Best Gay Romance 2012, page 19
“Shut the hell up, straight boy.”
After that night, I’m more aware of the little theater. I look into the glass doors when I pass by on the bus, hoping to see the boy with the clarinet voice, then realize it doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m not going in; he’s there a few times, sometimes giving people their tickets, other times staring out at the world, watching.
Salty butter and the ping-ponging of kernels dancing welcome me back. It’s another Friday night, another movie with Chris.
Ticket Guy looks up from the register as I step in front of him. He’s wearing another dress shirt and tie but with an olive vest on top, his hair still parted to the side.
“You’re back,” he practically sings, with a slight smile stretching across his face.
“I just couldn’t stay away,” I smile back.
“You know what you’re watching today?”
“Nope, nothing about it. Chris is keeping me in the dark.”
Ticket Guy’s thick eyebrows arch into a fuzzy hill. “Do you wanna know?”
I put down the money and swallow. “Sure.”
He takes my change and deposits it in the register. “Well, it’s called The Apartment. Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine, who you may or may not have heard of?”
I shake my head. “May not.”
“Two really good actors, both nominated for Oscars for the film. Anyway, it’s about a guy who lets his bosses use his place—hence, The Apartment—to sleep with women so he can get ahead in his job. MacLaine works as an elevator operator in the company who’s his friend and love interest but she doesn’t know he likes her.” His voice glides from word to word, legato. Despite all the information he’s imparting, I don’t feel at all like he’s lecturing me or being condescending—unlike, sometimes, Chris.
Ticket Guy hands me my ticket.
“That sounds really cool, actually.”
He leans in ever so slightly. “The fact that she doesn’t know he likes her?”
“All of it.” With that, I leave him and head to the hallway, picturing his angled smile behind me.
“Thanks for bringing me, Chris,” I say as we make our way out of the slowly illuminating theater and into the hallway.
“You’re welcome.” He winks at me. I roll my eyes in response. “Just be honest. Would you have come back if he wasn’t here?”
I sigh. I briefly contemplate asking, “Who?” but that’d just be delaying the point.
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“Honestly…no, because I enjoy making you suffer in small ways, like watching a movie alone.”
“Screw you.”
“You’d like to, I know, but I don’t swing that way for you.” We grin like morons and laugh, our voices sucked into the black hole of the soundproof hallway before we get back out to the lobby.
“Well, let’s go look for your boy, then.”
“He’s not my boy,” I reply, with an unexpected tinge of sadness.
But there’s now a young woman at the register, beaming and crinkling her eyes at everyone who walks in, as if high on life itself.
I feel Chris’s hand on my back. “Maybe next time, buddy. We’ll come by again.” I can only nod, not knowing what else to do or say.
As we make our way to the glass doors, someone taps my shoulder from behind. I turn. It’s Ticket Guy.
“Hey. How was it?”
“Hey. It was great. Fantastic. Um, you’re not working?” I gesture over to the counter, while Chris glances slyly at the two of us.
“No, I finished about half an hour ago.”
“Oh, so you’re going home then?”
He looks at the ground, then outside, smiling boyishly.
“Actually…I was waiting for you.”
I look into his eyes for a few seconds and then I have to look away before I start flushing red. Fortunately, Chris clears his throat loudly enough for everyone in a ten-mile radius to hear.
“Sorry. This is Chris, my best friend. This is, um…” I almost say Ticket Guy.
“Luke. Nice to meet you, Chris.” They shake hands. “And nice to meet you…”
It takes me a second to realize I hadn’t actually introduced myself to him.
“I’m Kaslo, but people just call me Kaz.”
“That’s a great name.”
“Thanks. It’s actually the name of a town in British Columbia.”
“Canada,” we both say at the same time, me in clarification and he impressively. I’m startled. It’s a small town. How does he know? There’s an awkward silence.
Chris the Great Straight Friend saves the day again by yawning exaggeratedly, complete with patting his hand to his mouth. This guy should not become an actor.
“Well, I gotta get home…super early class tomorrow…you two have fun though…I’ll talk to you later…nice to meet you again, bye,” spills out of him in one breath. By “bye” he’s a good fifteen feet out the door, almost out of sight around the corner, waving.
“Wow. That’s one interesting straight best friend you have,” Luke notes. He arches an eyebrow.
“You have no idea.”
There’s a pause. Silence. Before now, the ticket booth has separated us.
“So…what do you want to do now?” I ask.
“Hm. Whatever.” He arches his eyebrow again. So cute.
“Ah. Then might I suggest a walk?”
“A mighty fine suggestion indeed.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I’m totally serious.”
“How is that possible?”
“Well, I’ve heard of the movie, of course, and I’ve seen the trailer and I know what it’s about from people talking and all.”
“You realize you’re probably the only person on the entire planet who hasn’t seen it, right?”
“Yep. I was tempted, but I’m sure I can live without seeing blue aliens running around,” he says with a grin.
