Out Are the Lights (9 page)

    'Marry me? Oh, Dal! Are you sure? Why would you want to marry someone like me?'

    ' 'Cause Elizabeth told me to.'

    'That won't do at all.'

    

    

    They stepped out of the restaurant. 'That was very nice,' Connie said. 'Thank you.' She took Pete's hand.

    'The night's young. Anything special you'd like to do?'

    'Yes, as a matter of fact.'

    'Shoot.'

    'Let's go to a movie.'

    'A movie.' He looked at her, grinning, as if he thought it a fine, rather childlike idea. 'Anything in particular?'

    She shrugged. 'I don't care. Just so it's dark.'

    'Do you like scary films?'

    'Do you?'

    'They're my favorite. I know just the place. I don't know what's playing there tonight, but it'll probably be good.'

    'Bet I can guess. The Haunted Palace.'

    'You've been there?'

    'Not since it changed hands. It used to be the Elsinore.'

    'It's a far cry from that, now.'

    

    

    In the darkness of the car, they didn't try to talk.

    Connie fastened her seatbelt. She thought it would be nice to open it. and scoot across the seat, and snuggle with Pete. She hadn't done anything like that in years. Tonight, though, she felt as eager and daring and uncertain as a teenager. She hesitated. Pete might think she was acting silly, or possessive.

    On the other hand, she felt so far away from him, strapped into the seat way over on this side of the car.

    With a trembling hand, she unfastened the safety harness. Pete looked at her, and smiled. She slid across the seat. He put an arm around her. Connie snuggled against him, and rested a hand on his thigh.

    A block from the Haunted Palace, Pete eased his car to the curb. They walked to the theater, holding hands.

    

    

    On the marquee, Connie saw that
Dracula, Down Under
was showing with
The Town that Dreaded Sundown.

    The girl in the ticket window smiled at Pete. 'How are you, tonight?' she asked.

    'Not bad. I see you haven't found a new hairdresser.' He handed her the money.

    'The Town that Dreaded Sundown is just starting,' she said. 'Too bad you didn't get here half an hour sooner. You missed tonight's
Schreck
.'

    'He's a little tacky for my taste.'

    The girl laughed. 'Oh, you'd have loved this one,
Schreck the Inquisitor
.'

    'Sounds charming.'

    

    

    Inside, Pete gave the tickets to a fat man in bloody clothes.

    'Evening, Bruno.'

    Bruno growled through the nylon stocking he wore over his face.

    'Do you hang out here?' Connie asked.

    'Only been here once,' Pete said. 'Last week.'

    'It is a little tacky.'

    'So are most of the movies. Fun, though.'

    'Yeah. Like a carnival.'

    'Popcorn?'

    'I couldn't eat a thing, at the moment. Maybe a drink, though.'

    The auditorium of the theater was just as Connie remembered it: the castle walls, the battlements and turrets, the ceiling like a starlit sky.

    She had spent a lot of time in movie theaters, after the Tucson incident. Too much time. First in Tucson, then in Los Angeles.

    Hardly a day passed that she didn't find herself alone in a dark theater, eating popcorn and hot dogs and Good 'n Plenty, staring at a screen where silent people struggled through tragedy, fought to survive, laughed, and fell in love.

    She went to the movies, though she knew she shouldn't. She should be writing more pages than the two or three she managed daily. She should be reading. Most of all, she should be out in the world, doing something, meeting people, not hiding in the darkness of a movie house.

    One day, two years ago, she went to a noon showing of
The Island
. When it was over, she stayed in her seat and watched
Jaws II
, though she had seen it before. When that ended, she went out to the lobby to leave. Beyond the glass doors, the afternoon looked sunny. A young couple strolled by, holding hands and happy.

    Her throat tightened. Her eyes filled with tears.

    After buying a Pepsi and a fresh bucket of popcorn, she returned to her seat. She watched
The Island
again. She watched
Jaws II
again. When
The Island
started for a third time, she stayed in her seat.

    She felt sick with herself. Cowardly and self-destructive. But she couldn't force herself to walk out.

    Finally, a man sat down beside her. He smelled strongly of sweat and onions. He put a hand on her knee.

    She was wearing a skirt.

    The hand moved under its hem.

    She lifted the hand. The man smiled at her. His lips moved, blowing stench into her face.

    She broke his forefinger, and walked out of the theater.

    The next day, she didn't go to a movie. Nor the next day. She was certain, if she went back even once, she would fall again into the pattern. She was like an alcoholic, afraid to take a single drink because it would lead to another and another.

    She read voraciously.

    She finished her novel,
Bayou Bride
, in three months.

    She took a course in self-defense from a tough, scarred ex-Marine who claimed to be a mercenary-and proved it to Connie's satisfaction by disappearing one day. She assumed he'd gone to Rhodesia. She never saw him again.

    One of the men in the class dated her, and she found that she could go to movies safely as long as she didn't go alone.

    Then she met Dal. He took her often. He knew how she loved movies, though she never told him about her bad years as an addict.

    It was really mean of him, leaving her home last week when… She didn't want to think about Dal.

    Not tonight.

    She could worry about him later-how to tell him…

    She took Pete's hand, and didn't let go.

    

    

    When
The Town that Dreaded Sundown
ended, the lights came on.

    'How'd you like it?' Pete asked.

    'I'll probably have nightmares.'

    He smiled. 'You up for another one?'

    She glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven. Dal was probably back at the apartment, waiting for her. She didn't want to face him. She wanted to stay here with Pete, holding his hand, and never leave.

    'Sure, let's stay,' she said.

    'Ready for some popcorn now?'

