Page 42 of Wham Line (The Last Picks #10)
“This is so embarrassing,” Tessa—Millie’s boss from Chipper—said as she juggled two enormous buckets of popcorn. She looked at my full hands and handed the popcorn to Bobby. “You’re a lifesaver.”
That was when Mr. Cheek—that’s Mr. Cheek of Fog Belt Ladies Wear, who is Deputy Bobby’s number one fan—stopped in front of us.
He playfully whipped Deputy Bobby with a Red Vine until Deputy Bobby put his hands on his hips, and then he giggled and scurried away.
(Leaving the box of Red Vines in Bobby’s hands.)
I was about to ask what was going on when I happened to catch a glimpse of Millie at the concession stand.
Talking.
Loudly.
“—AND HE’S NOT SICK OR ANYTHING!”
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Bobby was smiling. “I think it’s sweet.”
“It’s not sweet, Bobby. It’s humiliating.”
“Everyone loves you.”
“Not everyone. Not Mr. Cheek.”
Bobby didn’t exactly roll his eyes.
“One time he told me he had a shiv! And then he said, ‘If you ever hurt him’!”
I kid you not: Bobby looked pleased . He managed to squash the expression (somewhat) as he said, “What’s going on? You love getting snacks when we go see a movie.”
Which was true. I did love getting snacks when we went to see a movie.
If there’s a more perfect combination than fresh movie-theater popcorn and M and second, if this was an important moment in the history of theatre, I was going to eat my shorts.)
Somehow, though, I managed to smile and nod.
Terrence brightened and said, “Here’s Tinny.”
A young woman stepped up next to him. It was hard to miss the fact that she was a young woman since she was wearing a low-cut top that emphasized her, uh, feminine features.
She was somewhere in her twenties, with long hair that had been expertly lightened to a platinum blond and fell in perfect curls to the middle of her back.
She had enormous eyes, and combined with the hair and the clothes, the overall effect was that of an anime character who had come to life and decided to dress entirely in soothing Millennial neutrals.
Fox’s face shuttered.
“Tinny, this is Dashiell,” Terrence said.
“Just Dash.”
“Dashiell is the inspiration behind tonight’s work.”
“I wouldn’t say inspiration—” I tried.
But Tinny stepped closer, inspecting me, and I forgot what I’d been about to say. She studied me with those enormous anime eyes. And then her gaze fastened on the box of M&M’s in my hand.
“Sugar is an addiction,” she said. “And all addictions are an attempt to ease our suffering.”
AND THEN SHE TOUCHED ME. (Yes, I went full Millie for this one.)
She held my face in her hands and asked softly, “Who hurt you?”
Listen, a stranger was touching me. In public. I’m not responsible for what came out of my mouth.
I blurted, “The Hamburglar.”
She nodded gently. She let go of my face, turned to Bobby, studied him for a moment, and said, “Your suffering is delicious to me.” Before Bobby had to respond to that, she turned to Terrence and said, “That woman has ruined another piece of the set. We have to fix it.”
“My dear,” Terrence said, voice quavery, “it’s opening night, to say nothing of the budget—" To me, in an embarrassed aside, he added, “A sprinkler burst, massive water damage, we’re going to have to gut the upstairs storage room.”
“The colors are inharmonious, and tonight, everything will go wrong.”
“Oh my,” Terrence said. “Well, if you think—but it really has to be the last time, dear. I’m not made of money, you know.” After another of those little laughs, he took her arm, gave me a little wave, and said, “Must see about setting this right, Dashiell. Enjoy the show! You’re the real star!”
The two of them hurried across the lobby—Terrence smiling and waving, and Tinny looking like a tiny, terrifying homing missile aimed at backstage.
Fox was grinding their teeth so hard I swear I heard one crack.
“Who was that?” Millie asked as she and Keme returned.
“A lunatic,” I said.
“A megalomaniac,” Fox said darkly. Their eyes were still turned in the direction Terrence and Tinny had gone.
“She was so pretty,” Millie said. “She looked just like one of those girls on those Japanese shows you watch, didn’t she, Keme?”
Keme had the decency to blush—and the wisdom not to answer. Instead, he looked at me and said, “What’s wrong with your face?”
“She touched me! And she told Bobby his suffering was delicious, which is legit something out of—not even a Stephen King novel. Oh! It’s straight out of Clive Barker!”
“What suffering?” Millie asked. “Bobby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Bobby said.
“What’s wrong?” Indira asked as she rejoined us.
“Nothing,” Bobby said.
“Everything,” Fox said. And then, with a particularly dirty look for me, he said, “Apparently Dash was assaulted by the Hamburglar. Presumably as a child.”
“It just popped out! She was making eye contact!”
“Ah,” Indira said. “Tinny.”
“Wait,” I said, “you know Tinny?”
Indira gave me a little arch of her eyebrows that must have been the mature, adult equivalent of rolling your eyes. “Why don’t we get to our seats?”
Everyone else seemed to have the same idea, so we filed into the theater proper.
Like the rest of the building, it preserved a level of craftsmanship—and a style—that had long since gone the way of all the earth.
More of those decorative details painted in gold leaf.
Chandeliers that—while yes, a bit dusty—were strung with crystals that winked in the soft, warm light.
High above us, the muses looked down from the ceiling
We shuffled along, exchanging greetings with friends and neighbors.
Althea and Bliss Wilson had dressed up for the occasion—Althea in a black evening gown, her white hair shining against it, and Bliss in spangly cocktail dress, with an enormous feather boa she kept trying to tickle Althea with.
There was something stabilizing and reassuring and normal about seeing the two women together after that bizarre encounter with Terrence and Tinny.
Maybe Terrence actually believed that schlock about me being the real star, though, because our seats might have been the best in the house.
We were close enough to the stage to see everything, but far enough back we didn’t have to crane our necks, and most importantly, our seats had drink holders.
(A modern convenience that people hadn’t yet dreamed up in simpler times.)
No sooner were we settled in our seats, though, then Fox leaned past Bobby and said to me, “He thinks he’s in love with her.”
It didn’t take a genius to put together the he and the her in that sentence.
“Oh,” I said. “Well—”
“Which is ridiculous. He’s more than twice her age. He’s got to be at least fifty years older than her.”
“Bobby’s older than me,” I said.
Bobby shot his eyebrows at that.
From the other side of Fox came Keme’s “This is why I always call him a donkey.”
And, even worse, Indira’s answering “I know, dear.”
“He’s not in love with her,” Fox said. “He can’t be in love with her.”
And then they paused. Waiting.
“Uh,” I said, “I’m sure it’s very complicated.”
Fox stared at me. By degrees, their expression got icier and icier. And then they gave a single, emphatic huff and returned to their seat.