A Reel Christmas In Romance (Christmas In Romance Book 4)

by J J DiBenedetto

  He couldn’t ignore her. He turned back towards her, crossed the street and met her right in front of the box office of the Esmerelda. “Marianne. I didn’t see you.”

  “You did look kind of preoccupied,” she said. “If you’ve got too much on your mind, you know what the best thing for that is?”

  He had a guess. “What do I win if I answer right?”

  “You win a free movie ticket,” she said, smiling brightly. “Oops, I gave it away. But it’s true. And I’m sure you’ve never seen Christmas in Connecticut. Come on, it starts in ten minutes.”

  She grabbed his hand and started to drag him into the theater. He could have pulled away, argued with her, done any number of things. But, and he wasn’t sure why, he let her drag him inside.

  “He’s with me,” Marianne said to the woman – no, girl, she couldn’t have been more than seventeen – inside the ticket window. “And if you must chew gum while you’re working, please do me a favor and spit it out into a napkin and throw it in the trash when you’re done, OK?”

  The girl didn’t look up, but she did nod at Marianne’s order. “The perils of hiring teenagers, I guess,” Jack said, once they were inside.

  “Tell me about it,” Marianne said, sighing. There was another high-schooler at the concession stand. He wore a deep red uniform, with gold epaulets, and a beret. The uniform was bad enough, but the hat qualified as torture, in Jack’s opinion. “Two cokes, one large popcorn, extra butter, please, Jake,” she told the boy.

  “What if I wanted something else to drink?” He didn’t, but he was a little bit annoyed that she hadn’t bothered to ask him.

  She grinned. “You had Coke the other night at the diner, and we don’t have too many choices anyway.” That was true. He saw only four options on the soda dispenser behind the counter. “The guy from the beverage distributor has been pushing me to get one of those fancy machines where you can make your own drink and there’s a hundred different choices, but those things are huge. Where would I put it?” Nowhere that Jack could see, at least not without a major redesign of the lobby.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “But what about the extra butter? How do you know I’m not on a diet?”

  She stared at him as though he’d just spoken Greek. Or Martian. “Everybody likes extra butter.” She said it as though it was a law of the universe rather than a personal preference. But with one handful of popcorn, he understood her point. Especially because he could taste that it was real butter, not the yellow butter-like substance you got at most movie theaters.

  She led him up the stairs, letting him hold the popcorn. That was a mistake on her part, because the extra butter was downright addictive, and he wasn’t sure there’d be any popcorn left by the time they got to their seats.

  Jack followed her into the balcony. When he’d come the other day, he sat downstairs, and it was a completely different perspective being up here. The balcony wasn’t that big compared to the rest of the theater, just ten rows of seats, but it was high enough up that he was at eye level with the top of the movie screen, or maybe even above that. It would be weird to have to look down instead of up.

  “Is it always like this, or is this a slow night?” A third of the seats up here were filled, if that. Down below, it was a little more crowded, with possibly half the seats filled.

  “The six o’clock show’s always pretty slow. It’s kind of an awkward time,” she said. That made sense. If you worked until five o’clock, there really wasn’t enough time to have an early dinner and still make it to the movie. “But it costs just as much to keep the lights on whether I show a movie or not, so I may as well show one.”

  With a slight groaning sound, the curtain in front of the screen began to open, and Marianne clapped in approval. She wasn’t alone, either. He heard more applause below him as the screen was revealed, and the projector clunked to life. The other day, when he’d seen The Shop Around the Corner, he’d gotten to his seat a minute or two after the movie had started, so he’d missed the pre-show business. Which, apparently, included a live announcement. A girl – another teenager – was making her way to the front of the theater. She wore a uniform just as the boy behind the concession counter had. And she had a microphone in her hand.

