Dusk To Dawn Chapter 1
(Authors notes: This story is Copyrighted 2007 by the author. Email comments are welcome.)
Leaving the city behind me, the two-lane blacktop broke away as I followed its path into the countryside, cutting its way through field after field of corn.
Finally, up ahead I saw the driveway. I pulled in and drove to the back of the main field. I parked the car and stepped out onto the gravel and surveyed the property. I looked down and kicked the stones away from my feet. My eyes followed as they hit a teardrop.
The lot reminded me of a baseball diamond. Thin at the front and then wider at its expansion towards the back. Behind the car and along the perimeter, the lot bordered the corn stocks growing not twenty feet away. I picked up a couple of rocks and tossed them as far as I could into the field of green tassels.
Leaning against the backfield lamp pole, I dwelled on the reasons I was even here in the first place. I made life choices that needed to be done. I was here to start over or so I wanted to believe.
The rows of speaker poles lined the drive in theater. What was left of the white painted surface on the metal shafts topped by a junction box and speakers, were encased at the ground in concrete known as a teardrop.
The screen towered over everything. Its white facing darken by the clouds moving in and the distant thunder I could hear as another spring storm approached from the west.
I loved storms, the thunder and lightning kind. It gave me the impression that the heavens could put on its own kind of show. Dramatic and violent, loud and bright as the winds and rain pounded the earth with a force that only nature could understand.
Feeling the early sprinkling of the first shower, I walked back to my car and drove around to the front. By the time I got there, the rain started pouring and I had to run to the front door of the office, located at the bottom of the screen tower.
Inside it seemed musty and damp. The paint on the walls, a color I would call an industrial green, was worn and peeling. The wooden desk had seen better days for stain and varnish. Rusting away was the four-draw filing cabinet that rested in the corner near the window. Under the window was the old safe, which looked like something from World War II.
I stood by the window, my eyes looked past the tattered and faded curtains, over the front of the theater as the rain fell. The roadside marquee that wanted to stand proud; but seemed tired and depressed over the grassy lawn that desperately needed mowing. The letters spelled out what it would open on Friday for the weekend. Driveway lights lined the entrance, some laying on the ground, most tilted every which way.
I turned away wondering what the hell I was doing here in this, an old run down drive in. Even though I had been here yesterday with my district manager for the check in, I realized now what a dump I was about to operate, I wondered why my life been that bad that I would trade in a nice indoor theater for this.
Just to get away? I knew, afterall.
On the other side of the office entrance was the apartment door. I unlocked it and entered the living room area. This was one of those drive-in theatres that provided an apartment for the manager inside the screen tower. Walking through the entire place told me that it wasn't ready to be moved into yet, but I had no choice. I was here and the truck was on its way. The storm had moved in and the sound of the pounding rain continued against the sheet metal of the screen and echoed throughout the inside.
The apartment was furnished and I realized that I needed to throw everything out. I encountered the bedroom first. The bed was broken and the dressers were missing draws. Then in the bathroom, it needed tile work and a new showerhead. The toilet flushed and the sink didn't leak, thankfully.
I looked in the mirror above the sink. My reflection reminded me how torn up I really was. I hated that my eyes looked so sad. They weren't red but the sparkle that he put there, so many years ago was now gone. Being only twenty-five, I looked like an old man or maybe my imagination was working overtime. I vowed at that moment that I would get through this and that there was enough work here to do to take my mind off of him and the things he had done to me.
I pulled myself away from the mirror and walked back into the bedroom and wondered what lay ahead for me in this room. Probably restless nights and sleeping alone seemed like the inevitable.
The second bedroom didn't fair as well as the other rooms. Crayon and pencil markings decorated the walls in a surreal and undiscerning way, much like my life. Someone had actually tried wall papering the room and gave up. The closet doors were missing and the floor was covered in dried multi-colored paint.
I followed the stairs back down to the living room. The battered couch and chair had to go. There was a chance I could salvage the end tables and coffee table. The faded wallpaper of blooming flowers was grotesque and peeling. I may be gay, but not that far out there I thought with a chuckle.
Looking out of the window from the doom and gloom idea of an apartment, I noticed the sun was breaking through as the rain moved on and the clouds had opened up.
