shit. Guess I’d dodged the bullet. I wouldn’t have to line up in the cold for the shelter that night. I couldn’t let him catch me inside when I wasn’t supposed to be there.

  “Of course,” he said as he opened the Circus door. I took a deep breath of cooking pancakes and slippery syrup. “That’d only be if you’d let me into your theater.”

  Since I was in Circus heaven, I didn’t hear him at first. Then I panicked. Shit. He knew I was sleeping at the Orpheum? Fuck. Was this the “it’s been nice to know you, now get out” meal? Crap. It was frigid outside, and I had nowhere to go except stand in line for a cot. Dammit. I’d blown it. He knew.

  Now I clutched the bills in my pocket and regretted saying yes to his invitation to eat. Shit. What was I supposed to do? If I said I wasn’t living there, I’d be lying, and he’d know it. Dammit to hell. I was really screwed this time.

  The server showed us to a table and handed us menus.

  “How’re you doing, Mick? We haven’t seen you in here lately.” She moved the place settings around so there were only two of them. “Decaf tonight?”

  She was a friend of sorts, somebody I could chat with who didn’t demand anything from me. I knew all about her, her boyfriend, and her family. She knew I worked at the theater where she came to be with her guy outside her parents’ house or his crowded apartment. Her old man didn’t like the boyfriend, so she and the guy were in the back balcony as often as they could get there.

  “Doing good. Doing good. Yeah, decaf. Thanks.” My voice shook. Fuck, I sounded scared. Never let them smell your fear, I reminded myself and shut up tight.

  She gave me a concerned look, but I shook my head and swung my eyes toward the boss, who was studying a porcelain elephant in his hand.

  “And for you, sir?” she asked him.

  He put the elephant back down in its spot on the railing that surrounded the booth. The little elephant folded back into line with the bigger ones.

  “I’ll just stick with water.”

  Oh, shit. That’s what I should have done too. Then it occurred to me that a cup of decaf was a perfectly acceptable appetizer and entrée. Not to mention it would warm me up if I was walking to the shelter in a few minutes. Fuck eating. I could add fifty-five of the fifty-eight dollars to the rest of my savings. Maybe it was time to count it all up and make a break and find a new place, whether I was ready or not. After all, I wasn’t wedded to the Orpheum. I just liked it. It was as much of a home as I’d ever had.

  I was getting mad now. How could he kick me out? Dammit, I was the one who’d done the repairs on the place for years. I was the one who made it an attractive buy because it wasn’t completely falling apart at the seams. Shit, he owed me. He had some nerve trying to kick me out.

  The server was back with his water and my decaf. She didn’t even look at me. I guess we knew each other well enough that she knew something was wrong and I wasn’t going to eat anything tonight.

  “What can I get you, sir?” she asked the boss.

  As she started to leave, he reached over to grab her.

  “You haven’t ordered.” He looked at me and seemed upset.

  “Let her go. I’m not all that hungry,” I said as softly as I could and still be heard.

  “What? I don’t understand.” Now he seemed even more upset.

  “Don’t worry about it. She and I know each other.”

  Now when I peeked over at him, he looked all worried, or maybe guilty. I couldn’t tell since I’d scanned his face so quickly.

  “I shouldn’t have suggested going out to eat, should I?” Then his eyes brightened. “I know. I’ll pay for the meal. I should have said so earlier.”

  Suddenly, he sounded much younger and not as serious as he had before. I revised his age downward, and oddly our numbers matched or were close enough. We were contemporaries, which was a shocker for a moment.

  Of course, you read about guys my age being millionaires and multimillionaires all the time. Technology whizzes, entertainers, and sports figures. The ways of climbing to the top were legendary. Fewer of them came from the bargain basement where I started, but some of them did. Rags to riches stories weren’t unique.

  Still, even though I felt like I knew him, when I peeked up at him, I couldn’t imagine him starting where I had. He could have come from modest means. My imagining him in a humble house and working his way up made him seem almost human. Maybe I could talk him into letting me stay in the theater, at least until winter was over.

  In the end, we split his omelet. Since it came with hash browns, two pancakes, and sourdough toast, with butter and real strawberry jam, I understood that it was too much for one guy to eat. So when he said he’d just leave the food if I didn’t have some of it, I let him give me half. I wouldn’t be able to take home leftovers, but I would have a full stomach when the hammer landed.

  “So, Mick, what do you see yourself doing in ten years or so? You got any big dreams? Any plans?”

  I’m the first to admit it was just a throwaway question. Something to pass the time, make small talk, stuff those in the middle class understand and rely on day to day. So I figured I could practice on him. I couldn’t stare him in the eye, our places in life being so much different, but I could look up a little more. Maybe look off to the side, like I’d seen other guys do.

