Page 33 of Melt With You

But, damn, she was bound to think that anyway.

Chapter Thirteen

If The Majestic theater had been a woman, she would have been a silent screen star past her prime. Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. Beauty remaining, the glory within, but the surface giving in to age. Fading, wrinkling, warping. Yet The Majestic lived up to Dori’s reminiscences. The theater fit her memory to perfection, so like that fading film star trying her best to spruce up for a big event. Graffiti all over the back wall, the concrete chipped, the façade timeworn. Inside, it was different. The dramatic dimness of the lobby hid the fact that the multihued carpet was threadbare, that the fabric on the walls was scuffed and dirty.

The owners knew how to dress the place. Attractive bartenders, both male and female, with a cooler-than-thou attitude, manned the bar. They wore crisp white shirts, sleek black vests, cobalt blue bowties. The women often gelled their hair back, just like the men did, creating a sexy androgyny that added to their allure: a look that reminded Dori of the women in that Robert Palmer video, ‘Addicted to Love.’

Dori and her friends had often tried to peel one of the bartenders off the pack, but none had ever succeeded. There were enough college kids and young Silicone Valley upstarts to provide fuel for the bartenders’ erotic appetites. For a moment, Dori stared at the bar, the blue-tinted mirror behind the row of bottles, the highly polished surface of the bar itself, then she turned her head to take in the tiny round tables that cluttered the lobby, each one with a candle flickering in a red glass holder.

Patrons were seated at blue director-style chairs emblazoned with names of famous actors on the back: Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Clark Gable. Choosing a chair was always a game here. You hoped you sat on someone good. She heard that familiar query as she took another step forward.

‘Who’d you get?’

‘Humphrey Bogart!’

‘I’m on Montgomery Clift.’

Framed movie posters adorned the faded silk on the walls. Posters from the classics: The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, and Goldfinger, as well as newer masterpieces, Mad Max, Repo Man. A tiny concession stand for popcorn and candy was tucked into one corner. Dori was surprised mostly by the sizes – smalls were small. Nothing jumbo or turbo or mongo. No double-talls or grandes. Just normal human sizes.

Walking the rest of the way into the lobby, she was immediately surrounded by the cast of Rocky Horror, multiplied. There were six Frank-N-Furters seated along one side of the bar. Two Columbias argued over possession of a gold-sequined top hat. Dori didn’t see Bette right away, but Nina came forward immediately. Her hair was sprayed hard into the Magenta-as-Bride-of-Frankenstein ’do sported at the dramatic finale of the movie.

Dori spotted Violet and a few other high school kids trying to get up the nerve to hit the bar. She quickly turned her back when she saw her old friends. That was one of the most difficult parts of this whole fucked-up experience, seeing the people she knew – knew now in the present day – as kids. But when she turned around, she came face to face with Jacqueline, the girl who had been voted Most Changed at the reunion. The girl who was now a boy. Dori was delighted to see that Jacqueline was dressed convincingly as Riff Raff, a more handsome Riff Raff, without a hunch back, but in the tuxedo with tails, long blond hair. Had there been signs the girl had wanted to be a boy from the start?

Well, look at Dori. She was in drag, too. Dressed from head to toe as Brad because she hadn’t been able to stomach putting on her old Rocky Horror costume. Had there been signs about her?

She slid by Jacqueline, on her way to the other end of the bar. As soon as she ordered her drink, she felt a man’s arms around her. She looked down, saw the glint of the silver skull ring on the middle finger, and knew the hands belonged to Van.

‘You look luscious,’ he said, ‘I knew you’d make a beautiful Brad.’

‘I’m not supposed to be beautiful,’ she told him, turning around into his embrace. ‘I’m supposed to be geeky.’ He, on the other hand, looked amazing, his hair done to perfection, make-up exactly like his idol in the movie. And, God, why had she never realized that men in black corsets were hot? Of course, in a way, she’d understood that fact back in high school, when she’d spent every weekend drooling over Tim Curry in drag. But she hadn’t understood that the sex appeal could translate to real live men.

‘But you are beautiful,’ he countered, pulling her to a corner where they could have a tiny bit of privacy. ‘Where did you get the suit?’

She didn’t want to admit that the suit was her father’s. She’d found it at the back of his closet, and she hoped like hell it wouldn’t show any wear by the end of the evening. She’d managed to make the slacks fit by cinching the waist tight, and she had pegged the hem and worn high heels to compensate for the length. Bette had the glasses for her, nerdy black frames with clear lenses. She’d slicked her hair back, tucked her ponytail into a collar, and forgone all but the most basic make-up.

Van kissed her and there were instant catcalls. Even off in the corner, they didn’t have any privacy at all.

‘The movie’s starting any minute,’ he said. ‘We’ll finish that thought later on.’

He led her to the top row of the balcony, and her legs felt weak as she took her spot next to Van. She loved this theater. So many important scenes in her life had taken place here. Hook-ups. Break-ups. Rites of passage.

The smell was the same – hot buttered popcorn, sticky soda pop from a thousand long-ago spills, and red licorice whips – all mingled together. And then there were the seats. She hadn’t realized one could feel nostalgic for creaky old movie theater seats. The well-worn cornflower-blue velvet seats had squeaky hinges that sang out every time you moved. The seats actually rocked. She’d forgotten that.

Van sat at her side, and when Magenta – oh, she meant Nina – followed up the stairs, he waved her over. ‘Where’s Bette?’

‘Smoking in the alley. She’ll be up in a minute.’

Nina looked at Dori when she spoke, and Van said, ‘She’s not smoking a cigarette. But Nina’s too much of a friend to tell you that she’s out there in the dark getting high.’

‘You never know,’ Nina said, settling herself on Van’s left. ‘Some people have a problem with that sort of thing.’

‘But not our Emma,’ Van grinned, his hand on her thigh. She shivered at his touch, still feeling warmth from the kiss they’d shared in the lobby. Yet when she saw Violet and the gang make their way to the front row down below, she instinctively ducked. Part of her still felt eighteen, no matter what she looked like on the outside. She was thirty-eight now. Would she still feel this way when she was eighty-eight?

As the lights dimmed, she began to relax. She remembered so many things about this place. She’d heard UB40’s ‘Red, Red Wine’ here, before an epic viewing of the Mad Max trilogy. She’d had her first kiss here. With Rowan. A shudder ran through her, and Van immediate wrapped one arm around her shoulders.

‘Are you cold?’

She shook her head. How touching that he’d be a gentleman, even dressed like a lady. Or like a man dressed like a lady. She liked the way he looked in the lingerie, and that surprised her. She’d never really thought she was kinky before. And now look at her, fucking on a dance floor in San Francisco, being Dom to her high school crush the night before. Returning to the eighties had definitely unleashed a monster.

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