Chapter 7 Gianna
Gianna
PRESENT
‘Why couldn’t we drive?’ Monique whines.
I roll my eyes. ‘Because we’ll be gone all morning and Chuckie still needs a walk.’
When I finished work yesterday, my fridge was empty and my drawers had been thoroughly snooped through.
I could have avoided that – along with seeing Ryker in the park – if I’d just agreed to go shopping then.
But I didn’t, so today we’re fabric hunting for costumes …
with a small detour first for caffeine and new records.
Paradiso is only ten minutes down the road from my house. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, but the sun isn’t too hot and the breeze carries sea salt in the air. Chuckie has no complaints, stopping to smell every tree. It’s bliss.
I tie Chuckie’s leash to a post at the side of the building and give him a quick pat.
Monique holds the glass door open for me and we enter the room filled with wall bays and crates of records.
‘16’ by Baby Keem plays over the speakers.
The large analogue clock hung above the register reads 8. 30 am. We have the place to ourselves.
The bright red painted walls at the back are decorated with old movie posters in black frames.
There’s Dennis Hopper in Easy Rider, the cast of the 1960s Lost in Space series, and my favourite, Steve McQueen’s Bullitt.
Pa and Jace would watch that on repeat when I was little. That’s how Jace got his nickname.
The register is on the left wall. Across the foyer is the cinema section, with its ticket booth and stairs leading up to the theatre.
It’s not open yet, but there’s someone behind the concession counter, tipping corn kernels into a machine.
This place has been around almost as long as the old speedway, even surviving the arrival of bigger cinemas in Empire City.
The owner, Mr Nessic, had to get creative though, with midnight showings of classic movies and dress-up events.
And everyone knows if you want the best homemade cookies, courtesy of Mrs Nessic, you come to the six o’clock showing, whatever it is.
You come for the cookies and stay for the movie.
Even though the cinema is in a separate section to the record store, the scent of buttered popcorn wafts over and mixes with the vintage vinyl records to create the smell of childhood nostalgia.
I peek out the window to make sure Chuckie is okay. I’m usually allowed to bring him everywhere I go, but when he was a puppy, he peed on a stack of records and Mr Nessic hasn’t let me forget it.
I still have Pa’s old record player at home, and it feels so good to hear it playing around the house. Chuckie loves it.
I flick through some of the newer records, loving the feel of the hard cardboard spines against my fingertips. Dire Straits … Red Hot Chili Peppers … Pink Floyd … Fleetwood Mac …
‘I know coming here reminds you of your dad.’ Monique appears, holding a coffee cup in each hand. ‘But can you hurry? This place stinks and I want to hit the fabric store.’ After placing a reusable ceramic cup in my hand, she dramatically covers her nostrils with her index and middle fingers.
I chuckle, still flipping through the records.
She’s right, there’s always a hint of must in the air from the old carpets and dusty red velvet curtains.
‘But Monz, have you noticed? The guy at the ticket booth has been eyeing you off ever since we walked in.’ I nod across the foyer to the tanned man with dark hair.
‘Yeah?’ Monique’s eyes light up and she sneaks a glance. The guy smiles and that’s all the invitation she needs.
Monique twirls and heads his way. ‘Take your time, babes,’ she calls back over her shoulder.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket, sighing when I see the contact name. She’s being persistent this week. Deciding I can’t prolong the inevitable any longer, I swipe to accept the call.
‘Hi, Ma.’
‘Anak, honey,’ she chirps, ‘I thought I was going to get your voicemail again. You must be busy?’
‘I’m actually at Paradiso.’
‘Just too busy for me then?’
I roll my eyes upward, trying to find patience in the sun-stained ceiling. The shadows of leaves dance with the golden rays filtering through the front window.
‘I’m with Monz,’ I retort dryly.
‘Oh good, what a darling. I love that girl. I won’t keep you then, I was just wanting to let you know I have Bullitt ready for this week.’
Every year, the same damn tradition. It tears my chest in two to sit down and commemorate everything we lost in the form of a two-hour movie. It’s fucking heartbreaking.
‘Did you forget?’ she questions as the silence drags on.
A snarl twists my face. ‘You’re kidding, right? How can I forget, Ma?’
‘So, you’ll be here?’
The thought of her sobbing on the couch next to me digs into my brain, scratching at the same wound, never letting it heal.
‘I don’t think watching a movie every year is going to heal us, Ma. If it was, it would have worked any of the last three times. I’d rather spend the time planning. I almost have enough money to buy the speedway—’
‘The speedway? Gia …’ Ma’s disappointment bleeds into the smoothness of her velvety tone.
