Chapter 2
With his guitar slung over his shoulder, Josh stands and crosses the thin blue carpet of his cardboard-box sized bedroom, out into the hall, towards the closed door in the living room.
He leans into the door, hand gripping the knob. “Hello?”
“Milk delivery.”
The baritone male voice curls Josh’s mouth into a grin. Josh yanks the door open and peers across the small, stuffy alcove into the youthful face of his new neighbor.
“You ordered milk?” the man says, smiling.
He nods, grins. “Come in. I’ll pay you.”
Stepping into the apartment, the man announces, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”
Josh stops and swings around at the sound of the man’s guttural voice. The way he says his name. Eddie. Teasing.
Feeling awkward, Josh says, “I’m Josh. Thanks for the milk.”
“No prob.”
Josh nods, turns, and disappears into the hallway. He grabs his wallet from the top of a chest-high desk, and pulls out a five dollar bill. When handing it over, Josh’s hand brushes the tips of Eddie’s fingers.
Blushing, Josh folds his arms across his chest, and stares down at the floor. He asks, “Do you live here?”
“Yup. Rolled in from sunny LA last week.”
“Why would you leave beautiful LA for the brutal winters of Minnesota?”
“I like adventure.”
Josh scratches the tip of his earlobe, while staring at Eddie’s pierced left ear. “Did that hurt?”
Perplexed, Eddie looks at him wide-eyed. “Did what hurt?”
Josh rocks back and forth on his heels, and taps the tip of his ear. He points to Eddie’s left ear as if a fly has landed on it.
Eddie snorts, ejecting a succession of laughs in machine-gun speed. “I was too drunk to remember.”
Awkward pause. Both guys look away.
“Thanks again for the milk,” Josh says.
Eddie nods, turns, and as he stands at the door, asks, “Do you like bowling?”
A slew of images tumble around in Josh’s mind. Hate it, he wants to say. But he answers, sounding proud, and gaining faith, “I was never very good at it. I’m the king of gutter balls.”
“I’ve been known to bowl a three-hundred on a good day.” Eddie grasps the doorframe as if a strong wind is at his back, sucking him down the staircase. “Would you like to join me at the Bowl N’ RockMonday night?”
Josh shrugs, his insides trembling. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“Awesome! See you then.” He disappears around the corner, and Josh hears Eddie banging down the stairs in his heavy boots. But then Josh hears Eddie yelling up at him from the bottom step, “Josh! Hey, Josh!”
Josh scurries to the door and looks down at Eddie grinning up at him. “I live in 2D.” And then he is gone.
That sounded more like an invitation than a statement
Josh saunters back inside, giddy as if he has just won the lottery, and shuts the door behind him, feeling somehow happier than before.
* * * *
During that early morning weekend shift at Cinema Palace, an unfriendly crowd packs the latest Daniel Craig action movie. Josh is working the box office; he is up to his neck with disgruntled customers. He is even threatened: “If you don’t let me buy a ticket for the one-thirty show I will follow you to the parking lot—”
“Is there a problem here?” Alice Freedman, the theater’s general manager, complete with a blue beehive hairdo that reminds Josh of Marge Simpson, appears behind him from the upstairs offices. An aromatic trail of coconut body cream lingers in her wake.
Josh thinks, You can rescue mefrom this crazy patron!
Josh turns to face the bank of windows overlooking the parking lot so his boss won’t see the smartass smirk on his face. His eyes closed, Josh leans against the glass partition and listens to the grating voice of the female patron as she tries to explain to his boss that Josh won’t sell her a ticket for her fifteen-year-old son.
Alice says, trying to sound placating, “Ma’am, if you are not present with your son, we are, by law, unable to sell a ticket to a minor for an R-rated show.”
“I’m buying the ticket,” the woman yells. “What is the big frickin’ deal? Like the guy hasn’t seen a pair of tits before!”
Alice’s voice rises. “Ma’am—”
The female patron slaps her hand on the counter. “Stop calling me ma’am.” Leaning in, “Do I look like an old lady to you?” she scoffs.
Alice addresses the middle-aged woman as a “Miss” and apologizes to her.
Josh composes himself and turns to Alice and the enraged customer.
The woman bats her owl eyes at Alice, giving Alice her full attention. And a whole lot more: the woman’s cleavage, an exhausted pair of expired cantaloupes, presses against the edge of her too-tight blouse and the glass separating them. “My son has my permission to watch R-rated movies. It doesn’t make any sense that I can’t buy the ticket for him.”
As if trying to explain to a five-year-old, Alice speaks slowly, enunciating every word, “Unless an adult is present in the movie theater with your son, I cannot sell you a ticket.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
The line behind the woman is growing longer, extending out into the food court. Alice starts to explain to the customer the theater’s policy for R-rated movies. But the woman cuts Alice off with a raised fist. “I will not be attending your theater ever again, ma’am.” She reaches for her overstuffed purse from atop the counter. Dramatically, she flings the heavy carry-on over her shoulder and slaps the glass partition with the thick imprint of her knuckles.