The two last problems we had to solve for the festival were technical. We had to find a way to show the films even though they would now be digital, and we needed to find a way into the apartment building next door to act as a projection booth. There was, of course, the other problem, which was that we might not get any people or films, but that was out of our control, Raina said. We had to focus on the stuff we could actually do something about.
The first problem was the easiest to solve. Even though Raina was supposed to consult with her mother before making major purchases after she gave away a chunk of her fortune to her father, she bought us a state-of-the-art digital projector and speakers that Anjo helped her to select. She also donated her laptop to the cause because it was the newest of all of ours. The filmmakers could bring their one-minute films on flash drives and load them onto the computer. Simple enough, we hoped. So, we left Anjo with the manual for the projector and set our sights on the next challenge.
The apartments next door.
And here was the thing with the apartments next door: No one had ever been inside them. Like: ever. And we hardly ever saw anyone coming or going. They were as run-down as the Green Street and twice as old, it seemed. At some point, they had been a long-stay motel, but then they were turned into apartments. As far as we knew, the place was full of ghosts that had just stayed on from the original hotel in the seventies. But time was running short, and there was no choice now but to go in and try to convince someone to let us into their home for the evening. Or else, we all might be watching films the size of a cereal box.
Apartment 3C. That was the unit with the straight shot to the wall. It looked out directly onto the alley and the Green Street. But first we had to get inside. Raina and I stood outside of the building. She looked at the intercom buttons and then reached out a finger. She pressed the one for 3C. There was immediately a sharp buzz and then a crackle from the small speaker.
“Just leave it in the lobby,” came a barely audible voice, and then the signal went dead.
Then some silence. I could hear the sound of someone playing the violin off in the distance. Raina and I looked at each other. I pressed the button again.
“Wine delivery, right?” came the voice. “Just leave it in the lobby like last week. I’m watching The Price Is Right.”
I pressed the button one more time.
“What part of leave it in the lobby don’t you understand?”
“Well,” I said, and my voice broke a little. “There was a problem with your order. I . . . uh . . . I need to speak with you about it. Or you’ll never get anymore wine. Ever again.”
There was a long pause and then a low hum came from the door. I reached out and pushed it open. Raina looked at me, stunned. I shrugged.
The lobby looked worse than the Green Street’s. The black-and-white laminate floor was peeling and there was a boarded-up fireplace just inside the doors. We took the old creaky elevator to the third floor and got off in a hallway with green carpet that smelled like it held one-hundred years’ worth of cigarette smoke. I swear I saw little clouds puffing out with each step I took. Almost every other building in this area had been taken over by college kids; this one had to be really bad if they hadn’t colonized it yet.
“What exactly is your endgame here?” asked Raina right before I knocked.
“We’re actors,” I said. “Classically trained. We can improvise, right?”
I knocked on the door, and we both listened to the all-encompassing silence. There was no sign of life inside or out. I waited for the sound of creaking floorboards, and for the gruff old guy to open the door so I could warm his cold heart with stories of his neighborhood cinema. But nobody answered. I knocked again, a little louder this time.
“Are you sure you rang the right buzzer,” I asked.
“I think so,” said Raina.
I looked up at the door. It was definitely 3C. I knocked again, as loud as I possibly could.
“Sir,” I yelled. “I am suspending your wine account unless you open up!”
Raina grabbed my arm.
“Hey, easy there!” she said. “Dial it back a notch.”
“We need this place!” I said.
I was about to give the door another pummeling, when a different door opened down the hall. And a man wearing boxer shorts, and a full beard came out, looking red-eyed and angry.
“Will you knock it off down there! For God’s sake, some people are trying to sleep.”
I froze in place. I’m not sure all the acting training in the world could have prepared me to improvise in this situation. The man down the hall was not in his usual clothes, and his beard had grown out a bit since I last saw him, but even in his state of disarray, he wore a relatively clean polo over his boxers.
“Ron?” I said.
His face looked just the way I imagined mine did.
“Wendy,” he said.
He turned around as if to go back into his apartment, but I ran down the hallway to him before he could duck inside. He was halfway through the door, and I peered around him at the dim, empty space. Most of his possessions still seemed to be in boxes. There wasn’t much furniture. Just a couple of nice suits on hangers in the window.
“Wait a minute. You live here?” I asked.
He turned around. Then he puckered his lips like he was tasting something sour.
“My wife got the house,” he said.
“But out of all the other places in town . . .” I said.
“I wanted to keep an eye on my project,” he said. “It’s kind of all I have going on if you want the truth.”
Raina was behind me now, and we were still standing in the hallway. Ron was in his doorway, guarding it now with the bulk of his frame. He seemed to remember, suddenly, how unkempt he was. He ran his fingers through his shaggy beard like a comb.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I asked.
“I took some time off,” he said. “At the request of my employer.”