Luke licks a trail of melting vanilla ice cream on his waffle cone, two scoops topped with semisweet chocolate chips and a dash of colorful sprinkles. We’re in my favorite make-your-own-ice-cream shop downtown, a few blocks from the theater. I swirl the spoon in my ice-cream waffle bowl and scoop up a mouthful of chocolate fudge with caramel bits.
“Okay, so I gotta ask. Top three movies of all time,” Luke says.
“Ack, too hard. Hum…I guess I’d have to say Eternal Sunshine, Lord of the Rings, the third one, and…I dunno, maybe The Secret in Their Eyes?”
Luke cocks an eyebrow at me. “Isn’t that Spanish?”
“Argentinean, actually.”
He nods. “And here I was, thinking you were the kind of guy who watches trite Adam Sandler movies.”
“Just ‘cause I haven’t seen old movies doesn’t mean I watch crappy movies.”
“True, true.”
“Your turn. Favorite three films.”
Luke bites into his ice cream, sprinkles crunching in his mouth like mini-fireworks.
“Well, my top movies change. But right now, I’d have to go with 2001: A Space Odyssey, La Dolce Vita, and I can’t forget Some Like it Hot.”
“Hmm. I think I’ve heard of those ones.”
“You should watch them sometime. Classics.”
My spoon dives into the waffle bowl again, but I stop short from taking another sweet bite. “Luke, have you seen any recent movies?”
His eyes stay on mine, unblinking. “Not any after 2000.”
Right away, my eyebrows furrow. “Why not?”
His tongue wipes his lips clean of vanilla. “Why haven’t you seen any films from before 2000?”
“Because…I feel like, well, they were made in a different time, a different era, different customs, people, societies, history. To really enjoy and understand those films, you’d have to put yourself in that time, to be someone living in 1939 or 1960 or whenever, and I have difficulty enough just being here in the present.”
Luke nods.
“I feel like I won’t be able to understand them or I won’t be able to relate to them as much. Plus, the movies seem a bit slower than what I’m used to watching.”
“That’s fair. A lot of people think the same way, and it’s true sometimes. But there are underlying themes that transcend time, that are always relevant.”
I look at him, at his neatly combed hair, his wet lips breaking into an assured smile.
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
Outside, the blue of night settles into the world as people walk past the ice-cream parlor. “So why don’t you watch any films released after 2000? I mean, hasn’t the theater ever screened any newer films?”
“They have, yes, but I don’t watch them. I usually find an excuse—cleaning up, helping with snacks. And, okay, I’m totally going to sound like a hypocrite now, but basically for the same reason you don’t watch older films.”
“Wait, so you’re saying you can’t relate to current films when you’re living in the present, now?”
“It sounds strange, I know, but sometimes I think I would fit in better in a different era, like the fifties or maybe even the sixties. I feel like an anachronism. Besides, so many movies made today are so bad. Anything from Adam Sandler, for example.” He bites into his cone, chewing thoughtfully.
“Yeah, but what about all the good films, the ones that’ll become new classics?”
He sighs and lowers his cone. “It’s true. I know some fantastic films have been made in the last decade, but it’s almost as if there’s an inner film snob that rejects them, like I have antibodies against even the thought of watching a modern film.”
I nod in comprehension. I get it. We’re film romantics from different dimensions, separate decades.
“It sounds like bs and it’s really stupid,” he adds.
“It’s not stupid.”
“But it’s bs?”
I’m alarmed that I’ve said the wrong thing, but then the right side of his mouth rises, hooking into that crooked, cute grin. We devour the last of our chilled treats, watching people pass. We live in today’s moment.
The windows of towering skyscrapers reflect the sun, scattering rainbow prisms of light everywhere. Downtown is a giant stained-glass church. A breeze tickles my bare arm as I march on.
I’m a man on a mission.
I cross the street, and there it is, the red of weathered brick awaiting me. Only a few people wait in line, and it moves quickly. The young woman who took over from Luke the last time I saw a movie with Chris is working. Her glasses are boxy, the color of raisins.
“One, please.” My coins rattle and clang on the metal counter in front of her.
“There you are,” she says, sliding the ticket toward me.
“Is Luke working today?”
“Yep. He’ll be down in a sec.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Enjoy the show.” I catch her giving me the briefest of mischievous looks.
Sure enough, right after I put the ticket in my jacket pocket, Luke appears out of a black door marked STAFF ONLY a few feet from the counter. He spots me and waves as he strolls over.
“Hey, Kaz. No Chris today?”
“He said he’s seen this one already.” I take a breath. “I have something for you.” With my left arm behind my back, I present him with a pomegranate origami rose, light and dark at the same time, the precisely creased petals in half-bloom. A mossy green pipe cleaner acts as a stem.
He stares at it, then into my eyes. “For me?”
I nod, and hold it closer. He takes it, our fingers skimming.
“A paper rose,” says Luke, finally. He closes his eyes and inhales the scentless offering, then smiles. “Best rose I’ve ever smelled. Thank you, Kaz.”
I say nothing, only nod back.
“I’ve got a surprise for you too. Follow me.” He takes my hand, pulls me to the black door. We go up a softly lit stairway and reach another door at the top with a small window. Stepping inside, I’m instantly struck by how compact the room is, dominated by film projectors and other equipment whose function eludes me.
