out of money. And all the subzagent—subsequent—owners, they could never figure out if they wanted it all torn out or fixed up. So fast forward seventy-five years, we get this.”
This was a movie theater spread out in front of him that could easily seat hundreds, in the big old-fashioned velvet chairs from the 1920s that could accommodate the widest of bottoms. There were close to a dozen rows to a section, forty-odd seats to a row, and three sections of seats: closest to the stage, the middle, and the nosebleed seats. The door she’d brought them through was in the middle. He stepped forward and looked behind him; the projectionist booth looked big enough to be a living room. He felt small; it wasn’t unlike standing in an empty stadium.
“Jesus. This isn’t a theater, it’s a temple.”
“Yes! Can’t you picture it? The intense awesomeness of it all?” He was amazed; this was as animated as he’d ever seen her, and she was a goddamned vision, practically vibrating with excitement, anticipation, and vodka. “Just thinking about all the films they showed makes me want a big Coke with lots of crushed ice. And popcorn. But not just any popcorn. Stale movie popcorn that only gets switched out every week or so.”
“You want a Coke with crushed ice? I’ll get you a Coke with crushed ice.” He wasn’t sure he could find stale popcorn on short notice, but he could crush ice, by God…
“Fuck ice.” She pulled a thermos and a couple of bottles of Coke out of her tote. “Rum will be fine.”
“On top of the screwdrivers?”
“Oh, is that what they were? I thought Garsea gave me glasses of vodka with a tablespoon of orange juice for color.”
“What can I say? She’s got the constitution of a horse. Never, ever tell her I compared her to a horse.”
She snickered. “I’ll take your horse-shaming to my grave.” She opened one of the Cokes, took a couple of swigs, then filled it back up with rum. “You’ve probably deduced by now that you are the designated driver this evening.”
“I had a feeling.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, they were watching her laptop, which she’d carefully set on the ledge between the front and center sections. Their choices had been Cabin in the Woods, It, Roxanne, Black Panther, John Wick: Chapter 2, The Sixth Sense, Finding Dory, season one of Salt Fat Acid Heat, It Chapter Two, Maleficent, and every Toy Story movie.
“God, you’re eclectic.”
Lila looked oddly pleased. “Thank you. D’you know the best part of It Chapter Two?” she asked out of nowhere. “It’s that Mike Hanlon gets to live in a library. We’re supposed to feel sorry for him because he was the Loser the turtle decided to leave behind as a night watchman, for almost three decades. We’re supposed to feel he got cheated because his other friends went on to found their own companies or make it big in the arts and got rich. Right?”
“Right.”
“But Mike gets. To live. In a library!”
“I never thought about it like that,” Oz admitted.
“Yeah, well, my hidden genius helps me spot stuff like that. You’re welcome.”
“And you like the Toy Story franchise?”
“Obviously. The best part is when the Fixer makes Woody like- new again.”
“You’re the only person who watches the Toy Story franchise for a glimpse of the geezer who fixes dolls,” he declared.
“That’s enough ageism from you, pal.”
They settled in for the latest Toy Story movie. Lila concentrated on drinking, and Oz concentrated on regulating his breathing when she let her head rest on his shoulder. He supposed they could have watched the movie on her laptop in her office downstairs—or anywhere, really; that was the beauty of laptops and Netflix—but he was glad she’d brought him to the theater. He felt like she’d cracked the door to herself a bit, letting him have a glimpse. The trick was to stay put and be patient and hope she opened the door wider.
“I’ve lived here all my life and I had no idea,” he marveled. “No idea this was here.”
“Yeah? Well, the device you use for social media? It has a search engine, too.”
“Seriously,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t get over it.”
“Oh, goody, you’re one of those people who talks through movies.”
“Sorry,” he replied, and shut up.
Thirty seconds later: “Are there really Shifter homeless kids?”
“Well.” Oz shifted his weight, hoping she wouldn’t think he was subtly trying to shrug off her head. “Yeah.”
“Well,” she began, then paused for so long he was sure