Aldo's Fantastical Movie Palace (2 page)

C
HLOE WAS FEEDING CHICKEN SCRATCH
to the hens when the brown delivery truck crunched up her driveway.

The truck's tires crackled to a stop. Chloe dropped her sack and Mom dropped her hoe and stepped out of the garden, where she'd been battling weeds. The two stared at each other.

“Hallelujah!” Mom screamed and bolted toward their deliveryman, Mitch.

Chloe laughed and jumped and pumped her fists in the air as Mitch gently laid two canisters on the ground.

“Here!” Mom was out of breath. “Let me sign for these.”

Mitch straightened. “So is this going to be a blockbuster?”

“Guaranteed,” Chloe said. “Bring your whole family!”

“What movie is it?”

Chloe bent down and stroked the outside of the canisters. “The
Vapor
. Rated R, on six beautiful reels.”

She glanced up. Mom gave her the look, and turned to Mitch. “No, this isn't for your young kids. Sometimes Chloe gets a bit excited.”

He tongued the inside of his cheek.

“But, Mom, you'll let me see it.” Chloe danced around the cans. “Hundreds of times.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “You, my dear, are different.”

“Nice try, Chloe.” He chuckled, climbed back in the truck, and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

“A first-run movie.” Chloe shook her head. “How long has it been since we've shown a first-run movie?”

Mom threw back her matted hair. “Too long, and this one cost us dearly. We've a lot to do before it opens tomorrow. Better go in early.”

Mom and Chloe hopped in the work truck with the movie canisters strapped safely between them. Streak, their best mouser, purred in Chloe's lap; her
skills were about to be tested. They drove the familiar two miles north toward Fallon and veered left on the Hemming turnoff. Her heart raced, then calmed. Aldo's Movie Palace towered in the distance.

Set on tiny Route 19, and surrounded by nothing but fields and cattle, the theater was Great-Grandpa Aldo's crowning achievement. Nearly eighty years old, the Palace looked nothing like the new theaters with pastel outsides and twenty small screens. Aldo's theater was huge and impressive and built by New York City's finest architects. The Palace was the beginning of another New York City right here in the Midwest.

At least that's what Grandpa Aldo had intended.

Mom eased into the empty parking lot and stared at the marquee.

“I'll start with the sign. Fire up the concessions, and get to work on splicing this together. There are three trailers to add front end and one public service announcement.”

“Check.”

“Oh, and Chloe … we have a first-run movie!” Mom high-fived her and hurried out of the truck.

“Streak, it's showtime.” Chloe set her down in the parking lot. “I'll meet you inside.”

Chloe reached into a canister, extracted the first reel, and carried it up to the projection booth. Five climbs later, sweat dripped off her forehead and coated her fingertips. She grabbed a towel, wiped herself dry, and stared at the two projectors, loaded with this afternoon's feature.

One more day of
The Enchanted Island
is about all I can stand
.

Chloe raced down the steps and flicked on the wiener warmer, still loaded with yesterday's hot dogs. She flipped the light switch on the popcorn and popped a kernel into her mouth. And winced.

“We'll definitely need a fresh batch tomorrow.”

One hour later, all was ready — Chloe set aside the
The Vapor
, now spliced together on two large projector reels. Her large task done, she bagged the three mice Streak neatly laid out in the foyer and met Mom in the ticket booth.

“We don't have enough ones. We don't have enough fives or tens either.” Mom forced a smile. “Never mind. Check the climate of the auditorium, make one last sweep, and then we open.”

Chloe carried Streak through Aldo's massive auditorium doors and took a deep breath.

Far above her head, painted storm clouds billowed and spiraled, poking black, spindly fingers across the
ceiling. Chloe stared at the strange cloud, and the longer she stared, the more it seemed to spread, to shift. Against the ominous backdrop, friendlier, whiter patches scooted gently across the plaster sky.

“Really freaky, Aldo.”

Around the ceiling's edges, three-dimensional planets and moons glowed in front of hidden house lights. They lit up Aldo's wild wall paintings of dripping clocks orbiting skyscrapers in bloom. But even with every light turned on, the room stayed dark, just as Chloe liked it.

The screen didn't.

It seemed to glow with a faint, translucent glow. More than once, Chloe had tried to touch it, only to recoil, her hand tingling and her heart racing. Hands weren't supposed to pass through solid objects. But hers had — right through the screen. Despite what Mom said, Chloe knew.

The screen pit was the one place Chloe didn't dare go.

Welcome to Aldo's magical world
, as Grandpa often said.

Chloe sighed. “Nobody can see us in here.” She squeezed Streak and walked up and down every row. Mom hadn't missed a single Whopper or Sticky Dot.

“Streak,” she whispered. “It's time.”

