Screen Kiss

by Ann Roberts

  “Tell me about this woman,” Nadine asked pleasantly.

  Addy got all warm inside, but she tried to play it cool in front of Jackie. “It’s just one of those straight crushes. She’s not gay, but she’s cute and wonderful.”

  They loaded up their plates with wings and Addy snuck a look at Jackie. She was attacking her wing viciously like a rabid dog.

  “So Addy, this cute and wonderful person must be something, considering you’re violating company policy for her,” Nadine said.

  “She is. She used to ride my bus, but then she changed jobs. Now she’s supposed to ride with someone else, but he’s sexually harassed her, so she won’t ride his bus.”

  Nadine turned to Jackie. “Did you know about this?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jackie said as she chewed. She wiped her mouth and added, “I believe her and Addy. But there’s no proof. Pratul is sneaky. He’s out to get both me and Addy and he’s very careful when he knows he’s on camera. I figured letting her help Bianca is the way to go for now.”

  Nadine nodded her agreement. “So what’s the long-term plan? How do you get rid of him?”

  Jackie shrugged and popped the top of her next beer. “Not sure. Got any ideas?”

  “Well, he could get run over by an entire roller derby team, but I imagine that would make the cops very suspicious.”

  Addy tossed a bone onto her plate. “It just sucks because he’s harassed other women—not just passengers, drivers too. But like Jackie says, he’s sneaky. He makes sure no one else is around, and on the bus he leans a little to the right just to be out of the camera’s view.”

  “And,” Jackie added, “he made life miserable for the one driver who actually took the time to file a grievance. Now she’s gone and he’s still there.”

  “The system is fucked,” Addy declared.

  Nadine caressed the side of her beer bottle like it was a beautiful woman. Addy found the gesture mesmerizing. “I may have an idea.”

  “Please share,” Jackie said.

  Nadine’s lips curled up mischievously. “Oh, no. If you’re ignorant, you have plausible deniability. When we finally nail Pratul’s shriveled little penis to the wall, his attorney won’t be able to assert conspiracy.”

  Addy and Jackie exchanged a nod, trusting Nadine’s approach. In addition to being a CPA. and roller derby goddess, she was a licensed PI.

  Chapter Eight

  Mazie did a little dance before she carried the film hard drive up to the projection booth. The newest arrival, Dragon Mamas, was a celebrated indie documentary about Mormon mothers and their gay children. It had already garnered Oscar buzz, and best of all, it was playing exclusively at the Bijou—thanks to Almondine’s address book.

  During the two months Mazie had worked at the Bijou, she’d witnessed the leverage Almondine possessed with the entertainment industry. One afternoon they’d argued about a certain A-list actor’s presence in a ridiculous and embarrassing B-rated film. Almondine pulled the overstuffed address book from her desk and found the number she was looking for. She made the call and Mazie was blown away when the actor answered.

  After he sheepishly confirmed his participation in the film and hung up, Mazie grilled Almondine about who else she knew—many people—and how she acquired their personal phone numbers.

  “I’m friendly and discreet,” was all she said in her fake French accent. “On a set the primary players will often reach out to their subordinates if they believe you have an empathetic ear and a confidential nature. I possess both,” she said proudly, handing the book to Mazie.

  The nearly disintegrated and thick address book was held together by two large, red rubber bands. The cover was a very old picture of a world map, which included countries that no longer existed—like Persia. She sifted through the first few pages, stunned by the names in the “A” section. “Every agent from Hollywood to New York would kill for some of these numbers.”

  Almondine only chuckled and waved her hand dismissively. “Part of the reason I have those numbers is because their owners know I would never betray them.” She paused and added, “I know many secrets and the tabloids have tried—and failed—to obtain them.”

  “I see.”

  They had let it go, but Mazie’s wheels began to turn, and she gently coaxed Almondine to use her friendships to keep the Bijou afloat. At first Almondine hesitated, but once Mazie assured her they wouldn’t do anything to harm her relationships with any Hollywood bigwigs, she was willing to reach out to her contacts. One such phone call secured the film Mazie now held in her hand.

