The Waking Moon

Chapter Thirty

Jack lowered me into one of the theater’s stiffly upholstered seats. He gently pushed the hair from my eyes, his fingers playing with the curls. “Wait here.” 

He disappeared up the aisle and into the lobby. I leaned my head back and gazed into the vast darkness, still feeling his touch tingling on my skin. Suddenly, a beam of light burst through the projection window. The movie screen came to life with a blast of white followed by an unintelligible blur of words and an old fashioned number countdown. Then, like magic, the looming, snow-capped mountain icon of Paramount Pictures. 

“Oh my god!” I shouted. “It works!”

I sat transfixed as Moon River crackled through the theater’s old speakers. On the giant screen, a taxi pulled down the deserted, early morning streets of Manhattan, and Audrey Hepburn descended in front of Tiffany’s jewelry store. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. In our very own private theater. 

Jack arrived, flushed with excitement, looking triumphant. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s unbelievable!”

He grinned. “I found the old manual. Have you seen this movie before?”

I shook my head. “You?”

“I’m not really into the old stuff.”

Instead of settling into the next seat, he pulled me out to the aisle and wrapped an arm around my waist, moving to the music as the credits continued to roll. He held my hand, lifting our forearms together like a couple of ballroom dancers. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of his open palm against my back, pressing me closer. Resting my head on his shoulder, I inhaled his musky scent. The cotton of his tee shirt was soft on my cheek and I could feel his agitated heartbeats against my chest.

When the credits were over, we sat down just like a couple on a regular date, shoulders pressed close, holding hands. Every now and then Jack had to run back to the projection booth to change the film reels, and each time he came back grinning with pride. But during a scene where Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard spend an afternoon goofing around town together, determined to do the things they’ve never done, Jack sighed. Without saying a word, I could feel his spirits shift. Although it was a very funny scene, Jack didn’t laugh once.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

But it was clear he wasn’t okay. He looked depressed. I didn’t want to pry, so I just continued watching. By the end of the film we were both riveted to the screen. During the scene with Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard in the cab, when she realizes that her plans to marry a rich guy in Brazil have fallen apart, and she throws the cat out in the rain, I fought the urge to cry. Then George Peppard gets out of the cab and tells her off.

You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever You Are? You’re chicken. You got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say ‘Life’s a fact. People do fall in love. They do belong to each other. Because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.

But then Audrey Hepburn had to climb out of the cab and run through the rain looking for the cat, and all of the painful stuff she’d been burying inside her had to break onto the surface, so that by the time they were holding the cat between them and kissing in the pouring rain, my cheeks were wet with tears. When I realized Jack was watching me, I blushed, and covered my face with my hands.

“I swear I’m not usually such a wuss.”

“No, of course not,” he said softly, a crooked smile on his face. I was relieved to see him looking a little happier.

The reel ended and the room went dark. I could hear Jack breathing, and feel his warm hand in mine. The loose film slapped loudly along the spinning reel in the projection booth, and Jack went upstairs to shut it down. When he returned, he was dressed in his coat and hat.

“Hey, Paulie,” he said. “Let’s go out right now and do a bunch of stuff we’ve never done before but always wanted to.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. We’ll be spontaneous!”

He took my hand and pulled me out of the seat. He slipped my coat around me and got to work fastening the buttons. I watched him in a kind of euphoric daze—the lock of hair falling over his left eye, the tip of his tongue peeking through the corner of his mouth—sure that no one else on earth would ever make me feel so wanted and desirable. 

“Are you ready for the night of your life?” he asked.

“Lead the way!” I took his arm and together we descended the aisle to the back door. Remembering a line from the movie, I stopped and gave him my best wide-eyed Audrey Hepburn face. “Did I tell you how divinely and utterly happy I am?”

He laughed, his perfect teeth flashing in the candlelight. “Me, too,” he said. “For the first time in ages.”