As I gaze around the room, my eyes visual sponges, I vaguely notice Luke dashing back and forth around the projector.
“You work in this room too?”
“Not yet. I started learning from the guy who’s usually in here, as kind of a backup person. Apprentice, I guess.”
“That’s awesome,” I say with the astonishment of a seven-year-old who has seen Orion for the first time through a telescope. I watch him inspecting the projector, squinting at every corner of it.
“You have to tell me how this all works sometime.”
“Of course. But another day. Here.” He gestures to one of the two office chairs facing the large window overlooking the theater and the screen. The rose lies nearby on a table, still crisp.
I sit down, and he does too. We watch as people settle into the seats below us noiselessly. Aside from the whirring of the projector, everything is still.
“You’re staying for this one? Is this it?”
“I want my first time to be special,” he says. He turns his head to the right, looking at me. “To be with someone special.”
My hand reaches over to his on the armrest, my fingers intertwining with his. I wonder if he feels my pulse through my skin, its accelerated pace. Hummingbird wings.
He squeezes my hand as the houselights dim.
On screen, a fly zips around on a road. Le trois septembre 1973, à dix-huit heures vingt huit heures vingt huit…
We watch as Amélie and the garden gnome spontaneously chase after a man she “has an affinity with” in the train station; as she guides the blind man through the streets in Paris and paints the picture of everything happening; as her face falls when she learns Gina has a meeting with Nino; and finally, the romantic kisses on the eyes between the two leads.
Yann Tiersen’s score kicks in again as the pages of the photo album containing pictures and names of the cast flip through. Our hands are still entwined, warm from our collective body heat.
“How was it?” I whisper.
“I, I don’t really know what to say after that,” he says, watching the credits. Then he turns and looks at me. I gently squeeze his hand and lean toward him, brushing my lips across stubble as I lay a soft kiss on his cheek. I pull back and see that his eyes are still closed, his mouth slightly open. A moment passes.
Slowly, the right corner of his mouth curls upward. There it is again. That smile.
“Whimsical,” he replies, and leans in to press his smile into mine.
I would remember that word from then on.
Years later, we would remember how it was a French romantic comedy from 2001 that brought two boys who loved films on either side of the century together.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
FYN ALEXANDER grew up in Liverpool, England, with a great love of books and the English language. As an adult Fyn moved to Canada, but returns to England to visit every few years to reconnect with his roots. Fyn is also the author of the Angel and the Assassin series.
STEVE BERMAN is a romantic, which is why he always wanted to write a story that combined the wonder of a musical with gay love. He hopes it makes you sigh and smile. His young adult novel, Vintage, was a finalist for the Andre Norton Award.
AARON CHAN (theaaronchan.com), born and raised in Vancouver, realized he was a true artist at heart when he began taking piano lessons at the age of five. A graduate of Vancouver Film School, Aaron is a writer, musician, filmmaker and a student at Langara College. He also likes cats.
MARTIN DELACROIX’s (martindelacroix.wordpress.com/) stories appear in over twenty erotic anthologies. He has published four novels: Adrian’s Scar, Maui, Love Quest, and De Narvaez. He lives with his partner, Greg, on Florida’s Gulf Coast.
JAMIE FREEMAN (jamiefreeman.net) lives in a small Florida town. He has published the romantic novella The Marriage of True Minds and his stories can be found in Best Gay Romance 2010, Necking, Sindustry and elsewhere. He writes in a variety of genres including erotica, romance, science fiction and horror.
STEVE ISAAK, who also writes as Nikki Isaak, lives near San Francisco. He has published two anthologies, Can’t sleep: poems, 1987-2007 and Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories & poems. He contributes to and edits readingbypub-light. blogspot.com and microstoryaweek.blogspot.com.
HÅKAN LINDQUIST was born in the small Swedish coastal town of Oskarshamn, where some of his stories take place, and now lives in Stockholm and Berlin. He has written five novels, one opera libretto and several short stories. His novel My Brother and His Brother was published in English in 2011.
ANTHONY MCDONALD’s four novels are Orange Bitter, Orange Sweet, the best-selling Adam, Blue Sky Adam and Getting Orlando. His stories have appeared in numerous anthologies, including Best Gay Romance 2011. He lives in England where he has previously worked in the theater, in just about every capacity except director and electrician.
GREGORY L. NORRIS is a full-time professional writer with work published in numerous magazines and anthologies. He worked as screenwriter on two episodes of Paramount’s “Star Trek: Voyager” and is a former writer for Sci Fi, official magazine of the Sci Fi Channel. He lives at the outer limits of New Hampshire.
RON RADLE writes gay love stories from the heart of the South Carolina Bible belt. His work has been published under a number of names in a number of places, both literary and nonliterary. He is finishing an erotic romance novel set during his college days in the mid-1980s.
ROB ROSEN (www.therobrosen.com), author of the novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava and Southern Fried has contributed to more than 150 anthologies, most notably Best Gay Romance 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010.