  She decided to watch it after the last showing of the night. Once she’d shooed everyone out, swept the aisles and practiced, she’d fill up the last tub of buttered popcorn and take a seat in the middle of the auditorium. It was a date with herself, the only kind of date she’d had in a long time. Too long. But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to focus on her goal—complete her master’s degree by performing at Gallagher Hall in December.

  As the evening crowd filed in for the final showing of the latest foreign film, Mazie scanned the crowd for Addy, who hadn’t been by in over a week. Mazie had grown accustomed to chatting with her before a feature started, and she was grateful for Addy’s help when the concessions line was long. She was patient, building her friendship with Addy brick by brick. She just hoped the bricks weren’t building a wall between them.

  Mazie had tried to discuss with Almondine closing the tiny ticket booth that sat outside the theater and combining ticket and concession sales—but Almondine wouldn’t hear of it. Only a handful of theaters on the west coast had a true ticket booth, and Almondine found it charming, just like the old-fashioned marquee that sat above the theater entrance. It didn’t matter that the glorious marquee routinely increased the electric bill by fifty dollars a month or that Mazie easily spent two hours changing it every time a new film arrived. “Charming” cost time and money, but Almondine was willing to pay the price.

  As the final patron entered Theater One with his drink and hot dog, Mazie frowned. No Addy. Almondine stuck her head out of her office, and when she saw the empty lobby, she said, “Can you come here, please?”

  Mazie knew that voice. Almondine was in distress, and Mazie guessed she was reconciling the month’s receipts, and they were in the red—again. Mazie sighed and followed her into her office, where she flopped into her desk chair and dramatically covered her eyes with her hand.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said, waving at the open ledger on her desk.

  Mazie skimmed the monthly entries. Once again the Bijou continued to bleed money despite Mazie’s cost-saving ideas. Not enough people were coming to the theater. It was that simple. Mazie scratched her chin. She knew there was an audience out there. She knew that each year Cammon University accepted new students, and a decent percentage of them liked artsy and indie films. She just had to publicize better.

  “We need an event,” she concluded.

  Almondine raised her head. “What kind of event?”

  “I don’t know but something to attract the recent arrivals to Wilshire Hills, mainly the new students. We should hold a big gala.”

  “Tried that. About thirty people came.”

  Mazie bit the inside of her cheek and didn’t comment. More than likely Almondine’s event had little “gala” or pageantry—because she wouldn’t spend the money. Mazie pictured a few bowls of peanuts and some crepe paper streamers, as if the Bijou was hosting a kiddie party. Mazie simply nodded. She had tried to explain to Almondine that to make money you had to spend some money, but what Almondine was willing to spend wasn’t enough to garner the buzz they needed. Mazie would have to do an end run around Almondine if they planned an event.

  “I’ll work on it,” she said, turning to go.

  A rustling noise filtered into the office and Mazie quickly headed to the concessions stand. Addy was filling up her soda. Mazie automatically smiled.

  “Hey,” she said.


  Addy turned and grinned. “Hey.”

  “Are you excited to see the new film?”

  Addy nodded. “I read some of the reviews. Should be sold out for most of the run.”

  “I hope so,” she replied, although she seriously doubted the theater would be packed for any showing.

  Still, Addy’s optimism was refreshing. So much about her was refreshing. She grabbed her drink and popcorn and crossed the lobby to Theater One, Mazie at her side.

  “How was your day?” Mazie asked.

  Addy rolled her eyes. “Not so great. Had another tweaker on the bus. Those guys are the worst.”

  “Did he become violent?”

  “No, fortunately not. But he threatened Mrs. Gelpin. She was pretty shaken up.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I called our security team and they met us at the next stop. They took him off and interviewed Mrs. Gelpin. It made everybody late, and the other passengers I picked up were really cranky. I told everybody why I was late, but still…Even Bianca was angry, and she never gets angry.”

  Addy opened the door to head in, but Mazie touched her hand. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Addy peered inside. “Is it a quick one? I don’t want to miss the previews.”

