The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  “Which one do you want?”

  “Oh!” Claire looked longingly at the bas-relief of vines and butterflies. “Sorry, I don’t have time to shop right now. I’m looking for the cinema.”

  “The Fitzpatrick cinema?”

  “Maybe?” She’d tried to find it on the map, but the cinema was as elusive as the Tasmanian tiger.

  “It’s the only one in town, but it hasn’t operated in years.” The woman walked out the shop door and pointed down the street. “It’s right on the edge of town. Go this way and it is on your right.”

  “But it’s still standing?” Hope clawed to the surface.

  “You’ll need to see for yourself.”

  The woman went back into the shop and Claire stared down the street. In a few minutes she’d know the fate of the miniseries and, quite possibly, her career.

  After jumping into the ute, Claire turned on the engine and reversed. She shifted gears, took a deep breath and headed down the street past more faded shops, some boarded up. Starlight Creek had an odd feeling, not quite a ghost town but certainly not buzzing with energy like Ashton. There were no mothers with prams nor elderly gentlemen with dogs, not even a group of kids hanging out on a street corner. Where was the sense of community?

  The cinema came into view next to a dilapidated shoe shop and a closed barbershop. The cinema stood tall, all rounded corners and bold lines. The white and red paint had faded, and where the rendering had peeled away it revealed a whitish-gray stone. But even though the run-down facade was heartbreaking, Amelia Elliott’s distinctive design of curves and stars was apparent.

  Claire’s shoulders slumped.

  This was nothing like the photos of the cinema she’d found at the Historical Society. Admittedly, they had all been taken in the 1940s and 1950s, and it had been impossible to find any recent ones. Now she understood why. Who would want to photograph such an eyesore? Though the cinema did hold an air of…something. Charm? Grandeur?

  Claire exited the vehicle and made her way to the entrance. Despite the run-down state of the cinema, she felt drawn in by the opaque glass doors, tarnished silver bars and old movie posters with curling edges in glass boxes. She instantly recognized La Dolce Vita, Psycho and G.I. Blues. Those movies were from the sixties. Had it really been that long since the cinema had operated? If that was the case, she was thankful it hadn’t suffered at the hands of developers like the other cinemas Elliott designed. Though judging by the ramshackle facade, she didn’t hold out much hope for the state of the interior.

  Knocking on the door of a deserted cinema felt like a waste of time, but she did it regardless. There was no point in coming all this way only to fall at the last hurdle. When no one answered, she tried again. Her knocks echoed in the foyer. As much as she’d hoped someone would be there, she had to face the harsh reality that this place would not be her saving grace.

  Claire gave the door one last burst of heavy knocking, then looked up at the blank marquee with missing bulbs. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She spun to find a tall man, probably in his late twenties, with sandy hair. He walked toward her, his incredibly blue eyes framed by a veranda of dark lashes.

  “You don’t know what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what is next for you.” He had a friendly smile.

  “I’m hoping someone will answer this door.”

  “Why? The cinema hasn’t operated for years.”

  Claire glanced at the building. She felt sad for Amelia Elliott. “My powers of deduction have figured that out already.” She held out her hand. “I’m Claire Montgomery.”

  The man took her hand in his and they shook.

  “Luke Jackson,” he said. “Are you an architectural student? It’s been a while since we’ve had anyone visit. Not many people study Amelia Elliott’s designs anymore, which is a shame, because she really did get the Art Deco movement going in Australia. And I believe she led quite the dramatic life. She even—” Luke’s laugh was light and friendly. “I’m sorry. I’m quite passionate about artists like Elliott and I forget that not everyone sees things the way I do. Which architecture school are you with?”

  “What? Oh, no, I’m not a student but I have been studying Amelia Elliott’s designs, and her life. I’m actually involved in a TV miniseries about her.” She waited for a reaction, but Luke Jackson just stood there, still as sugarcane on a windless day. “I was hoping to find the owner, to see if we could work out some arrangement to film here.”

