Some Like It Hot-Buttered (32 page)

I had opened this theatre to show other people what I thought comedy was about, and instead it was teaching me what frustration and loneliness could be if you gave them half a chance. Who was I kidding? People didn’t want to see black-and-white comedies made decades before they were born. No one under the age of forty (besides me) even knew half the names of these artists. Walk up to the average New Jerseyan and say “Ernst Lubitsch,” and he’ll probably call a cop and report you as a neo-Nazi.

Inside my office, where the smell of ammonia never really dissipated, I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake by sinking all my newfound wealth into this great big white elephant of a movie house. Here I was, in a room the size of a broom closet (let’s be clear—it
was
a broom closet), without a wife, without children, without friends, trying to convince the world that I was right and it was wrong. Was this any way for a grown man to be spending his life? Maybe Sharon was right—I hadn’t ever become an adult, and now, no matter how attractive the idea was, I had no idea how one went about doing so.

I walked out to the snack bar to see if we were selling Prozac there. I settled for a box of Milk Duds, and went back to the office.

Even if my professional “life” were going well, I had to admit that I’d loused up the personal side pretty well. I’d driven my wife into the arms of a chemical hypnotist with my aimlessness and contrary attitude. When I was ready to start seeing other women, I drove away the only one who showed any interest because she didn’t want to commit to a lifetime with me after three weeks of dating, more or less. What was it about me that attracted really wonderful women just to see how quickly I could repel them?

I’d now solved the two problems I’d been wrestling with for close to a month now, and their resolution seemed to leave a void in my life—or to illuminate for me the one that was already there.

This trip down Melancholy Lane threatened to go on indefinitely until I saw a shadow growing in the lobby outside my office. I’d left the front door unlocked again, probably in the desperate hope that someone,
anyone
, would be interested in coming in to pass the time of day.

I’d done better than just anyone, though. When I looked up, Leslie Levant was standing in the doorway, and all of a sudden, things didn’t seem all that bad. Maybe this was a new chance, maybe I could lighten up and just enjoy the moment with her. I’d tell her that I’d been thinking about what she’d said, and that she was right. Women love being told they’re right. Especially if it means a man was wrong. That’s their favorite. So that’s what I’d do.

There were only two problems: I wasn’t sure that Leslie was here to discuss our relationship, such as it was. I’d pretty much slammed the door on her the other day, and made it sound pretty final. I can be awfully pigheaded when I put my mind to it.

The other problem was the gun in her hand. Pointed at me.

I looked up at her. “Was it something I said?” I asked.

47

Leslie’s face was not the same face I’d seen at the microbrewery or on the bike trip down the canal. It was not communicative or evocative. There didn’t seem to be any human emotion coming from it. She could have run for governor of California and swept the election, if she’d had an Austrian accent.

“You wouldn’t stop,” she said. “No matter how many ways I tried to warn you off, you wouldn’t stop.”

“I should have realized it was you,” I told her. “I almost did, but Bender got arrested, and he didn’t give you up.”

She smiled the coldest smile I’d seen outside a Vincent Price movie. “He thinks he loves me,” she said. “I don’t know why; I never so much as kissed him. But he thinks so. He’ll never give me up.”

Leslie didn’t move, but her presence in the doorway was imposing. This was a small room, and there was no back door. I had to keep her talking.

“I knew Bender couldn’t drive a knife through my countertop, ” I said. “
You
can bench-press two hundred pounds. And you were in the town house after I left that day. You said you were going to take a shower.”

“I did take a shower.
Then
I drove a knife through your countertop. It was supposed to spook you.”

“It worked.”

She shook her head. “No, it didn’t. Every time I did something to scare you, you pressed harder. You started asking more questions. You pushed and you bothered. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because Vincent Ansella died in my theatre,” I answered.

Leslie was so mad she almost stamped her foot. “This had nothing to
do
with Vincent Ansella!”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You know it now,” she said.

“That’s not very reassuring just at the moment. But you weren’t here the night the powdered sugar was sprinkled on the popcorn. The projector was threaded that night, and then the thing with the popcorn. You were on patrol that night.”