His eyes darted from me to Raina.
“You’re that actress,” he said. “The one who got arrested.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what we Hollywood elites like to do.”
Ron stroked his mustache.
“Why were you bothering Mr. Mulvaney,” he asked. “He’s almost totally deaf. And a mean drunk. What did you need from that guy?”
I looked down at the green carpeting. Then back into the cave of Ron’s apartment.
“Yeah,” I said. “About that . . .”
Then, somehow, we were drinking grape soda out of coffee cups with Ron Marsh. When I told him what we needed, he had stared at me for a good twenty seconds before inviting me inside. Now we all sat on boxes. Well, except him. He was planted in a lawn chair with a built-in cup holder. He was currently listening with an inscrutable expression as I told him everything I possibly could about my situation. I told him about my dad, and the film I’d found, and the idea for the festival. I had never explained all of this at once, and the more I told him about my story, the more I realized that my entire life had been defined by the place outside his window.
It was either kind of sad or kind of amazing, depending on how you looked at it. I stood at that window now, staring at the Green Street below me. I had never seen it from this perspective before. It looked so small. And really it was. The projection booth was a hovel. The theater itself only held a couple hundred seats. It was such a tiny place to spend a life in.
“Okay, keep going,” said Ron.
I snapped myself from my reverie.
“. . . and so our projectionist thinks Mr. Mulvaney’s window is the best angle for getting a straight shot at the wall. But, it sounds like he’s not going to be so receptive to our plan, so maybe we could make this work . . .”
“This,” he said. “As in: my home?”
I stopped and took a sip of my soda, which was quite good. When was the last time I had had grape soda? Ron watched me. I spoke again before he could say no.
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Ron, except that you won. The building is being torn down. It’s toast. We just want to celebrate it and the people who loved it one last time. And maybe get the community excited about filmmaking. And if I can show my dad’s film, that will feel like something. I’d like to think he’d be happy that a few people saw it. But, obviously I can’t make you do anything. And I’m not going to yell at you or make a scene, or stalk you while you’re singing karaoke anymore. I’m just going to ask you one time if we can put the projector up here, and then I’ll go and you probably won’t ever see me again after tonight. I don’t know why you would.”
I was facing the room now. Raina was on a box to my side, nursing her soda, looking at Ron. Ron was in his lawn chair, his ankles crossed, with squinty eyes. Suddenly, he looked at Raina.
“So, what’s the story with you two?” he asked finally.
“What?” I said.
Already, I could feel myself turning red. It was pathetic. Raina looked cool and calm as always.
“Friends,” she said. “That’s the story.”
She didn’t look at me. That was her one tell.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Friends.”
No one spoke for a moment. Raina immediately filled the silence.
“Is that okay with you?” she said.
Ron chuckled. It was the first time I had seen him smile since we showed up.
“I didn’t win,” he said suddenly.
“You didn’t?” I said.
There was maybe a touch of sarcasm in my voice.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t. I don’t know if the condo project is going to go through. Short-term building loans aren’t great right now and . . . well, I don’t know if the college is interested anymore. But, that’s not really even the point.”
“What’s the point?” asked Raina.
Her tone was an icy one.
“The point is that my marriage is over. You guys don’t care about that, but it took me a long time to come to terms with it. The papers are signed and there’s nothing else to be done about it. It’s in the past. And I didn’t ask about you guys to be a creep, okay? You say that you’re friends and that’s a nice thing. I don’t need details. You care about each other. I can tell. You might even love each other. I just want to tell you that you’re lucky. Anyone who has some kind of love in their life is lucky.”
Raina and I were quiet.
“That’s all. It doesn’t always last. Sometimes it’s here and gone before you even know it. Sometimes it lasts for years. But you can’t take it for granted, okay. That’s not fair to people like me.”
He got up off his chair and started riffling through a pile of clothes on the floor. I looked over at Raina. Her mouth was closed tight. We both watched him with no idea what to expect. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he pulled out a bottle of whiskey or even a gun. Luckily, it was neither. He finally found what he was looking for in the pocket of a pair of jeans.
Keys.
A ring with just a couple on it. He held them out to me. I opened my mouth but he spoke first.
“I’ll need them back,” he said.
I opened my palm and held it out.
“It’s my night to sing. She probably won’t be there, but I’m not sure where else to go. You guys can set up your projector. I assume you don’t have a permit, so I don’t know how long it’s going to last, but go ahead and see your place off.”
I took the keys.
“Thank you, Ron,” I said.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Your building was going to be torn down no matter what—I think that’s true—but I probably cost you a couple months. Maybe half a year.”
His lips moved to a smile again.
“Or . . .” he said, “I saved you from being inside when it collapsed.”
I held the keys in my palm. I swallowed the rest of my soda and got up. Raina was behind me.
“Good luck, you two,” he said.
I’m pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the festival this time.