theater, 119
I went for the seats and he stood on line for popcorn. It was as much of a tradition as we had after going to seven movies. The balcony was where kids went to neck and smoke. I picked two seats in the middle of the orchestra.
I watched Paul as he came down the aisle. He was tall and thin, but nothing else like the Other One. Nothing at all.
The theater darkened, and we shared the popcorn.
Newsreel. Coming attractions. I love everything on the big screen. Once those lights go down I’m a happy person.
But not tonight. I kept stealing glances at Paul. He’s a good guy, a Jimmy Stewart. I think. Could he ever do something like . . . what happened?
It wasn’t a fair question. Paul’s been my friend. I didn’t know the Other One. I still can’t say his name, not even to myself. The Creep. And look at Neil. He won’t talk to Elaine. Do you ever really know someone?
The Harder They Fall was bleak. Greed, power, and corruption big-time, with the syndicate fixing boxing matches. Bogart, an out-of-work sportswriter, was hired to make a weak fighter sound like the menace of the West-ern world. The crisis: what if you’ve done such a slick job both the world and the fighter himself believe he is that tough? You know he’s got a powder-puff punch, and because of you he’s going up against a killer. What do you do then?
The fight scenes were brutal. Black and white is more real than color.
120
Like me right now, black and white.
Long shot. The Girl walks down city street. Sun casts strong shadows. Girl is smiling. Man leans against stoop railing. Cleans his nails with a penknife. Whistles a tuneless tune. Says something to the Girl. Camera moves in to close-up of her face. Open, trusting. Camera pans over to the Man. He speaks, but traffic horns drown out the sound. Man beckons Girl up the stairs.
Screen goes black.
“The End” flashed on the big screen. What a mess I am. The Harder They Fall could be my title. A Woman with Dark Secrets next best. “Melodramatic” they’d say.
Right. “Unbelievable storyline,” they’d say. Wrong.
Autobiographical.
We headed for Jimmy’s soda fountain, where we sat in a booth and talked about the movie, the Record , classes, the Dodgers and the Giants. Nothing personal.
Safe.
The counter boy came over for the order.
“White and black soda,” I said.
Paul smiled. “Black and white,” he ordered for himself. He grinned at me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever heard order it that way.”
The counter boy nodded. “Unique,” he said, flipping his pad closed.
121
“I like chocolate ice cream and vanilla soda better than the other way around.”
“Of course.” Paul nodded solemnly.
“I’m not trying to be different.” I started to cry.
“Fragile emotions still?” Paul said.
I cried some more.
He moved over to my side of the booth and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Listen,” he said, “it can’t be that bad. I’ll give you an extension till mid-next week.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for the soda.
“Okay, I know,” he said. “It’s not that. But an extended deadline can’t hurt.”
I sat up and tried to read him. His eyes were a deep brown. Warm.
“You’re my friend, right?”
“What is this, you need a notarized . . .” The look on my face must have stopped him. “Hey, always.” He took my hand and waited.
I pinched the top of the straw. Where do I start?
“You know my cousin Lois.” I didn’t wait for an answer or look at him, and I knew he wouldn’t say anything.
He’d wait for me, let me go at my own pace. He held my hand a little tighter, that was all.
“She’s got lots of friends, she lives in Greenwich Village, and I went to visit to find out . . .” Help! This started with Elaine. Do I tell him? “You see, it’s . . . it’s very complicated,” I said in a low voice.
122
I didn’t consciously think Either I trust him or I stop , but I must have decided. I pulled my hand away and
I went for the seats and he stood on line for popcorn. It was as much of a tradition as we had after going to seven movies. The balcony was where kids went to neck and smoke. I picked two seats in the middle of the orchestra.
I watched Paul as he came down the aisle. He was tall and thin, but nothing else like the Other One. Nothing at all.
The theater darkened, and we shared the popcorn.
Newsreel. Coming attractions. I love everything on the big screen. Once those lights go down I’m a happy person.
But not tonight. I kept stealing glances at Paul. He’s a good guy, a Jimmy Stewart. I think. Could he ever do something like . . . what happened?
It wasn’t a fair question. Paul’s been my friend. I didn’t know the Other One. I still can’t say his name, not even to myself. The Creep. And look at Neil. He won’t talk to Elaine. Do you ever really know someone?
The Harder They Fall was bleak. Greed, power, and corruption big-time, with the syndicate fixing boxing matches. Bogart, an out-of-work sportswriter, was hired to make a weak fighter sound like the menace of the West-ern world. The crisis: what if you’ve done such a slick job both the world and the fighter himself believe he is that tough? You know he’s got a powder-puff punch, and because of you he’s going up against a killer. What do you do then?
The fight scenes were brutal. Black and white is more real than color.
120
Like me right now, black and white.
Long shot. The Girl walks down city street. Sun casts strong shadows. Girl is smiling. Man leans against stoop railing. Cleans his nails with a penknife. Whistles a tuneless tune. Says something to the Girl. Camera moves in to close-up of her face. Open, trusting. Camera pans over to the Man. He speaks, but traffic horns drown out the sound. Man beckons Girl up the stairs.
Screen goes black.
“The End” flashed on the big screen. What a mess I am. The Harder They Fall could be my title. A Woman with Dark Secrets next best. “Melodramatic” they’d say.
Right. “Unbelievable storyline,” they’d say. Wrong.
Autobiographical.
We headed for Jimmy’s soda fountain, where we sat in a booth and talked about the movie, the Record , classes, the Dodgers and the Giants. Nothing personal.
Safe.
The counter boy came over for the order.
“White and black soda,” I said.
Paul smiled. “Black and white,” he ordered for himself. He grinned at me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever heard order it that way.”
The counter boy nodded. “Unique,” he said, flipping his pad closed.
121
“I like chocolate ice cream and vanilla soda better than the other way around.”
“Of course.” Paul nodded solemnly.
“I’m not trying to be different.” I started to cry.
“Fragile emotions still?” Paul said.
I cried some more.
He moved over to my side of the booth and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Listen,” he said, “it can’t be that bad. I’ll give you an extension till mid-next week.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for the soda.
“Okay, I know,” he said. “It’s not that. But an extended deadline can’t hurt.”
I sat up and tried to read him. His eyes were a deep brown. Warm.
“You’re my friend, right?”
“What is this, you need a notarized . . .” The look on my face must have stopped him. “Hey, always.” He took my hand and waited.
I pinched the top of the straw. Where do I start?
“You know my cousin Lois.” I didn’t wait for an answer or look at him, and I knew he wouldn’t say anything.
He’d wait for me, let me go at my own pace. He held my hand a little tighter, that was all.
“She’s got lots of friends, she lives in Greenwich Village, and I went to visit to find out . . .” Help! This started with Elaine. Do I tell him? “You see, it’s . . . it’s very complicated,” I said in a low voice.
122
I didn’t consciously think Either I trust him or I stop , but I must have decided. I pulled my hand away and
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