by Jack Finney
Ben, hurry up, or we'll miss the beginning! And put on your raincoat.
The only thing better than missing the beginning of this celluloid disaster — Ben began tugging at a corner of his wadded-up raincoat — would be missing the end and the middle, too. He opened his door. Thrusting an arm into a sleeve of the coat, he swung his long legs out of the car, then began to run, head ducked against the rain. He was struggling with his raincoat, and Ruth saw that he had his arm in the wrong sleeve. He ran across the small patch of lawn, reached the shelter of the Howsers' front steps, and stopped to look down at his coat. He pushed his other arm into the empty sleeve and — the coat on backward — reached around and managed to fasten one button. He took off his hat, ran his hand through his black hair, then put the hat on backward, too. Peering through her rain-streaked window, Ruth watched him walk up the steps and push the bell; when he turned to stand with his back to the door, Ruth began rolling down her window.
The door behind Ben opened, yellow light filling the little, entryway, and June Howser stood, a hand on the doorknob, staring in surprised silence at the figure in her doorway. Ben ducked his chin to his chest, the hatbrim at the back of his head rising to expose the apparently blank and featureless dark-haired face underneath it. June gasped.
June, it's Ben! Ruth called to her. With his hat on backward.
Oh, for heaven's sakes, June murmured. She was a tall, dark-haired girl with magnificent large eyes, and now Ben turned to grin at her.
He was just talking about having me committed, Ruth called.
June smiled as she stepped aside to let Ben in. Well, if he can prove you married him, June called to Ruth, he's proved you're crazy. We'll be with you in a minute. June closed the door behind her and turned to Ben, her eyes amused. Come in and sit down, she said, if you're sure you know which way to bend. Charley's nearly ready, finally. He's been stalling for half an hour.
Charley, take your time! Ben called down the hallway leading to the Howsers' bedroom. Take several hours! Even days! I'll drive Ruth home, and we'll wait'll we hear from you.
Honestly, you're as bad as Charley about simply going to a movie. June had turned to a closet, and now she brought out a red raincoat and hat. He acts as though he'd got a draft notice.
Hi. Charley Howser appeared in the bedroom doorway, adjusting his tie, a tweed coat over his arm. He was a rather short man, but he was very powerfully built; he had red hair and a homely, pleasant face. Ben, you look as though you don't know whether you're coming or going.
Ben glanced at his rain-speckled coat. It's symbolic: means that I'm going to the movies when I wish I were coming home.
Charley nodded. Me too. Looks like a bad night, even for ducks. And a worse one for us. He slipped his coat on, backward. But maybe we can fool these addlepated women. Ben. I'll pour water on their heads. and we'll walk backward, and they'll think we've already been to the movies. He nodded toward the livingroom fireplace. I'll start a fire. and we'll have some hot drinks and sit around talking about what a delightful picture it was.
All right, you two, come on. June rattled the front-door knob. Ruth's waiting out in the cold.
Serves her right for thinking of this, Charley said, pulling his coat off. I'm always thoroughly delighted to see the Callanders, but sitting in a movie. I won't see them at all. On a night like this, I'd like to see the Callanders by flickering firelight.
Charley, Ben said, you're making my knees weak with desire at the very thought.
Listen — June frowned, standing at the door in her red coat and hat — don't you two really want to go?
Charley looked at Ben. Now. where would she get an idea like that. Ben? You must have said something.
Not me. I love going to lousy movies in a raging typhoon.
June opened the front door. Ruth! she called, and they heard Ruth's window being rolled down — They're both lying here on the living-room floor, kicking their heels in a tantrum. Why don't we just let them stay here?
Suits me. Ruth called back. Wonderful idea, in fact. They'd just sit muttering all through the picture, spoiling it for us. Come on!
Well, the reprieve came in time. June said to the two men. Enjoy yourselves. She stepped out, pulled the door closed behind her, and they heard the sound of her high heels going down the stone steps.
Charley turned to Ben, shaking his head in surprise. Ben. I owe it all to you, he said, tossing his coat on a chair. And any time in the years ahead that I can ever do anyhing for you, anything at all. I want you to call on me. How about a drink?