Back in the lobby, Mom wrung her hands. “We okay?”

Chloe nodded.

“So then, we are in competition with what?”

Chloe straightened and prepared for the premovie ritual. “Everything.”

“What's our objective?”

“Get people in the door.”

“Why?”

Chloe smiled. “To sell them junk food.”

“Not to see a movie?”

“No, to sell them junk food.”

“Because how do we pay the bills?”

“By selling stale wieners and week-old popcorn.”

“And so if Mr. Simonsen complains about the price of popcorn today, what will you do?”

“Smile and stand firm.” Chloe saluted.

“We're set.” Mom retreated into the ticket office. “Lose the cat and get ready to sell.”

A half hour later, there was still one truck in the lot.

Chloe leaned over the glass counter and shouted, “Maybe there'll be a late rush! Remember the first day we got
Indiana Jones
?”

“That was a first day. Not a last day.”

“Maybe they're all saving up for
The Vapor
!”

“Maybe.” Mom stepped into the lobby, raised her arms, and let them flap at her sides. “Maybe they've all just forgotten we're here.” She sighed and turned a slow circle. “Maybe we fight a losing battle. It's just there are so many memories locked up in this place.” She exhaled, walked over to Chloe, and stroked her hair. “You may as well head on up. I can sure handle it down here.”

“Come on, Streak.” Chloe climbed into the projection booth and nestled in the chair. She watched the clock above and scanned the seats below. “Nobody, and it's time to start.” Chloe paused. “Mom's right. How could we give up on the Palace? All our memories are here.” She placed Streak on the ledge. “You might as well keep mousing.”

Chloe lowered her out the projection window, flicked the switch on reel one, and dimmed the lights.

“One hour, forty-six minutes, and sixteen seconds of boredom.” She exhaled long and loud, reached beneath the splicing table for the mirror, and stared. In the flickering light of the machines, there was only the outline of her face and a few features. But no scars. Not in Aldo's Palace. In the Palace, she was beautiful.

Setting down the mirror, Chloe glanced at the big screen. The actress was beautiful too.

Suddenly, Streak leaped through the window and clawed at Chloe's chest.

“Stop it,” she hissed. “I don't need more scratches.” She pried the cat loose. “What's gotten into you?”

Below, the auditorium doors creaked.

Customers!

Chloe stretched her neck out the window and peered down.

It was a kid, maybe her age. A slow-walking kid swinging a cane back and forth across the aisle. A kid and a dog. A dog that never left his side.

What's a blind kid doing at a movie?

They eased down to the front row and walked all the way to the end, where the boy lowered himself into a chair. The dog sat in the aisle.

“Don't worry, Streak. I don't think guide dogs ever leave their owners.”

Chloe spent the next hour and forty minutes watching the back of a blind boy's head. It swiveled, like he was watching the movie. He looked up toward the clouds and to the side at blooming buildings.

And when the parrot bit the pirate on the ear, he laughed.

Just like he could see.

O
NE TICKET
,” Mom muttered as she locked the theater doors.

Chloe scooped Streak into her arms. “And one hot dog.”

“One ticket, one hot dog.” Mom sighed. “Do you know what our take was tonight?”

“Five dollars and twenty cents.”

“Do you know the expenses we incurred this evening?”

“Second-run movie, last showing — four hundred twenty-eight dollars, give or take.”

Mom reached her arm around Chloe and squeezed. “It's lovely. Let's walk home.”

The night was cool with no breeze. It was still and silent, except for the scratch of gravel beneath their feet.

Mom said nothing, which was fine — it gave Chloe time to think.

“Mom, that boy who came …”

“Hmm?”

“He was blind.”

“Yes.”

“Why did he come?”

“He didn't say.” Mom grabbed Chloe's hand and swung her arm. “But his mother and I had a nice talk in the lobby during the movie. They just moved to Hemming from Rochester. Courageous boy.”

Chloe kicked at the gravel. “But it doesn't make sense.”

Mom took a deep breath of evening air. Around them, frogs and crickets woke up and filled the air with noise, and in the distance a lone coyote howled.

“Some things don't make sense.” She drew Chloe close. “You'll give yourself headaches trying to figure it out.”

“You sound like Grandpa.” Streak leaped down from her arm.

“Good reason for that.”

Mom's voice was distant. Chloe knew she'd again entered her worried place, the place where she wondered if she'd be able to keep the theater. Chloe hated
it when Mom visited there; she couldn't help but follow her there too.

Their feet crunched onto the drive, and Mom paused. On top of the hill, where their farm stood, red lights flashed.

“Grandpa!” They both broke into a run. Chloe raced ahead, turned the driveway corner, huffed, and stomped to the top. Behind her, Mom ran straight for the sheriff on the porch.

