“Yeah, dude.” Jimmy slaps me on the back, then starts on his way, his crutches stabbing the ground every step he takes.
After hopping down a flight of stairs—me figuratively, Jimmy literally—I find Vince sitting on the concession counter, his legs dangling off.
When I come up closer, I discover someone else with him.
“Hey, Vince,” I say quickly, hoping to diffuse any tension at once. “I’m really sorry, I got busy upstairs with showing off the projectors, and I lost track of time, and—”
Anthony Myers—the someone else with Vince, sitting next to him on that concession counter—is the one who cuts me off. “You know, it’s enough work to close down the concession stand on your own, but to make me have to step out of my position to help out the lone usher with his duties, too?” Anthony shakes his head, tsk-tsking me. “That’s messed up.”
I stop in front of them, my face hardened. “I said I’m sorry.”
Vince shrugs, not adding anything to the conversation. I can’t tell if he’s actually bothered by my absence, or is truly indifferent to it and it’s just Anthony making the big deal out of it.
Jimmy catches up and plants himself right next to me. When his eyes meet Anthony’s, I watch Jimmy’s face turn into hardened granite, his eyes narrow darkly, and his lips tighten—everything short of a cat’s ears folding back.
Anthony, likely shocked at the sight of Jimmy Strong in the flesh before him, has much the same reaction—except I might say it’s more in fear than it is indignance.
Vince seems to notice the sudden monumental increase in tension, because rather suddenly he does care about everything and quickly blurts out, “Nah, it’s no big deal, Bobby. Don’t worry about it. I’ll show you the dumpster routine later after we clean the last movie. It drops in, like, fourteen more minutes.”
“Okay, Vince. Again, I’m sorry, truly.”
“No sweat off my back, man. I mean … other than the literal sweat dripping off my back from hauling four bags by myself.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
Vince quickly amends himself with, “Like I said, no problem. We’re all good.” He glances at Anthony. He glances at Jimmy. “We are all … totally … totally good.”
Exactly seven and a half seconds of pure, wire-tight silence passes. Then Anthony gives a curt nod with a clipped, “Jimmy.”
Jimmy returns the nod with a tilt of his head and an almost smarmy, “Myers,” in reply.
Those are all the words that are exchanged between them.
And the fourteen minutes that pass are the longest in history. They crawl by slower than years on Neptune and Pluto. Jimmy and I find a hundred and one different positions to lean on the counter in, now and then exchanging a few words about something utterly useless and unimportant. Vince and Anthony chat back and forth about the bushy-haired girl who works in box office, and Anthony sneaks a dark-eyed glance or two at Jimmy.
What a strange night this has turned out to be.
It’s while I’m cleaning the last theater that I get the text.
I pull my phone out, wondering if Jimmy is texting me some snide comment about Anthony from the lobby where he’s waiting patiently—and find myself surprised at what I see.
NADINE STRONG
Hi there Bobby sweetie. Clear your Saturday night plans, because I made you some.
The text begins and ends with three kissy-faces.
I read it a hundred zillion times in a row.
What the heck is she talking about?
Vince, having come up to read the message over my shoulder, chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, well. Looks like your buddy’s mama is looking out for you after all.”
I snap my face to Vince’s. I’m still in a distracted daze, totally not following anything at all. “W-What?”
“You haven’t connected the dots?” He nods at my phone. “It’s your best friend’s mama who set you up on a date with that dude out in Fairview—my sister’s friend. I knew my sister wasn’t lying. She never lies. You got yourself a date tomorrow night, homie.”
I open my mouth to protest.
Nothing comes out.
What the fuck …?
12
JIMMY
“Don’t worry, Bobs, I’ll sort this shit out.”
I drove Bobby home in my mama’s borrowed car. I already miss my truck—badly. Now we’re sitting in his bedroom with the TV on in the background, though neither of us are paying attention to it. It’s ten or twenty past two in the morning—and I think Bobby still might not have closed his mouth since he got the text.
“Seriously, I’ll sort it out,” I repeat, trying to assure him. “My mama’s known for this. It’s like, her fucking second job. Meddling. That woman’s … ugh, fuck man … That woman’s been meddling in everyone’s business ever since Spruce had a name.”
“She set me up on a date. Tomorrow night.” Bobby looks up from his phone and stares at me from the bed. I’m across the room, squished into his beanbag chair like I always am. “How did she know I’m off tomorrow night, anyway?”