Maybe a little later, Charley. Ben stood up and began taking off his raincoat. We just had dinner.
Okay. Charley reached for Ben's coat. I'll start a fire pretty soon, and we'll have some hot buttered rum or mulled ale or something, to celebrate. He turned toward the closet. Reprieve is right, he said over his shoulder. I hear it's the world's worst movie.
Yeah, I read the reviews. Ben sat down on the davenport beside the fireplace.
Those crazy women, going to a lousy movie on a miserable night like this. You watch, though, they'll come back and say it was wonderful. They'll know better, of course — they'll know we were right and that it's a terrible picture. Charley sat down, clasping his hands behind his head. Heck, they know it right now. But they've got to go to see it, just the same. What's it about, anyway? Charley stretched his legs comfortably.
Some kind of fifth-rate musical. Ben lounged back on the davenport. A lot of weary stuff about all of Paris going mad for l'amour. You know; you've probably seen it a thousand times.
Yeah, I know. Charley nodded. There'll be at least one scene where a baker, a charwoman, a street cleaner with a twig broom, and a gendarme of course, all throw up their hands in ecstasy at sight of the young lover and start singing. The gendarme has his thumbs hooked in his belt and reaches up to twist his mustache.
Right. Ben smiled. And the song is ‘Love in the Louvre.’ The young couple wander into the Louvre museum with their arms around each other's waists, and just as the song ends, there's a trick shot of — what's that famous painting in the Louvre? The woman with the mysterious smile?
You mean Mona Lisa?
Yeah. The scene ends with a trick shot of Mona Lisa winking at the audience. Real cute.
Right! Charley was grinning And the heroine is a leggy, scrawny sort of girl —
You mean gamine, Charley. There' a law against using any other word.
Of course. I'm sorry — gamine. She looks like nothing in the first half of the picture, wears a straw hat and pinafore, and looks about twelve year old. Then comes the scene where she puts on her first evening gown —
And the hero says, Froufrou You've grown up!
And Maurice Chevalier winks a the audience. Charley was grinning happily. Then he sat back in his chair and shook his head. You watch though. June'll come back and insist it was great.
Sure. So will Ruth. They'll back each other up. Ben frowned, staring at the rug. Too bad we don't know some of the actual horrible details to throw back at them.
How do you mean?
Well — Ben glanced at Charley — they'll come back and start yapping about what a great picture we missed Then I'd say, No kidding? Did we really miss a good picture? And you'd say, Well, I'll be darned. I'd have sworn it would be the kind of picture with the gendarme and the baker and so on all dancing in the street. Only the example you'd use would be some thing that was really in the picture. You see what I mean? Charles nodded. Then I'd say, Well. I'm sorry I missed it now, Ruth. I thought sure it'd be full of ghastly cute stuff — like Mona Lisa winking at the audience. Only I'd use some actual detail from the picture. Ben grinned They'd have to lie then, in pure self-defense. Deny there was any such thing in the picture at all. Then we'd have them. That so? we'd say. Well, what was the picture like? Tell us all about it.
Charley sat staring at the rug, a faint smile on his lips. Then he looked up at Ben. You suppose if we phoned the box office, they'd tell us a little about the picture?
Ben shook his head. Not the kind of actual details we'd need. We'd have to have some pretty specific incidents.
For several seconds both men stared at the floor. Then, in the same instant, both looked up, and as their eyes met, they grinned.
Very softy, Ben said. Would it really be worth it, Charley?
Well, Charley answered, still grinning, and he shrugged. ''my car's in the garage. We wouldn't need raincoats. Just walk down the inside stairway, drive out, and leave the garage door open. Going or coming, we wouldn't get wet. And on a night like this, we ought to be able to park practically in front of the theater. We could drive down and see. anyway. Wouldn't have to stay for the whole picture, either — just long enough to gather some ammunition, then back to the fireside and life-restoring booze.
Ben nodded. Okay. I'm willing if you are.
Let's go, then. Charley stood up. Best reason I've ever had for going to a lousy movie.