  “No.” His firm tone was a stark contrast to his pleasant demeanor only moments before.

  “Pardon?”

  “The owner would not be interested in any such thing.”

  “Do you own the place?” she asked.

  “I don’t, but I am very close with the owner. There is no way they would agree.”

  “But we’re making a miniseries about one of the most influential women of her era. We need this cinema. It’s a part of history, and it’s the cornerstone of this entire production. If I could just talk with the owner and let them know they’ll be rewarded handsomely and—”

  Luke shifted on his feet then looked to the sky. Resting his gaze on her, he said with a firm tone, “I can unequivocally say you are wasting your time. I do not need to consult with the owner, because I already know the answer. Why do you think the cinema has been closed for so long?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps they ran out of money for upkeep? We can help with that. Please, if I can just have a few moments with them—”

  “That won’t happen.”

  Claire straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone who takes no for an answer.”

  “And I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone who changes their mind easily.”

  “The decision isn’t yours,” she said.

  “Nor yours. Now, please, I have things to do, and you’re on private property.”

  Tension gripped Claire’s shoulders and she willed her voice to remain calm. Although she wanted to break down in tears and beg, it wouldn’t get her the result she needed. She had to take a moment to regroup, rethink her strategy and find out who this elusive owner was and track them down. She also needed to convince herself she was tougher than she felt.

  Claire hitched the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “Well, it’s been…interesting meeting you, Luke Jackson.” It wasn’t exactly a pleasure. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll be seeing you, because I’ll be back—and the answer will be yes.”

  Chapter Two

  1994 – Starlight Creek, Queensland

  Claire sat at a table in the only café in Starlight Creek. Crowded House’s “Locked Out” played in the background, and Claire tried not to roll her eyes at the irony.

  She sipped the tepid coffee then used her fork to move the half-eaten carrot cake around the plate. She was at a loss as to how to handle this situation. Not once had she encountered someone who wasn’t ecstatic about being involved in a TV production, so why was Luke Jackson so adamant in his refusal to even discuss it with the owners? And who on earth were these elusive owners?

  Claire glanced over at the teenager in a hot pink uniform and white apron who looked like she’d walked off the set of a 1950s TV show. She was hunched over the counter, her attention solely on a glossy Girlfriend magazine. Occasionally, a chunk of blond hair fell in her eyes and she pushed it back. When Claire had asked earlier if she knew who owned the cinema, the girl had shrugged, blown a bubble with her gum and focused on the magazine once more.

  Surely in a town this small everyone knew everyone? Although, from past experience, Claire had learned that arriving in a small town unannounced and asking questions didn’t always get quick answers. Normally, she’d get the lay of the land by talking with locals
before diving into requests for filming. Unfortunately, though, this project didn’t allow for such luxuries.

  The doorbell tinkled, and Claire looked up to find a woman breezing through the door. Her silver hair was swept up in a stylish French knot and her tailored tweed suit was immaculate. Her cheeks held a pink tinge and she wore a simple strand of pearls and matching earrings, giving the impression of a high-society matron. When she walked past, a tiny cloud of freesia perfume followed her. The lady took a seat at the corner table, placed her small patent leather handbag on the chair, along with her gloves, and sat with a straight back, hands clasped neatly on the table. The young girl behind the counter looked up, closed her magazine then quickly went about preparing a pot of tea and laying delicate china on a tray. She took a scone out of the cabinet and placed small bowls of jam and cream next to it.

  Walking over to the older lady and setting the tray on the table, the girl asked, “How are you today, Miss Fitzpatrick?”

  “I am doing very well, thank you, Laura. Has your sister recovered from her cold?”

  “Yes, she’s doing much better, thank you.” Laura put the teapot, cup and saucer and scone on the table as the two women conversed about people Claire didn’t know. When finished, Laura went back to the counter, the magazine back in her beautifully manicured hands.

