Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  Drea looked at her phone again and wondered to herself if she really should go on into the theater without the owner like Mrs. Betty had given her permission to. Sure, that was probably her New York thinking kicking in. Mrs. Betty’s message said it would be fine to let herself in and start looking around if she wasn’t there when she arrived. She had given Drea keys for just that reason. Still she felt uncomfortable. Sure, she’d been in the theater plenty of times, but never alone. Suddenly Drea wondered if it would be a little creepy. All of her times in the theater had been as a patron during the weekly features Mrs. Betty had shown along with her late husband, Henry. And though the theater was never a sellout or even close, still she wasn’t alone.

  Drea let out a sigh. Now she was just being foolish. Okay. She wasn’t a kid. She was here to do a job and Mrs. Betty would arrive soon. If the little old woman could come in and open the theater by herself, what was she doing acting all afraid? Besides, she was excited to get a jump on looking around again and rethinking her plans. The first ones were made up from only what Mrs. Betty sent her previously and her earlier visits to the theater as a patron. Her mind was in a whirl with all she was envisioning for the theater. Mrs. Betty had her so excited after their talk about it. It actually felt good to feel this way again.

  Quickly, Drea took the copper keys and started to unlock the two locks on the theater doors. It amazed her that there were only the two and that was it. Just the one for the middle lock and then one for the lower down near the ground. She had a small bit of trouble getting that one to open and it made her think of Mrs. Betty and bending low at her age. Maybe they should discuss that in their plans. Though the woman seemed as spry as they came, either way there wasn’t nearly enough when it came to security. Finally getting the brass and glass doors open, Drea let herself inside.

  Immediately her senses were hit by the smell of stale, stagnant air, heat, dust, and old buttered popcorn. The first thing the place needed was a good airing out. She turned, leaving the silence in the darkness of the theater lobby behind her, and looked back out onto Main Street in the afternoon light through the glass of the front doors. All seemed relatively quiet. With everything dark in the theater, she wondered if it would be safe to crack open the doors just a little—surely no one would come inside, and it would allow just a little bit of air in, at least until the switches came on and the ventilation got going properly. She needed Mrs. Betty to let her know how to work that.

  Making her decision, Drea cracked open the front doors, flipping the bottom latches down in order to have them stay partially ajar. Looking over to her left she was happy to see two brass crowd dividers, fully equipped with the old-style red velvet ropes, and she carried them toward the doors just in case a passerby got the wrong idea and thought they could enter the theater.

  Underestimating the weight, it took quite an effort to move them over, but finally Drea was able to tilt them on their sides and roll them into place. She carried the heavy ropes fireman-style, then clipped them into place. Looking down at her now filthy hands, she almost swiped them on her pleated skirt, so used to wearing a work apron at Goode ’N Sweet, but she thankfully stopped herself and found paper towels behind the concession stand.

  Goodness, what happened to the meticulously manicured me of a year ago? She shook her head. Also note to self: Don’t wear a skirt to this dust trap. Overalls, a hazmat suit. That sort of thing will do just fine.

  Drea let out a breath and looked around. The place would be quite the undertaking, now that she thought about it. Pretty much just like any New York club. Looks were surely deceiving. And what looked pretty good under the cover of night and with the right mood lighting was a whole different story when it got into the harsh light of day.

  For some reason that thought made Drea smile and the Suit came to her mind again. She looked down at the moto boots she still wore, despite her pleated skirt and tank top. Sure, she could have put on a nice pair of sandals for this meeting with Mrs. Betty, but she wasn’t a complete fool with the state of the theater, and honestly, when she made the decision to keep on the boots, she had to admit it was with the Suit in mind and a small hint of rebellion. For all his straight-laced appearance and complete annoyance, he was good-looking, suit and all. The man filled out that dumb suit jacket quite nicely and she supposed she made fun of it because she wouldn’t mind seeing what he looked like without it.

