Page 4 of Reeling for His Omega

“Fuck me,” I said, walking around, the key still gripped in my palm.

Maybe I should’ve had the tour. The place was in horrible shape. Worse than I imagined. The ceilings were water stained. Every seat had to be replaced or at least recovered. Carpet was matted with stains. I laughed as I neared the vending area. The faint scent of popcorn still lingered in the air.

Everything had to be replaced. The equipment was outdated, and using that word was a kindness.

The walls needed painting. It was an entire redo. But the layout was good. Five screens which would give me some variety in what I showed.

That didn’t even cover the outside. It needed a paint job. The lights would have to be replaced. Signage. Modern computers to handle ticket sales.

My brain was bursting with ideas. One screen would be dedicated to old movies. Black and whites. Binging options for vintage TV shows as well. My favorites. Even silent movies.

Then there would be three for new movies. And the last one, special showings. Movie marathons. Cartoons. Kids movies. Specials for the summer when kids were out of school.

I typed everything into my phone on the notes app as fast as I could, making another round through the place. One list for ideas. One list for things that needed to be done. Both were extensive and while I knew the work would be as well, I realized this was my dream.

In a few clicks, I already had sent emails to vendors. We needed everything here. Popcorn. Nachos. Candy. I could add some modern things like the other theaters did, but I also wanted an old movie theater feel. Hot dogs. Definitely hot dogs.

Until I found the vendors I wanted, I would have to do the buying myself.

But first, I needed a working theater that didn’t look like it was stuck in a time capsule.

I walked up the stairs to the projection booth and almost passed out. Everything was still here, like they had played a movie just the day before. Projectors. Movies on reels. All locked in this room that was somehow kept mostly dust-free and safe.

I sat on the chair and tested everything out and soon put a movie on the screen.

The one from the sign out front. No one had even bothered to put it up correctly.

I watched almost the whole thing when my wolf ears picked up a sound in the distance.

A knock? Someone was knocking on the door?

Bouncing down the stairs while the movie played on, I heard it again. Someone knew I’d bought the place? No way.

Chapter Four

Joaquin

Standing by my cart, watching the basket fill, I felt the ground drop out from under me. I couldn’t give up what I’d worked so hard to build. Not without trying to save it. It just felt so awful that all my scrimping and saving and doing without the very basics of life only to have some guy from the city with unlimited money come zooming in to take over my spot.

I didn’t know who it was, really, but if it had been anyone local, word would have gotten around. Oliver Creek was a small town with a lot of tourism. Primarily eating tourism, and I had just found myself at a foodie site online. Someone was going on and on about my homemade flavors and lack of oddball chemicals that many flavored popcorn companies had no trouble using to color their treats.

I spent my evenings working on new recipes. In fact, just the previous night, I had managed to get beet coloring red enough for my planned Christmas corn. The green was still in progress, but I thought I was close. I didn’t market my products as organic or health food or anything like that, although I could have. But I chose not to make any claims beyond the fact that my popcorn was delicious.

Not that I wasn’t very happy to share my ingredients or methods with anyone who asked. But most of my customers didn’t inquire. They were happy to consider what I had to offer a treat. Which it certainly was.

That theater, the rich person who could afford to rehab a building abandoned for so many years, they would probably just buy their corn from a supply house, along with the candy and soft drinks.

Maybe I should brag about my ingredients. Even my butter was…butter.

I worked on my caramel corn, which I couldn’t leave unattended without risk of burning—either the sauce or a passerby—but my mind was on the movie theater and what it might mean to my work.

While I saved up for new wheels, the theater owner was probably in there planning his marble staircases and new velvet seats. The more I thought about it, the more upset I got. Tossing the corn and peanuts with the caramel forced me into concentration because I didn’t want to burn myself, either. But as soon as it was cooling on the trays, I turned off the popper and strode the few steps to the theater doors. If anyone was in there, we were going to have a conversation. Peering inside, I could see lights on toward the back of the lobby. Someone was in there. Maybe not the new owner. Possibly someone working on getting the place ready to reopen. But then I caught that sedan out of the corner of my eye.

It was fancy. Just the type of vehicle some rich city guy would drive. Not a model I’d ever seen around here. A lot of the business people in town were successful enough to buy it, probably, but they weren’t the type to show off their money. Or waste it on an impractical car when they could invest in their shops or restaurants or their homes.

No…city guy was definitely in there, and I had things to say to him.

Drawing back my fist, I pounded on the door.