by Hildy Fox
"That's him," Lahra said softly, as if Marcus might hear from across the street.
Wally pinpointed the tall, well dressed man who was now crossing the street. Lahra's pulse went up a notch as she realised Marcus was heading straight for the café.
"Heading our way," Wally observed.
The small brass bell above the door rang and Marcus Dean came in off the street. He hadn't seen Lahra sitting there, and went straight to the counter. She watched his every move. The way he opened his jacket to get his wallet from inside. The action of his jaw as he asked the waitress for two take-away lattes. The turn of his wrist as he checked the time on his silver wristwatch. She lowered her cup and sat in silence, waiting for the inevitable.
Marcus turned and saw Lahra. She thought a smile had begun to grow across his lips, but before she could be sure his face went stony serious. Their eyes locked for several seconds, finally broken by the arrival of his coffees. He passed a ten dollar bill over the counter and told the waitress to keep the change, then moved across and stood near, but not too near, Lahra's table.
"Lahra, what a pleasant surprise," he said, but there was nothing pleasant in his tone.
How easy it would have been for Lahra to lose herself in his eyes. Memories of the night before, of the sweetness of his lips engaging hers, hammered the thin veil of control inside her. The angry knot in her stomach was unfurling as if he had some sort of telepathic control over it, breaking it down, taking away the very thing that allowed her to keep her distance from him. She had to keep control. She had to stay focussed. Every second she had to remind herself that Marcus Dean was no longer the man who had kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before. Now she had to find a way to think of him only as her nemesis.
Lahra traded a glance with Wally, then addressed Marcus. "Something tells me we'll be crossing paths quite a bit in the near future. Marcus, I'd like you to meet Walter Dymple." Marcus acknowledged Wally with a smile, and Wally managed to cock an eyebrow in response. "He was the projectionist at the Miracle Cinema before you lost him his job."
Marcus’s smile faded quickly, and Wally smirked beneath the cover of his moustache as he sipped his tea. "Mr Dymple, as I tried to explain to Lahra, I'm very sorry about the current situation, but once we have finished our job there will be plenty of employment opportunities for you to take your pick from..."
"And as I tried to explain to you, Mr Dean, being out of work is not the issue," Lahra argued. "Obviously I was wasting my breath."
Lahra and Marcus stared at each other for what seemed like a very long time. His green-gold eyes were like a palette of emotions. She could see dark colours of defiance, mixed with flickering hues of remembrance. A part of her yearned to wake up as if from dream, to discover that the conflict between them wasn't real, that this whole mess was just imaginary fiction. But she knew better. There could be no backing down to Marcus Dean. She met his gaze with equal defiance, banishing all traces of remembrance from her mind.
"Well, I must be going," Marcus said, stepping away. "It was nice to meet you Walter."
Wally didn't look up from his cup. Lahra raised hers to her lips. The brass bell rang as Marcus stepped out into Main Street. The two of them watched silently as Marcus strode toward the Miracle, where a man waved to him in greeting. It was Perkins. Marcus handed one of the foam cups to him, and they went inside.
Lahra looked across at Wally, a grim expression on both their faces. "So," she said eventually. "What were these ideas of yours?"
*
The Riverbank Gazzette was one of two local newspapers in the region, but it was by far the more popular, and the only one circulated three times a week. Lahra had found the paper quite useful in the past, though not for the reasons its editors might have hoped for. It had often served as kindling in her fireplace.
Now Lahra sat in the reception area of the modest Riverbank Gazzette office building, leafing absent-mindedly through yesterday's edition. The bulk of the stories were pretty much as Lahra had always remembered them. Farmers' complaints, senior citizens' activities, university issues, craft markets. The kind of lightweight stories found in any number of country towns around the globe.
Wally sat next to her, reading over her shoulder. She went to turn the page but he stopped her.
"Wait, wait! That's him there," he said pointing to a byline on the page. "Malcolm McGuire!"
Lahra looked at the article. She read the headline aloud: "'Holy Service Visitation by Holy Cow.'" She then read on: "'The congregation at Charlotte Anglican Church had its hymns upstaged last Sunday morning when a stray cow meandered into the church and made its way to the altar. People watched disbelievingly as the cow, belonging to local farmer Mr Colin Wright, made Sunday brunch of the floral arrangements.'" Lahra lowered the paper. "Well this friend of yours sure has a feel for important social issues."
"Believe me," Wally assured, "Malcolm knows this business. He's worked in Edinburgh, London, Seoul, everywhere. He's written some pretty big stories in his time. And besides, we don't have anybody else who can help us at such short notice."
"Walter!" a voice boomed, making both of them jump. Lahra turned to see a short, elderly man with wispy red hair approaching them, arms outstretched. "It's been way too long, old friend! How the devil are you?"
Wally stood, smiling broadly, and the two men embraced, patting each other heavily on the back. ''I'm good, Malcolm. And as usual you look healthy enough to hurl a few telephone poles up Main Street."
The two men laughed, and Lahra stood. Malcolm must only have been an inch taller than her. He looked at her with a smile and winked at Wally.
"Ah, I see you're dating again!" he quipped in his Scottish lilt. "Do I get an introduction?"
