He lets Finch get a couple of swings in. As in a pro wrestling match, Julian exaggerates the force of the hits, nearly falling at one point. For three rounds, he puts on a pretty good show. He feints and swerves, lets Finch shove and push him. He gets in only a few light shots, to make it seem like a real fight and not to let Finch get too close. The audience loves it. They’re all on their feet, screaming. If this was a real fight, it would almost be fun.
Who is Julian kidding. It’s still so much fun. There is nothing like the drama of the ring.
When one of Finch’s punches connects a little too squarely with his face, Julian unleashes a flurry of jabs and crosses from left and right and knocks Finch down with a soft left hook. Of course, Finch refuses to stay down, and jumps up on seven, dazed, but with his fists raised. Julian is forced to knock him down a second time, more forcefully. It’s a good thing Duncan is ready with that pillow, shoving it under Finch’s head the moment his head hits the ground. The young man has a swollen eye and a cut lip, but is otherwise intact, except for his pride. He refuses to shake hands with Julian until Duncan and Wild force him.
“Good fight, Finch,” Julian says smiling up at the young man.
“You got lucky,” Finch says, gruffly. “We’re going to have a rematch.”
“Any time, my friend,” says Julian. “Name the day. Except tomorrow night. Because tomorrow night, Mia and I are going to the pictures.”
14
Gone with the Wind
FOUR MEN AND FOUR WOMEN—JULIAN, FINCH, WILD, Duncan, Mia, Frankie, Liz, and Shona—meet at Leicester Square in Covent Garden at one o’clock in the afternoon to line up for the four o’clock show. The queue is four blocks long, almost to the Strand. It’s been cold and then it rained and now it’s cold again and everything on the ground is black slush that squelches in Julian’s boots as he stands next to Mia, and Finch says, “Hey, who said anything about standing next to her? That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Inside the enormous Empire, they find good seats right in the center. At first, Finch plants himself on the other side of Mia and acts all surprised when he gets hollered at by the boys. “What? Why can’t I sit here? He’s sitting next to her, as agreed.”
After Duncan and Wild threaten to forcibly remove him if he doesn’t remove himself, Finch sneaks off to a seat next to Frankie, a row behind. After a few minutes of Finch literally breathing down his neck, Julian motions for Mia to get up. They move a few rows behind Finch and Frankie. “Sorry to play musical chairs,” Julian says, “but the film is four hours long. He’s going to put a curse on me. Throw me off my game. What if I want to hold your hand?” He smiles. “Or kiss you?”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d like that,” Mia says.
“I’m not going to be kissing him, am I?”
She blushes. “Never mind him,” she says. “He’s just shocked he lost. That’s why he’s acting like this.”
“Is that why.”
“Why do you think?”
“Why do I think what? Why is he acting like an idiot or why did he lose?”
“Heh. Why did he lose?”
“He just didn’t want it bad enough,” Julian says.
Mia chortles. “Unlike you?”
“Yes. Unlike me.”
They get comfortable in their plush red seats. Their coats stay buttoned and the gloves stay on because it’s cold in the mammoth theatre. But she does take off her headscarf. She has brushed out her fine brown hair, scrubbed her face, put on mascara, a little lipstick, even some perfume. Julian can smell the floral delicate something every time she moves her head.
“How did Finch put it?” Julian says. “This is almost like a romantic outing.”
“Yes, almost,” she says, bubbling. “Movies are so great, aren’t they? You know what must be romantic? To be in one. Oh, Miss Delacourt, Clark Gable is here to see you. Oh, Miss Delacourt, would you like your caviar and champagne now or after you have your hair done?” Mia sighs happily. “Vivien Leigh is such a star. I wonder if she and Clark Gable had a fling. Who could resist him?”
“Um, maybe someone who’s married to Laurence Olivier?”
Mia looks doubtful. “The picture is supposed to be