    'That'd be great.'

    

    

    
Dracula, Down Under
began soon after Pete's return.

    It was an Italian film about a vampire among the Australian aborigines.

    'Oh no,' Connie said.

    Pete looked at her.

    She shook her head. 'Nothing,' she whispered, and took a handful of popcorn from the tub on his lap.

    It was enough, being with him.

    It didn't matter that the movie made no sense. She ate popcorn, and drank her Pepsi, and paid little attention to the screen.

    She leaned closer to Pete.

    He put his arm across her shoulders.

    

    

    'Could we see each other tomorrow?' Pete asked outside her apartment door.

    'I'd like that.'

    'We could go to the beach.'

    'Great. I'll make a picnic lunch.'

    'I'll bring the beer. Or would you prefer wine?'

    'Beer.'

    They held each other tightly, and kissed.

    'I had a wonderful time,' Connie said.

    'Me too.'

    'I'd ask you in, but Dal…'

    Pete shook his head. 'On the first date, I only kiss.'

    'That so?'

    'It's a lie, actually.' He pulled her close, and kissed her again. His hand gently went to her breast.

    She sucked in a sharp breath. 'Oh God, Pete.'

    'Goodnight.'

    'Goodnight. See you tomorrow.'

    'Around ten?' he asked.

    'Great.'

    'Goodnight.' He kissed her once more.

    'Goodnight.'

    They didn't part for a long time.

    Then Connie went inside, alone. She leaned against the door, too weak to move, hurting in a strange way that made her want to cry and laugh.

    A long time later, she searched the apartment. Dal wasn't there, thank God.

    She put the guard chain on the door.

    Then, feeling guilty, she took it off.

    Then she put it on again. If Dal came back in the middle of the night, she didn't want him crawling into bed with her.

    Not tonight.

    Not ever again.

    Pete Harvey had her now.

    Dirty Pete.

    With a squeal of delight, she hugged herself and twirled across the room.

    

    

    Another Saturday going to pot. Freya sat in front of the television with her tea, and stared at Popeye.

    The pits.

    Sunday, for Christsake, was better than this.

    
Ha! Sunday, for Christsake. A funny.

    But it was true. Sunday morning TV had a parade of weirdos. A real circus. Some of those evangelists put on a better show than Loony Tunes. Especially the healers. Christ, the way they slapped folks around, and grabbed canes out from under cripples, and stuck their fingers in deaf people's ears!
Out, you devils! Out, Satan!
Be a kick, some morning, if the guy's finger came out of an ear with a big yellow glob of wax.

    Well, shit, nothing good like that on Saturday morning. Just a bunch of feeb cartoons and reruns of crap she saw twenty years ago.

    Nothing decent till 10:30.
Phantom of the Opera
. The Claude Rains version from '43. Nowhere near as good as the Lon Chaney, with those boobs trotting around the tunnels with their fingers in the air so the phantom couldn't drop nooses around their necks. 'The phantom's loops are quick!' they kept saying.
What a gas!
Well, the Rains version couldn't hold a candle to that, but it sure beat watching
Heckle and Jeckle
.

    The N-double A-C-P must've got down on
Heckle and Jeckle
. She'd swear those magpies used to talk like Amos and Andy.

    The doorbell rang, startling Freya so she slopped tea onto her bare leg. She brushed it away with her hand, and got up. Her leg was still wet as she crossed the room. She rubbed it again. She adjusted her tube-top, and opened the door.

    'Greetings.'

    'Oh, hello,' Freya said. She forced a smile.

    'Remember me?'

    'I remember. I see you changed your shirt.' The vulture T-shirt had been replaced by one that read, 'Don't get mad, get even.'

    'I saw the ad in the paper,' she said, 'I thought I'd come back.'

    
Like a bad penny,
Freya thought. 'Well, I'm afraid the apartment is still not available.'

    'Why not?'

    'It's already taken."

    'That's the story you gave me, last week.'

    'It's just as true, today.'

    'Then why was there an ad in today's paper?'

    'It must be an error,' Freya said.

    'No, I don't think so. I think you just decided you don't want me for a roommate. Isn't that right?'

    'That's right.'

    'Because I'm a gross slob, right?'

    'That's right.'

    'Suppose I make it two-fifty.'

    'You're awfully eager.'

    'This place is only a block from campus. Besides, I like your style.' She gave Freya a brash grin. 'Now, how about showing me around?'

    'I admire your persistence,' Freya said, loathing the girl more each second. 'What's your name?'

    ' Chelsea.'

    'I'm Freya. Come on in.'

    The girl entered, and wrinkled her nose. 'You need some light in here,' she said, and opened the curtains. 'That's better.' Freya cringed.

    'Are you from around this area?' she asked.

    'No.'

    'Where are you from?'

    'What does it matter?'

    'I'm just curious. If we're going to live together, don't you think we should know more about each other?'

    'Does that mean you'll take me?'

    'I'm thinking about it.'

    'Well, if you really want to know, I'm from Oakland.'

    'Ah. Home of the Hell's Angels. Did you live with your folks?'

    'What are they?'

    'You don't have parents?'

    'No, I was hatched. Can't you tell?'

    'I was only wondering.'

    'Well don't. Just show me the apartment, okay? If I wanted a third degree. I'd set myself on fire.'

    'As you wish,' said Freya. She showed Chelsea the kitchen, the bathroom, and the spare room.

    'When can I move in?'

    'As soon as you pay me.'

    'Two-fifty.'

    'Six hundred,' Freya said.

    'Come again?'

    'First and last month's rent. That's five hundred.'

    'I can count.'