  He was just so tall and broad-shouldered, but not all that muscular, though clearly fit. Like a slim ball player. Suddenly, Drea envisioned him in basketball shorts and a casual T-shirt and she was pleasantly surprised with what her mind came up with. But just as quickly she let the vision fade. Really, first of all, the idea that a man who would wear a sports jacket when the humidity was above 85 percent pushing 90 would ever hang in basketball shorts was just beyond the pale, so she was wasting a fantasy right there.

  Besides, she didn’t have time for fantasies anyway. She’d honestly spent more than enough time idling and fantasizing on Sugar Lake as it was. She’d do this job for Mrs. Betty and use the time and money from the job to make the tough decisions about the next steps in her life and bring them to fruition. Even her own ever patient, sainted parents were starting to remind her that time was creeping up on her fast and she needed to start making some tough life decisions. Not that they wanted her to completely settle down, but at least she could show a return on their college and after college investments in her.

  Drea sighed. The spoiled part of her—and one thing Drea had learned since being in Sugar Lake and availing herself of lakeside self-reflection was that there was a spoiled part—didn’t want to admit that maybe her older sister had a point in her years of nagging. Not that she’d tell her that. Still, her parents deserved more from her. Heck, even she deserved more from herself. She thought about it as she turned away from looking out again for Mrs. Betty along the street and then headed further into the theater. The fact that so many believed in her still, believed in her to turn out and do something, if not great, at least worthwhile with her life, was both daunting and slightly exhilarating. And though she was afraid of the feeling, Drea didn’t want to let them down. She didn’t want to let herself down.

  Going through, past the foyer and concession area as if she were a paying customer, Drea stepped into the Redheart’s grand theater area. That was, if one could call it grand. Flipping on the overhead light switches off to the right far corner, she smiled when the magical theater was brought to life in all its slightly faded glory before her eyes. According to Mrs. Betty, the main floor held 400 seats and the balcony another 150. However, due to recent leaks in the roof, it had been a while since the balcony had seen any real action, which didn’t matter because there hadn’t been enough patrons at any given Wednesday night show since the new multiplex opened out by the mall. Drea smiled, thinking of the plans she and Mrs. Betty had discussed. If all went right, that was sure to change. This theater would once again be a social and entertainment event hub. The idea of it gave her a sizzle of excitement that shimmied throughout her body.

  Twirling on her heels, Drea turned her attention toward the stage, the screen, and the darkened burgundy curtains. She went back over to the panel and flipped a few switches, bringing more illumination into the auditorium area. She was able to get some light shining on to the boxes; the intricacies of the carvings around them still shone through despite the chipped paint and peeling gold leaf. Drea immediately saw the potential beauty of what the theater could be, once restored. Looking up, she marveled at the celestial skyline fresco painted on the ceiling, once again thinking of how this kind of amazing attention to beauty and detail was lacking in today’s mass quickie constructions.

  Drea flipped another switch, bringing a spotlight to the center of the stage, and it was as if a little bit of something in her chest made her inexplicably start to step forward down the center aisle.

  Feeling silly, outrageous, and maybe a slight bit morbid, she imagined an audience cheering
her on either side as she mimicked a scene from one of her all-time favorite movies, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Slowly and dramatically, she sashayed toward the stage, the refrain of “Don’t Dream It, Be It” chanting over and over in her mind. Turning toward the right, she made her way up the wooden stairs, did an exaggerated turn, and felt her skirt lift in the breeze. Turning again, she enjoyed the fluttering as she took a bow at center stage for her imagined cheering audience. The heat of the spotlight warming her from the inside out.

  * * *

  Kellen so didn’t have time for this.

  For his grandmother to be in such a hurry and so excited to get this theater renovation under way, he didn’t understand why all of a sudden on the way into town and not minutes from the theater she suddenly remembered something she had to discuss with Miss Joyce over at Goode’N Sweet. When Kellen suggested they just stop over there briefly and he would wait outside for her so that he could continue and take her along to their meeting with this Alex, she just brushed him off, telling him that she’d be along in a few moments and to continue ahead of her. That did nothing to smooth his mood for the meeting. But shrugging it off, Kellen thought it was perhaps for the best. He didn’t need his grandmother coming between him and this Alex person upon their first meeting. He’d much rather size the guy up himself, without his grandmother’s interference.

