Someday Jennifer

by Risto Pakarinen

  She wasn’t supposed to be married to Sami.

  He wasn’t the hero; I was.

  “Look at you, all handsome in a tuxedo and everything. I was almost jealous of Sara, snapping you up like that.”

  That phrase.

  For thirty years I’d been haunted by it, had wondered why I hadn’t acted. Why I hadn’t tipped my head in for a kiss at the bus stop half a second earlier.

  But then again, for thirty years I’d been haunted by the jealous, choosing not to notice the word that came before it.

  For thirty years, my loneliness had twisted a simple friendship into something it had never been.

  It was all in my head.

  A peck on the cheek. A handful of confidence-boosting compliments.

  She’d been a friend, nothing more.

  But—just as importantly—she’d been a damn good friend.

  I shook my head.

  Reset my brain.

  Thanked God that waitress had come along before I’d had the chance to spill my guts in the coffee shop.

  That could have been embarrassing.

  So what was I to do now?

  There was no reason, logically, that I couldn’t just erase all the nonsense from my head and go back to how it had been.

  Friends.

  I had her details now. I could drop her a line. Go for coffee.

  Pick up where we’d actually left off. In real life.

  WHEN I GOT BACK to the Atlas, the red neon sign was still glowing, but the torches were extinguished and the doors were closed. I opened the door and walked in.

  Dad, Tim, and a group of Dad’s friends were standing in the lobby, holding white plastic cups in their hands. Their faces looked very red and jolly. Both Dad and Tim were still in their Back to the Future outfits, and when Tim saw me, he grabbed me by my neck.

  “Where have you been, punk?” I squirmed in his grip. “You didn’t even see the standing ovation!”

  “Just took a walk.”

  “Got a little nervous there? Too scared to see how it went? What are ya? Chicken?”

  I burst out laughing and kept laughing, almost hysterically.

  “No,” I gasped when I could get some air, “just took a walk.”

  “Want some of your father’s magic potion?” somebody asked me. It was Erik. He pushed his white cup in front of my nose. His breath had a strong stench of alcohol. I looked up and saw Dad raise his cup in a toast.

  “Needed to grease the wheels, you know,” he said with a big grin. “Hey, I think some people are waiting for you in there,” he added, gesturing toward the auditorium.

  Jennifer and Sami were still there, talking with Sara and Mikke. I observed them for a while, uncertain of what to do or say, but when Jennifer saw me, her face lit up. “There he is,” she said, and then left the group and walked to meet me. “Congratulations!” She pulled me into a hug. “That was such a success. I’ve always said there’s nothing you can’t do. Well done, friend.”

  Then she kissed me on the cheek.

  Chapter 44

  I Want to Know What Love Is

  JENNIFER, SAMI, AND I chatted for a few minutes. Sami showered me with compliments on my work with the movie theatre, and then went on about how important it was for the town to have a community hub like this rather than just more boring apartments.

  “You should come for dinner soon,” he said. “For old time’s sake.”

  I looked at Jennifer. She was smiling, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I think I’d like that,” I said, and excused myself. The uproarious laughter of Dad’s friends pulled me to the lobby, where they were telling stories, slapping each other on the back, and spilling Dad’s special moonshine on the floor.

  Kari gestured for me to come closer.

  “Listen, Peter, my hat’s off to you, really. You have done such a fantastic job with this. With everything,” he said, his cheeks red and a twinkle in his eye.

  “Thanks, but it’s over now. I mean, the bulldozers will be here next week, right?”

  Kari sighed.

  “I don’t know. To be honest, Tomi and I were talking tonight. You know that old meat-packing factory on the outskirts of town? Well, it’s going for a song, and we think we could probably get a couple of apartment buildings on that land. Certainly more than here. I don’t know. It would mean scrapping the plans for this place, but plans have to adapt, right? And it would be such a shame to tear this down.”

  “Damn right,” growled Rexi, suddenly at my shoulder.

  “So, if you think you might be interested in taking it off our hands . . .”

  I was flabbergasted. I was interested, yes—my dream, becoming a reality—but I couldn’t see how it would work.

  “There’s no way,” I said with a small sigh. “I can’t afford six hundred thousand euros. I’ve barely got six hundred.”

  “Well, we’ll have a think about it tomorrow. Perhaps in the afternoon, when we’ve gotten over our hangovers, we can talk about a trial period, see if you can make it profitable. Then you can talk to the bank, maybe. Who knows?”

  He winked and raised his plastic cup.

  “Kippis!”

  I clinked my plastic cup against his.

  “Kippis!”

  He knocked back the vodka, and if it made his eyes water I couldn’t tell; I was too busy coughing and gasping and clutching my own throat.

  I WAS FEELING strange inside—very strange—and it wasn’t just my father’s home brew. I kept thinking about those four big fat zeroes, and wondering if perhaps they weren’t an end after all, but a beginning. Reset and start again. I stood at the front door and looked out. I saw the reflection of the red Atlas sign in the windows across the street. All the praise had lifted my spirits, and I could feel my self-confidence returning. I’d done good! I’d set out to do something and had actually achieved it.