  Mazie laughed. “You won’t. I’m running the projection booth tonight.” She checked the time on her phone. “We still have two minutes.”

  “Okay, what’s your question?”

  “Do you have something going on with Bianca? Are you two dating?”

  At the mention of Bianca, Addy’s face and ears grew red. She shook her head but said nothing.

  “Is she someone you’d like to date?”

  Addy looked down and shuffled her feet. She mumbled, “I’d rather not discuss my love life,” before she darted into the theater.

  Mazie sighed. She’d only asked the questions as a way to get to know Addy better. At least that was what she told herself for now.

  The front doors opened and a group of twentysomethings entered, all wearing Cammon University apparel. Mazie raced back to the concessions stand to serve them before she started the movie.

  It wasn’t until she was perched in the projection room, looking out at the patrons below in Theater One, that she thought of Addy again, sitting by herself in the fourth row in the north section. Few people were around her, which was how she liked it. Mazie pictured an impenetrable plastic bubble surrounding Addy. No matter how hard anyone tried, that bubble couldn’t be pierced. Addy wouldn’t allow it.

  Two hours later Mazie dropped onto a couch in the lobby. Theater One was about to let out, and although she’d been looking forward to her private screening of Dragon Moms, she’d probably fall asleep if she attempted to watch it tonight.

  She’d worked nonstop since walking Addy into Theater One. Someone had thrown up in Theater Two. Another customer, whom Mazie suspected was drunk before he got to the Bijou, threw a fit over Milk Duds that he claimed were stale. He’d become abusive, pelting the candy at her before he stormed out. Then a homeless man dropped an empty bottle of whiskey outside the front doors, necessitating a cleanup before the crowds exited the theater.

  She sighed. She was tired. It was hard being over forty. It was as if her body sent a memo announcing it was slowing down and certain bodily functions would only be available during a narrow window of time each day. And some parts had gone on strike. Of this she was certain. Still, she didn’t feel older.

  The alarm on her phone went off and she hustled up to the projection room to end the movie in Theater One. While most everyone left once the credits rolled, Addy remained glued to her seat. Mazie smiled. Addy was a diehard fan of cinema too. They both thought it was courteous to stay through the credits as a way to thank the people behind the scenes, like the best boy or the line producer.

  She headed down to the lobby until it was time to climb the stairs and repeat her routine. Once everyone had left, she retrieved the cleaning cart and headed to Theater One. She realized she’d missed saying goodbye to Addy, who must have left while she was putting out the fires.

  But Mazie found her still sitting in her seat, in the trance-like state Mazie had witnessed that day on the bus. She hesitated to disturb her, but she was exhausted, and she still had the other theater to clean as well. She flipped open the dustpan and started sweeping the back row. Every few minutes she’d glance at Addy, who remained unmoving—until Mazie emptied her full dustpan into the garbage can. The rumble of cascading trash startled Addy and she jumped. Then she whipped around to get her bearings.

  Mazie smiled when Addy’s gaze landed on her. “Hi there. I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Addy replied, but Mazie knew she was lying. Addy quickly gathered her things and deposited her empty popcorn tub, licorice box, and drink cup into Mazie’s can. She headed toward the back exit. “Bye.”

  “What do you think of this movie?” Mazie blurted. “Is it one of your favorites?”

  Addy turned, her eagerness to depart apparently vanquished by her desire to discuss film. “Yeah, I think it’s terrific. So rarely do you see lesbian cinema where they get all the parts right, you know? It’s either a bad story, poor actors, or poor quality because the filmmaker couldn’t get appropriate financing. Usually one or more of those pieces is missing.”

  Mazie leaned against her broom, nodding. “I know. Remember Go Fish?”

  Addy laughed and rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah. Or Salmonberries.”

  “Oh,” Mazie groaned. “So bad. But here’s what’s ironic. Desert Hearts was the first lesbian film, right? And it was great.”

  Addy grimaced. “Um, Desert Hearts might’ve been the first real mainstream lesbian movie, and I think it’s fabulous,” she quickly added. “But there were others before it. Like Therese and Isabelle. That’s a classic. And Bilitis from seventy-seven. And That Tender Touch from sixty-nine.”

