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“You’ll be there.” He kissed me. “I’ll be there.” Another kiss, longer this time. “Of course it’ll happen.”
When he kissed me again, I knew the storm outside would be over long, long before we were finished tonight.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Thanks to Dylan’s aggressive advertising campaign and a great deal of word of mouth from customers, The Epidauran’s lobby was packed with people on the first day of the Indie Short Festival. The line in front of the box office went down the sidewalk and around the corner. The concession stand could barely keep up.
With one auditorium down thanks to that damned projector, showings sold out even faster. Each showing was a three-hour collection of short independent films with an intermission in the middle, and by the third showing, Dylan and I had to call employees in on their days off to keep up.
“We have got to get that projector up and ru
I let out a breath. “I know.”
“Think you can fix it?”
“Possibly,” I muttered. “I might be able to pencil it in after turning the water into wine.”
Dylan glared at me. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious,” I said. “That thing is completely fubar.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s what?”
“Fubar.” He gave me a blank look and I said, “Fucked up beyond all repair.”
Turning his attention back to the lobby as the last of the crowd fu
“It’ll have to wait until after the late showings. Unless you don’t mind me disappearing and leaving you to handle all of this for the rest of the day.”
“If it means having another auditorium open tomorrow,” he said, grimacing as we watched the next flood of customers squeeze in from outside. “I’ll deal with it. Go.”
“You sure?”
“If I need you, I’ll come get you.”
“Dylan, are-”
“Go.” He pointed at the projector-room door.
I shrugged and headed upstairs, secretly glad to be away from the chaos. I was thrilled that we were so busy, selling out showing after showing, but being in the middle of it was exhausting.
In the projector room, I paused, eyeing the stubborn machine that was probably going to be the death of me.
Go ahead, it seemed to say. Just try to make me work.
“Oh, hey, boss,” Max said, scrambling to look busy. He quickly put his feet, which had been resting on the windowsill, on the floor and shoved his comic book out of sight. Clearing his throat, he said, “Go
I nodded and pulled my toolbox out from under the table with my foot. “Figured I should get something working up here.” I eyed him, and he gulped nervously, but I let it go. Max was a good kid. He could be lazy, just as most of my employees could, but all it took was one patented Zach Owens Evil Stare and he’d be on his best behavior for a few days. That comic book probably wouldn’t move from its hiding place for a week, until he decided to try to get away with something again.
“So, uh, seems like things are pretty busy this weekend,” he said, craning his neck and watching people file into the center auditorium.
“That’s the idea of a film festival.” I opened my toolbox and seriously considered pulling out a hammer and making sure the projector never caused me any grief again, but eventually settled on actually trying to fix it. Part of me wondered if there was any point to this. As far as I could tell, the thing had gone to the Other Side and wasn’t fixable. But Dylan was right, it was worth a try.
As I reached for a Philips screwdriver, my cell phone vibrated on my belt.
It was a text from Nathan. How’s the festival going?
Better than expected, I wrote back. Probably have to make it four days next year.
Great! A few minutes later, Going to have time to grab something to eat later?
Doubt it. Will probably be concession-stand diving all weekend.
The phone was silent for ten or fifteen minutes. I guessed he was busy with a client or co-worker, and it gave me a chance to make a little headway on the projector. Right about the time I was ready to ask Max for a little help with some percussive maintenance, my phone vibrated again.
Want me to bring something by later?
I pursed my lips and looked at the message for a moment. As much as I wanted him to come by, there just wouldn’t be time for me to stop and eat with him. As it was, we had a hell of a time working in state-mandated breaks for the employees this weekend. I just couldn’t justify taking more than a few minutes away unless it was to fix this projector. Even my sporadic text messages made me feel a bit guilty.
I sighed and typed, Don’t think I’ll have time. Wish I did.
I can drop something off for you. Let me know.
My mouth watered at the very thought of something other than concession-stand crap. That, and if it gave me a chance to see him, even for just a few minutes…
I quickly sent back, I’ll owe you big time if you do.
We made plans for him to come by around seven thirty, and I went to work on the projector. After a great deal of swearing and mentally tallying how much creative budgeting it would take to just buy a new projector, it was as close to fixed as it would ever be.
Gritting my teeth and murmuring prayers to a few different deities, I put my finger on the power switch. Feeling a little like Dr. Frankenstein, hoping the thing would come to life this time, I flipped the switch. To my relief and surprise, it did come to life, clicking and whirring like it was supposed to.
I almost laughed aloud. “No way. No fucking way.”
“Is it working?” Max looked up from the other side of the room.
“I think.” I paused, squinting through the window to see how the picture looked on the screen in the empty auditorium. “I’ll be damned, I think it is.”
“The question is,” Max said, “will it keep working?”
“Shh, don’t jinx it. It’s working now. With any luck, it’ll keep working and we can use it tomorrow.” I watched the screen for a moment longer. “Run it through this film, then play it again. Let me know if it craps out again.”
Max nodded. “Will do.”
With the projector ru
“Hey, the-” I paused when he looked up from rifling through some papers. Bank deposits and till summaries, by the looks of it. “What’s all that?”
He shook his head and closed the folder. “Nothing, just crunching some numbers. What’s up?”
I eyed the folder-Dylan didn’t usually bother with the tedium of numbers, particularly when we were this busy-but didn’t question him. “The projector’s working.”
“Oh, thank Christ,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Question is-”
“I have no idea if it’ll keep working.”
He scowled. “It’s definitely time for a new one.”
“It was time for a new one when Reagan was still in office,” I said, chuckling as I dropped into my chair and put my feet up. “We’ll have to figure out the budget, but I think we’ll manage.”
“I hope you’re right,” he grumbled. He shot the folder on his desk a dirty look, then looked at the clock and stood. “Two back-to-back intermissions coming up. Let’s go.”
I groaned and put my feet down. No rest for the wicked, I thought as I followed him out of the office.
As the evening wore on, the swill at the concession stand smelled better and better. Around seven, I realized I hadn’t even remembered to eat lunch.
Then, like an angel of culinary mercy, Nathan showed up with takeout from one of the nearby Thai restaurants.