Page 89 of A Wolf After My Own Heart
“Sure.” She was a bit tipsy, which was to be expected after she’d sucked down two of Annette’s notoriously vodka-heavy screwdrivers. (“It should not taste like a breakfast drink,” Annette had explained. “It should taste like something that will knock you on your ass and also oranges.”)
She brought him to her office suite on the second floor, humming as she unlocked it and disabled the security system. It took him a few seconds to realize she was humming the theme fromPsycho. Not the bit from the shower scene. The first movement by Herrmann, whichThe Simpsonsused in one of their “Treehouse of Horrors” episodes.
She had quite a few Priority Mail boxes waiting for her, which she quickly shuffled through, then stacked indifferently on the nearest table. “Nothing that can’t wait until Monday,” she said. “And two of them are repeat offenders! If you don’t want your manic toddler to tear the head off his stuffed snakes, stop giving him stuffed snakes.”
“These kids today,” Oz sighed, because he couldn’t help it.
“I’m gonna lock up and then take you upstairs, if that’s—”
“Okay.” Upstairs, downstairs, the roof, a parking garage, a closet: it made no difference. Never in life had he wanted to follow someone while not caring about the destination. It was exhilarating and a little frightening. “I need to hit the Men’s, and I’ll find you.”
“Okay. See you in a couple. Think you’ll like this.”
He was sure he would. Drinks? A second chili-less dinner? A moonlit walk on the roof with a biting wind and the wind chill hovering at twenty degrees? Baling hay? A tonsillectomy? He was up for whatever the curly-haired devil/darling had in mind.
First, the loo. He washed his hands, looked up at the mirror, then swallowed a groan of horror. He liked to think that going without sleep, skipping meals, and obsessing overKama-Rupawhen not obsessing over the Smalls made him look lean and dangerous, but the dark circles under his eyes made him look like an addled raccoon. Nothing to be done about it, so he walked to the end of the hall, went up a flight, took a left and another flight, and there she was, obligingly holding half of a double door open when she spotted him at the end of the hall. “You didn’t know where I was going. How’d you find me up here?”
Oz tapped the side of his nose.
“Oh. You’re saying I smell.”
He was so appalled, he nearly fell down the stairs he’d just climbed. “What? No! You don’t smell! I mean, you do smell. We all smell. Everybody smells. Including you. But it’s okay! You smell wonderful. Not that I’ve been going around smelling you. Because I haven’t. That would be weird. I can’t help smelling you, though. I mean, I can, but not…oh thank God you’re fucking with me.”
She giggled. “Sorry. It’s just so easy. You get all stammer-y, like Hugh Grant on Benadryl. C’mere, look at this.”
He obliged, stepping into the low-lit room as the door shut behind them.
Whoa.“This is amazing,” he said, goggling like a yokel.
“Right?”
“I mean, it’s a big building, butthatbig?”
“I know.”
“But why is it here?”
She was just standing there, hands on hips, grinning. Delighted by his amazement. “Because the Hamm Building used to show movies.”
“It was a movie theater?”
“Moviepalace,” she corrected with relish. “And not just any movie palace. Back in the day, it was a palace that held the largest, most expensive, dazzling, amazing super-cool breathtaking huge movie theater in the entire Midwest.”
“You’rereallyexcited about this.”
“The new owners decided to open up a brewery and other offices, and they always meant to do something with the theater, but they ran out of money. And all the subzagent—subsequent—owners, they could never figure out if they wanted it all torn out or fixed up. So fast forward seventy-five years, we get this.”
Thiswas a movie theater spread out in front of him that could easily seat hundreds, in the big old-fashioned velvet chairs from the 1920s that could accommodate the widest of bottoms. There were close to a dozen rows to a section, forty-odd seats to a row, and three sections of seats: closest to the stage, the middle, and the nosebleed seats. The door she’d brought them through was in the middle. He stepped forward and looked behind him; the projectionist booth looked big enough to be a living room. He felt small; it wasn’t unlike standing in an empty stadium.
“Jesus. This isn’t a theater, it’s a temple.”
“Yes! Can’t you picture it? The intense awesomeness of it all?” He was amazed; this was as animated as he’d ever seen her, and she was a goddamned vision, practically vibrating with excitement, anticipation, and vodka. “Justthinkingabout all the films they showed makes me want a big Coke with lots of crushed ice. And popcorn. But not just any popcorn. Stale movie popcorn that only gets switched out every week or so.”
“You want a Coke with crushed ice? I’ll get you a Coke with crushed ice.” He wasn’t sure he could find stale popcorn on short notice, but he could crush ice, by God…
“Fuck ice.” She pulled a thermos and a couple of bottles of Coke out of her tote. “Rum will be fine.”
“On top of the screwdrivers?”