All the big developers from Empire City and beyond have tried purchasing that block of land.
They all want to tear everything down and build apartments.
It’s currently looked after by the Heritage Society – rumour has it that it’s under conditional bequest – but I have a gut feeling whoever now owns this site would want to see it back to its former glory. Which is exactly my plan.
Ma’s always shut down my plans for the speedway, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
‘You’re still chasing this pipedream? The speedway is a waste of time. If it wasn’t a heritage site, it would have been torn down by now. Everyone in the community knows how much pollution it causes, too. It will never be reopened.’
‘But it’s still there, and that’s the point. It could be something great. The emissions aren’t even a problem, there are so many car options now. The speedway could be restored to the place Pa fell in love with and—’
‘That’s enough,’ Ma snaps. ‘You don’t know what your father would want.’
But you do?
‘I gotta go, Ma. Enjoy the movie.’
I hang up, sick of this never-ending merry-go-round with her where nothing is ever good enough and nothing is ever right.
I want to slump over the records and cry, but instead I refocus and flick through them, searching for solace between the cardboard sleeves.
After finding Teaser and the Firecat, I flip through a few more crates. There are three discs in my hand when I glance at Monique. She’s leaning over the cinema counter, giving the guy a good look at her cleavage.
Behind me, Mr Nessic appears from the record storeroom. I make my way over to his register.
‘Hey, Mr Nessic.’ I smile, placing my items on the counter.
‘Good to see you, Gia.’ He twirls his peppered moustache before punching in the item codes manually. His belly touches the till as he works. ‘You keeping out of trouble?’
‘Always, sir.’
He looks over his shoulder at Monique and the man before leaning in. ‘You tell that friend of yours, my nephew isn’t good enough for her.’
I laugh. ‘I didn’t know that was your nephew.’
‘By marriage,’ he grumbles. ‘He got in some trouble back home, so my wife’s sister shipped him out to me. All he gives a damn about is cars. He wouldn’t know how to treat a lady.’
I laugh again, but Mr Nessic couldn’t be further from the truth. If you care about a car, it means you take time to understand something that doesn’t speak. You fix what’s broken. And you get so in tune with being able to feel when things are right, you know immediately when they’re wrong.
‘So we’ll see your nephew at The Tropics then?’ I tease.
‘If you do see him there, you’d better beat him.’ Mr Nessic cuts me a look.
Mr Nessic gives me the total. I’m about to count out the bills when I hear loud barking outside and my head snaps up.
Chuckie?
I hastily throw a fifty down, telling Mr Nessic to keep the change.
Tucking the records under my arm, I push the door open to see Chuckie pulling hard against his leash, frothy spit gathering in his jowls.
His teeth flash and vicious snarls sound in the air, directed at the man in front of him with bleached-blond hair.
When the figure turns, my gaze meets green eyes.
Landon. The guy from the race.
Ignoring him, I brush past to Chuckie’s side, smoothing his fur to calm him.
‘Don’t act like you don’t know me, skirt,’ Landon says, rocking on his heels.
I frown and cock my head to the side, taking in his preppy salmon pink t-shirt and white shorts.
My eyes alight on his boat shoes and I fight back a scowl.
Whoever invented boat shoes needs to be brought to justice – it’s seriously a crime they exist – and then I notice he’s even wearing matching salmon ankle socks. God.
I lift my eyes to his face and raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to explain himself. He shuffles on his feet, and I enjoy how easy it is to make him fidget.
‘Landon,’ he says.
I stare blankly, pouting my bottom lip a little for extra effect.
‘From The Tropics?’ He sounds exasperated.
‘Oh.’ I click my fingers. ‘Right.’
I untie Chuckie and keep a strong grip on his lead. He’s really unsettled and continues to pull against me and snarl.
‘That mutt really doesn’t like me.’ Landon narrows his eyes at Chuckie.
I sigh through the struggle. ‘You know what they say about dogs.’
‘What do they say?’ He brushes his brassy blond mop back with his fingers.
‘They take after their owners.’
‘Right.’ He clears his throat dismissively. ‘Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you.’
‘Well, for starters, you didn’t run into me. You were annoying Chuckie.’
‘Chuckie and Gia, huh?’ I freeze, wondering how he knows my name. He notices my reaction and flashes a genuine grin. ‘It’s not hard to figure out the name of the number-one racer in town. I underestimated you, skirt. You’re on my radar now.’