  “I’ve not heard of those.” Her eyes narrowed. “Those aren’t like The Children’s Hour or The Killing of Sister George where it’s really a lesbian-bashing movie, or one character isn’t really gay? You know, straight housewife takes her libido out for a spin?”

  Addy laughed. “There were a lot of those movies in the sixties and seventies, that’s for sure. Tender Touch was one of those, but the other two weren’t.” She paused and her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’ve got them if you ever wanted to see them. And other stuff too.”

  Mazie’s heart fluttered. “I’d love to see them.”

  “I could bring them to you. I mean, we don’t have to watch them together if you don’t want. But you’ll need a VCR for Bilitis and I know a lot of people don’t have those anymore.” She paused awkwardly and finally said, “Do you have a VCR?”

  Mazie shook her head. “I’d be happy to come by your place, and actually, I’d like to see them with you and hear your thoughts. It seems we think alike when it comes to cinema.”

  Addy glanced up and nodded again. “I’ve noticed that too. I think it’s really cool that you work here.” She looked around, clearly admiring the old building.

  Mazie took two steps toward her, careful not to get too close, for fear of scaring her away. “Okay, so it’s a date? Kinda? Sometime soon?”

  Addy didn’t respond, but she continued to stare. Mazie wondered if she’d heard the question, or if she’d taken another one of her mind vacations. Then Addy closed the distance between them and kissed her. The broom clattered against the seats and Mazie pulled Addy against her. She felt Addy relax as one kiss turned into two, and she desperately wanted to touch her everywhere, but she wasn’t going to push it—and not just because they were standing in Mazie’s place of employment.

  She slowly broke the kiss, noting that Addy hadn’t moved at all. Her eyes were still closed and her lips remained puckered. “Addy, are you with me?”

  She blinked. “Of course. Did you hate it?”

  “Oh, no. I thought it felt wonderful. I just…” She had no idea how to br
oach the subject with Addy, who seemed to run away any time she said the wrong thing. And since she wasn’t sure what was right or wrong…But if we’re ever going to be more than friends… “Where do you go?”

  Addy looked stricken and Mazie instantly wished she could retract the question. At least Addy hadn’t bolted out of the theater, but she hadn’t replied, so Mazie rephrased it. “I mean, what do you think about?” She hoped she looked inquisitive but not nosy, interested but not condescending.

  Addy shrugged. “Different stuff.”

  Mazie imagined those two words led to a very long conversation, one they could never have until a bridge of trust had been built. Perhaps if she wanted Addy to share, she had to do so first. “I think I’m going to fail and not get my degree.”

  “What?”

  “To earn my Master’s degree in Vocal Performance from Cammon, I must perform at Gallagher Hall. In front of people. A lot of people.”

  Addy looked puzzled. “But I’ve heard you sing—”

  “Alone. You’ve heard me sing to an empty auditorium.”

  “Yeah, I guess a place full of people would be way different, huh? I couldn’t do it.”

  Mazie groaned. “Well, unfortunately, at this point, neither can I.”

  “How many people will be in the audience?”

  “I don’t know. At least my whole committee, so at least five.”

  “That’s not very many,” Addy said hopefully. “It’s not a crowd…”

  Mazie dropped into a seat. “Right now, it doesn’t matter how many people are there. Right now one is a crowd, and I’m scared shitless.” She looked into Addy’s understanding face and it fueled her to tell more. “What’s worse, they’ll be evaluating me. It’s not just that I have to sing. I have to sing well. It’s a test.”

  Addy shivered. “Oh, I hate tests.” She touched Mazie’s arm. “But there’s some medicine you can take to help your nerves. I’ve taken it a few times,” she added.

  “Actually there’s several medications for test anxiety, and I’ve tried most of them because tests have always been rough. None of the drugs have ever helped. During eleventh grade I actually threw up. On my state math test. Then they had to use this powder to clean it up. They got mad because they’d gone to all that trouble with the expensive powder and there wasn’t anything written on my test.”