All that said, I’d like to request one favor: please keep my name out of the report. I don’t care about getting credit, and I don’t care how it will look on my yearly review when my name does not appear on a project I spent several weeks working on. I hope you will do this for me, and I hope you will take everything I’ve written to heart.
Thank you,
Jack Nelson
He’d done all he could do, and there was nothing left except to hit send. So he did.
She finally heard from the Duck-Man Thursday night.
Marianne,
I’m glad I can finally call you by your name. Thank you for telling me.
I arrived in Key West without much trouble, unless you count five hours in coach next to a screaming toddler. I was greeted by another screaming toddler when I arrived at my brother’s house.
It’s a girl, by the way. Patricia, to be exact. And I did give her, and my brother, your regards, just so you know.
I also gave your regards to my sister-in-law, who came home this morning, two weeks ahead of schedule. Which means that, although I’m obviously welcome at my brother’s house, I’m not actually needed.
Therefore, I changed my return flight, and I’ll be coming back to Romance tomorrow night. If it doesn’t upset your plans too much, I would love to take you up on your generous offer to meet me at the airport. My flight is on American Airlines (I don’t have the flight number in front of me, but it will be coming from Atlanta) and it’s scheduled to arrive at 7:35 PM at Portland International Airport.
I would tell you my name, but somehow I feel like I should keep the mystery going for one more day. I’ll let you think about it, and I can’t wait to hear your guesses as to what you think it is.
If you can meet me, I will be at the baggage claim area, and I’ll be wearing a red carnation somewhere on my person. That seems only fair.
Until tomorrow,
Your Duck-Man
He had some nerve not telling her his name, after she’d given him hers. But at least he’d acknowledged it, and it was sort of romantic. Or at least, it would be if she didn’t know what she knew about him.
But did she really know it? Could Jack have made it all up?
No, that was impossible. He didn’t even know about the Duck-Man in the first place. She’d never said a word about him. So why would he make up a story about him being a hygienically-challenged hippie? And how could he have known all the details of the Duck-Man’s trip to Florida, let alone the name of his brother?
No, Jack had seen what he had seen. But maybe the Duck-Man wasn’t really a hippie at all. Maybe he just hadn’t had a chance to do laundry. If he was staying in a motel, that was entirely possible. And as for the muttering to himself, didn’t everybody mutter at their computer from time to time? She had been known to do it herself.
It could all be some big, ridiculous misunderstanding. Right?
One way or the other, she’d know tomorrow night.
Thursday night came and went with no word from Amanda back in Salem. That was fine, though. His boss would get back to him soon enough, and he’d deal with whatever she had to say.
He did have word from Marianne, though, or at least his alter-ego did. The email had been waiting for him when he awoke Friday morning.
Hello, Duck-Man,
This is the last time I’ll be calling you that. After tomorrow, I’ll know who you really are, and I’ll have a real name to call you by.
Unless it’s something ridiculous, in which case you will remain the Duck-Man. Or, at least, Ducky. Especially if you happen to look like Jon Cryer.
Yes, believe it or not, I have seen Pretty in Pink, even though it was made several decades later than anything the Esmerelda shows. I’ve seen every movie John Hughes ever made, thank you very much.
Anyway, I will be happy to pick you up at the airport tomorrow.
Fondly,
Marianne
Jack had wrestled all night with what to do if Marianne agreed to go out to the airport, and he’d woken up with the answer. He had to tell her everything, and to heck with the consequences. He hadn’t even needed to seek out his brother’s advice; it really was the only answer, and the one he should have come to days ago.
Better late than never, though. He’d tell her this afternoon, and whatever would happen then, would happen.
Marianne spent the morning changing the marquee. Out went Christmas in Connecticut and The Shop Around the Corner. Taking their place were Miracle on 34th Street at four and eight PM, and White Christmas at six and ten.
Switching out the marquee was the usual miserable chore, but that was still more enjoyable than the two hours she spent trying to make herself look more like the second female lead in White Christmas, Vera-Ellen. Lightening her hair to get closer to Vera’s blonde curls wasn’t too bad, but squeezing herself into a sparkly white sweater was no fun at all. And the less said about the leggings and the shoes, the better.
The overall effect wasn’t perfect, mainly because she didn’t have the legs of a highly-trained professional dancer, but it wasn’t bad. She was especially proud of the shimmery white cape, which Jessie had found for her online in ten minutes, after Marianne had spent several fruitless hours looking for what she wanted.
She’d wear this out to meet the Duck-Man, even including the red gloves. Why not? This was who she was, the woman who loved her movies so much that she dressed the part.
She showed off the look to her employees at the weekly staff meeting. That was too grand a term, really – it was usually a five minute huddle to remind everyone about the upcoming week’s movies, which they all knew about already. Jessie and Carly were duly impressed.
“That’s hot, Ms. Carter!” was Jessie’s verdict.
“I hope you’ve got a date tonight. You shouldn’t waste all that work,” was Carly’s opinion.
