“Cool. Nice to meet another movie a cionado.” He slides the
lm festival brochure toward me. “We have a summer lm
festival every year. ?is year’s lineup is so-so. A few good things, like the Georges Méliès shorts and North by Northwest.”
Heart. Pounding. So. Fast.
“I would love to see all of those,” I squeak out in a voice higher than Grace’s.
“Right?” he says, grabbing his keys and gesturing toward the festival brochure. “Keep that. It’s hot off the presses. Anyway, gotta get back to work. I’m at the whale tours up on the boardwalk—Killian’s. Orange and blue, down by the big gold Ferris wheel. Can’t miss it. If you ever want to have coffee and talk about Cary Grant, come by and see me.”
“I might take you up on that offer.” I hate coffee, but whatever. It sounds so adult, so romantic. ?is is not a boy who’d get me red or embarrass me in front of dozens of people. ?is boy is sophisticated. Whale watching! ?at sounds so much nicer than sur ng.
He raises a hand, a triangle of toast clamped in his mouth, and jogs out the front door.
I’m reeling. Seriously, truly reeling.
“Who was that?” my dad murmurs over my shoulder, watching Patrick get into what appears to be some sort of red Jeep.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” I say. “But I think I’m getting warmer.”
LUMIÈRE FILM FANATICS COMMUNITY
PRIVATE MESSAGES>ALEX>NEW!
@mink: Anything new in your life? @alex: Like … ?
@mink: I don’t know. Something happened recently that made me have a little more hope about the future.
@alex: Me too, actually, now that you mention it. Maybe. For your future hope … how far ahead are we talking? Tomorrow? Next week? (Next month?)
@mink: I’m a one-step-at-a-time kinda gal. So I guess I’ll try tomorrow and see where that leads.
@alex: You definitely don’t dive into anything, do you? (I was hinting.) @mink: I really don’t. (I know you were.) @alex: Maybe sometimes you should. Take a chance. Do something crazy. (Are you going to ask your dad about the film festival?) @mink: Is that what you would do? (Maybe I already have.) @alex: With the right person? Yes. (When will you let me know?) @mink: Interesting. (He’s thinking about it. And so am I.)
“You’re a good man, sister.”
—Humphrey Bogart, ?e Maltese Falcon (1941)
9
I’m standing behind the Hotbox with Grace and Mr. Pangborn. He lost his key. We’re holding our register tills, waiting for Porter to come back from the cash-out room and unlock the door. I’m not even sure if Porter’s made it through the lobby yet, escorting the other ticketing agents we’re supposed to be replacing. Heck, I don’t even know if Porter knows we’re locked out. I do know that it’s a few minutes past noon and the line is pretty long. Freddy, the guy in charge of taking tickets at the turnstile, keeps peeping around the corner at us, the look on his face progressing from Antsy to Dismayed.
Mr. Pangborn sniffles and rubs his nose. “We’ll give him another minute to make it to cash-out before I buzz him. No sense in making him panic. He’s got to get the tills to the room
rst.”
Grace and I look at each other, shrug, and both make he’s got a point faces. What are we going to do? ?ere’s no one at the information desk right now. ?e lady who’s supposed to be stationed there, who also has a key to ticketing, is outside in the parking lot, schmoozing with a tour party. Mr. Cavadini is on an extended lunch break with the shift supervisor. Besides, Mr. Pangborn doesn’t like to bother him, and who am I to argue?
He leans back against the booth’s door, a little breathless, and crosses one ankle over the other, revealing a pair of white-and-black striped socks. I sort of love them. And I sort of love Pangborn, even though his eyes are slits and he reeks of weed. Grace says she caught him vaping up in his car before work yesterday. He’s got to be in his seventies. Let the guy have a few bad habits, I say.
“Next month will be my fortieth anniversary working at the museum,” he muses in a soft voice. He’s got a gentle way about him that makes you want to listen to what he has to say. I’m not sure why Porter gets so frustrated with him. He’s just an old man. Have a heart.
Grace’s lips pucker. “?at’s nuts.”
“You must like it if you’ve stuck with it this long,” I say.
“Eh, I like talking to people. And I don’t have any college or training, so what else am I supposed to do? ?is is all I know.” He scratches his head and his crazy white hair sticks up in different directions. “?ey tried to make me retire about ten years ago, but I didn’t really have anything to do at home. I never married. I’ve got a dog, Daisy, but she gets tired of seeing me all day. So even though they didn’t pay me, I just kept showing up for work.”