They did not find a parking place in front of the theater; it was a block and a half away. The rain was coming down hard, drumming loudly on the roof, and the men sat for a few minutes peering through the blurred windshield, discussing whether or not to return home. But it was too late for that. Presently they got out and began to run toward the theater, Charley's legs pumping hard, Ben loping beside him. They were panting when they reached the outer lobby, and they stood for a few moments catching their breaths, mopping their faces with handkerchiefs.
Their wives, they knew, liked to sit well forward, so the men sat far to the rear, slouched down in their seats. On the screen, a cartooned mouse was being chased by a cat, who carried a pair of white gloves and wore a vest from which hung a gold watch chain. The mouse fell into a deep hole in the ground, the cat tumbling after him, and the chase was resumed at the bottom. Around and around they went, the mouse pausing frequently to tug frantically at a locked door. On a table stood a bottle, from which hung a label reading Drink Me, and now the mouse seized it, drinking as he ran. He shrank to a speck, sprang through the keyhole of the door, and the cat snatched up the bottle and began to drink. A man on the other side of the theater whooped with delighted laughter, and Charley murmured, Every movie I've ever been to, that guy is there if there's a cat-and-mouse cartoon. That same guy.
I know, Ben said. In between, he attends all television comedy shows.
They watched a travelogue, then sat through some minutes of coming attractions. Presently the feature began. A girl, leaning out a garret window, looking over the rooftops around her, sang “You Aren't in Paris If You Aren't in Love,” as the title and credit lines passed over the screen.
My old friends, the chimneypots of Paris, Ben said. I'd have demanded our money back if we hadn't seen them.
I still will, said Charley, if we don't hear some gay Gallic accordion music.
But before the girl's song ended, a young man appeared in a nearby rooftop window and tried to begin an acquaintance by accompanying her on his accordion. Refusing to glance at him, the girl finished her song, then pulled down her blind, and the young Frenchman shrugged with both shoulders and both hands and struck a discord on his accordion.
Charley leaned toward Ben. We're safe. This opus will be all we expect.
They sat watching the movie, following the plot with some small interest. When a pedestrian appeared in the picture, walking along a narrow Paris street and carrying a yard-long loaf of bread under his arm, Ben nudged Charley. Make a note, he murmured. No Paris movie complete without that loaf of bread.
I know, Charley muttered. It's made of plaster. They've used it in every French movie since Chevalier was a teen-ager.
The picture continued. There was a scene, presently, in a sidewalk café. The young girl who had sung from her garret window was now tasting champagne for the first time; a handsome boulevardier, hands folded on the top of his cane, smiled indulgently. The girl sipped from her glass, then looked up, her nose wrinkling in surprise, and Ben said, It tickles my nose! as the girl spoke the identical words. Charley let out a bark of laughter, the only person in the theater to laugh. Several yards ahead, a couple turned to glance at them.
Ben and Charley watched the movie for a considerable time. Again Ben murmured, Make a note, as the picture showed a strolling gendarme rolling his eyes at sight of the girl and the accordion player leaning on a bridge rail. They watched longer and later than they'd intended, and when a line of mesh-stockinged girls dancing the cancan appeared on the screen, Ben glanced at his watch. This thing must be nearly over, he murmured to Charley. I can't think of anything we've missed. We'd better get out of here if we want to beat the girls home.
It was still raining — not as hard as earlier, but in a heavy, misting drizzle — and again they ran, reaching the car panting for breath, and Ben sneezed on the drive back to the Howsers'. But Charley started a fire in the living-room fireplace, when they got there, and mixed them each a drink. They had shed their wet jackets and were by the fire, sipping the drinks, when they heard Ben's car pull into the driveway.
The motor stopped; car doors slammed. Then they heard the women's voices as they climbed the front steps. Charley got up and opened the door. As Ruth stepped in, followed by June, Charley said, Well, look who's here, Ben — Yvonne and Fifi! How was the movie, mes petites?
Oh, fine, said June, and Ruth murmured, Wonderful. They began removing their raincoats and hats.
Oh? Ben said from the davenport, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Well, I'll be darned. I'd have sworn it'd be lousy, wouldn't you, Charley?
Yeah, Charley said. Looks as though maybe we missed something, Ben. Tell us about it, ladies. I'll fix you a drink.