Chloe tried to piece it together. An ambulance sat in front of the hen house. An EMT tried to shoo the chickens away, but the guinea hens had him surrounded and squawked something fierce. Two police cars were parked up near the well, next to the house. Q talked to one officer, while Mom had the sheriff pinned against his squad car, both hands raised. It wasn't easy to calm Mom down.

Chloe forced her legs to move and bolted toward Grandpa's trailer. He stepped out just as she arrived.

“You … You're okay?” she asked.

“I shot your brother.” He smiled. “One of my finest shots.”

Chloe glanced at Quentin. “Q looks fine.”

Grandpa nodded. “Ah, not Q, it was Grif. Yes, filled his buttocks with buckshot.”

“You what?”

Grandpa pointed over his shoulder. “Can you see a motorcycle leaning against my trailer?

“Yeah … Wait, where did you get a motorcycle?”

“That! That is an excellent question. Grif or Q could answer this. They
acquired
it tonight, leaned it against my trailer, and hid in the high grass.”

“Wood tick city.”

“One can only hope, but let me tell you the story of how I came to hunt your brother. It was late, and Officer Yovich knocked on my door. He asked me if I had purchased a Harley. I told him what I suspected, that Q and Grif were up to no good. He left, and I decided it was a beautiful night for a walk.”

“Hey, we walked home too.”

“Splendid! So as I walked I heard a coyote. He or she — I do not know the difference — howled very near. I walked on, and again the howl, very near. I think to myself, the situation is worse — it follows me. I sped my walk. The coyote quickened. It rustled at my heels, always out of sight.”

Grandpa's eyes grew big. “I broke into the clearing, nearly in a jog. I rounded my trailer, reached beneath the step, and grabbed the gun. Moments later, it rustled again and I shot. It screamed. I thought, this is not the scream of a coyote. It is the scream of a Grif.”

“No,” Chloe said.

“Yes. And slowly Q stood with his hands in the air.”

Behind them, the ambulance lit up and eased away down the lane.

“Now Grif lies on his stomach with lead filling his backside. I'm not pleased I shot your brother, but perhaps it will teach a lesson.”

Mom ran up to Grandpa, grabbed his shoulders, and shook.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” She swallowed hard and ran her hands through her hair. “You could have killed him. As it is he'll be scarred —” She winced and stroked Chloe's head. “Sorry, honey.”

“Pebble dots on the backside.” Grandpa cracked oversized knuckles. “This is true.”

“Dad, do you have any idea what happened or what you did or …” She dropped her gaze. “Anything?”

Grandpa smiled. “Dear Dalia. Yes, I know. And I imagine the story you just heard from Q was convincing in its own creative way, but the night is beautiful, Grif will heal. All is well.”

Mom peeked up and looked at Grandpa. Like she wanted to believe him. Like she wanted to think her family and her business were fine. But she shook her
head like she couldn't believe it; not when her oldest son was shot by her father, her husband slept in the barn's hayloft, and the only ticket she sold was to a blind boy from Hemming.

Mom threw her hands in the air, spun, and shuffled toward the house. And Chloe's heart sunk with each step.

“Go be with her.” Grandpa's hand gently pushed Chloe's back. “Remember,
The Vapor
begins tomorrow and you will be needed. Badly needed. Good night, Chloe.”

“Good night back!”

Chloe scooped Streak up from the flowerbed and followed Mom into the kitchen. Her brother was leaned over, his head in the fridge.

“Q!” Mom pounded on the picnic table.

He jumped and smashed his head on the freezer door. “What did I do?”

“
Si sieda!
Now!”

He rubbed his head and eased down onto the bench. “It wasn't my idea. I'm telling you the truth.”

“
Now
you tell me the truth?”

Chloe snuck by Mom's angry words and out onto the back porch. She turned the swing, faced it toward the screen door, and plopped down. Through the mesh she could watch the event from a distance.
Mom's silhouette jabbed a finger and flailed a hand above her head. Her words came out loud and fast and slipped in and out of Italian, while Q stuttered in a language Chloe'd not heard before. It looked and sounded just like the final scene from a recent feature,
The Last Trial
.

“Sit right there, Streak. Right by my side.” Chloe set her down and closed her eyes. “You can be the world's first guide cat.”

She tried to imagine blind; a dark that would never go. She cracked an eyelid — just to be sure the eyes still worked — and then squeezed them tight again.

“And what were you planning to do with the motorcycle?”

Chloe bit her lip and focused on Mom's voice, but it muddled; the cricket song was too loud. She peeked down. No cat. She sighed and leaned back in the swing.

Night always felt good and safe. Being alone felt safe too. But school would soon be here, and that meant kids with staring eyes and the nickname she couldn't bear. She wondered if they'd stare at the blind kid too.

It doesn't matter. At least he won't know
.