The Wiley’s Drive-In Instagram account Derick mentioned making in his text popped up in the Suggested For You section on Avery’s personal Instagram account right after the lunch that lacerated my already delicate heart. The feed is populated with Boomerangs and Reels of the popcorn machine overflowing and upcoming giveaways. There’s a Facebook business page with a few dozen likes and even a TikTok account. Derick is gearing up to get this rebranding off the ground with propellers.
It’s nice to see someone taking the initiative, but it’s also difficult to swallow that he’s the man behind it.
Man.Jeez. That’s not the way we thought of each other back in high school. I don’t know how I feel about how easy it would be to think of him that way now, if I let myself.
Earl picks up right before I’m sent to voicemail. “Kid, how you holding up? Not celebrating too much, I hope.” His gruff bass is muffled by the hairs of his unkempt mustache. The crackle I hear isn’t a connection issue; it’s his scraggly facial hair tickling the microphone.
I skip the pleasantries. “Why didn’t you tell me about Derick Haverford?”
I’m standing now, leaving my TCM tote bag with my laptop and bullet journal inside on the seat beside the office door. The atrium of the Media and Communications building is quiet, all marble floors and Grecian pillars. Studious and serious. Collegiate in all the clichéd ways.
The underclassmen left at the end of finals week and all the seniors are set to move out of their campus-owned housing today, but in a stroke of luck, our landlord is letting us stay on through the summer. This season won’t be a total wash with my friends by my side. I can avoid my childhood bedroom for a little bit longer while I figure out where I’m going to live next.
“You may be a manager now, but it’s still my lot, kid.” I hate when Earl takes that paternal tone with me.
I puff out a sigh. “I know, I know. I’m just not sure branching out into social media is the way to drum up business. People like the vintage nature of Wiley’s. They don’t need all the bells and whistles to get excited about us.” Making it too modern might cause it to lose some of its homespun feel. The one Earl’s forefathers worked so hard to create. When Earl switched to digital projection and sound equipment when I started there all those years ago—a massive investment that I’m still not sure how he financed—the vibe changed. Even at fifteen, I noticed. Though I had to admit, not many other people did. My argument against advancement may have more to do with my personal feelings than my desire to save Wiley’s and preserve all that makes it wonderful. Selfish, I know.
There is a long stretch of silence before Earl says, “Look, kid, the returns aren’t great right now, the upkeep is getting more expensive, and we can’t compete with the comfort of someone’s well-loved couch. Face it, we’re a relic.” He laughs. “Hell,I’ma relic. But I’m not giving up on this place. We’ve got too much to offer. That’s why I agreed to let Derick intern, so he can help bring in a bigger audience.”
His reasoning is sound. I want to say I have another solution, but I don’t.
“Okay. As long as you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve been running this lot since my dad passed it down to me. I’m almost sixty-eight. I’d like to think I know what I’m doing by now.”
I lean up against one of the white columns and catch my breath. Little by little, the lot has had to adapt, sure, but adapting is necessary. Change, however, can be forced. Just like how Derick is being forced back into my life with this new position.
“Fine.” I know I’m wasting my breath on a war I shouldn’t wage.
“I’ve got other ideas too. We’re going to bring back the fireworks viewing on the Fourth of July. Maybe we’ll do some throwback showings and offer period-specific pricing. Orientation is right around the corner. Bring your big ideas, kid.”
“Will do.”
Right as we’re saying our goodbyes, Dr. Tanson opens her door. She’s wearing a jewel-toned blouse that accentuates her dark-brown skin and a matching chunky necklace of intertwined shiny loops. Beside her is Oscar Villanueva, the proud new owner of a Rosevale College honorary degree after a stupendous commencement speech only days ago.
I try not to appear too starstruck. In the film world, he’s a big deal.
He’s wearing navy slacks and a purple button-down and sports a shaped black beard. In his domineering presence, I must look like a wreck. If I had known I was meeting my idol, I’d have worn a belt, combed my hair, and checked for pit stains.
“My apologies, Wren. Mr. Villanueva and I got lost in conversation. I forgot to check the time,” Dr. Tanson says. She turns to address him. “Wren is one of our more advanced film studies students. He did his undergraduate capstone on his hometown of Willow Valley and its connection to the silver screen. Have you heard of Alice Kelly?”
Oscar’s face brightens with immediate recognition. “Of course. She’s a lost icon. I’ve been looking for information on her 1978 directorial feature debutChompin’ at the Bitfor ages, but all of my requests for access to the film have been ignored or denied.”
Oscar’s claim to fame is a well-reviewed book andDon’t You Forget About…Pod, a podcast dedicated to lost and forgotten films. I’m a big fan of both. He’s my Ira Glass. A part of me wonders whether Dr. Tanson deliberately booked our meetings one right after the other as a way to make sure our paths crossed. My research would be right up his alley, and she is always looking for ways to help her students get their big break.
“That’s not surprising. Alice Kelly is practically a hermit,” I say. I would be one too if my fall from grace happened so swiftly from up that high. Alice went from Willow Valley teen voted Most Likely to Make It Big in her 1965 yearbook to being involved in an Oscar-nominated documentary by the time she was twenty-six.
“I figured. Why is it all the greats end up being eccentrics?” Oscar asks with a knowing laugh.
“Alice’s film was one of the main subjects of Wren’s work. It’s quite an impressive piece he wrote, focusing mostly on the single-night structure and the queer undertones. It’s amazing what he was able to develop without actually being able to watch the film. I’d be happy to send you some excerpts if that’s all right with Wren,” Dr. Tanson says in a tone that suggests I have no choice in the matter. What was supposed to be an advisor-student send-off meeting has officially turned into a networking setup.
“Uh, um, sure, yeah, I’d love to share what I have.” My tongue is in a sailor’s knot.
“Have you been in touch with Alice Kelly at all in your research?” Oscar asks.
I shake my head as my mouth remembers how to form full words again. “I wish. I really could’ve used a primary source. Again, she’s a recluse. Doesn’t even do her own grocery shopping. So, I couldn’t even orchestrate a run-in. She holes up in her farmhouse on the more rural side of Willow Valley. Not the kind of place you just pop by for a visit.”
“That’s too bad,” he says. “That would make one hell of a podcast episode. Charting her course from student to cameraperson to feature director, weaving in her marriage to Peter Borellio and mentorship with Betty Palmer.” The script outline he’s already begun writing practically materializes over his head. “My audience would eat it up.”
