Kari gave an acquiescent nod. “So, what is your business plan?”
I opened the folder and tipped it upside down. Blank sheets spilled across the table.
“Look, I’m not a businessman. I just want a chance to fulfil my dream before it’s too late. I understand you’re a few months away from sending in the bulldozers. Let me have that few months. I just want to run it as a movie theatre. Please.”
Kari smiled kindly. “But it’s in a fairly bad state of repair. You’d have to fix it up before you could charge people to go in there.”
“Then I won’t charge people!” I blurted, knowing I was getting closer and closer to convincing Kari. “I just want to create something really special. I don’t care if I have to fix it up: I’ll fix it up. I have savings. And I don’t care if you’re going to knock it down later. I just need this now.”
I realized I was begging.
Tomi Taimi passed a coffee to Kari, who stirred it gently, looking at me over his thick glasses.
“The trouble is,” said Tomi, “it would involve an awful lot of paperwork, organizing the permits and so forth.”
“I’d do all that. Promise.”
Kari stopped stirring and put down his spoon. He sipped at the coffee, put the cup back down.
“Okay. How about this. We provide you with a short-term rental agreement. Short-term,” he said, and raised his index finger. “I’ll have our lawyers email you something this afternoon. It would have to include certain caveats, particularly that you would be bound to vacate at very short notice, regardless of how many tickets you’d sold or whatever.”
“Of course!”
“Remember, this is our business. I understand your passion, but we have shareholders, and we also have several people keen to invest in apartments, so we can’t have you barricading yourself in there, okay?”
“Of course not! I totally understand.”
“Good. Tomi, would you ask Petra to find a suitable short-term tenancy form? We’ll make it out until the end of the year. Perhaps longer, if things don’t go our way.”
Tomi nodded. “Of course, you understand you will be liable for business rates and utility bills.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding like a wagtail.
Kari finished his coffee and stood up. “Great. And I suppose, given that the building was just gathering dust anyway, we should make the rent nominal. One euro a week, shall we say?”
I was gripping the table so hard I almost snapped a chunk off.
I tried to stay cool and business-like, but instead I jumped up and, barely remembering to hobble, ran around the table to give Kari a great big hug. He intercepted me with a hand, allowing me to shake, and I pumped his arm so vigorously that his glasses began to wobble down his nose.
“Yes, yes, very good. Now, most importantly: What film are you going to open with?”
“Back to the Future.”
“Ah, good choice. The whole trilogy?”
“No, just the original.”
“Excellent. I always found part two a little too dark. Who needs that?” he said, and nodded to me and Tomi. We nodded back.
“Would there be a red carpet? I don’t think there’s ever been a red carpet in Kumpunotko!”
Of course, I knew otherwise, but this was not the time for nitpicking.
“There will be a red carpet,” I said, changing the verb.
“Maybe people can dress up?”
“Maybe? I expect them to! It’s going to be a gala opening.”
“And maybe they can recite lines from the movie during the performance, like in those sing-along musicals,” added Tomi, who seemed to have picked up on his boss’s excitement.
Kari and I looked at each other.
“And ruin the movie?” we said in unison.
Tomi Taimi blushed, and Kari smiled and clapped him on the back.
“Come on, let’s leave Peter to his plans.” He reached into his pocket and took something out, placing it down on the table. He slid it toward me. A set of keys! “I figured I might as well bring them. Just give your email address to the receptionist on the way out and we’ll take care of the paperwork.”
I froze. “Ah.”
Chapter 22
Run to You
I RAN AS FAST as I could—well, it was more like speed-hobbling—all the way to Atlas. That’s the good thing about living in a small town: it only took about forty-five seconds. I sat on the curb across the street, admiring the theatre while catching my breath. I remembered it that February night so many years ago: snow falling, torches blazing, red carpet awaiting. Then I crossed the street and walked around to the side door, the one the crowds of moviegoers would walk through after the film, chatting excitedly, analyzing the plot, talking about the best bits or what they thought should have been done differently. The keys on the ring—dozens of them—were helpfully labelled, and though I could have gone in through the big glass entrance door, I decided to save that for a special occasion.
My hands shaking, I had some trouble getting the key into the lock, but nailed it on my third try. I pulled the door open, noted the sign on the inside that said Exit: Push, and boldly stepped into the darkness. The door swung closed behind me, rendering everything pitch black. I stood there in silence for a moment. The sound insulation meant that silence really was silence. All I could hear was my breath and the slight parting of my lips as a huge smile spread across my face.
The Atlas.
Mine.
I allowed myself only a few moments of glory. There was work to be done.
I pushed the door back open and wedged it in place with a garbage bin until I could find a light switch. Thankfully, the power was still connected, and I flicked every switch on the large bank, the building humming to life around me as power surged to the various strips and bulbs throughout the place.