  “Thank you for coming to tonight’s screening of Christmas in Connecticut, starring Barbara Stanwyck and Denis Morgan. Before we start the show, I have a brief announcement.” She paused for a breath, and went on, in a clear, if slightly nervous, voice. “Our scheduled screening of The Bishop’s Wife on Saturday, December 22nd has been postponed. But we hope you’ll join us for Romance’s annual production of A Christmas Carol, right here in this theater, live, starring Wally Schwartz as Ebenezer Scrooge and directed by Mary McKay. Tickets are available in the box office. Enjoy tonight’s show!”

  With that, she was off, and then the previews began, which surprised Jack. There were three of them, all for upcoming holiday movies, and all very old-fashioned, so different from the loud, fast-paced modern movie previews he was used to.

  He noticed that Marianne was staring raptly at the screen, even though she had to have seen these previews a hundred times. And he could feel the excitement radiating from her once the movie started. He already knew this wasn’t just a business for her, it was a labor of love, but he still marveled at the depth of her passion for movies. He couldn’t think of anyone else he knew, himself included, who displayed that much passion for their job.

  He’d never thought that someone caring so intently about their work could be attractive, but it certainly attracted him to Marianne Carter.

  “So, did you like it better than The Shop Around the Corner?” Jack had certainly seemed into the movie.

  “I did, actually. She was basically Martha Stewart fifty years ahead of her time. I thought that was neat.” Marianne did, too. It just showed that nothing – particularly human nature – ever really changed. “But let me ask you something. Is that why you’re wearing the fake fur coat? To look like she did in the movie?”

  Marianne didn’t quite blush. What was there to be embarrassed about? It was no different than people wearing sports jerseys or Star Trek shirts, and nobody got embarrassed about that. “Guilty as charged. I like to take something from the characters of whatever movie I’m playing. Maybe if you’re really nice to me, I’ll show you a picture from when I dyed my hair to look like Maureen O’Hara last year.”

  There were probably one or two pictures from that disaster lurking somewhere on her phone, so it wasn’t a completely empty promise.

  “You could have dressed like Santa Claus.”

  “Did it,” she said. There were plenty of photos of that still on her phone, and she showed him one. “Three years ago. I even glued the fake beard on.”

  “You wore it well,” he answered. “By the way, were you planning on leaving any chili fries for me?” They were back at Della’s Diner. They were even sitting at the same table they’d been at last time.

  “I’m hungry! Someone ate all the popcorn and didn’t leave me any.” If he could tease her, she could tease him right back. She was pretty sure Josh Chadwick had been right, that Jack was interested in her, but either wasn’t consciously aware of it, or didn’t have the nerve to come right out and say so. Of course, she wasn’t saying anything, either.

  “You’re the one who put the extra butter on. You can’t blame me for eating it.” Well, that was true. Extra butter was hard to resist.

  “Fair enough. And I did leave some fries, and there’s still some chili there, too.” She could let him have a few fries. That was a small enough sacrifice. He had let her drag him to the movie, after all.

  Jack stuffed the last few fries into his mouth – somewhat theatrically, in Marianne’s opinion – and started to speak before he’d gotten them all down. She thought he was trying to say her name, and gesturing past her, towards the window. She turned around to see what
he was reacting to, and it was a woman with curly auburn hair, tapping on the window and pointing towards her.

  Audrey Foster, therapist, and Josh Chadwick’s fiancée. And her occasional dog-walking acquaintance, since Audrey only lived a block away from her. Clearly Audrey had something to say to her right now, and as absurd as it was, Marianne wondered if it had something to do with her conversation with Josh earlier today. “Marianne! I’m glad I found you. The girl at the box office…”

  “Jessie,” Marianne said automatically.

  “Jessie, she said she saw you come in here. You need to get home, it’s your dog.”

  “Asta!” She hadn’t scheduled Stacie to walk Asta tonight, because she hadn’t planned to be out late. “Poor thing must be barking his head off.”

  Audrey nodded. “I was walking Toby, and I heard Asta. I think he must have heard Toby, or smelled him, and that set him off.”