  After the earlier conversation, he pretty much had the guy pegged. And if he had his way and given the proper time alone, he was pretty sure he could send him back to whatever hole he had crawled out of by the time his grandmother had made her way from the bakery down to the theater.

  Kellen drove his car directly around back, parking in the lot, which would be another thing that, if his grandmother’s ideas came to light, would need to be added to her extensive list of re-dos. He pulled into the old manager’s spot—the same one that his grandfather had so many times before—as he purposely shook off the feelings of melancholy that came along with parking there.

  Kellen cut his ignition, then quickly made his way to the back door, pulling out keys he somehow still had on his ring for so many years. Looking around before letting himself in, he took in the large size of the triple-width lot and the tall structure of the theater. It really was a big old beauty. He remembered as a kid how much he used to admire its distinct architecture. To his young imagination it seemed like the old building held so many secrets and hidden treasures. He used to love to come during his time off from school when his parents were still alive and just explore, never quite finding anything of note, but it didn’t matter. It was all a thrill to his eight-year-old self.

  Letting out a sigh as his mind switched from the past to the present, Kellen went to open the back door. He frowned as his foot crunched on a bit of broken glass. Looking down, he could see the remnants of a possible teenage hangout party having taken place in the lot recently.

  Once again, anger pricked at him as he thought of his grandmother coming back here alone or to the lot with this strange Alex. What was she thinking? How safe could an endeavor like this be for an older woman living alone? Clearly, she wasn’t thinking at all. There were no surveillance cameras. And honestly these locks were little more than a joke for any thief worth their salt.

  No more games, Kellen thought. He really needed to convince his grandmother to give this up and move in with him or at least closer to him.

  Walking into the theater, Kellen was shocked to find the lights already on. The whole downstairs was illuminated—the stage too. He could see the faint outline from behind the screen of someone rocking back and forth, seeming to glide along the stage. Well, somebody was making himself quite comfortable, he thought. What happened to properly waiting out front for a meeting? Did his grandma give this guy the full run of the place?

  Heading toward the back of the stage, Kellen prepared himself for his first glimpse of Alex and giving him a piece of his mind. But what he encountered instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

  It hit him suddenly as he took in the shadowed figure moving rhythmically on the other side of the screen. The figure was hard to put into focus, but the silhouette surprised him, being that of a woman and not of a man, as he was expecting. She was moving gracefully on the other side of the screen, twirling and bowing, bowing and twirling, her arms swinging free and wide, and though there was no music playing, but rather only silence in the theater, Kellen felt as if he could hear the magical melody that must be playing in her head.

  From the silhouette he could see that she was tall and slim, though beautifully curved with long arms that seemed to extend so far, reaching out to forever when she gracefully pointed here and there with a certain amount of freedom that Kellen couldn’t quite understand, but for some reason he suddenly wanted to. Her legs, when she gracefully twirled and her pretty skirt floated up, seemed to go on forever too. Long and shapely right down to her pretty delicate . . . Kellen frowned. Wait—were those boots?

  Suddenly he coughed, and the woman stopped midspin.

  “Is anybody there? Mrs. Betty, is that you?” the female voice asked as Kellen felt everything in him seem to rise to attention.

  It couldn’t be. He shook his head. What was going on here? Where was the Alex guy he was supposed to meet? A chewing out was supposed to happen. Kellen was ready.

  Instead he cleared his throat again. “No, it’s not Mrs. Betty. She will be along in just a moment.” He started to walk around to the other side of the curtain. “I’m her grandson, Kel—”

  “The Suit!”

  Kellen’s eyes went so wide open seeing the bakeshop girl that he almost forgot to be insulted by the annoying nickname. Almost.