  “In a town that had lost all hope, only one man could—” I narrated, but was interrupted when somebody tugged at my shirt.

  “So,” said Tina. “When do I get to meet your mystery pizza girl?”

  “You already know her. From school.” I nodded toward the other side of the lobby, where Sara was talking to Mom. Her niece was in the auditorium, chatting furtively with Sofie.

  “She’s cute. Are you guys a couple or . . . ?”

  “She is cute. And smart. But tough too. She’s a cop, you know.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “No, we’re not a couple. She thinks I’m a lunatic.”

  “You are a lunatic. Go talk to her, dummy,” Tina said, and nudged me forward.

  “Stop it.”

  “You stop it,” Tina said. She pushed me so hard that I practically flew across the lobby.

  “What is your favourite food?” I heard Mom ask Sara just as I landed on the floor between them.

  “I’d like to know that too,” I said.

  “Pizza,” Sara said, with a big smile on her face. She helped me up. I looked toward Mom, but she had mysteriously vanished.

  “Can we go somewhere to talk?” she whispered to me. “In private?”

  I showed her the way to the projection booth. Rexi was still there, sitting on the only stool, running his hand absently over the side of the projector. When he saw us walk in, he excused himself.

  “Good show, kid. Same time tomorrow?”

  “Sure, Rexi. Thank you so much.”

  Rexi turned toward the door. “No,” he said, a misty look in his eyes, “thank you.”

  Of all the hugs I got that evening, his was certainly the most intense.

  I offered the stool to Sara, but she said she wanted to stand, so we both stood.

  “Did you like the movie?” I asked, to break the silence.

  “Yeah,” she said, “but I’d seen it before.”

  Another pause.

  “I like watching the classics,” she added. “But you never beat the feeling of seeing it the first time. It’s just not as good when y
ou know how it’s going to end.”

  I didn’t know what to say. She was totally wrong, of course, but on one level I could see that she might be right.

  I’d had enough of awkward pauses for one day. I opened my mouth to say something, but Sara beat me to it.

  “I saw Jennifer,” she said.

  Another pause. Again I opened my mouth, but again Sara got there first.

  “I knew she was married to Sami,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wasn’t sure it was important. If you cared, even. I didn’t know what you had in mind, really, but mostly I didn’t want to scare you away. I’ve loved having you in town, and, you know, our little chats about everything.”

  She was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and for a moment I thought she was holding back tears.

  “It’s very romantic, you know, to go back in time for a girl. It’s crazy, and impossible, but it’s very romantic. Even if it was the wrong girl.”

  I fiddled with the projector.

  “You know, I always wanted to go to the dance with you. Back then. I was so excited when we got assigned to each other. That was my dream come true. You were pretty handsome. Back then,” Sara said.

  I laughed a little. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “And that’s why I was so upset after the dance when you just wanted to hang around with—”

  “That’s why you disappeared?”

  “I didn’t see the point in hanging around.”

  “She was my friend,” I insisted, stepping closer to her. “Look, I realize now—finally—that that’s all it ever was. And you know what? I’m fine with that. And you know what else? For what it’s worth, you did look amazing that night. With your fingerless gloves.”

  Now Sara laughed.

  “Yeah, right. New Wave!” she shouted, and raised her fist.

  “And that was the first time I ever saw a high-five.”

  “Get out of town! You’re such a lame-o.”

  We heard loud laughter from downstairs.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked. “I guess you’ll go back to Helsinki?”

  “Well, I didn’t have a plan beyond this moment, but now it looks as if maybe I won’t be going anywhere. For one thing, I think I have a movie theatre to run,” I said, and made a grand gesture around the small room. “And I’m much happier than I was when I first got here, even if I did lose the plot a bit tonight. I’ve gotten a lot of wires crossed in my head lately, but I think . . . I think they’re straightened out a bit now.”

  “You know,” she said softly, “I think you got it a bit wrong back there. I think you missed the point of the film.”

  “How so?”

  “Wasn’t the whole film about getting Marty back to where he belongs? The future? That is, now, today, 2016?”

  I chuckled. She was right.

  “So here I am. It took a lot of planning and crazy ideas, but I’ve ended up back in 2016. And my life is a little better than when I left it. Hey, I wonder if my parents play tennis now?”

  She laughed, and then said softly, “You know, you’re not the only one who’s been making crazy and elaborate plans. Do you think it’s been easy, serendipitously bumping into you all the time, even in a small town like this?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “But I guess I’ll just cut to the chase now. Would you like to go on a date with me, Peter Eksell? Maybe go dancing? I know you can dance.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up; it’s been a while.”

  “Oh, but I’ve always had high hopes for you,” she said. “Hey, that reminds me, did you get a letter from Hanna a couple of months back . . . ?”

  There was a loud noise at the door. Tina came running up the stairs.

  “Dad wants to go to Burgerland!” she shouted. “IT. IS. ON!” She ran back downstairs.

  Sara and I looked at each other.

  “Won’t Burgerland be closed?” she asked.

  “I think the guy who runs it is downstairs with Dad . . .”

  I turned off the lights in the auditorium and the projection booth, and we walked toward the door.