While walking along the driveway towards the highway, I wondered what it was like for this theater back in its heyday of the sixties. The screen tower had had at one time, a vast display of neon, spelling out the name of theater with different colored borders and for an accent, a musical note.
The Melody Drive In was nearly thirty years old. Lucky to still be around, most drive-ins fell to the ever-widening expansion of many cities growth. Someday, maybe, the Melody drive in may be engulfed into the future, as destiny would have its way the day the theatre closes.
At the end of the driveway stood a single pole, standing about twelve feet high, with a neon sign atop, it read simply, "Entrance". I walked up to it. I placed my hand on its painted surface. Like a ritual, I would always touch a piece of the theatre, close my eyes and hope to feel some kind of energy force that might exist. My fingers felt the peeling paint as my heart reached out for that connection, that one moment of sense that would reassure me that I was where I needed to be. I released the pole; disappointed that I didn't feel that needed reassurance. I turned and walked away.
The marquee had obviously been a beautiful attraction with neon and flashing tracing lights to border the sign. This sign was worn with paint peeling, broken tracks and cracked letters barely hanging on to proclaim the next attractions.
I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous pairing of "American Gigolo" and "Norman, Is That You?" What was the booker thinking by pairing an overly sexual heterosexual drama with a gay comedy?
I decided it would take me nearly all summer to fix the old place up. Why they wanted to spend the money, I didn't know. I guessed it had to do with property values or capital improvements for tax purposes. Whatever it was it was fine for me. I had asked for this theatre to get away and try to forget him.
Forget us. I couldn't help it. I thought of him. His beautiful eyes, his pointed smile, the touch of his fingers in mine. Damn him.
Distracted by the car pulling in, I turned and walked towards it. It stopped and a young man about 20 exited from the driver's side of a classic Ford Mustang convertible.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"You're the new manager?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Great. I'm Jeff Clark, the assistant manager. Glad to meet you," he said offering his hand to shake.
"Hi, Jeff. I'm Matt Johnson," I said, shaking his hand.
Jeff was about six foot tall, with brown wavy hair. His piercing blue eyes reminded me too much of him. The slender build was nicely displayed by his tight fitting jeans and a t-shirt, that was obviously too small for him.
"Have you had the tour yet?" he asked.
"I've walked the lot, but haven't been in the concession stand yet."
"My mother is the snack bar manager and she tried to get everything fixed or replaced, without success. So its not in very good shape."
"I'm here to get in good shape," I said still looking over the guy. I began to dislike the way he reminded me so much of him, when he was at that age, the age I fell in love with him.
"Great, she'll be glad to hear that," he said, walking towards the box office. I couldn't help marvel at the movement of his ass as he walked.
"Stop it," I told myself as I followed him. I had promised myself that guys were off limits.
"How long have you worked here?" I asked.
"I worked in the snack bar for a couple of years without pay. When I turned sixteen, I went on the payroll officially. That was four years ago and we have had about seven managers in that time," he said, turning to me, his eyes zeroed in on mine. "They usually don't stay, getting out as fast as they can."
I understood the logic to that and said, "Well, Jeff, that won't be a problem for me. I plan to stay a while."
"Good," he said, with a wink. I wondered what that meant or was my imagination playing games with me.
He opened the box office door and we entered. There was a small counting room first then it opened up into the front booth area with ticket selling available on both sides. It was the usual layout with an old ticket machine and two cash drawers below the main counter. A telephone sat to the side.
"Not much here," I said.
"Nope."
"Does the theater do that much business to warrant using both lanes to sell tickets?" I asked.
"When I started it did. Now, we are required to do so since the accident three years ago."
"What happened?"
"One night, the line of cars extended onto the highway," he said, pointing out to the main entrance. "Usually the cars move to the side of the road and this driver wasn't paying attention and ran into the back of another car."
"Were the cars on the highway or off?"
"The first car wasn't completely off and the second claimed that they had to swerve away from a car that had crossed the double yellow line."
"Okay," I said, imagining the accident and how it could happen.
"Well, anyway, there were two girls in the trunk of the car that got hit. One was killed."
"Oh, wow."