  “Thanks, Audrey. I’ll go home right now. He’s probably been crossing his poor little legs for the last two hours.” She turned her attention back to her date, if that’s what this dinner was. “Jack, you want to come meet Asta? Oh, and this is Audrey Foster, she’s a neighbor.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t mention Audrey’s profession; it just seemed better at the moment not to. “Audrey, this is Jack. He works for the state tourism board.” She dug a couple of twenty dollar bills out of her pocket, held them up until their waitress saw them, and then put them down on the table. “Dog emergency,” she called out. “Let’s go, Jack. And thanks again, Audrey.”

  It was a five minute walk to her house, and the temperature seemed to have dropped twenty degrees in the hour they’d been at dinner. She was toasty in her faux fur coat, but Jack was shivering. She put an arm around him, for the little good it would do, and he eagerly – too eagerly, maybe? – drew close to her.

  “Which house is yours?” He didn’t wait for her to answer; they could both hear Asta from halfway down the block. “Oh, that’s the one, right? The blue and yellow?” Marianne appreciated that he didn’t say, “the one with the fading paint” or “the one with the potholes in the driveway.”

  “That’s it. Now stay back a little. Asta’s friendly, but even so, you never know what can happen when a dog doesn’t know you.”

  She didn’t have to worry. All Asta cared about was going out. He leapt past Marianne the instant she opened the front door, bounded down the three steps to the lawn, and immediately relieved himself at the base of the elm tree that straddled the border between her property and the next house over. “Watch him, and I’ll go and get his leash.”

  Jack did, not that Asta was going anywhere. Once the dog had taken care of his business, he sat there patiently waiting for his owner. “He just wanted his mom,” Jack said when she got back outside and clipped Asta’s leash on. “Smart dog.”

  “He is,” Marianne cooed. “Aren’t you? You want a little walk? Come on, boy, let’s go.” She didn’t ask Jack if he wanted to go on a walk around the neighborhood, but he followed all the same.

  “So is this my fault, for throwing you off your schedule? Do I need to apologize to Asta?”

  Marianne laughed. “I’m the one who should apologize. I should have texted Stacie. She’s my dog-walker. Another high-schooler. She sends me reports every day.” She pulled up this afternoon’s text and showed Jack. “That girl has a good head on her shoulders. Very organized.”

  “Like you,” Jack said.

  “You haven’t seen my office,” Marianne answered. “That’s about the last word I’d use.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Jack said. She noted that he was no longer shivering. Had he been putting on a show just to get her to cuddle up with him on the walk back here? She couldn’t really fault him if he had; it had felt very nice. “You run that theater single-handedly, and from what I can see, you’ve got it operating like a well-oiled machine.”

  It didn’t feel that way, but if that’s what he saw from the outside, then she was doing something right. And so was Jack; Asta was trotting alongside him, nuzzling at his leg. “Wow, he doesn’t usually warm up like this to new people. I mean, he’s friendly, but this isn’t like him.” It wasn’t like her, either, falling into a relationship – if that’s what this was, or might be – so quickly.

  “I guess I just have a way with dogs,” Jack said. And women, or at least one woman, too. “But one question. What kind of a name is…”

  Marianne stopped dead in her tracks. Asta, at the end of his leash, yelped in surprise. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. If you seriously don’t know who he’s named after, I – I just don’t know what to say to that.” Even if you weren’t a fan of old movies, how could any decently-educated person not know who Asta was?

  “Well, I don’t.” He tried not to sound defensive; she had to give him that much credit. And, maybe she was being unfair. She’d grown up with these movies, they had been her whole life. That wasn’t true for everyone.

  “The Thin Man?” He gave her a look that wasn’t quite blank, but it was close. “1934? William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles? Husband and wife detectives?” She got that same look again. “OK, The Thin Man was a movie. Made in 1934.”

  He didn’t manage to keep all the sarcasm out of his voice, but, again, she could hear that he was trying to. “I figured that much out.”