  “Yeah, I’m getting ready to find a management job. I’ve been pretty much running the theater for the past few years, so I think I could find a job in a small motel or apartment building, maybe. I know how to do basic repairs and maintenance, keep up the books, plan for changes, hire staff, you know, the usual management stuff.”

  Then I stopped. “Stuff” wasn’t a real manager word, was it? I needed to practice getting the shit out of my speech. I needed to work on how to express myself with both the suits and the workers. I’d got worker-speak down pat. Now for the other half.

  “You’ve been taking care of the Orpheum?” He sounded surprised, so I nodded. “I wondered why it was in such good shape considering its age and the neighborhood.”

  He ordered himself a cup of hot tea, and I had a refill of the decaf now that I had some food in my belly. No, not belly
. Stomach. Resurrecting a vocabulary wasn’t as easy as it looked.

  “I bought the theater because somebody I love adored the place. I want to restore it and play old movies, Westerns, Shirley Temple—Golden Oldies, you might say—as well as modern indie and art films. I want it to be a place that parents and grandparents can take their kids and grandkids to see uplifting, fun films during the day, and then watch meaningful art films and dramas at night. I want to remind people what dreams are all about.”

  Okay, I could do this conversation. I started talking about my favorite films and what they meant to me. He listened. He really paid attention. Then he spoke. It was how Randy and I passed the time long ago when we skipped school.

  The food had warmed me, made me feel sleepy and off my guard. His attention and our chat had lulled me. He drew me to him and then out of the blue shocked me.

  “Mick, I heard that you were living in the theater. Is that true?”

  My eyes flew to his face. He hadn’t really known before. Oddly, he didn’t look pissed but worried. I swallowed and lowered my gaze. After our chat, could I tell him the truth? Or should I slide? Usually, I answered a question like that by describing the shelter and how it was organized. I didn’t have to be direct because people never asked twice about where I lived.

  I opened my mouth, but he cut in.

  “I don’t mind if you are.” He sounded sincere. Then he was silent for a few seconds as I fretted. Would I be kicked out now? “I just wanted you to know that we’ve found some problems with the roof that need fixing, and I don’t want anyone in the attic until they’re taken care of.”

  I watched his hands fiddle with the tiny elephant again. I couldn’t make myself look up at his face, but inside I let out a huge sigh of relief. I could continue living at the Orpheum. I didn’t have to actually say that was where I was living. Okay.

  Now I knew that I really had to get my shit together. I had to find out how regular people went about finding jobs. I had to grow up and get off the streets and push myself into the mainstream.

  “Uh, one other thing I was thinking.” The boss broke into my pep talk. “I’m firing Ted Mason. I was wondering if you’d like to be the new general manager of the Orpheum?”

  His voice shook, like he was unsure what I would say and suspected I’d throw the offer back in his face. I almost laughed at how blind someone could be.

  “Yes,” I breathed. “Yes. I’d, uh, I’d like to be the manager. Uh, yeah.”

  When I peeked up, he was grinning, and for the first time in a very, very long time, I could feel myself looking like the Cheshire cat too.

  THE NEXT day, after getting the painters started, I went out to Goodwill and bought a couple pairs of black pants, a half-dozen button-down shirts, a couple of ties, two sweater vests, two sports coats, and black shoes. Then I took the bus to Walmart for new underwear and socks. Jim had given me the passkey to the building and the right to hire and fire a whole new theater crew if I wanted. So I had to dress for success, right?

  I went down to the shelter and talked to the new manager there, a guy I didn’t know but liked on sight. I told him about my new job and how I wanted to hire some of the teens for cleanup after school and some of the old-timers for concessions and other jobs.

  Then I fired the guys who had bad attitudes or were rusting away doing nothing on theater time. The shelter sent over a guy who was trained to design and do ad layouts, and another guy who could write ad copy and keep the theater’s online listings current. I made them the design department.

  I took both of them into the basement, where we looked through the old posters and A-frames. They took a bunch of the stuff to be framed, then hung in the lobby, which would give the place a whole new retro look.

  On Thanksgiving, I stood next to the local merchants and helped serve dinner at the shelter. It was like I’d been suddenly kicked upstairs to be with the adults. I was still living in the theater, now in the manager’s office, which I’d partitioned off to make two rooms. In the back, I’d put a single bed and hung my clothes in a makeshift closet. I was proud of myself. I’d taken a step toward my dreams, and so far, I seemed to be on solid ground.

  But Christmas was coming, and the false promises of the season made me uneasy. What if all this was a pipe dream? What if I was being duped now like I’d been duped in the past? At least coal in a stocking is something. And I’d never gotten anything. Would my position and my bedroom go up in smoke if I believed? Why did experience have to shout it would?

  The weekend after Thanksgiving, the owner, who I hadn’t seen since we went out to the Circus and he’d hired me, returned to look over the attic repairs and the theater at large.

