Page 15 of Hello Darling
What is happening?My dad and my brothers are never fans of good-looking men that I’ve met in person.
“Well-defined rectus and transverse abs.”
“Okay. Wow—is that the time?”
“You’re sticking around, right? Wanna watch another one of your boyfriend’s movies with me? It’s an action movie based onHamlet.Looks interesting. Could be. Ornotto be. Get it?”
“Um. Yes, I get it. And no, I’ve already seen it. I’m going to the theater.”
“You’re going to Butch and Sundancewithout me?” He is boyishly indignant. It’s his favorite movie for many reasons, and we’ve seen it together many times, but I just can’t sit here and watch an Evan Hunter film with my dad. Especially that one. “Who are you going with?”
“Whoever else happens to be in the theater.”
“Aww. I don’t like you going to a movie by yourself.”
“I do it all the time.”
“Why don’t you go with Fireboy?”
“Who—Tanner? He was a man. A fireman. And he went back to Montana. And he didn’t watch movies.”
“He was an idiot.”
“No argument. But he was only here for a week, so who cares.”
“What about Biff the mountain man? He around?”
“Jace? He was hot. You liked him. And no, he lives in Spokane.”
“I liked his boots. Isn’t it time you had a real boyfriend again?
“Speaking of time—it’s time for me to go!”
My dad wipes his mouth to cover his laugh, which quickly morphs into a coughing fit.
“Oh. Are you okay? Do you want me to stay?”
“Go,” he says, between coughs.
“Take a hot bath and go to bed, okay? Love you.” I blow him a kiss.
“Thanks for the soup, honey.”
I squirt anti-bacterial gel on my hands before opening the front door and after I close it. I wish there were some kind of gel I could squirt into my ears that kills 99.9% of invasive thoughts about pretty boy British actors in fifteen seconds.
* * *
The Rose Theater is one of the jewels of Port Gladstone—a large brick Victorian-era building with plush red velvet bucket seats, high-end treats and a state of the art surround sound system. There aren’t enough bodies here tonight forButch Cassidy and the Sundance Kidand it’s a disgrace. Every Marvel movie is sold out here on their opening weekends, but one of the best American films of all time attracts about a dozen people, not including me and some guy who’s sitting in my favorite seat—middle row center. I begrudgingly take a seat an aisle behind and further to the left, pulling off my jacket and glaring at the back of the slouching interloper’s head. He’s wearing a black baseball cap, and…mildly glowing.
It’s Evan Hunter, and he is asleep. The baseball cap is low on his forehead, but it’s definitely him and he’s definitely sleeping. His mouth is slightly parted and his head is slowly starting to tilt to the side. An elderly couple takes a seat a few rows ahead of him and notice him, but I don’t think they recognize him. It seems like the right thing to do would be to wake him up before the movie starts. I sigh as I pick up my jacket and shoulder bag and walk over to the next row, stopping a couple of feet away from him.
He is slouched in his seat, his legs splayed out instead of up over the seat in front of him, because that would be inconsiderate. Even in the dim light, I can see the healthy bulge in his jeans, and I suppose I stare at it for one or two seconds longer than I should before clearing my throat. I tap his shoulder and say: “Hey. Richard. Wake up.”
His eyes slowly open and his head tilts in my direction. He doesn’t sit up or move his legs. He just licks his lips and says: “Hello darling,” grinning. He’s barely even awake and he’s flirting with me—practically a stranger. Who actually falls for this baloney?
“Hi there. I just thought I should wake you up so nobody sees you and, you know, takes pictures of you or something.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. I had this insane idea I’d try to stay awake as long as I could to reset my body clock.”