  “And you’re Boots from the bakery. Miss Joyce’s niece. What are you doing here, and I thought we agreed that we had actual names,” he said to her, raising a brow.

  She crossed her arms across her chest, then gave him a raised brow back. “I don’t remember agreeing to that. And I don’t remember knowing your name. Did we actually meet?” she asked him teasingly.

  Kellen felt all off kilter, which was a totally foreign feeling to him, but seemed to be the way of things in Sugar Lake. He fought to quickly pull himself together and not get caught up in the smile hinting at the corner of her lips or the glimmer of teasing in her eyes. “I know your name, and it’s Drea Goode. Like I said, you’re Miss Joyce’s niece, the one who helped with the shop. Right?”

  To that she rolled her eyes. “And you’re the grandson that I hear is supposedly smart?” She shook her head. “Presumptuous much? Yes, I’m Miss Joyce’s niece, but my last name is not Goode, it’s Gale. My mother is Aunt Joyce’s sister, Anne.”

  Kellen nodded, having remembered meeting, he thought, Miss Anne Goode when he was a kid. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kellen Kilborn. But, I still don’t get why you’re here. My grandmother and I have a meeting today. Did you have business?” he asked, now wondering if Alex was a no-show.

  And though she gave a slight blush of being caught in what he supposed she thought was a private, impromptu dance, she shrugged it off, spinning around once again, adding a little two-step to it. She looked up slightly challengingly. “Did you enjoy it?”

  Kellen was at first confused. Enjoy what?

  Picking up on his lack of understanding, she elaborated. “Your free show. Did you enjoy it?”

  Perfect. She was making him sound like some sort of peeper. He shrugged, hoping it came off nonchalant though he was feeling anything but. “It’s not like I can say don’t quit your day job. Because obviously, you’re not entirely untalented and don’t lack in stage presence. Let’s say, it’s better than your customer service skills.”

  Once again, her eyes went skyward. “You know, I’ve never had any complaints about my lack of customer service skills before, Su”—she stopped short, going on to address him by his full name—“Mr. Kilborn. As a matter of fact, I’m quite multitalented. I’m pretty much exemplary in anything I put my mind to.”

  Uh oh. Right the
n and there with her seemingly benign words something new started to nudge at him. It was a slightly niggling feeling of excitement, tinged with desire, sprinkled with a hint of longing that he most definitely didn’t have time for.

  Kellen pushed his feelings down, then he mentally dug a hole and threw them in there to make sure they were good and buried. He was there to deal with this Alex guy, so that he could get back to work and finally get this Ronson deal under way. He gave Miss Joyce’s quirky niece a look that he hoped was cool enough to let her know that he was done playing games. “Listen, I’m sure you are, but I don’t have time to see any more parts of your show. My grandmother will be here soon and we have a meeting set up with this designer that she’s hired to help her renovate the theater. So if you can make your business with her quick, I’d appreciate it.” He looked at his watch with frustration, then back up at her. Maybe he’d missed Alex or he was out front waiting for them. How could he have been so stupid? “The guy’s name is Alex. You didn’t see him when you came in, did you? Was he the one who let you in?”

  Once again, she raised a brow, then she gave a little twirl and shuffled her feet a few times and held out her hand to him. Kellen couldn’t help but look confused at her outstretched hand. Then he looked up at her and caught the mischievous smile in her that seemed to hold all the answers to questions that he didn’t know if he really wanted to ask. So, instead he just stood silently, taking in her full lips and beautiful cinnamon skin as it glistened under the spotlight of the theater, casting a momentarily magical spell on them as if spinning them from the present to the past in the blink of an eye. Finally, she spoke, breaking the spell. “There you go again with your presumptions. I have a feeling it’s going to be a real problem for us.”

  When Kellen didn’t move, she shook her head and let out a frustrated huff. “So, you gonna let my arm fall off?” she asked. Kellen felt the thrill race through his body to his heart as he was reminded of the same words that she said to him in the early hours of that morning.