  “Wow. Mick. I wouldn’t have recognized this place.” He was staring at the walls with their new paint job and the classic posters and the central chandelier, which had been cleaned to within an inch of its life. “You’ve done a great job. I’m speechless.”

  Well, he wasn’t, of course. He went on and on as he noticed stuff. I couldn’t help it, but I was puffing up like a peacock as he complimented me. All the guideposts to doom were staring me in the face, but I was smiling and laughing at them like I was a besotted Christmas babe.

  “What do you think? Are we ready to open to the public this next weekend?” He honestly seemed to want my opinion.

  I gave a quick nod. Okay, I’d done good. He was happy. I was happy. He was treating me more like a partner than an employee. I had to climb down from the rafters before my balloon of joy blew up and I splattered to the floor.

  I took a deep breath and looked at him.

  He still seemed so damn familiar, like my dreams had stepped out of the films and into the theater. Had I conjured how I saw him now from the patchwork of those dreams? Was I still dreaming? I could almost believe it since he seemed too real.

  “So where do you think we should put the tree?” He was looking around the lobby as if the perfect tree space was hiding somewhere.

  “Uh, tree?”

  He glanced at me, then continued his search. “The Christmas tree. I think it should come to just about the ceiling, don’t you? There’s nothing like looking up at a huge Christmas tree when you’re a child, is there? It looks like the ultimate delight, right?”

  Push-come-to-shove time. He should have guessed this about me since I’d been living in the theater since we’d met.

  “Uh, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a Christmas tree.”

  “That’s okay. We can put it up together. I’ve only done it a couple of times myself.”

  “No, uh, you don’t get it. I’ve never had a Christmas tree of my own. Ever.”

  Now he was staring at me like I was some kind of zoo animal. Was it any wonder everyone thought of me as a Scrooge? Who never had a Christmas tree? Maybe Charlie Brown with his sad stick of a tree. But did that count?

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

  He looked sadly at me, and I could feel the pity start to roll out.

  Oh, hell, no. I didn’t do pity. I didn’t do oh-poor-me. Fuck that. My anger erupted, and I could tell I was about to do something that would probably get me fired. But, dammit, I didn’t do pity.

  “What’d you forget? You forgot that you found me here? You forgot that not everyone was a child of kindness and wealth? You forgot that Christmas is just a season of too much buying and too little love? You forgot that some of us aren’t worthy of love? You forgot that a child’s wonder doesn’t get to happen to every child, just select ones? What’d you forget exactly?”

  He looked like he was about to cry or something sappy like that. What the fuck? Who the hell was this guy? Now he was ready to cry over me and my sad, lonely life? Double fuck. To hell with him. I’d gotten over pity years ago. A decade ago at least.

  “You are really going to hate me.” His voice sounded empty.

  What the hell was he saying? What did that mean? Why should I hate him? He was one of the lucky ones. He was one of the children of light and beauty.
Sure, I envied him, but I didn’t hate him.

  Here we were, two grown men standing in the middle of an opulent, antique theater lobby talking about a Christmas fucking tree, and he’s the one saying I was going to hate him. Did I seem so shallow?

  “Uh, no. I don’t hate people who’ve had it better than me.” Why hate someone for something I couldn’t change and wouldn’t if I could? Me getting upset about reality didn’t change anything.

  Seeing a couple of cars go down the street, I realized we were about to become a floor show if we didn’t move along. I pulled us out of the brightly lit lobby where everyone and his brother could see us from the sidewalk and led him into my office. He was surprisingly docile as I sat him into one of my guest chairs and flopped down next to him in the other one.

  “Okay, so what’s got you so upset?” I felt funny talking to my boss like this, but jeez, he had to pull it together. It was time for a little tough love, or maybe that was Scrooge love. We had more important things to discuss than my miserable life. Especially since I’d turned a corner in the past month or so and was strolling toward middle class and not hiding in the alley. My life was looking up, not down.

  Now he was staring at me, his eyes glistening, which was a little unnerving.

  “You really don’t remember me? I’m Randy. I used to be your friend.”

  Fuck me. Randy? Randy’d come back to me? I couldn’t see any of my skinny, shorter, brown-haired friend in him.

  Okay, over ten years had changed us both. He’d grown from a scrawny runaway to a man with a five o’clock shadow and a commanding air.

  “Damn. You turned out fine, man. Look at you.” Shit. I was so happy for him. He’d been shorter than me when we’d met at the shelter. But his eyes, fuck, he had the biggest, bluest damn eyes. He’d look at you and your heart would melt, and you’d do just about anything you could to make him happy.

  Now those same blue eyes, the ones that starred in all my romantic DIY films, turned to me, and he gave a shaky smile.

  “I’m sorry. When I got adopted, I meant to come back for you. I meant to get you out of the shelter. I tried to talk Miss Faraday into adopting you too. I even told her she’d like you better because you were more organized than I was. You had hopes and dreams while I only had day-to-day survival. I didn’t mean to leave you.”