12. Marnie
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marnie
Caleb is waiting for me when I arrive at The Strand a few days later. I stop on the sidewalk and stare up at the weathered, cream brick theater complete with dark blue signage and a lit-up marquee, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the historic building before I join Caleb.
As promised, he sent me the entire screening schedule for the next week after I got home from our boating excursion.
I was overwhelmed by the number of options to choose from, but I settled on the early Friday evening show to have something to look forward to after the work week.
And with this still being work related, I wouldn’t fall behind on planning.
Deciding to meet him at the theater was twofold.
Arriving separately meant I could keep this interaction strictly professional, and I could also run a few errands down the street afterward.
I’ve been meaning to go grocery shopping at Reliable Market, but I ran out of time earlier this week from spending all my extra free time on the phone with Gwen, not realizing how early the store closed.
“I could’ve picked you up so you didn’t have to stalk someone for a parking spot,” he calls out when I reach him outside the entrance.
“It’s okay, I was already in the area.”
He rolls his shoulders back. “Looks like I’ve got some ground to make up, then. I’m not off to a very good start on our first date.”
I give him a pointed look. “I told you?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is not a date.” He gives me a playful nudge on the arm. “Nothing salacious going on here. Just a couple of colleagues out on the town.”
I can’t help but smile back. He’s going to push the no dating boundary as far as he can, I just know it.
The air grows thick, and I look away from him to avoid saying—or doing—something I shouldn’t, like replying with a flirty remark.
I tuck my notebook under my arm and tilt my head back, eyes scanning the marquee sign.
“Are you sure Jaws is even playing? It’s not listed.
” I point up above us, trying to change the subject.
“Must be a mistake. I know it’s playing today. I called to confirm,” he assures me. He moves toward the door and holds it open for me. “Come on.”
Inside, the lobby looks like every cliché, nostalgic theater from my favorite childhood movies. Everything has been renovated and refurbished, but stayed true to its classic, original feel, right down to the velvet ropes lining the queue for concessions and tickets.
He eyes my notepad inquisitively. “Whatcha got there?”
I hold up the pad of paper and flip it open so he can get a better view of the outline I scribbled together before leaving the house.
“For note-taking. I made a few general comments, but after seeing some of the landmarks with you and reviewing the list of props and memorabilia being offered for the exhibit, I’m trying to go into it with a fresh set of eyes. ”
The first time I saw Jaws was back in high school. I came across it after flipping through the channels for something to play in the background while doing homework. It started distracting me so much that I had to mute it, but I kept glancing back every few minutes.
It was one of those horror movies that was a tad too realistic for my liking.
I knew the basic premise: people go swimming. Shark attacks swimmers. Panic ensues. Manhunt commences to catch the shark. Man defeats shark. Day is saved.
My job today is to pick it apart. Dissect it for anything and everything that gives me some insight into the island and its residents.
Which is easier said than done since I’ll have the added distraction of Caleb’s cologne invading my senses and his close proximity all throughout the movie.
I’ve identified the unknown sweet scent that compliments the pine.
Citrus.
Caleb nods and walks over to the ticket counter. The attendant behind the counter—a young man who appears to be in high school—says a few words to Caleb that I can’t make out and then slides something across the counter, ending their conversation with a loose handshake.
Caleb continues down to the end of the counter where the concessions are served and is greeted by a new attendant—a woman this time, who is definitely not still in high school.
It doesn’t seem like they know each other, but that doesn’t stop her wandering eyes from roaming up and down his body as she waits for the popcorn to refill, ogling him.
She’s not even trying to be subtle about it, but Caleb could not be more clueless about her intentions.
Despite that, a cool wave of jealousy creeps up my neck.
He accepts the popcorn from her and returns a polite smile before turning back to face me.
I school my features, willing the heat to leave no trace of the envious emotions on my cheeks.