Oh, never mind, June said. She turned from the closet, lifting a hand to her head to adjust her dark hair. I don't want a drink. Unless Ruth does.
No, thanks. Ruth walked toward the davenport, smiling brightly at Ben. Well! she said, sitting down beside him. Her cheeks, Ben noticed, were flushed from the rain, and she looked very pretty. And what've you two been doing?
June walked to Charley's easy chair, and Charley pulled another chair beside it.
Oh, nothing much, Ben answered. Tell us about this wonderful picture we missed. I thought sure it'd be a typical French-bread opus.
What kind?
Oh, you know. Ben shrugged. So full of French charm and quaintness you need a sedative to watch it. In every really lousy movie about Paris, there's always a shot of a quaint Frenchman lugging around a yardlong loaf of quaint French bread. You know what I mean. Charley?
Charley nodded, sipping his drink. Yeah, he said, only I call them champagne-tickles-my-nose movies. You know — he looked around at them all, smiling brightly — if the movie's really downright bad enough, there's bound to be a scene where some girl tastes champagne for the first time. She's astonished that it bubbles.
I know. Ben nodded sadly. The only thing worse is the big cancan scene, with everybody so hilarious you want to kill yourself.
And of course a shot of the rooftops of Paris. Sitting back in his chair. Charley grimaced at the thought.
And a song about love in Paree — very mournful.
With accordion music! Charley closed his eyes as though he were in pain.
Oh, sure, said Ben. Movie'd be illegal without it. He turned to Ruth. Nothing like that in this picture?
Oh, no! she said, and glanced at June. Was there, June?
Of course not. June shook her head firmly.
Well, tell us about it, honey, Charley said. Sounds as though we should have gone along.
Oh, you should have! June said. It was — charming. Really very delightful and — warm. Suddenly she giggled and said, You tell them, Ruth!
Oh, it was very nice! Ruth said quickly. Just sort of — well, sort of warm and cozy, wasn't it, June?
Yes, said June. It tickled my nose!
The two women burst into laughter, shoulders shaking, covering their faces with their hands.
Charley looked at them, smiling, noddin
g wisely. Well, he said, looks as though the truth, as always, is out. How about it, Junie? The picture was just as terrible as we in our wisdom predicted, wasn't it?
June nodded several times, recovering from her laughter. Yes, she said then, I'm sure it was. Ruth thought it would be. We talked about it in the car, on the way to the theater.
Ruth nodded. Ben's usually right about movies. She looked at him, smiling. I hate to admit it, but you really are, dear. And I'd read the reviews myself. There wasn't any parking place near the theater anyway, and we'd have been crazy to walk in that rain.
So we went to The Inn, said June.
Charley sat staring at her. The Inn? he said slowly.
Yes. You know — that nice place on Geary with the open fireplace in the middle of the lounge. They park your car for you and bring it back. and there's a big awning from the curb to the door. Not a drop of rain touched us all night.
You — didn't go to the movies? At all? Ben said slowly to Ruth.
Of course not. A terrible picture like that? On a night like this? We went to The Inn, sat by the fire, and talked. We had a wonderful visit, didn't we, June?
Wonderful, June said. Smiling. Two hot buttered rums apiece. Came home, finally, when it stopped raining.
Where'd you two go? Ruth asked. Not waiting for an answer, she looked at June. I always envy Ben, she said. His hair curls when it gets wet in the rain. Look at it. She put a hand on Ben's head, then frowned. Still wet, she said. You should have worn your hat, darling. Where'd you go? she repeated. with mild curiosity.
Well, Ben began briskly. Then he stopped, and his face began to flush.
Ruth was staring at him. Then her eyes narrowed. Did you go to the movies, after all? she said.
No, Charley began, just as Ben spoke.
Yeah, matter of fact, we did, Ben said quickly. We wondered where you were — looked all over for you.
That's right, Charley said. We decided it was wrong to arbitrarily condemn the picture without seeing it. And we had nothing else to do, anyway. So we went.
I thought you were trying to trap us into something, June said triumphantly. I can always tell. She shook her head at the two men, in amused reproof. You went to the movie, found out we weren't there, and you were trying to trick us with all that talk about French bread or whatever it was, weren't you?