“That was Bender. He knows how to thread a projector; he taught me. When I wasn’t there, he could do it. He came to the movie that night.”

“He knows how to duplicate movies, too. He even has the equipment. You were in on the plot to frame Anthony, weren’t you? You were the one who ‘found’ that prescription bottle. I bet you’d palmed it long before you showed it to me and Dutton.”

Leslie nodded. “I’d had it a couple of days by then. It was in the projection booth, and when I threaded the projector, it couldn’t have been more prominent.”

“And you set up that situation in the projection booth to make it took like you didn’t know how to operate the machine. ” The longer she talked, the longer I didn’t get shot. It seemed worthwhile.

“It had to look like Anthony was still here. If he was found, we’d be discovered.” She was giving a police report; just the facts, Sir, and that was it.

“So it was all a lie. Even when we were . . .” I needed to keep her talking until I could figure out a way out of this room.

“No. I really liked you, Elliot. I still do. It makes me that much sadder that I have to kill you.” Well,
that
didn’t sound promising.

“There’s no need to lie now,” I said, trying to distract her from that last thought. “You never had any feelings for me; you were just trying to find out what I knew. Then the night I assume you were coming to seal the deal and take me to bed, I showed up bleeding from the leg, and you got antsy. You thought Bender had gone off-message and tried to kill me, and you needed to get out of there fast. So you ‘broke up with me’ and went to check with Bender.”

“You’re not that far off,” she said. “But that doesn’t . . .”

“Don’t interrupt.” I was on a Sam Spade roll, and I was going to make it last. “When you found out it wasn’t Bender behind the wheel, you had to repair our tortured ‘relationship, ’ because it looked like I might be closing in on him, and you wanted to see what I knew about you. So you showed up here, flirting again. That’s why you’ve been doing the relationship Hokey Pokey. So don’t tell me you
really cared
. If you
really cared
, you’d put down that gun.”

Women don’t like you to tell them they’re being emotionally dishonest; they think that is the exclusive province of men. I was counting on Leslie’s wanting to prove she really had feelings for me, that she wasn’t being as calculating as I’d said.

She smiled warmly. “You’re right, Elliot,” Leslie said. “If I really cared, I would.” And she pointed the gun right between my eyes.

The phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Leslie said. She pulled the hammer back on the pistol she was holding, which I noted was not a standard-issue police weapon. I couldn’t see from this far away, but it appeared to be something larger.

I looked at the caller ID on the phone. “It’s Chief Dutton, ” I said to her. “He knows I’m here. If I don’t pick up, he’ll be suspicious.”

“Let the machine answer it.”

“I always turn the machine off when I’m here.”

She thought it over. “Okay, pick it up, but put it on speaker phone. Make up an excuse.”

I nodded, and hit the speaker button. “Comedy Tonight, ” I intoned.

“Elliot, it’s Chief Dutton.”

“Hi, Chief. You don’t mind if we’re on speaker, do you? I’m eating, and I don’t want to get marinara sauce all over the phone.”

I reached for the box of Milk Duds and started chewing on one to make what I hoped were extremely unrealistic eating noises. Leslie watched, still holding the gun on me. I figured it would start feeling heavy in her hand soon.

“No problem, Elliot,” Dutton said. His voice would have echoed around the room, but there wasn’t any air in here. Just papers, file cabinets, a couple of electric fans, and catalogues from film distributors. The place absorbs sound. It was a wonder I could hear myself talk. “I just wanted you to know, O’Donnell confirmed your suspicions about Bender’s class rosters.”

Uh-oh. Leslie’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s great, Chief. Thanks for letting me know.” Maybe I could cut him off before he said anything that would get me even more shot.

“You were right. Leslie Levant was taking courses in the Cinema Arts Department at Rutgers, and she was in two of Bender’s classes, Cinema Techniques and Cinema History. She was in Cinema History with Anthony Pagliarulo. The other class is probably where she got her experience working with projection equipment. Anthony says he never saw her in the theatre with Bender, so I guess she wasn’t there for the actual duplication. She was usually assigned to patrol on the overnight shift then, anyway, and probably too smart to be on the scene while the crime was being committed.” Leslie’s eyebrows dropped and her mouth moved into a perfectly straight horizontal line. I’d seen her when she was simulating warm and loving, and this wasn’t what it looked like.

