Chapter 1

It all started because of the séance scene in Blithe Spirit (1945, Rex Harrison and Constance Cummings). But before that it was because I got bonked on the head by that stupid light. But before that it was because I took the job at the Palace movie theater when Robbie offered it. But before that it was because Ted left me. So everything, ultimately, was Ted’s fault. For better or worse. Ha.

But I should start at the beginning. Or at least one of the beginnings. So I’ll start with my first day at the Palace.

  

I was walking at a brisk pace in the brisk October air, talking briskly on the phone with Robbie. Or at least I was listening as Robbie attempted to convince me, once again, that everything was going to be fine.

“You’ll love San Francisco,” she enthused from her office, safely back in Hollywood. “You’ll make all kinds of friends, and people will get to know you as Nora, just Nora, not Ted’s-Wife-Nora, or—”

“Or that pathetic wretch that Ted Bishop left for Priya Sharma,” I interrupted. “The woman twice voted most beautiful actress on the planet.”

I heard Robbie take a patient breath. “Okay. One—that vote was by a stupid frat boy Internet site and has no standing in the Hollywood community, and two—” she continued quickly to hold off my reply. “The only person who refers to you as pathetic is you, and I thought we placed a permanent ban on that.”

“We did.” I stopped to wait for the light at a crosswalk and took a deep breath. “Thank you. Again.”

She knew I was thanking her not only for talking me down—again—but for whisking me away from the press and the paparazzi who had stalked me ever since the news of my husband’s madcap love affair with his gorgeous co-star had gone public. It had been a month of live-streamed humiliation and I didn’t know what I would have done without Robbie and the very few friends like her who had stuck by me despite Ted’s considerable fame and power.

It was Robbie who had presented me with a getaway plan. I wanted to get out of town, but I needed more than that. Not just somewhere to go, but something to do. Something to keep me from going crazy.

Robbie had figured it out. She’d offered me somewhere to go: San Francisco. More specifically, the cozy guest house behind her Presidio Heights vacation home. And she’d given me something to do: run the classic movie theater that she co-owned just a few blocks away.

“Running it is really an overstatement,” Robbie had explained to me back in my Beverly Hills kitchen the week before. “It practically runs itself. I mean the staff is amazing. And it’s turning a nice little profit. So it’s really just something fun for you to do—no pressure—until you figure out your next step.”

“It will keep your mind off things.” Robbie’s daughter Tia had said soothingly, handing me a cup of herbal tea. “And you’re the only person on the planet who knows as much about old movies as my mom.” She rolled her eyes in Robbie’s general direction. I’d known Tia since she was three years old. The eye rolling was new, but the underlying affection had always been there. In my current state I found it excruciating.

“Classic films, please,” Robbie corrected her tolerantly. “You’ll be helping me out,” she told me. “Kate ran the place for years. Everyone thought she’d be there forever, and when she died in that accident it devastated us, obviously, but it also left us without a manager, so you would really be doing me a favor.”

We both knew who was doing the favor. Robbie and I had been through a lot since we’d met in the writers’ room of a doomed sitcom a decade ago, when she had just ended her marriage and I’d just started mine. I’d given up writing as Ted’s career had taken off, but Roberta Prowse was now one of the most successful showrunners in TV, and she was offering me refuge and distraction 300 miles away from the public spectacle that had become my life.

“You guys, I just…” My eyes welled up and before I knew it I was on an airplane.

Now, about to make Robbie’s plan a reality, I summed up the situation. “Okay, so I’m crashing in my best friend’s guest house, about to start a job I know nothing about in a city I’ve never even visited, with people who are still grieving the beloved boss I’m about to replace. Is this my life now?”

“I think you meant to say, ‘strong black queen of a best friend,’” Robbie said. “But aside from that, yes. At least for a while. Until you’re ready for whatever comes next.”

What would come next would be a divorce, and I was, despite my misgivings, very glad not to be facing that under the unblinking eye of the Hollywood press and public.

I hung up the phone, squashed an instant flare of panic, and kept walking.

  

My first thought, rounding the corner at Sacramento street and getting a good look at the Palace, was that it was considerably less than palatial. It stood mid-block, between a boutique and a yogurt shop, and whatever remnants of its former glory it still possessed were largely obscured by the grimy wear of decades.

The marquee, angled out over the sidewalk like the prow of a ship, advertised a double feature of Frankenstein (1931, Boris Karloff) and Young Frankenstein (1974, Gene Wilder and Madeline Kahn). Appropriate for mid-October, I thought, and probably a good indication of the schedule leading to Halloween. But also a little whimsical, pairing the James Whale directed classic with Mel Brooks’ loving and hilarious parody of it.

If this was an indication of how the former manager’s mind had worked, I probably would have liked her a lot.

On a closer look, there was much to like about the Palace. The marquee seemed to be original, surrounded by a border of large clear incandescent light bulbs. They weren’t lit this early in the afternoon, hours before the first show, but I imagined they’d look warm and welcoming on a foggy San Francisco evening. And the ticket booth was an actual freestanding booth, with dark blue velvet curtains behind the glass.

A walkway with an arched roof and tiled walls funneled moviegoers past the booth to glass lobby doors. Posters of classic Universal horror movies were displayed on the angled walls. From a distance they looked original, but they couldn’t be. An original Frankenstein poster would cost more than the theater made in a year.

I stood outside the lobby doors and fished around in my backpack for the keys that had been left for me at the cottage, then hesitated, not ready to use them yet. As long as I was still outside maybe I could still run away.

Oh, right. I didn’t know where else to go.

Someone quietly cleared their throat behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Oh, dear.” An elderly man regarded me from behind thick round glasses. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He was bone thin, dressed in a gray suit and navy blue tie under a heavy wool coat, all of it somewhat rumpled and worn, and his expression was of benevolent curiosity. “I only meant to welcome you,” he said, stepping closer. “That is, if I’m correct in assuming you are the new manager?”

He held out a hand, and although it was covered in age spots and gnarled at the knuckles, it was firm and somehow reassuring when I shook it.

“Nora…Paige,” I told him. Not Nora Bishop. Not anymore. “And yes, I’m the… um…at least for a while…until we figure out a more, a permanent…”

He saved me from what threatened to become a full-on babble. “I am Albert Lockhart. I work here.” He stood a little taller. “And have for the past twenty-one years.”

“Oh!” Robbie hadn’t mentioned that the staff was as old as the movies. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

He rubbed his hands together and nodded. “I had a feeling you might be early on your first day, and I was presumptuous enough to think you might like someone to show you around.”

“Thank you.” I had thought to check things out by myself before anyone else showed up for work, but now that he offered…“I’d really appreciate a tour.”

“Excellent.” He produced a set of keys from his coat pocket, but I held up the heavy and ornate key ring already in my hand.

“I have these,” I said. “Although I’m not sure which one­—” I stopped when I saw the stricken look on his face.

“Ah,” he said, sounding a little strangled. “You have Kate’s keys.” He blinked several times, suddenly looking much, much older.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know Kate, but I’ve heard she was amazing.” I knew my words were feeble. But any words would have been, under the circumstance. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

Albert nodded. “For all of us,” he said, pocketing his keys. “We are something of a family here.” He peered at me. “With all the blind loyalties and simmering jealousies that implies.”

That was a little daunting. Robbie had talked me into this with the promises of seclusion and distraction. She hadn’t described the place as a hotbed of suppressed emotions. I had plenty of emotions of my own to suppress.

“It’s the large silver one,” Albert said, eyeing the keys.

“Got it.” I found the right key and turned to the doors. This was happening. This was my life now. At least for a while. For better or worse. Ha