Page 40 of No More Bad Boys
“Okay…” I say a bit hesitantly. I don’t quite get the idea of going to an old movie where people dress up and bring props—it sort of sounds like a legitimate no-fun date to me, honestly.
By the end of the night, I am a convert.
The movie itself is totally cheesy, but it’s obviously supposed to be, and it was hilarious fun to watch the die-hard cos-players act out the entire film at the front of the theater, dressed in perfect replicas of the wild on-screen costumes.
Blake clued me in when it was almost time to throw the toast at other movie-goers, and I was glad we were armed with the water pistols when the rainstorm scene occurred, and other people started splashing and shooting us.
We leave the theater damp, tired, and thoroughly entertained. When we reach the sidewalk just outside, I hear a guy’s voice call out Blake’s name.
He takes my arm and starts leading me briskly toward the parking lot, as if he hasn’t heard it.
“Blake. Blake Branham.”
Now Iknowhe’s heard the man, but he doesn’t stop or turn around. I guess he doesn’t feel like chatting with any news-fans tonight.
Seems a bit rude to ignore the guy, but what do I know? I’ve never been on-air and had people recognize me out in public. I keep walking with him and wait as he unlocks his truck and opens the door for me.
“Blake—hey man—I was calling you. I guess you didn’t hear me.” I turn around to see that the fan, obviously undeterred by Blake’s non-response, has chased us across the parking lot and is now standing near us wearing a huge smile.
Blake pretends surprise. “Oh—Ronnie. No, I didn’t hear you. Wow—it’s been a long time—great to see you.”
Okay. Sonota fan. An old friend. I’m instantly curious about this guy who’s known Blake so much longer than I have.
“Yeah, I moved here about a year ago. What’re you doing in Atlanta?” Ronnie asks.
“I took a job with a local TV station. I’m a news reporter now.”
The guy nods, obviously impressed. “Nice. Must make some pretty good coin for that. Far cry from the old—”
Blake interrupts him. “Ronnie, this is Cadence. Cadence, this is Ronnie, a friend of mine from the… neighborhood back in Sparta.”
“So nice to meet you,” I say, extending a hand, which Ronnie takes with a smile and a nod.
We all chat about the movie for a few minutes, but I can sense Blake’s restlessness to end the conversation and leave. He’s shifting his stance and darting his eyes at the truck.
Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, then. I don’t know. Whatever’s going on, there’s some sort of weird dynamic, and Blake is definitely acting strangely.
“So we should hang out sometime—us Sparta guys have to stick together, you know? I’m here with a couple of guys tonight, but I want you to meet my wife, Shaunda. We could have a double-date or something,” Ronnie suggests, and he seems sincere.
“Sounds good. I’m really busy, and I never know my work schedule too far in advance, but we’ll do that sometime. Give me a call at the station. It’s WATV.”
Ronnie gives Blake a quizzical look, as if he’s picking up on the strange vibe as well now. “Okay then. Well, good to meet you, Cadence. Y’all have a good night.”
Once inside the quiet of his truck, I wonder if Blake will address what just happened, if he’ll explain his hurry to get away from his old hometown friend. But he doesn’t mention it. He just asks what I thought of my “virgin” experience at Rocky Horror.
“I thought it was fantastic. And weird. But mostly fantastic. So… were you and Ronnie good friends?”
He shakes his head dismissively, his bottom lip protruding in a little frown as he starts the ignition and pulls out of our parking spot.
“Neighborhood buddies, when we were kids. I haven’t talked to him in a long time.”
“So… you don’t go back to Sparta much then?”
Still without looking at me, Blake shakes his head again, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
“Hardly ever.” He worries his lip with his top teeth then lets it go. “There’s… not much there.”
And that’s all he says. His tone does not invite further questions.