I had always known that it was a common practice for teens to hide in the trunk to avoid paying. Something, even parents were would do with their teen-aged kids.
"Yeah. The parents sued the theater."
"Why?" I asked, thinking that was ridiculous.
"Because the line of cars for the theater wasn't moving fast enough to get it off the highway. The judge saw it their way and the company lost big bucks in the judgment."
"Damn. Even though the girls were sneaking in and shouldn't have been in the trunk in the first place? That sounds like wrongful endangerment to me."
"Yeah, and I kind of thought it stunk since most patrons don't bother to pull out their money until they get to the box office, which slows things down."
"So, a million bucks for a teenager acting stupid and the theater pays?"
"Yeah. The company appealed and ended up with a settlement."
"Were both sides of the box office open that night?"
"They were."
"The only thing left to do would've to redesign the whole front of the theater to accommodate all those cars," I said, surveying the driveway, which had to be at least a half-mile long already.
"They didn't want to do that, but the company insisted we have both lanes open on the weekends anyway, no matter what the business is."
"I see."
We left the box office and walked around the wing of the screen toward the snack bar. I found myself taking a liking to Jeff despite my resolve not to.
I noticed how badly the lot needed gravel. The ramps were dirt bare with weeds growing around the teardrops.
The building that contained the snack bar, projection booth and rest rooms were built with cider block. It was painted white and looked ugly since it too, was peeling and faded.
Jeff showed me the restrooms. The Ladies Room was really dull and unpleasant. The smell would kill a skunk, I thought. The mirrors were cracked and loose, the wooden partitions needed paint and new locks on the doors. The soap dispensers were hanging precariously on the walls above the sinks, with only two of four that actually worked. Two of the five sinks had 'out of order' signs on them as well as three of the six toilets.
Walking around to the other side the building was the Mens Room. I continued to stare at Jeff's butt as he talked about the discussions over the years concerning the closing of the theater that had been persistently rumored. The Mens Room was in better shape than the Ladies Room. All the toilets worked and the urinal was one long trough. "Great", I thought. Open visual of guys taking a piss for the entire world to gaze upon, including me and I had to be careful. Jeff walked up to the urinal while still chatting away as he took a piss and without any shyness at all. I watched him from behind and paid much attention to his movements to get some sense of what he was handling between his legs. From the sound of the water hitting the porcelain, I could tell he had a strong flow, which meant to me he was probably thick. I had always known that when I a guy finished his business, he would shake or stroke the last drops of urine. Jeff did both. I turned away before he turned around. I noticed he didn't wash his hands.
Inside the snack bar, the cafeteria style design with two lanes starting at each end of the building and ending in the center for the cash registers.
At the beginning were the sandwich warmers for the hot dogs. Moving along past the popcorn warmer/display, then to the drink station. Behind the drink station were the grill and fryer. I glanced up at the battered menu board and checked that they sold hamburgers as well as French fries.
And, oh yes, the infamous Smithfield barbeque, that actually tasted pretty good, but the trailer stock for the intermission reel was hilariously bad.
A sharp turn towards the cash register, found the ice cream chest and the candy displayed shelves, which featured the staples of most theaters. 'Goobers', 'Raisinettes', 'Sno-Caps', 'Milk Duds', 'Whoppers', and the ever dependable 'M&M's'.
The popcorn popper looked to be something from the forties. An antique at best, but maybe a piece of junk in the end.
"Mom loves it here," Jeff said.
"Really?" I asked, wondering how the heck the theater ever passed a health inspection. "Why?"
"I don't really know. She knows everyone who comes here."
"How long has she worked here?"
"Over twenty years now."
I just shook my head, asking myself what does a person see in a place like this to stay fifteen years, to myself.
"How long have you been working theaters?" he asked.
"I got my first job as an usher nine years ago. I can't imagine doing anything else."
"I'm still wondering what I want to do. Been taking some college credit classes at the community college in town. I might get my business degree."
"You should. You can do better than what I'm doing."
"Why do you say that?"
"I never went to college. Finished high school and started managing."
"Why not college?"
"Just didn't have an interest I guess."
"Okay," he said, looking at me like he was trying to figure me out. I managed a weak smile.
Jeff unlocked the door to the projection booth and he showed me around it. It had one projector and a film platter system, which I had never used before.