The male staff, too, approved. Jake was rendered speechless, which Marianne took as high praise. And Charlie whistled and told her, “If I was fifty years younger you’d have to beat me away with a stick.”
“Thank you,” Marianne said. “It’s nice to hear that. But you don’t have to say it just because I sign your paychecks.”
“No, Ms. Carter,” Jessie protested. “You really do look amazing.” Well, if a seventeen-year-old said it, it must be true, right?
Marianne chose to believe that, finished up the meeting and walked through the lobby. It was three-thirty now. She wanted to grab a bite to eat and take Asta out for a good, long walk, and then get on the road by five o’clock. The drive to the airport ought to take just an hour and forty minutes, but you never knew about traffic, and she didn’t want to take a chance on being late.
She took one step out onto the sidewalk when she heard her name being called. Someone was shouting it. A man.
Jack Nelson.
He was all the way across the town square, past the big Christmas tree. There, in front of Cicely’s Caramel & Chocolate. With a box in his hands. A big box – Cicely’s ultra-deluxe assortment, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Well, they’d been on three dates, sort of, hadn’t they? It made sense that he’d get around to buying her a gift sooner or later, didn’t it? If only he hadn’t picked this afternoon to do it.
She let him come to her. It wasn’t just a matter of playing coy; these shoes were hell to walk in. How had Vera-Ellen done a major dance number in heels like this?
“Marianne! I’m glad I caught you.” He was only a few feet away now, and she could see that it wasn’t the ultra-deluxe assortment after all. It was the one thing Cicely sold that was even bigger and more expensive, the Eternal Love box. “Forty-eight hand-made confections, for lovers to share as they share their hearts with one another,” as the little sign on Cicely’s counter described it.
That was an extravagant gift for him to give someone he hadn’t even
kissed on the cheek yet. And that wasn’t the only curious thing. What did he mean, that he was glad he’d caught her? How did he know she was going anywhere?
“Jack?”
And why did he have a flower poking out of the pocket of his shirt?
Not just any flower. A red flower.
Not just any red flower. A carnation, in fact.
How did he know? How could he know? What in the world was going on?
Jack led Marianne back across the square and into Della’s Diner, holding her hand the whole way. It seemed the best place for the conversation they were about to have. No matter how badly she took his confession, she didn’t seem the type to make a scene in public.
Except, now he thought about it, isn’t that what always happened in movies? The angry or betrayed or jilted woman screamed at the man who’d done her wrong in the middle of a restaurant, didn’t she? And then, more often than not, she slapped him, or threw a drink in his face, or dumped her dinner into his lap. Sometimes all three.
He still had to tell her.
“Marianne, I need to tell you something.”
She wasn’t angry yet, just confused. “Yeah, you do, but I have no idea what.”
He resisted the urge to say something clever like, “That’s because I haven’t told you yet.” There was no point in riling her up more than she was about to be once he told her the truth. “You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing a red carnation,” he began. She just glared at him; clearly the anger was beginning to bubble up. “Right. It’s because you’re supposed to meet me, except now you don’t have to go to the airport.”
Confusion took the place of anger again in her eyes. “No riddles, please, Jack.”
He took a deep breath. No more hesitating, it was now or never. He extended a hand to her. “I think it’s time we were properly introduced. Hello, Esme. I’m the Duck-Man.”
For a moment or two, she just stared at him, looking down at his hand, then back up to meet his eyes. She blinked, blinked again, opened and closed her mouth several times. And then she yelped – there was no other word for it. He hadn’t thought a human being could make a sound that high-pitched. Everyone in the diner turned to look at her. She took no notice; she was looking at him, only at him, and there were so many emotions shifting back and forth in her eyes that he couldn’t begin to follow them.
“I’m sorry, Marianne. I never meant – it wasn’t supposed to – I’m sorry.” What could he say? There was no logic, no argument, nothing that would explain or justify his lies to her. “I’ll go. I didn’t want – I don’t want to hurt you. I just – I never meant to get involved, I wasn’t supposed to even talk to you at all, and I went and fell for you, and now here we are.”
She was still staring, opening and closing her mouth again, clearly trying to come up with words to express the hundred different things she had to be feeling. But she couldn’t find them, and, finally, she just stood up and turned to leave.
“Marianne. Please. You don’t have to listen to me. You don’t even have to take the chocolates.” He pulled a manila envelope out of his jacket, the envelope that contained a printout of his report, and put it on the table. “Just take that, and read it, and it’ll make sense. I hope. And I’m sorry. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, I am.”
She looked down at the envelope, picked it up carefully, as though it might explode at any moment, and then she walked away. Jack didn’t have the heart to turn around and watch her head out of the diner, and out of his life for good.
How could she have been so stupid?
She’d been played for a fool, a complete, utter fool. Worse than that, she’d probably given Jack the idea in the first place by pestering him into seeing The Shop Around the Corner!
No, what was worst of all was how she’d laughed to herself that, no, of course she wasn’t playing out that very scenario in her emails with him. She’d thought herself too smart, too clever, too sophisticated to fall for something that ridiculous.