  A couple of flannel-shirted teenagers burst through the door laughing and chatting loudly, but when they caught sight of the older woman in the corner they turned down their volume and quietly went up to the counter to order milkshakes.

  They sat near the older lady and said in unison, “Good morning, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

  “Good morning, young men. Harry, did you fix the step on the veranda so your mother doesn’t break her neck?”

  “Yes, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

  “Good to hear.”

  The boys commenced a hushed conversation between them.

  Claire watched, entranced. The woman sipped her tea, closing her eyes every so often, as if lost in the ecstasy of the brew. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine her having tea with the queen. Miss Fitzpatrick appeared to be the embodiment of a Country Women’s Association lady from the 1950s, with her old-fashioned airs and graces. Claire glanced around the café, noticing its outdated decor and Laura in her uniform. Had Claire stepped into another era? Was Starlight Creek some kind of time machine?

  “Excuse me,” Claire said quietly.

  The lady turned away from the window and smiled at Claire. “Yes, dear?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m wondering if you could help me, please.”

  Miss Fitzpatrick patted the chair beside her and Claire gathered her things and went over to sit down.

  Holding out her hand, she said, “I’m Claire Montgomery.”

  “And I am Hattie Fitzpatrick.” The older lady wrapped her small, warm hands around Claire’s. “What brings you to Starlight Creek, Claire Montgomery?”

  Choosing her words wisely, Claire said, “I’m actually here on business and—”

  The small room filled with the ear-screeching whir of the milkshake machine. Claire waited for it to finish. A moment later Laura took the milkshakes to where the boys sat. To give Laura more space, Claire moved her chair, but Laura stepped in the same direction. A second later Claire was covered in cold, sweet-smelling milk that dribbled down the back of her new linen shirt.

  “Argh!” She jumped to her feet.

  Laura shoved a towel toward Claire. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, really. It’s just an accident.” Claire quickly toweled off as much as she could, dreading what she would smell like in a few hours.

  The boys snickered behind their hands and Hattie shot them a death stare. They quickly quieted, then one of them went behind the counter to get a mop and bucket to clean up the rest of the mess.

  Hattie reached for her gloves and bag. “Do you have spare clothes in the car?”

  “No. I’m on a day trip. I’m staying in Ashton.” Until we’re kicked out.

  “Such a lovely place. A bit more modern than Starlight Creek.”

  “Just a little.” Claire smiled, despite feeling like she had just swum in a bottle of milk.

  “Oh, look at you. You can’t drive back in that state. I don’t live too far from here. Where is your car?”

  “Across the road.”

  “Why don’t you come to my place to clean up?”

  “I’m fine, really.” Although her dignity had taken a battering, as her bedraggled state was far from professional.

  “Dear girl, soon you won’t smell so fine. Please, let me help.”

  Hattie did have a point.

  Claire got up and went to the counter to pay for her and Hattie, but Laura shook her head. “It was my fault. No charge for either of you.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Claire.

  “Yep.”

  “Thank you.” Claire put a tip in the jar, then grabbed her keys and bag. She opened the door for Hattie and they exited into the warm morning sun and crossed the road to the red ute.

  “This is a very large vehicle. Isn’t it difficult to drive?” asked Hattie.

  “I’m stronger than I look.” Claire shoved the key into the lock and opened the door for Hattie.

  “Appearances can be deceptive.” Hattie climbed in with great agility for someone her age.

  “That’s for sure.” She got into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine.

  “I’m not too far from here. I enjoy coming to the café because it’s a reasonable walk, which keeps me nice and fit.” Hattie grinned. “And I don’t feel guilty about my daily scone.”

  Claire joined in the laughter and steered the vehicle in the direction that Hattie had pointed. She got to the other side of town and slowed down the ute. “Which house?”

  “Here we are!” Hattie pointed to the right and Claire nearly ran off the road.

