She wanted to live in it, with him.
“Yeah, you can giggle, but my fear is real. It’s not just something from an old episode ofThe Twilight Zonethat traumatized me as a child,” he said.
“Are you sure? Because that’s kind of what it sounds like.”
“I’m totally sure. The other day you touched my arm and I felt an unearthly chill.”
“I think that’s just my terrible circulation.”
“And what about that ghost sound you made?”
“I’ve never made a ghost sound.”
“You did. When the pasta exploded.”
“That was just terror and shame.”
“Well you’ve just got a rational explanation for everything, don’t you?” he asked, but she could tell something else was coming. He’d narrowed his eyes, and after a second he pointed a faux-accusatory finger. “Apart from your bizarre fear of me seeing your secret movie basement. I still don’t have a rational explanation for that.”
“Does there really need to be one?”
“There does if you have a well down there that you’re going to throw me into, and that I then try to escape from by capturing the little dog you don’t have.”
“I swear, I only do that if you don’t put the lotion on your skin.” She paused, pretending to consider. “Or is that when you get the hose again?”
“Seriously, we’re making obscure jokes aboutSilence of the Lambstogether and you didn’t think I’d want to see your movie basement? Lead the goddamn way.”
Of course it was only after he’d expressed enormous excitement that she realized—she actually was kind of nervous about showing him. Not as nervous about asking him if they were dating, but certainly there was something there. It hummed just below the surface of her more casual thoughts, just lying in wait for the right moment. Then once they got to the basement door, the moment sprung itself on her.
She knew there was a reason not to show him, and there it was suddenly in a blinding flash ofoh my fucking God. It nearly paralyzed her. She came close to just stopping with her hand up to the doorknob, and even after she’d managed to open it she couldn’t quite go through. She just stood at the top of the rickety stairs as he trotted trustingly down into the darkness.
What on earth was he going to think when he saw it?
She had every single one of his films down there.She had them all, from his early bloody bit parts in several slasher franchises, right the way through toCaptain Amazing. And he couldn’t possibly fail to notice them either. If she’d scattered them around the place she might have gotten away with it, but she knew she hadn’t. She stored all her films by actor or actress, so somewhere down there he had a shelf all to himself.
Like a great and terrible testament to some obsessive insanity.
“Bernie, wait a second,” she called out, but it was too late.
He had already been sucked in by her movie collection.
“Holy Mother of God,” he said, and she understood why. Even she sometimes came down here and took a step back, the way he did when he first saw it. All you could see from the stairs were row upon row of bookshelves, each one so close to the next you could hardly see between. They seemed to gather together in the darkness, almost to the ceiling and studded with colors you could just about make out.
There was the red of28 Days Laterand the brilliant blue ofSuperman, just waiting in the patient darkness for him to discover them. And though she knew what else he would discover while he was in there, the thought still gave her a thrill. It made her go all warm with pride—as did the thing he then said.
“How in God’s name did you amass all of this?” he asked, in a way that suggested it was some staggering achievement. Other people gained promotions or climbed mountains. She created a film library so extensive he didn’t even wait for an answer. He was too busy disappearing between shelves that stood taller than his head, one hand trailing over the boxes as though he just couldn’t help himself.
He had to revel in them just a little bit.
Or maybe revel in them a lot.
She could hear him making sounds as he wandered farther down—small notes of surprise or awe, culminating in the kind of exclamation she adored him for.
“I cannot fully believe you have every episode ofStar Trek. You have a bookcase ofStar Treks, Alice, yet we have been watching the food channel. We must rectify this immediately with a marathon,” he said, and her sad little heart fluttered.
Did he really want to watchStar Trekwith her? And a whole marathon too—that would takesomuch time. He’d have to be here for an entire month to get it done, and oh that month sounded like heaven. There would be huddling under blankets, popcorn and party food, falling asleep halfway through episodes ofVoyager—all the things she’d been promised by people talking about TV watching on Tumblr.
But best to play it cool.