I have no right to feel jealous or possessive over him when I was clear from the beginning that this was not a date. As far as I’m concerned, Caleb can flirt with whomever he wants. Even if I secretly wish it was only with me.
It’s not fair of me to want that, but I do.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s starting to grow on me.
I want to be the only one he brings coffee to and debates Art’s daily questions with.
I want to be the only one who sees his signature smile when he likes my answer.
I want to be the only one on the receiving end of his devilish smirk when he gets me riled up.
He returns to where I am standing, bucket of popcorn in hand, and holds out my ticket for me to take. “Shall we?”
Our tickets are printed on a thick piece of paper with a vintage format. The Strand is plastered across the top in a block font, with the date, time, theater number, and seat assignments stamped below. It looks like it belongs in a scrapbook or shadowbox.
I tuck the ticket into my purse and follow Caleb down the hall to theater number five where the door is already open.
The theater is small, only enough room for forty or so people. The seats—made of a red velvet material that matches the shade of the carpet in the lobby—have been modified with reclining features for additional comfort.
When I look back at Caleb, I take notice of his outstretched hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m playing the part and escorting you to your seat,” he replies with a fake bow.
I must admit that his commitment to the bit is endearing. “Not a date,” I remind him, a hint of laughter in my voice as I accept his hand.
A mischievous smile spreads across his face. “If you say so,” he quips. He places his free hand on the small of my back and guides me into our row. Even after he removes his hand, his warmth still lingers.
We take our seats in the dead center of the theater and Caleb immediately reclines back. “Best seats in the house,” he says, folding his arms behind his head.
I set my bag on the floor, pulling out a pen and highlighter, and recline my seat into prime note-taking position. The wide arm rest allows my notebook to balance without my assistance.
For the next few minutes, previews of summer releases flash across the screen. The tenth installment of an action movie franchise. A psychological thriller packed with A-list actors. Yet another remake of a timeless classic.
Movement from the theater entrance catches my attention when the trailers end, and one of the attendants closes the door, indicating that our movie is about to begin.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, eyes scanning the theater. “I thought this place would be packed on a Friday given the movie’s popularity.”
Though, I suppose it’s not completely out of the question for the theater to be emptier than usual.
Josie told me the local schools don’t get out for another month, and with peak tourist season not starting until the end of June, not everyone could be lining up to spend their Friday evening at the movies.
“I booked this theater for a private showing. It’s just us today,” he says quietly, still facing the screen. “I didn’t want you to have any distractions. Plus, you’re definitely someone who follows theater etiquette.”
I turn my head to face him. “Meaning?”
Caleb mirrors my movement. “Meaning, you don’t strike me as the kind of person who talks during the movie.
” He reaches between us to take a handful of popcorn, stuffing it in his mouth before continuing.
“This way you can think out loud, ask questions, make notes, the whole nine yards without worrying about bothering anyone.”
Oh. That’s rather thoughtful and considerate of him. I’m flattered that he cared enough to put in so much effort to set all of this up. It almost makes me forget that this isn’t actually a date.
“I won’t bother you if I do that?”
“Not in the slightest. I’ve seen this movie so many times I could recite it to you from memory.” He cocks an eyebrow at me and smirks. “Plus, I’m full of fun facts. You’re basically getting untold island lore at no charge.”
The opening credits begin, and the lights don’t dim as dark as they normally would for a screening, per Caleb’s request, so that I am able to see my notebook.
Caleb was surprisingly full of useful knowledge and fun facts about the movie. Not that I doubted he knew things I didn’t, but I was skeptical about how useful he would be. It was hard to get everything jotted down before he was plying me with more information.
Like the fact that they wanted as many locals involved in the project as possible, so the only characters without authentic New England accents were the famous actors they brought in.
“The one exception was Quint’s character,” he says as he leans in, speaking low in my ear even though there’s no one else here. “Since his character is meant to be from the island, they had an islander work with Robert Shaw on perfecting his accent.”