“How the hell do you put this stuff together?” I say in awe, motioning to her earrings, which pick out the blue in the skirt.
“Come, my little goth,” she says, raising an arm toward the main street. “Signatures before signature look.”
Our first stop is a small video store, tucked completely out of view in an alley that I thought was a private drive. On the front, a sign—Now with Blu-ray!—blinks lazily against the bright sun. I stop for a moment outside and turn to Samira. “What is this place?” I say, eyeing the fringed multicolored screen door. “It looks like a front for a meth lab. Is it a video store?”
“Of course it is.”
“How did I not know? How did Ash not tell me?”
“What?” she says, “are you kidding? Have you not been in here? It’s a bloody treasure trove. I can’t believe you of all people haven’t been in!”
We enter, and the first thing I see is floor-to-ceiling pine shelving rammed to the rafters with DVDs, and in front of us, rows of chest-level shelving, sorted into genres likeNICOLAS CAGEandWANKY ART HOUSE CRAPandYOUR MUM’S ACCEPTABLE FAVORITESandFILMS FOR UPTIGHT WHITE PEOPLE. I burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, who runs this place?” I whisper to Samira.
“Hey,” says a voice in the corner, a cloud of vape smoke clearing to reveal a middled-aged, potbellied man in aBAD TASTET-shirt.
“This is Sanka,” she says. “Sanka, this is Mara.”
“Cool,” he says, sucking back on his vape again.
“This store is amazing,” I say, walking down the aisle, the section calledHORRORS FOR HORNY TEENSmaking me chuckle. “You have so many incredible films here. You know, the problem with streaming is all the bloody rights issues. For example,Cocoon...”
“Ron Howard,” says Sanka, turning slightly in his chair. I have his attention now.
“You can’t actually watch that anywhere in the UK. Not even Amazon Prime. The rights are tied up, and without video stores there’s simply no way to watch them. And you have it! Right here.” I hold it up, grinning with delight. “And by the way, Steve Guttenberg was basically the eighties Paul Rudd and people are totally missing out.”
“I have everyPolice Academytoo,” he says, nodding to the section titledVERY PROBLEMATIC EIGHTIES COMEDIES.
“We’re trying to get Lynn nominated to run for the election,” Samira says, as I ask Sanka for a membership sign-up form. “And wondered if you’d help a girl out?”
“I don’t vote,” he says.
“Well, do you nominate?” Samira says cheerily.
“I don’t nominate,” he replies, as he pulls out a plastic membership card from below the cash register and begins to enter my details into the computer.
“Oh, fuck’s sake, Sanka,” she says, irritated now. “We’re not going to have a lot of options here. We have to keep this on the down low, because if our boss finds out she’s running for council, he might make things difficult.”
“So, this is a conspiracy?” he says, spinning his baseball cap backward so he can get his face closer to the form Samira is holding. “Why?”
Samira sighs and glances at her phone. “Please just sign the fucking form without all the carry-on.”
I return from the shelves with seven films, includingCocoon, and plonk them on the countertop. “Sanka, is it?” I say. “I’m about to be the best damn customer you’ve ever had. Sign the form, or I’ll go back home and give my money to Amazon.”
He laughs, pulling out a pen, and scribbles his name across the form at the bottom.
“Fine, fine. You women,” he says, shaking his head as he scans my pile of films, nodding in approval at each choice.
“Does anyone actually use that?” I say, nodding to the staircase leading down with anADULTS ONLYsign above. “What with all the online porn, I’d have thought it was a bit redundant, no?”
Samira laughs, and I catch them both looking at each other knowingly.
“Have you heard of Secret Cinema?” he says.
“Yes, of course. I went to all of them when I lived in London.”
“Well, that is anactualSecret Cinema.”
