Things Beyond Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page B

was Broadway, outside the U.S. Grant, Laurie thought she might as well take in a flick. They had a neat new cop-killer thing with Clint Eastwood playing half a block down. Violent, but done with lots of style. Eastwood directing himself. She could take a cab back to Coronado after seeing the flick.
    It was dark now. Tuesday’s shadow had retired for the week.
    The movie cost five dollars for one adult. But Laurie didn’t mind. She never regretted money spent on films. Never.
    Marl was in the lobby, looking sullen when Laurie came in. He was wearing a frayed black turtleneck sweater, standing by the popcorn machine, with his hair thinning and his waist thick and swollen over his belt. He looked seedy.
    “You should reduce,” she told him.
    “Let ‘em use a double for the long shots,” he said. “Just shoot my face in close-up.”
    “Even your face is puffy. You’ve developed jowls.”
    “What business is it of yours?”
    “I admire your talent. Respect you. I hate to see you waste your natural resources.”
    “What do you know about natural resources?” he growled. “You’re just a dumb broad.”
    “And you are crude,” she said tightly.
    “Nobody asked you to tell me I should reduce. Nobody.”
    “It’s a plain fact. I’m stating the obvious.”
    “Did you ever work the docks?” he asked her.
    “Hardly.” She sniffed.
    “Well, lady, crude is what you get twenty-four hours out of twenty-four when you’re on the docks. And I been there. Or the police barracks. Ever been in the police barracks?”
    “My brother has, but I have not.”
    “Piss on your brother!”
    “Fine.” She nodded. “ Be crude. Be sullen. Be overweight. You’ll simply lose your audience.”
    “My audience can go to hell,” he said.
    She wanted no more to do with him, and entered the theater. It was intermission. The overheads were on.
    How many carpeted theater aisles had she walked down in her life? Thousands. Literally thousands. It was always a heady feeling, walking down the long aisle between rows, with the carpet soft and reassuring beneath her shoes. Toward a seat that promised adventure. It never failed to stir her soul, this magic moment of anticipation. Just before the lights dimmed and the curtains slipped whispering back from the big white screen.
    Laurie took a seat on the aisle. No one next to her. Most of the row empty. She always sat on the aisle down close. Most people like being farther back. Close, she could be swept into the screen, actually be part of the gleaming, glowing action.
    A really large man seated himself next to her. Weathered face under a wide Stetson. Wide jaw. Wide chest. He took off the Stetson and the corners of his eyes were sun-wrinkled. His voice was a rasp.
    “I like to watch ole Clint,” he said. “Ole Clint don’t monkey around with a lot of fancy-antsy trick shots and up-your-nostril angles. Just does it straight and mean.”
    “I agree,” she said. “But I call it art. A basic, primary art.”
    “Well, missy,” said the big, wide-chested man,“I been in this game a lotta years, and art is a word I kinda like to avoid. Fairies use it a lot. When a man goes after art up there on the screen he usually comes up with horse shit.” He grunted. “And I know a lot about horse shit.”
    “I’m sure you do.”
    “My Daddy had me on a bronc ’fore I could walk. Every time I fell off he just hauled me right back aboard. And I got the dents in my head to prove it.”
    The houselights were dimming slowly to black.
    “Picture’s beginning,” she said. “I never talk during a film.”
    “Me neither,” he said. “I may fart, but I never talk.” And his laughter was a low rumble.
    Laurie walked out halfway through the picture. This man disturbed her, and she just couldn’t concentrate. Also, as I have told you (and you can see for yourself by now), she was losing her mind.
    So Laurie left the theater.
    Back in her apartment (in Coronado), Judy was there, looking for a