Well, the joke was on her, wasn’t it?
And what had he given her as a parting gift? A stupid envelope! What was inside it? Another joke? One last insult?
She should have just taken the chocolate instead. She’d have been within her rights, and by now she could easily have plowed through half the box.
She ought to throw the envelope away, unopened. Or, even better, burn it. Burn it just like they burned Rosebud without ever figuring out what it really meant.
No. Real life was not like the movies. It might be more dramatic to get rid of the envelope, but she’d only regret not looking inside. And she knew herself well enough to know that she’d speculate endlessly about what she’d thrown away, obsess about it until she convinced herself that it was the answer to everything, the Holy Grail.
Better to read it now, suffer whatever final indignity lurked inside, and close the book on Jack Nelson, and the Duck-Man, forever. The end, that’s a wrap, no sequels, please.
She had an antique letter opener on the little desk in her bedroom. If she was going to do this, she might as well do it properly. Still in her Vera-Ellen outfit, she sat down at the desk, slit the envelope open, and pulled out a stack of papers. It had to be twenty pages, at least, single-spaced. It looked like a manifesto, something that crazy conspiracy theorists wrote.
But it wasn’t.
From: Jack Nelson, Oregon Office of Historical Preservation, Cultural Affairs Division
To: Amanda Jackson, Assistant Director, Oregon Office of Historical Preservation, Cultural Affairs Division
Re: Onsite Investigation of Esmerelda Theater, Town of Romance
Date: December 13, 2018
I have completed my onsite investigation into the application for a determination of status as a State Historical Landmark for the Esmerelda Theater (109 Douglass Rd., Romance, OR 97128).
After a thorough investigation, including numerous interviews with local residents, multiple visits to the Theater itself at various times of day, and exhaustive research in the town’s archives, I recommend that the Esmerelda Theater’s application be approved, and the Theater declared an official State Historical Landmark.
Marianne reread the first page again, and then again. The words did not change.
Jack had been investigating the theater – investigating her – all along. He never worked for the Tourism Board. He’d lied to her all along. About everything.
Except, unlike Jimmy Stewart, or Van Johnson, or even Tom Hanks, his lies were not for any selfish purpose. They were to help her. Of course he hadn’t told her he was investigating the theater, trying to decide whether it should be named a landmark or not. He couldn’t tell her, not if he wanted to do his job right.
And not if he wanted his boss to believe him. Especially once he’d started to fall for her, which he had. He definitely had. It all made sense now – the teasing, and all the times he arranged for her to just happen to bump into him, and the whole stupid thing with the emails from the Duck-Man.
And he had followed the plot of the movie to the letter. That whole business about him seeing the Duck-Man at Sweet Hearts Pastry making his reservations, that was almost word for word from every version of The Shop Around the Corner.
She had her landmark status, but she’d lost the guy she had totally fallen for – fallen for twice over! – and she wasn’t about to let things end that way.
She had to do something, and she had to do it now.
He was packed up and ready to go. One final check of the room, and he could leave Romance behind forever. But before he could do that final check, there was a knock at the door. More of a pounding at the door, really. But who could it be? The only person in town he knew at all well wouldn’t want to see him, and didn’t know where he was staying anyway.
“Hang on, I’m coming.” Jack went to the door, and didn’t bother with the peephole. There was no p
oint; he’d discovered his first night here that it didn’t actually work. He opened the door, and – how was it possible? – there was Marianne.
An hour ago, out on the street and then in the diner, he’d been so preoccupied with what he had to say to her that he hadn’t really registered what she was wearing. But now that he looked at her properly, the only word that came to mind, and it was horribly inadequate, was an almost breathless “Wow.”
“Thanks,” she said, grinning. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? But it still didn’t explain how she was here at his doorstep.
No, now she was inside. She barged in without an invitation. “You remember my box-office girl, Jessie?” Marianne didn’t wait for him to answer. “She’s good at finding information on the internet. It’s pretty frightening how good she is, tell you the truth. Anyway, she got your boss’ cell phone number, don’t ask me how she dug that up. So I called her and got her to tell me where you were staying, and here I am.”
She sat herself down on the sofa. He only now noticed that her dog was with her. “You called Amanda?”
She nodded. “Once I explained everything, she was happy to tell me where you were.”
Both Marianne and the dog were staring hard at him. He was frozen in place. All he could do was mumble, “What did you explain?”
Her grin became a broad, beaming smile. “I told her all about your stupid, ridiculous lie, and what an idiot I felt like when I found out the truth, and how in spite of all that, I still needed to talk to you, because,” now she hesitated for a moment, although the smile didn’t waver a bit. “Because I still like you. Both of you, Jack and the Duck-Man. Maybe it’s more than like. If this was one of my movies – you’ve seen a few of them now, you know what always happens at the end – I’d ask you to marry me right here, right now.”
A Reel Christmas In Romance (Christmas In Romance Book 4) Page 7