I was in a little corridor that connected the lobby, the auditorium, and the balcony. Right in front of me were the stairs up to the balcony, and a little to their right, the door to the main lobby, through which excited moviegoers would come, clutching their tickets and candy, taking off their coats, perhaps holding hands. I turned left and walked down the sloping corridor that ran the entire length of the theatre until I came to another door, to my right.
Behind that door was a sight that made me gasp for air. A single tear ran down my cheek, and it wasn’t an allergic reaction to mould.
The sea of red velvet seats in front of me was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even with a hideous painting of a dragon on the back wall.
I walked all the way up the aisle, turned around, and took in the view. On the way down, I tripped on loose carpet and almost fell. I sat down on a seat in the first row, stretched my legs, and shouted “Great Scott!” at the top of my lungs.
I dug my action plan out of my pocket, and with a pencil I’d taken from BBB, when I blushingly wrote down my postal address, I crossed out item number one.
1. Get Atlas.
2. Fix Atlas.
3. Open with a sneak preview of Back to the Future.
4. Invite Jennifer.
“You have cleared twenty-five percent of the adventure,” I said, substituting my usual narrator with a computer-like voice.
I knew there was still a lot to do—a hell of a lot—but the first and most important thing was already clear in my mind. There was a special someone I wanted to invite to opening night. I walked to the Atlas’s lobby, laid my business folder on the counter, withdrew a single sheet of paper, and, in my smartest (though admittedly probably not that smart) handwriting, wrote a letter.
Dear Mr. Lloyd,
Thirty years ago, you changed my life with your fantastic performance as “Doc” Brown in Back to the Future. Today, I’ve made it my mission to turn back the wheels of time and bring movie magic back to my hometown by screening Back to the Future in the same theatre where I once saw it. (Except, now I’m the manager.)
It would be a great honour for me, for the town o
f Kumpunotko, and for the entire country of Finland, if you would make an appearance at the opening of my movie theatre, the Atlas, on December 1.
Looking forward to meeting you.
Your humble fan,
Peter Eksell
Manager, Atlas Theatre
Marty needed his Doc.
IF EVER THERE had been a piece of news worthy of sharing on social media, surely this was it. I was half-tempted to write a letter to each of my 127 Facebook friends, but that would have been weird (and time-consuming). But I was desperate to tell someone, and having walked around downtown Kumpunotko for fifteen minutes without finding a phone booth so I could call Tina—where had all the phone booths gone?—I decided to send her a postcard instead.
The Kumpunotko main post office—there were two—was in a big old stone building that oozed importance, which made me feel like a man on a mission as I ran up the steps.
First I selected an envelope and wrote in large letters across the front:
Christopher Lloyd
c/o Universal Pictures
Hollywood, California
USA
Then I went straight to the postcard racks and picked up a touristy Kumpunotko card with a photo of the town hall, the square, the high school, and naked people in a sauna. I stood and scribbled a note to Tina—Per my previous card, I now have the keys to the Atlas. Plan well and truly under way. More news soon. Love to Sofie and Tim—the chain that held the pen to the desk rattling and swishing as I wrote.
I put the pen down, and as I turned around to take my place in the line, I bumped into something and heard a woman’s short scream.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. The contents of her purse were on the floor, and she was scrabbling around to catch rolling coins. My dream from last night came back to me.
“God, I’m so sorry. Let me help.” I got on my knees on the floor.
“Please don’t,” she said, and when she was finished with her purse and saw my face, she added, “Oh, it’s you.”
It was Sara. She was wearing a white summer dress with a purple flower pattern, and a raspberry beret on her head. Her cheeks were rosy, as if she’d just been outside for hours. Her eyes had that same sparkling and suspicious look as the last time, making me think she was teasing me and accusing me at the same time.
“I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t see you there. So clumsy of me. Idiot, idiot!” I said, and slapped my forehead a couple of times.
“That’s right. Let me help,” Sara said, and started slapping my forehead too.
“Thanks. Nice hat,” I said.
“Dude, nice suit,” she countered.
“Why, thank you.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, you know, big important meeting in town.”
“Oh yeah, what about?”
It didn’t feel right, telling a stranger my exciting plan before I’d at least told Mom and Dad that it was actually going to happen, so I just smiled ambiguously and tapped the side of my nose. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
She laughed. “Well, whatever it is, you seem in a much better mood.”
“I suppose I am.”
“Great! Then you won’t mind me going ahead of you. It’s just that I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Be my guest,” I said, beaming.
We switched places in line. While we waited, Sara told me a story, in hushed tones, about how one of the “elder gentlemen” of the town had just been busted for running an illegal still.
“Very naughty.”
“Exactly. I don’t think anyone really minds, if it’s just for your own consumption. I mean, if you want to go blind and crazy, that’s your business. But sticking labels on it and trying to sell it from under the counter—that’s just dangerous.”
I shook my head sagely. “I must have been viewing Kumpunotko through rose-tinted glasses all these years. Turns out it’s a hotbed of crime. Illegal distilleries, car thefts.”
“A car theft.”
“So, practically a crime wave. I’m surprised you even get a day off.”