  “I think I’ll pass on the burgers,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

  At the top of the stairs there was one of those pauses. She looked a little uncertain. Then she stepped forward and put her arms around me and we hugged—not too tight—and as we let go I think I surprised myself even more than I surprised her when I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Her eyes popped open.

  “Cool,” I said, with a grin. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

  As we walked down the stairs, I saw her absently reach up and touch the spot I’d kissed.

  I left the neon sign on.

  Epilogue

  No More Lonely Nights

  I GOT TO THE ATLAS around noon and parked my bike against the wall in the back. The mail was waiting for me in the mailbox. I grabbed it and walked in through the side door and straight to my office.

  I turned on Total 80s FM on the lobby’s integrated sound system and picked up the most interesting piece of mail amongst a few bills and fliers. It was a large orange envelope addressed to Peter Eksell, The Atlas Movie House, with “DO NOT FOLD” stamped on the front in English. It was postmarked Santa Monica, California.

  Curiously, carefully, I tore along the edge and reached into the envelope. Inside was a glossy eight-by-ten black-and-white photo of Christopher Lloyd, signed by the actor. There was no cover note.

  Better eighteen months late than never.

  I put it down and put my coat back on. I walked out the door and quickly rode my bike to the bookstore to get a frame. It was perfect. Today was Thursday, which meant that it was Throwback Thursday Movie Night—an idea Tim and Dad had cooked up. It usually ended up being our busiest night of the week.

  Not that Tim was able to make it every Thursday—it was a long drive, after all—but whenever he could come, he really threw himself into the theme. Indiana Jones, Louis Winthorpe III, Ferris Bueller: on each occasion his costume was better than the last. I was beginning to suspect that Tina was helping him out.

  I had a date at the coffee shop at 1 p.m., and as the clock on the bank building told me, I had fifteen minutes to buy the frame and get there.

  Jennifer and I arrived at the coffee shop at the same time: 12:54. I guess she hated being late as much as I did.

  “Hello, friend,” she said.

  We got our hot chocolates and took a table by the window. I told her about the Christopher Lloyd photo, and she laughed.

  “You should post that on Facebook,” she said. “And Instagram. It’s perfect.”

  “You know I don’t do that stuff.”

  “I know, and by ‘you’ I obviously meant ‘Sara.’ You guys. Anyway, the Atlas Instagram account is very funny; she’s very funny. It’s not surprising the place is so popular.”

  “Oh yes, she is. Keep it to yourself, though; I’m not sure her boss knows that she’s posting on police time.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Outrageous—especially when there’s so much crime around here she should be solving.”

  We both took sips of our hot chocolate at the same time.

  “She was telling me she’s thinking of leaving the force,” said Jennifer. “Coming to work with you full-time.”

  “Mmm. We’ve talked about that. I’m not so sure. Living together and working together?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure how much say you’ll have in the matter, to be honest.”

  I changed the subject. “How are the kids?”

  “They’re good. It’s a busy week with Peter’s thirteenth birthday party and everything. It’s very kind of you to let us have a private screening. He’s been telling all his friends that he knows you. Are you sure we don’t need to bring anything?”

  “I’m sure. Mom’s been baking for a week. There’ll be so much to eat, the kids will explode. Dad’s going to dress up too.”
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  “He’s going to be a Ghostbuster?”

  I nodded. “He was just sad we couldn’t find him a Stay Puft Marshmallow Man costume.”

  Jennifer burst out laughing, spitting hot chocolate on me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and wiped the chocolate off my face with a napkin.

  “It’s okay. He’s really into it, watched all the movies too. How’s Sami?”

  “He’s fine. Excited because we’re getting the paperwork for the new apartment this week. We’ll be renting it out. It’s a great investment opportunity, he says. I’m actually going to meet him at the gym straight from here. Want to walk with me?”

  “Of course.”

  I walked my bike, with Jennifer walking next to me, and when we got to the gym we stood outside for ten minutes, Jennifer telling me all about their new apartment in the old meat-packing building, and me leaning on my bike.

  I saw Sami wave from inside the gym. He was running on a treadmill, facing the street. I waved back. He wasn’t such a jerk, once you got used to him.

  “I should go,” Jennifer said. “We’ll talk.” She waved to me, wiggling her fingers.

  I got on my bike and rode through Kumpunotko. It was a nice spring day but still quite cold, so I kept my hands in my jacket pockets, listening to music on my iPod.

  Sara was at the Atlas when I got there. She must have seen me through the main doors, because when I opened the side door, she came running to meet me. The door was barely open when she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in—and into a warm embrace that made me forget time and space. I buried my head in her neck.

  “You smell good,” I said, and I gave her a kiss.

  Dad may have been right about the importance of a firm handshake, but this—this was better. Even better than a high-five.

  We walked hand in hand through the theatre and into the main lobby, where Sara helped me find the perfect spot for Christopher Lloyd’s photo, between two posters of forthcoming events: Gremlins and the Beverly Hills Cop double bill. (Yes, I know there’s a third film in the series, but we do have standards to maintain).

  “By the way, the Ghostbusters reels just came,” Sara said. “I think we need to call Rexi.”