"Malcolm, this is my dear old friend Lahra Brook. Lahra, Malcolm McGuire."
"Hello Mr McGuire," Lahra said, shaking his hand.
"Malcolm, please," he corrected her. "And you may be a dear friend of Walter, here, but if anyone's old, believe me, it's him!"
The three of them laughed. Then Malcolm smiled at Lahra, almost sadly. "Walter's actually mentioned you quite a bit over the years. I was working here when your parents passed away. Sad news indeed. Very sad."
"Thank you."
"We've actually got some pressing business," Wally explained. "Could we go somewhere to talk?"
"Of course! Enter the plush surroundings of the most noble Riverbank Gazzette!"
Malcolm ushered them into the small, paper-strewn room that was his office as senior journalist and sub-editor. He cleared a couple of chairs and sat them down. For fifteen minutes, Lahra went into detail about the Miracle Cinema situation. Malcolm listened with all of the attention of an eager cadet on his first assignment. When she finished her story, he played with his bottom lip and rotated a few times in his swivelling chair.
"What was that fella's name, again?” he asked.
"Marcus Dean."
"Is he tall?"
"About six two," Lahra estimated.
"I figured as much," Malcolm said disapprovingly. "It's always the tall ones."
"So what can we do?" Lahra prompted.
"Okay. Good thing you're here now and not an hour later or we'd miss material deadlines for tomorrow's paper. We can do the online edition any old time, but most folks in these parts like their paper. Sounds like this Marcus wants to get in and do his business as quickly and quietly as possible, so it's our job to make a bit of noise. He must have council approval, and to have got that he must have already given public notice of his intentions. Probably some little ad in the personal columns that nobody would read anyway, let alone get uppity about. He's been pretty crafty so far, but I think you're right. If enough people find out about what's going to happen, we can get enough support to make it into a political issue. I've seen this type of thing before. The local government won't risk smashing down an historical landmark if they know the constituents care about it. At the very least we might be able to get a court order to de
lay demolition."
"But what about their lawyers?" Lahra asked, concerned. "How can we hope to stand up to their resources?"
"I wouldn't be worrying about that. If we get the numbers behind us and let them know we're serious, there's not a lot they can do. The trick is getting the numbers."
"We've got a strong story to tell," Lahra pointed out, moving to the edge of her seat. "The Miracle is one of the finest examples of Deco architecture in the state, let alone in Riverbank. We should be asking the question why has this been allowed to happen? What's going to become of our town if we keep letting the things that give it its charm disappear? Why isn't there some sort of system in place where historical and cultural landmarks are adequately protected from developers?"
"Exactly!" Malcolm agreed, slapping his palm down on the table. "What this town needs is a good fight! Controversy, that's what I like! We'll create a full page announcement in tomorrow's paper that will really get things going. I can see the headlines now..." Malcolm squinted into the distance, as if making out words written there. "'Vanishing Miracle goes Unnoticed!' Or 'Miracle Undone by Developers.' Or maybe we need some sort of call to action. 'Help Keep the Miracle Performing.'" Malcolm swivelled his chair to face his computer and started typing.
Lahra traded a smile with Wally. It was hard not to be amused by Malcolm's enthusiasm.
"We'll write the copy right now," Malcolm went on as his fingers tapped furiously, "unless you two have something more important to do, which I doubt. We'll also have to organise some posters and flyers. We can get those whipped up by art department in a matter of hours. We need out social media people to start with the Facebooking and the Twittering. We have to think about organising petitions, too. And we need phone numbers for people to call. Better still, we'll include the Mayor's and the local Member's numbers. And what we could really do with is some electronic media exposure. We ought to announce a public rally, get the regional TV stations involved. I know a few people who might be able to help out, but you two will have to find some more. I hope you've got friends. We have to make this Marcus Dean and his demolition team sound like the most evil, uncaring, greedy little suits from the city that ever walked the earth, so that every person in the region can't help but get involved."
Something inside Lahra wanted to stand up and sound its lone voice in defence of Marcus Dean. He wasn't evil. He wasn't uncaring. To say such things would be wrong.
She watched Malcolm hunched over his keyboard. The words they put down together today would impact on Marcus in ways that might damage his career irrevocably. Was an old building worth a man's life ambition? Would she be able to live with herself if she won the fight? Lahra didn't know. And there were so many voices inside her willing to shout for her cause. It seemed this single note of concern was destined to be drowned out.
She couldn't keep thinking negatively. It was clear what had to be done. There wasn't a person on this planet who could take the Miracle Cinema away from Riverbank while she had a say in it.
Not even the man she feared she may be falling in love with.
FIVE
"Lahra!"
Lahra was just pulling on her jacket when she heard the distant, demanding call. She recognised the voice immediately, but didn't react. She checked her hair in the bedroom mirror instead.
"Lahra Brook, where are you?"
It was Marcus. He sounded angry. She couldn't help but smirk as she headed down the stairs into the living room. She'd been wondering all night what effect the article in the Riverbank Gazette might have on him when he saw it. Malcolm had done a good job.
"Lahra!!!"