  “Well, in the movie – movies, actually, there are six of them in all. And in all the movies, Asta is their dog. He’s a terrier, so when I adopted my Asta, what else could I name him?”

  “I guess you’ll have to show me that movie, too. At least the first one, anyway.”

  That would not be a problem. One of the things she loved most about her job was introducing great movies to people who had never seen them. Or, in this case, heard of them. “Done. Only – how long are you in town for? The schedule is set until the last week in February.”

  And then he spoke words that verged on blasphemous. “Why can’t we just watch it on video?”

  Marianne just stared at him. He’d been to the Esmerelda twice now, and he still didn’t get it? No, that wasn’t fair. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Center herself, as her old yoga instructor always told her. “We could,” she said. “But the thing is, these movies were made to be seen on the big screen, with an audience. You shouldn’t see them for the first time on a TV. It can’t always be helped, but I do my best to bring these movies to people the right way. It’s – I know how this sounds, but I think of it as my mission in life.” And even that was understating it, but she figured it got the point across. She only hoped she hadn’t just scared him off with her missionary zeal.

  Jack had been wrong when he’d called Marianne “passionate” about her theater. That was a massive understatement. He wasn’t sure there was a word to adequately describe how she felt about old movies, and introducing them to new audiences.

  Her speech – dissertation, maybe? – while they were walking her dog was all the argument necessary to declare the theater an historical landmark, as far as he was concerned. Unfortunately, he couldn’t bring her down to Salem and set her loose on his boss. Direct testimony from the owner of a property under consideration was not allowed.

  His boss had explained the policy to him when he’d joined her department: “Of course the owner will make a strong case for their property. It’s like asking a parent if they think their baby is beautiful – what else are they going to say?”

  He could see the sense in that, but this was a special case. Nobody who listened to Marianne could possibly fail to be swayed by her passion – there was that inadequate word again. And he could see now, having seen three movies there, and seen how the audience reacted to them, that it wasn’t just the movies. The experience of the Esmerelda had a lot to do with it, seeing those movies in a theater that had been designed for them, not just a boring rectangular cookie-cutter of an auditorium
like most modern movie theaters were.

  He knew what his report would say, now. He only hoped his words would convey what he’d learned here, and convince his boss, and her bosses.

  Which left the question of what to say to Marianne herself. He was falling for her, no doubt about that. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he had fallen for her. Completely, irrevocably fallen. Her energy, her love for what she did and for her town and her family’s legacy, that was all irresistible. The fact that she was beautiful, too, didn’t even enter into his feelings, and that had never happened to him before.

  But she was beautiful. Her bluish-green – or were they greenish-blue? – eyes sparkled. Her long, light brown hair was gorgeous. And she even managed to pull off that ridiculous fake fur coat with style to spare, and that was no mean achievement.

  To top it all off, she ate real food! Cheeseburgers and chili fries! Up until his last girlfriend, Tamara, he had never given much thought to the diet of any woman he’d been interested in. But Tamara had been a health nut, to put it mildly. And because she liked him so much, she shared her nuttiness with him. Or, more accurately, forced it on him whenever they ate together. She meant well, but man was not meant to live on tofu and smoothies made with unpronounceable ingredients and which came out of the blender the same color and consistency as industrial waste.

  Jack had learned his lesson. When a woman broke out the protein powder and the weird fruits, it was time to run away. Marianne had a normal diet, one he could share, and enjoy, like a sane person.

  There was only one problem: the Duck-Man. Marianne liked his electronic alter-ego. He was in a love triangle, with himself as his rival. Clark Kent had the same problem, in the old movie, the one with Christopher Reeve. How had he resolved the problem?

  It had been a long time since Jack had seen the movie; he had to look it up online to see what had happened, and it turned out that Clark didn’t tell Lois Lane he was Superman until halfway through the second movie, and Lois had taken the news very well.