The lights from the marquee bathed the night in a warm, vintage glow, which was a bit of Hollywood smoke and mirrors - the temperature had plummeted at sunset, leaving all warmth an illusion. Anticipation revved the winterized moviegoers and the line outside of the Empress buzzed. Of course, that could be the chatter of all those false teeth in the cold. To say I was the youngest in that bunch of brave souls was accurate, but I bet I was the only one out of diapers.
Still, it was heartening to see so many older couples out on a brisk Valentine’s night. Kind of made me think this love thing could last. Why, these people had to be together for more than thirty years, right?
“This is a wonderful idea, Fred. I adore going to the pictures,” the elderly woman in front of me said to the man at her side. “That online matchmaking service works just peachy.”
Make that thirty minutes.
I hung back, letting everyone else slip past me as I waited for Eric to show, but all too soon the line whittled down to just me. The once chipper looking old-fashioned ticket booth took on a sinister disposition. I scanned the empty street and the sidewalk, hoping for Eric’s form to appear in the distance, backlit with a bit of fog around him for dramatic effect.
No fog. No drama. No Eric.
The college-aged girl inside glanced up from her cell phone. “You want a ticket, or what?”
I stalled, glancing at the Hitchcock promo poster taped on the theatre door – the director’s famous silhouette filled in with a bunch of his movie titles. “Which one is playing tonight? Psycho? Dial M for Murder?”
“Easy Virtue.”
I choked on my saliva. “Excuse me?”
“That’s the film.”
Talk about signs from above.
“One of Hitchcock’s initial efforts.” The girl began a bland recitation - a government service phone menu had more personality. “Easy Virtue is a silent film that speaks loudly about the judgment and self-righteous attitudes of its time.”
Another frantic scan of the streets. Maybe Eric was just running late. If I got the tickets now, we could go right in when he did arrive. I’d already sent four texts and left three messages on his voicemail, my pride wouldn’t let me call again.
“I’ll take two tickets, please and thanks.” I dug in my coat pocket for some money and slid a bill along the counter, under the beveled glass. The funds were accepted, tossed in the till and two tickets were slid back to me all while the girl texted with her other hand. Impressive.
“Enjoy your show.” The insincerity was palatable. Or that might have been the taste of popcorn drifting on the air.
“I will, I mean, I hope I will.” I tapped the tickets on the counter. “I’m waiting for a guy. It’s our first date. On Valentine’s. I’d say that’s pretty special, wouldn’t you?”
The girl looked at me then. Glanced out at the vast, cold, empty night. “You’re screwed, kid.” She pointedly flipped a “BACK IN FIVE MINUTES” sign in the window and went back to texting.
Swallowing hard, I began to pace in front of the glorious Empress while the marquis lights flickered and snapped over my head threateningly.
I knew. Of course, I knew.
But I still waited a full hour and forty-seven minutes.