“Yeah, thanks a lot, Chief. It really wasn’t necessary for you to tell me. Really.”

Dutton started to chuckle. “I love how they call it ‘cinema, ’ like it’s not just movies,” he said. “Bunch of pretentious horses’ asses, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, ha-ha,” I went along, sounding very much like a man whose life was being threatened. “What a bunch of nuts. Well, got to move along, Chief. Thanks for calling.”

His voice deepened, if such a thing was possible. Dutton wanted me to know he was being serious now. “Don’t take it lightly, Elliot,” he said. “That could very well mean that Officer Levant was indeed in on Bender’s pirating operation, and if that’s true, she’s probably heard about his arrest. She might be trying to cover her tracks, and you could be in some danger.”

Leslie’s hand never so much as quivered. A gun like that has to weigh, what, about twenty-four ounces, without any bullets in the magazine? That’s like holding the weight of six baseballs in one hand, and it had been a good few minutes she’d been holding it steady. It was heavier than that now, I could be sure, and yet, she never moved it from hand to hand or showed signs of fatigue. Even under these circumstances, you had to marvel at the woman’s control. I wasn’t happy about it, but I marveled.

“Oh, I’m sure I’m fine, Chief,” I said, trying to sound artificial. Dutton didn’t know me well, but I was hoping he’d pick up something in my voice.

“You probably are, but you can’t be too careful. Lock the door until it’s time to open the theatre, okay?”

“Good safety tip, Chief. I’ll try to remember it in the future, thanks.” I chewed a bit more on another Milk Dud for continuity. The ultimate comfort food, Milk Duds. It wasn’t working.

“All right. Bye-bye, then.” What police chief says “bye-bye”? I pushed the button to cut the connection, and looked at Leslie.

“You were trying much too hard, Elliot,” she said. “But it didn’t work. The chief didn’t hear anything in your voice.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Sure I can.”

I popped another Milk Dud into my mouth. Hell, if I was going to get shot, I didn’t have to worry about empty calories anymore, did I?

I’d say she leveled the gun at me, but it had never been anything but level. “I’m sorry, Elliot,” she said.

“How are you going to explain it?” I asked. It’s harder to shoot someone when you’re having a normal-sounding conversation. If the person begs and pleads for his life, I imagine it’s easier, since you have in your hand the means to shut up this annoying pain in the butt, but to leave a question unanswered, well, it just doesn’t seem polite. At least, that’s what I was hoping.

It worked, for the time being. “Explain what?” Leslie asked.

“Explain me. Bender’s being questioned by the cops, and Dutton knows you’re involved somehow. If you shoot me, you’re just making yourself the prime suspect. They’ll find you.”

“I wasn’t planning on shooting you.” Well, that was a relief. “I thought you’d have an accident, maybe fall off a ladder and hit your head on something hard, like the arm of a steel seat, or impale yourself on something sharp, if there’s anything like that in the auditorium.” That wasn’t such a relief. “Now, get up.”

I thought that one over. “No,” I said.

“I’m sorry?” Leslie said. She finally moved the gun, but just to aim at my head, rather than my chest. There might have been a bit of a quiver in the hand, though.

“I said, no. I’m not getting up. You just blew it.” I popped another Milk Dud. “You told me you don’t want to shoot me.”

Leslie sighed, a mother having to explain who was in charge,
again
to her ADD-rattled nine-year-old. “But I will if I have to,” she said. “I’ll shoot you, and then I’ll burn this place down.”

“You know they can always detect arson,” I said. “And they’ll find the bullet hole in my body.” Somehow, it had seemed a better idea before I heard the sentence out loud.

“You’re stalling, Elliot. Get up, or I’ll shoot you in one of your favorite spots.”

“That’s cold.”

She was having none of it. “Get up. Now.”

So I stood up. We were eye to eye, but a few feet apart. You can’t really throw something at a person holding a gun on you; that’s just in the movies. If you do it, they’re more than likely to shoot you just because they’re startled. And it gives them something to aim at that is coming directly from your midsection. So you really can’t throw something at a person holding a gun on you.