“How do you know I’m not working?” She lowered her voice. “I could be in plain clothes, undercover.”
“Are you?”
She gave me a beguiling smile and tapped the side of her nose just as a counter came free. She sauntered up to talk to the lady.
We both finished up at the same time, and walked out together. I held the door open and she skipped through.
“Well, have a nice afternoon,” she said.
“And you. Hey, by the way, have you seen Jennifer Berg?”
“What? No, why?”
“Oh, no reason. I just remembered your talking about her.”
“Really?” Sara said.
“Didn’t you?” I asked weakly.
“Nope. As I said, I’ve seen her around a few times, you know, in the decades since we left high school.”
“Ah. Right.”
“Anyway,” she said, “nice seeing you. You’ve got my number. Text me if you want to get a cup of coffee, maybe.”
“I’d like that. Maybe I’ll call you.”
“Take care,” said Sara, and then she walked down the stairs and away across the market square.
I took my to-do list out of my pocket again.
Item number one was done, and item number two would probably be reasonably easy. Item three couldn’t be too difficult, surely. That just left item four: invite Jennifer.
Chapter 23
Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go
SPRING BLOSSOMED INTO summer. A magical time. The snow was a distant memory, and the sun was already high in the sky when you awoke, and stayed up there long after bedtime.
I was looking forward to the holidays. The final year of high school was going to be hard work, so it would be nice to spend some quality time mooching around Kumpunotko: riding my bike, completing The Hobbit, edging ever closer to building up the courage to finally make the big step—from leaning on my bike on the pavement to sitting with Jennifer on the rock by the mailbox. It’s important to have ambitions.
There were, however, a couple of flies in the ointment.
The first came in the form of Dad.
“My buddy who runs the warehouse is looking for casual workers over the summer.”
“Oh. Did you suggest putting an ad in the paper?”
“No. I thought you might be interested.”
“Not really. I have other plans. But thanks.”
He frowned.
“It wasn’t a question, Peter. Tina had summer jobs every year through high school.”
“But I’ve got a job at Video 2000!”
“A couple of evenings a week? Come on. You need to fill your time doing something useful.”
I was about to point out how useful running a video store was when the phone rang.
“Peter!” yelled Mom. “Jennifer!”
And that was the second fly. I was just about to launch into a story about what a bummer it was that Dad was expecting me to get up in the mornings when she told me to come over and say goodbye: “We’re going on a road trip. No idea when we’ll be back, since Dad’s driving. We could end up anywhere. I totally don’t want to go, but what else am I going to do—kick my heels in Smallville all summer, waiting for nothing to happen?”
While I appreciated the Superman reference, her revelation knocked me sideways. My whole summer, ruined in the space of five minutes.
Still, I managed to survive as best I could.
I spent a lot time playing Spectrum and riding my bike. Jennifer sent me a postcard from Liège in Belgium telling me that she was looking forward to getting to Paris, that it was going to take a day longer because her dad had taken a wrong turn at Antwerp (“we’re not happy campers”), that the many bicyclists on the roads reminded her of me, and that she had a present for me.
Of course, I couldn’t reply, and I didn’t know exactly when they were going to come home, but I kept
riding my bike past their house on my way to work, thinking of her. Working at the warehouse was more fun than I had thought it would be, but also harder. The days were long, and I always volunteered to work overtime because I discovered that the longer I worked, the more money I got and the more albums I could buy. When I finally got home at night, I barely had enough energy to play computer games.
It wasn’t until August that I had my first day off and could, albeit briefly, resume my plan of being a careless drifter in Kumpunotko, just enjoying the summer. I rode my bike around town, but no matter where you started, in Kumpunotko you always ended up at the market square. In the summer, the square was buzzing with action. There were twice the number of stands and tents compared to winter, and the place was always jolly with the music of a few local buskers, taking turns in one corner of the square. In the other corner, diagonally across the square, was an ice cream stand.
As I got closer to the stand I thought I recognized the person behind the iceboxes. It was Jennifer. I got off my bike and walked it the last few metres.
“Jennifer! What are you doing here?”
“Serving ice cream. The girl who worked here got chilblains and they needed someone. Dad knows the owner. What would you like?”
She gestured toward the dozen tubs of ice cream under the glass.
“Oh. A strawberry and cherry.”
Jennifer started to scoop the ice cream. She had a wristband in the colours of the French flag around her right wrist.
“When did you get back? How was your trip?”
“Last week.”
“Last week? Oh.”
“It was amazing,” she said with a smile. “Paris is so magical; it’s about as far from this place as you can think of. People there are so . . . different. They’re thoughtful and yet emotional. And they talk about their emotions.”
I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.
“Europe—the real Europe—is so vibrant. There’s so much energy,” she went on, and handed me my ice cream.
“I take it you didn’t get lost again, then?”
She looked at me blankly.
“On the postcard you said you got lost in Antwerp.”
Someday Jennifer Page 14