She spied out through the glass door, and saw him standing on the other side of the river, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, clutching what must have been a copy of the morning's paper. Even from here she could see the lines between his eyebrows deepen, the veins in his neck press outwards. He wasn't just angry, she decided. He was livid.
It occurred to her that she could just walk out to her car and drive away, ignoring him, but there was no point in infuriating him further. She was going to have to go out to confront him. The thought of doing so immediately set her pulse racing and her nerves jangling. A part of her had been wishing that whatever happened now that she'd taken steps to save the Miracle, it could happen without her coming face to face with Marcus. If only there were such a way. But the only way to see this through to the end was to stand up to him wherever and whenever it was necessary, even though she knew that every time she looked into his eyes she would be entering two battles. The one with him. And the one with her heart.
She closed her thick jacket around her, and headed for the door.
A cold wind hit her as soon as she stepped outside. The sneak preview of fine Spring weather had passed. Now the sky was rolling with grey, shadow-sapping clouds, powered by the same wind that seemed to turn the grassy hill leading down to the river into a seething, living thing. She strode forward, squinting into the wind, and made her way to the bank opposite Marcus.
He stood there oblivious to the elemental forces around him, and Lahra could feel the intensity of his stare as she approached. Before she even came to a stop he called out above the hiss of the leaves and the churning of the river. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I don't believe it!" He slapped the article on the open page with the back of his hand. "Do you have any idea of what all this is going to do?"
"I do," Lahra said impassively. "Which is why it's there. If you have a problem with it I wish I could say I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."
"Lahra, the things I told you were in confidence. I know you feel protective of the cinema, but I trusted you by telling you my plans. Then as soon as I turn my back I find it splayed all over the local newpaper sounding as if I were some sort of criminal!"
"If you were so trusting of me then why weren't you trusting with the people of Riverbank? It seems you've done your best to keep everybody in the dark about what you're up to."
"We've done nothing out of the ordinary for this sort of project. But now you've jeopardised it by acting like some sort of extremist. I can't believe you've done this after what we shared."
Lahra received that last line like a blow. After what they had shared? She laughed incredulously. “A highly regrettable kiss and now I'm supposed to swear allegiance to your cause? And I thought swimming in ice water was stupid!" She paused the briefest of moments to let that one sink in. "Maybe you think you're pretty amazing stuff, Marcus Dean, with your car and your money and your career path all mapped out, but from what I can see, you're nothing but an opportunist, and a pretty misguided one at that. I told you I wasn't going to let you get away with this, and I meant it. If the idea of somebody like me not falling into line with whatever you think shocks you, then prepare to be shocked big time, mate. In a couple of days there are going to be quite a few of us walking all over those plans of yours."
"You don't know what you're up against Lahra. Even if you had the time to mount a protest, there's nothing you can do to stop us. Face it. You're fighting a futile battle."
"If it's so futile then why are you so worried about people finding out about it?"
"Because that's the way we do business. And frankly, I'm only worried because I thought I could trust you."
For a while, there was only the sound of the swirling, black torrent between them. Lahra wanted to reply but she couldn't. Unspoken words built up inside her until the pressure seemed unbearable. She stood with her arms crossed tightly, as much containing her own emotional torrent as bracing her against the cold. Marcus didn't seem to notice the chill. His muscled arms didn't have a goosebump on them. Somewhere above the mountains a thunder clap sounded, reverberating ominously down into the valleys.
"I'm sorry all this has happened," Marcus spoke at last. "I'm sorry it's come to this."
A response which said 'I am too' burst free from the tension in Lahra's chest and found its way to the back of her lips. But her lips remained pressed
firmly together, and the only response Marcus got was the unyielding glint of her eyes. She thought he might say something else, but he didn't. He hesitated a moment, then turned and walked quickly back up to the house.
Lahra watched him until he was out of view, then her gaze dropped to the rushing water before her. It seemed to be flowing quicker than yesterday. Its momentum was almost frightening. It seemed just like the force she had fallen into, that had gripped her and was pushing her forward at an ever-increasing rate. And right now, as all the things she should have said to let Marcus know exactly how she felt pained her heart, she couldn't help but wonder if it would be better to be trapped down there. Trapped by the dark, surging current of the Ulonga-Bora River.
*
"Sometimes," Dave 'The Rave' Conigrave began in his customary close-to-the-microphone drawl, "the world changes and we don't even see it. It's like when you see a friend for the first time in ages and the first thing you think to yourself is, 'Boy did she get fat!' or, 'My God, what happened to his hair?' But what about all those other friends, the ones you hang around every day, at work, at the pub, at school? You don't notice the changes in them because they're so gradual. Until one day you’re eighty and you look at your friend and think, 'Boy, did you get old and wrinkly all of a sudden!'
"Well, a friend of ours in Riverbank is about to undergo some major changes right before our very eyes, and if it goes ahead, one day we'll be eighty years old wondering whatever happened to that beautiful, gracious landmark, the Miracle Cinema. That's right, listeners, the Miracle Cinema, here in Riverbank since 1936, is now at the mercy of city developers. And in their wisdom, they plan to replace the old cinema with a giant amusement centre.
