Otis grinned. “Is that what you’re learning in college? To sass your father? Isn’t it a little warm for that sweater?”
Harold cocked his head, still grinning. “Sure. But Rose thinks it looks sharp. Gives these small-town girls a thrill to go out with a college man.” He waved and went out the door. “See you later,” he said over his shoulder.
Otis shook his head. “Don’t see why you kids can’t all go in the same car if you’re all goin’ to the same place.”
“Huh? Oh, yes sir.” Sonny huddled in the chair then leapt to his feet when Evelyn and Mrs. Bradley came in.
“Hello, Sonny.” Bess Bradley smiled and made him think of fresh bread cooling on the window sill. She was almost as tall as her husband, still pretty, getting comfortably plump, with just a hint of gray in her hair. She and Evelyn favored each other very much in the face.
“Hello, Mrs. Bradley,” he said and stared at Evelyn. She stood smiling at him in a green dress of crepe de Chine with a low, loose sash. She had pinned a small nosegay of white celluloid flowers on her shoulder.
“Have a good time,” Bess interrupted his reverie, “and don’t stay out too late.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sonny nodded and edged toward the door. Outside on the porch, he breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief that caused Evelyn to laugh.
7.
Although it wasn’t quite dark, a great number of people were already in line at the Majestic. Leopold Mier arrived, jingling his keys and smiling his ever-present smile. He was a small man who looked as if he had been carved from mahogany. He was dressed as he always dressed—during the day at Mier’s Dry Goods and at night at Mier’s Majestic—a black cassimere suit with a tall celluloid collar and a gold chain draped across his little paunch. Leopold Mier was a contented man, happy with his life, his family, and his enterprises.
He waved to the people in line and gave the gold chain a practiced flip. A large gold watch fell into his hand. He clicked open the engraved cover. “Show starts in thirty minutes, folks.”
“Just wanted to be sure we got a seat, Mr. Mier,” a woman laughed.
Mr. Mier nodded. “Should be quite a crowd tonight.”
“Too bad the tent show picked this weekend to come to town.”
Mr. Mier sighed and muttered something about Kismet, then held up his hands. “You shouldn’t worry,” he said. “Everyone wants to hear Mr. Ronald Colman talk will get the chance, if we have to have him with us again next week.” The people in line laughed. “And we show only talking pictures from now on. You don’t get to hear Mr. Ronald Colman talk, you get to hear somebody else.”
He unlocked the door and went in. After a moment the lights clicked on, one after the other, until the front of the theater was brightly lit. The people in line applauded.
Mr. Mier bustled about, getting the tickets and cash box from the safe. He looked up with a pleasant expansion of his smile when Caroline Robinson entered.
“Good evening, Caroline.”
“Hello, Mr. Mier. Looks like a big crowd tonight.”
He nodded with satisfaction and handed her the tickets and cash box. “That it does. That it does. Better take an extra roll of tickets. They’ll really keep us jumping tomorrow when all the country people come to town. Open up as soon as you can. No point in making those folks stand outside.”
“Save a seat for me during the last show,” Caroline said over her shoulder. “I’ll figure up the receipts after we close.”
“Of course. That will be fine. Better hurry.”
Mrs. Mier entered with her expression of perpetual tardiness. They smiled and nodded. She put popcorn in the machine, working slowly and carefully, but creating an impression of frantic haste.
Evan Whittaker came in, limping on his bad leg. His knee had been shattered by a German bullet in Flanders during the Great War and his leg would no longer bend. He grinned at Mr. Mier. “Well, this is the big night.”
“Is all the new machinery working properly?”
“I ran the whole feature this afternoon and everything worked fine. Cross your fingers.” He held up his own crossed fingers and climbed the stairs to the projection booth one step at a time.
Mr. Mier sighed and parted the black velvet curtains, going into the auditorium. He strolled down the sloping aisle, looking about him proudly. Suddenly his nose twitched like a mouse. He stopped. A look of concern crossed his face. The little smile paled and turned slowly downward like melting wax. He began moving again, walking slowly, peering down each row of seats. He crossed in front of the screen and started back up the other aisle. He stopped suddenly and stared. A little squeak escaped his throat.
The skunk pattered about under the seats, its claws making little clicks on the floor. It stopped at a bit of popcorn and munched on it. Then it sauntered to the next piece. Mr. Mier squeaked again, louder. The skunk stopped and looked at him.
Mr. Mier waved his hands in small pushing motions, squeaking with each push. The skunk turned to face him, bouncing slightly on stiff legs.
Mr. Mier backed away. His knees caught the arm of a seat and he fell backward with the clatter. The skunk tilted forward and stood on its front legs, its tail spread like a shaggy canopy.
8.
Sonny Redwine parked his father’s Packard on the courthouse square across from the Majestic. He hastened around to open the door for Evelyn. Comfort had won out over fashion and he was in his shirtsleeves. Evelyn took his arm and they started across the street.
Suddenly Mr. Mier ran from the theater, a handkerchief pressed to his nose. Mrs. Mier followed him rapidly, still holding a box of salt. Evan Whittaker was right behind her. Caroline Robinson looked at them in astonishment from the cashier’s booth. Then her nose wrinkled and she scrambled out, leaving the roll of tickets to unwind slowly onto the floor.
The crowd muttered and backed away and then scattered. Francine Latham and Billy Sullivan were among them, but they stopped when they reached Sonny and Evelyn standing dumbfounded in the middle of the street.
“Did you hear?” Francine shrieked. “A skunk got in. Now I won’t get to see Ronald Colman.”
“They’ll open up again—as soon as they get the smell out,” Billy assured her, but a smile lurked around his mouth. Billy was nineteen, a year older than Francine, but he looked a year younger. He was slight and barely taller than she was. He worked at his father’s ice house and hated it. He’d had no desire to go to college, so he was probably stuck there.
“But that could be weeks!” Francine complained.
“At least you don’t have to make a decision anymore.” Evelyn smiled. “Looks like it’s gonna be Haverstock’s old Traveling Wonder Show after all.”
“That’s where I wanted to go in the first place,” Billy confided.
Francine drew herself up and fixed him with a steely stare. “If a lady has to buy the tickets, then the lady can choose what the tickets are to.”
Evelyn and Sonny laughed and Billy shrugged helplessly.
“There’s Rose and Harold,” Francine cried, her pique disappearing. “Come on, Billy.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him away. Sonny and Evelyn followed more slowly.
“Is it okay with you if we go to the tent show?” Sonny asked. “We don’t have to go with them if you don’t want to.”
“Well,” Evelyn laughed, “to tell you the truth, I’d much rather see the Minotaur than Ronald Colman. I was planning to go tomorrow night.”
The warm stillness of the evening was suddenly shattered by the calliope. The metallic tones floated on the air, drawing people from their houses, pulling them in excited clumps down the street. Finney and Jack charged by, running as hard as they could toward the sound. Suppers were hurriedly finished, dishes were left unwashed, eggs were left ungathered. The sound was electricity, stirring the blood, flushing the face, a youth magic that sweetened the sour and smoothed the wrinkled and softened the crusty.