It took us twenty minutes just to find the end, and in the process we nearly lost Kett twice, once at Pretty in Pink—“Oh, my God! They have stilettos in fifty shades of gray!”—and again when she saw that Hope Floats, Shakes, and Cones was selling cranberry malts.
Zara and I dragged her out of both and into the end of the line, which was getting longer by the minute. “We’re never going to get into the movie,” Kett grumbled.
“Yes, we will,” I said confidently, though I wasn’t sure. There were so many people in line, though most of them were little kids, who were obviously going to The Little Goose Girl or The Muppets’ It’s a Wonderful Life or Dora the Explorer Does Duluth. The adults around us who I asked were all going to A Tudor Affair or Return to the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and everybody else was wearing an Ironman 8 T-shirt. “We’ll definitely get in.”
“We’d better,” Kett said. “Why are you so set on seeing this Christmas Caper, anyway? I never heard of it. Is it a romcom?”
“No,” I said, “more like a romantic spy adventure. Like Charade. Or The Thirty-Nine Steps.”
“I haven’t seen previews for either of those,” she said, looking up at the schedule board above us. “Are they still playing?”
“No.” I should have known better than to mention an old movie. In this day of reboots and remakes nobody watches anything older than last week. Except Jack. He’d even liked silents.
“You know, the kind of movie where the heroine gets accidentally caught up in a crime,” I said, “or some kind of conspiracy, and the hero’s a spy, like in Jumpin’ Jack Flash, or a reporter, or a detective who’s pretending to be a criminal, like in How to Steal a Million, or he’s a scoundrel—”
“A scoundrel?” Kett said blankly.
“A rebel,” I said, “a rake, a rogue, like Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone, or Errol Flynn—”
“I haven’t seen previews for those either,” she said. “Is Arrow Flin still playing?”
“No,” I said. “A scoundrel’s a guy who’s cocky and doesn’t care about rules or laws—”
“Oh, you mean a slimewad,” Kett said.
“No, a scoundrel’s funny and sexy and charming,” I said, trying desperately to think of a movie recent enough that she might have seen it. “Like Ironman. Or Jack Sparrow.”
“Or Jack Weaver,” Zara said.
“No,” I said, “not like Jack Weaver. In the first place—”
“Who’s Jack Weaver?” Kett asked.
“This guy Lindsay used to be in love with,” Zara said.
“I was not in—”
“Wait,” Kett said. “Is that the guy who put a whole bunch of ducks in the dean’s office last year?”
“Geese,” I said.
“Wow!” Kett said, impressed. “You went with him?”
“Briefly,” I said. “Before I found out he was—”
“A scoundrel?” Zara put in.
“No,” I said. “A slimewad. Who got himself thrown out of Hanover. The week before he was supposed to graduate.”
“He didn’t actually get thrown out,” Zara explained to Kett. “He took off before they could expel him.”
“Or press criminal charges,” I said.
“That’s too bad,” Kett said. “He sounds totally depraved! I’d have liked to meet him.”
“You might get your chance,” Zara said in an odd voice. “Look!” She pointed toward the lobby.
And there, leaning against a pillar with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the movie schedule, was Jack Weaver.
“Exciting fun! Sets your pulse racing!”
—USA Today
“It is him, isn’t it?” Zara asked.
“Yes,” I said grimly.
“I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“As if you didn’t know,” I said. No wonder she’d been so insistent I come with them. She and Jack had cooked up a—
“Oh, my God!” Kett cried. “Is that the guy you were talking about? The—what did you call him?”
“Wanker,” I said.
“Scoundrel,” Zara said.
“Right, the scoundrel. You didn’t tell me he was so hot! I mean, he’s positively scorching!”
“Shh,” I said, but it was too late. Jack had already looked over and seen us.
“Zara,” I said, “if you set this up, I’m never speaking to you again!”
“I didn’t, I swear,” she said, which didn’t mean anything, but two things made me inclined to believe her. One was that even though this looked suspiciously like a movie “meet cute,” the expression on Zara’s face had been completely stricken, the reason for which became apparent a few seconds later when a trio of Sig Taus, including Noah, sauntered up way too casually.
“Wow!” Noah said. “I had no idea you three were coming to the Drome today, too.”
Except for Zara’s texting you fifteen times while we were in the security lines, I thought. But at least their being here would keep Jack from coming over to talk to me.
If he even wanted to. Because the other reason I thought Zara didn’t have anything to do with Jack’s being here had been the look on his face. He’d looked not just surprised to see me here, but dismayed. Which meant I was right—he wasn’t a scoundrel, he was a slimewad. And probably here with some other girl.
“I’m especially surprised to see you here, Lindsay,” Noah, who would never make it as an actor even in the Twilight movies, said. “What are you doing at the Drome?”
“The three of us,” I said, emphasizing the word “three,” “are going to a movie.”
“Oh,” he said, frowning at Zara, who gave him a “go on” look. “We were just going to get something to eat at the Mos Eisley Cantina, and we wondered if you’d like to come with us.”
“Oh, I love the Cantina,” Kett cooed.
“I’ll buy you a Darth Vader daiquiri,” Noah said to me.
“Lindsay prefers Pimm’s Cups,” Zara said. “Don’t you?”
I glanced toward the lobby, hoping against hope Jack hadn’t heard that.
He wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the end of the line either, or at the ticket machines. Good, he’d gone off to meet his new girlfriend. I hoped she hated movies.
Noah was saying, “What the hell’s a Pimm’s Cup?”
“It’s a drink from a movie,” I said. My favorite drink, I added silently. Or at least it used to be. The drink Jack had made me after we’d watched Ghost Town and Téa Leoni had said it was her favorite drink.
“We could have lunch and then go to the movie, couldn’t we, Lindsay?” Kett asked, looking adoringly at Noah. “I just got a text coupon for Breakfast at Tiffany’s breakfast bar.”
“No,” I said.
Zara gave Noah another nudging look, and he said, “Maybe we could go with you. What are you going to?”
“Christmas Caper,” Kett said.
“I never heard of it,” Noah said.
“It’s a spy adventure,” Kett explained. “A romantic spy adventure.”
Noah made a face. “Are you kidding me? I hate romcoms. How about we all go see Lethal Rampage instead?”
“No,” I said.
“Maybe we could meet you at the Cantina after the movie,” Zara suggested.