  “That’s the cinema.” Claire’s voice was barely audible.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s deserted.”

  “Oh no!” Hattie’s laugh sounded like fine crystal. “I live here.”

  “You do?” Claire concentrated on pulling into an empty space, but she could barely contain her joy.

  Claire felt lighter as she walked around to open the door for Hattie, who led the way to the weather-beaten double doors. She unlocked one and motioned for Claire to follow.

  Claire had expected the theater to smell musty, so she was pleasantly surprised when she was greeted with a hint of freesias, just like Hattie’s perfume. Leaving the bright sunlight of Starlight Creek behind, Claire stepped across the threshold and into the foyer blanketed in darkness. She hesitated, fully anticipating Luke Jackson to leap out of the shadows and once more tell her no. Thankfully, the room remained silent.

  Just as her sight adjusted, Hattie turned on the light and Claire squeezed her eyes shut. A moment later she pried them open, and when she did a small gasp escaped her lips.

  Behind the dilapidated facade lay a whole new world of color and geometric designs, all beautifully maintained. Beneath her feet were black square tiles alternating with pristine white, and to the side was the kiosk and the bar, both made from dark wood and lined with silver stripes and filigree. Tilting her head upwards, Claire took in the magnificent dome, the circular plaster mold painted in gold with an ornate gray, white and black light fixture made of squares, triangles and oblongs.

  “I see you are quite taken,” said Hattie.

  “That’s an understatement,” breathed Claire. “This is so very different from the outside.”

  Hattie smiled but didn’t say any more. Instead, she crooked her finger and Claire followed, unable to take her eyes off the splendor before her. This would be so perfect for the miniseries, way better than the cinema in Ashton. Now she just needed to find a way—
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  “My living quarters are out the back,” said Hattie as she opened the heavy wooden door and continued on her way. Claire happily trailed behind, still not able to fully comprehend the well-preserved beauty before her. Her feet lightly trod on gorgeous bright blue carpet with the same geometric design as the foyer. Continuing down the aisle, she studied the seats, the backs and sides made of dark wood with royal blue cushioning. She looked up and found the same blue painted on the ceiling, with little specks of silver.

  “Those stars are beautiful,” said Claire. “There’s something magical about them.”

  “I’m glad you like them. My father always had a fascination with the universe. If he’d been born fifty years later, he’d have loved to work for NASA.” She stopped and lightly ran her fingers across a chair. “Instead he lived in a small town and had big dreams that were never fulfilled.”

  “It’s a shame more people don’t get the chance to turn their dreams into reality.”

  “Sometimes reality is nothing like the dream.”

  Claire remained quiet and followed Hattie to the side of the stage, through a swing door and down a narrow hallway. They stepped into another room that served as a small apartment, with living room and kitchen in one.

  Hattie pointed to a door to the right of the kitchen. “The bathroom is in there. I have spare towels in the cupboard under the sink. I’ll see what I can rustle up for you to change into.”

  “Thank you so much, Miss Fitzpatrick, but really, I’ll be fine.” Claire ran her hand through her hair, but her fingers got caught in a milk-sodden knot. Ugh.

  “Please, call me Hattie. And I am sure you are fine, my dear, but you will be more than fine after you freshen up.” She raised her eyebrows, and Claire wanted to obey this fascinating woman. Most of all, though, Claire wanted to know why Hattie Fitzpatrick lived in the back of a run-down cinema.

  “Thank you,” Claire said as she opened the door. She stepped into a large, glistening bathroom. In the corner was a black claw-foot bathtub trimmed with gold. The black and white tiles matched the foyer, and the mirror hanging above the sink was the same Art Deco style as the rest of the decor. She peeled off her wet clothes then turned on the shower above the bath, stepped in and pulled the curtain across, immersing her body under the water. The stickiness ran down the drain while she collected her thoughts and tried to figure out how to best approach Hattie about the cinema.