"Do you know how to run this?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. They taught me last year when they put the platter in."
"Good. You'll have to show me since all I know is reel to reel," I said, remembering my last theater ran on six thousand foot reels.
"Sure," he said, almost too enthusiastically.
I found myself being drawn into his eyes. I couldn't help it. I swore I wouldn't allow myself to be attracted to younger guys, especially his age, ever again. What was it about him that found me looking at him like I shouldn't?
The blue irises were almost hypnotic, like they were searching me inside and out. I wouldn't assume he was even gay. Besides, a mentor of mine once advised me that it was good business to keep you peter out of the payroll. I've stood by that advise.
I looked over the projector. It was a Simplex 35. I was surprised to see it was clean and spotless. I checked the oil level and it was perfect. The projector looked as if it had been installed not too long ago. With a Xetron xenon lamp house and rectifier.
I suddenly felt his hand on my shoulder.
"It's a nice projector. They put it in last year with the platter. The old ones were nearly fifty years old, still worked fine, but they felt they had to upgrade with the platter being installed."
"Okay," I said, wondering why his hand was on my shoulder. I scolded myself for thinking it felt nice.
"Do you remember what kind they were?"
"Simplex E7," he said.
"E7s were quite the machine," I said. "Around 1970, Simplex offered to replace any working E7 with a new Simplex 35. They had to stop the offer since there were so many that were still running."
"Wow! They didn't know what they had when they built that one did they?"
"No, I guess not."
Jeff's hand left my shoulder as he turned to show me the maintenance room. I immediately wanted it back. I followed him through the door and found it to be the typical junk room with tools and speaker parts. It was a mess. Doesn't anyone clean up around here?
"When was the last time you guys did a speaker check?" I asked.
Jeff turned around and gave that look of disbelief and shrugged his shoulders and said, "The managers that have been here before really didn't care about keeping things up. I guess you can tell."
I nodded my head and asked, "How bad is the field?"
"I would say about half the speakers work, some have shorts, others have been stolen. It's nothing to watch patrons drive the lot looking for a speaker that works."
This just blew me away. If this theater has been losing money because of manager apathy, no wonder it trickled down to the staff.
"Jeff, follow me."
I went outside the snack bar and looked more closely at the lot. He's right, this time I noticed the missing speakers. I remember seeing just about all the speakers just hanging off the poles without being hung up, now I can know why.
Jeff stood next to me. This time I put my hand on his shoulder.
"Jeff, I'm really going to need your help here. The company wants the theater cleaned up and running right by July the 4th. That means every speaker is going to be working. It means that we fix and clean everything else around here. Are you up for that?"
He looked a little surprised. His eyebrows hiked up a little and a slight smile appeared. "You're joking aren't you?" he asked. "No one really cares about this place."
"Believe it or not, Jeff, and I find it hard to believe myself, but, yes, they want it cleaned up."
Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, "There's a lot of work to do then."
"I want to know everything you know about this place and then teach you what you don't know."
"Okay," he said, a slight doubtful smirk.
I looked at my watch and noticed it was late.
"My brother should be here anytime with the U-haul truck with my stuff. Will you stick around and help unload it?"
"Sure I can," he said. "Mom wanted me to invite you for dinner. She figured you wouldn't be cooking much in that apartment."
I had completely missed looking at the kitchen. I could only imagine how bad it was.
"I'll have to call her and let her know we will be there after we unload the truck.
We walked back to the Box Office so he could use the phone. I noticed the two "Coming Soon" poster cases outside the Box Office needed changing since "American Gigolo" and "Norman, Is That You?" were still encased.
Jeff stopped in front of the "Norman" poster, looked at me and said, "Do you know what that one is about?"
I looked at the poster and then at him. His face was serious and I almost cracked up laughing.
"Are you sure you want to know?" I asked.
"Yes."
"It's a comedy with Redd Foxx, the guy from 'Sanford and Son'".
"I remember the show."
"Well, I guess, he discovers things about his son he wished he hadn't."
Jeff looked at me inquisitively, waiting for me to answer the obvious question.
"His son is gay, Jeff," I said, waiting for his reaction.
The end of Chapter 1