There was only one thing to do:
I walked into the rat closet and sat on an industrial-size box of Sour Patch Kids. This was my thinking spot. I chose the Sour Patch Kids because they were an odd phenomenon to me. Not too many people ate them outside of the movies. And, yet, they weren’t really a classic theater candy like Junior Mints or Dots. They sold just enough to justify their presence in the case, but no more. They were the modest survivors of the theater candy world.
They were also the only candy the rats wanted nothing to do with.
I opened the big box and took out a package. I ripped it open.
“Why don’t you want these?” I asked any giant rats who might be lurking.
I dumped a few of the crusted gummies in my mouth. And as my whole tongue lit up with a thousand flames of sour-sweetness, I understood why they might go neglected.
“Fine,” I said. “More for me.”
I tossed another handful in my mouth and pressed call back on my phone.
The ringing seemed to last forever. One long tone after the other, vibrating for years in my ear. I didn’t hang up, though. And just when I was sure I would be listening to that sound forever, I heard her voice.
“You have the same number,” she said.
I was still chewing candy globs, and it took me a minute to speak.
“It’s true,” I said eventually. “Everything about me is the same. My number. My blood type. My inability to ignore a message from you.”
I barely knew what I was saying. The last time I had heard her voice was in a movie. Now when she spoke, it sounded like it could be in the room with me.
“My mom was happy to see your mom yesterday.”
She was silent for a few seconds. I looked around the darkened storage closet.
“She said your mom was looking good. Like she was a whole new person or something.”
“Yeah,” I said. “She’s living her best life, in quotation marks. I guess it’s good. She smiles more.”
“And what about you?” she asked. “Are you living your best life in quotation marks?”
I could hear a sly smile in her voice.
“I think I am living my best life in finger quotes,” I said.
There was another silence then, and I heard Lucas and Griffin arguing about something at the concession stand. Lucas kept saying, “That being said!” I assumed it was movie-related. The world could be ending and the two of them would still be arguing about which Coen Brothers film was the most underrated (Miller’s Crossing).
“You’re not going to ask why I’m home?” she said.
I was quiet.
“I went AWOL,” she blurted.
It took me a second to catch up.
“What do you mean? You ran away from home?”
“No,” she said. “Worse. I ran away from set.”
I adjusted myself on my giant box of candy. She spoke again.
“I was supposed to be filming in like fifteen minutes. They had this huge scene set up, and I just sort of walked away from my trailer and didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Where did you go?”
She sighed.
“What?” I asked. “How embarrassing could it be?”
“I went to Dairy Queen.”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.
“I guess that’s a pretty good choice,” I said. “Was it a Brazier?”
No response for a few seconds. Then:
“What’s a Brazier?”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“No.”
“You’ve been away from the Midwest too long.”
“Probably,” she said. “What’s a Brazier?”
“A Brazier is a Dairy Queen with a grill where you can get burgers and stuff. It’s way better than a regular Dairy Queen because, you know: burgers.”
“You mean a Grill and Chill?” she said.
“A what?” I said.
She sighed.
“It wasn’t a Brazier.”
“Bummer.”
She was silent on the line.
“Sorry,” I said. “Continue with your story.”
“There isn’t really a story.”
“So, you just went to Dairy Queen and came back? That’s not going AWOL. That’s going to Dairy Queen.”
“I went to Dairy Queen for ten hours.”
“Oh.”
“My mom reported me missing. And they found me at the Culver City Mall. I was crying I guess.”
“For ten hours?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember if you were crying for ten hours?”
“I don’t remember any of it. They told me about it later.”
“I see.”
“So, I’m home now. Resting, in quotation marks. It isn’t very restful, actually.”
“What about your movie?”
I heard a muffled voice in the background, and the rustle of what must have been Raina’s hair against the phone.
“Sorry, I have to go now, Ethan. But you should come over some time. I’d like to see you.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Our old house. Mom never sold it.”
Long uncomfortable pause.
“Good-bye, Ethan.”
I tried to say good-bye, but what came out was:
“Why?”
At first I wasn’t sure if she’d hung up. But then she spoke:
“Why what?”
I steeled myself with a breath.
“Why do you want to see me?”
She didn’t say anything, so I spoke again:
“We haven’t really been talking.”
“Maybe that’s why I want to see you. Part of it anyway.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I have to go,” she said. “Come by if you want. Or, you know . . .”
“Don’t?” I said.
“Yeah.”
Then she hung up the phone. I looked around the room. My eyes had adjusted more to the light, and now that I could see the walls, I felt a sense of claustrophobia. Then I heard a scratching sound coming from the box next to me. I yanked it off the rickety metal shelf and saw a flash of tail before it was gone.
The door swung open. And I heard a shrill scream.
“Ah. Christ, Wendy. You scared the hell out of me!”
Lucas shielded himself from me then reached in and grabbed a single box of Milk Duds. He inspected it for rat damage, his dark brown eyes roving over the cardboard. He was about to go back to whatever he was doing when I spoke up.
“What do you think about all this?” I said.
“About you hiding in the storage closet? I’m a little worried.”
“The eviction,” I said.
He looked away. The bangs of his asymmetrical black hair dipped over his left eye. Then he smiled and looked back at me.
“I think we need to make a stand, Die Hard style. You, me, and Anjo barefoot in the ducts, picking off the real estate office guys, one by one!”
He did his best Hans Gruber: “Now I haff a machine gun. Ho. Ho. Ho.”
“No Griffin?”
“Griffin couldn’t find his way out of a tube sock. Plus, he’d sell us out for a burrito in two minutes. I imagine Anjo would be lethal though. Like La Femme Nikita. You know?”
“Uh-huh.”
I watched him as he continued to daydream, running a hand through his hair.
“You realize it’s really going to happen, though. Right?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, this is not actually a movie. We’re not going to kill the bad guys. They’re just going to come and take this place away from us because we don’t have one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And nobody wants us here anymore.”
“The regulars do.”
“They’re not enough. Everybody else wants condos. And a noodle bar. Advancement of the species.”
He nodded.
“And then, when it happens, we won’t be here anymore getting paid to have these conversations.”
His eyes avoided mine. He rattled the box of Milk Duds in his hand.
“Then you better do something,” he said.
I stood up from my box.
“Why me?” I asked. “Why can’t you figure it out? Or . . . I don’t know, everyone else?”
Lucas looked at me incredulously, like he couldn’t believe that I’d ask such an obvious question.
“Because you’re the manager, Wendy,” he said. “Now manage!”
I watched him carefully to see if he was messing with me. He didn’t seem to be. But I couldn’t think of anything to say so the moment faded.
“Hey,” he said. “I forgot to tell you. This film blog I read said Raina Allen from the Time Zap movies was at Muddy Waters yesterday. Didn’t you used to know that girl?”
I waited an uncomfortable length of time before answering.
“I did,” I said finally.
He waited a moment to see if I had anything more to add. I did not.
“Okay,” he said. “Good talk, boss.”
He took the Milk Duds with him and gently closed the closet door, leaving me, as usual, in the dark.