you owe me!” She got up and flipped a sign in the window that read S OLD O UT . People behind them groaned. “Bring a dollar twenty-five if you two want to get in next week!”
She stood up and exited the little box office through a door in the back. Walter’s shoulders sank. “I forgot she worked here.”
“You’re pretty famous in these parts.”
“A buck for a window! I paid
some
of it … jeepers.”
“We can’t give up.”
“Whadder we gonna do?”
“Follow me.”
There was an open alleyway on the east side of the Century and Dash nipped into it. It was dark, but at the mouth there was a sign that said T HE F INEST IN C INEMA P ROJECTION and beside that were a couple of painted faces. Dash recognized one of them as Charlie Chaplin’s.
Behind the cinema was a gravel service road. Two young men were unloading ferns in pots and a couple pieces of painted scenery from a horse-drawn cart. They shuttled back and forth between the truck and a door in the back of the theatre.
“Grab a fern!” Walter said. When the coast was clear, they both ducked into the back of the cart and grabbed a plant.
“I saw this in a movie once, I’m sure of it,” Dash said.
They walked the two heavy pots into the back of the theatre and put them down. Dash grabbed Walt’s sleeve and pulled him aside. “In here,” he said. He went through a door into a stairwell.
“What’re we gonna do?” Walt asked.
“Come up with a plan.”
Light filtered under the door and a bulb burned on a landing above. They heard another door open on an upper level, and footsteps came down.
“Follow me,” Walter said, and he led Dash behind and under the stairs. It was darker there, and it smelled of mould. “Shh.”
They sat there in the dark and waited. After a while, Walter gave a single
glurk
of laughter, and then he did it again, and Dash elbowed him.
“You want us to get found?”
“No,” Walter said, but even in the dark, Dash could hear him smiling.
The rest of the time until curtain passed slowly, and every few minutes a small snort, followed by an urgently whispered
sorry
, came from Walter Gibson. Dash pressed his lips together and tried to remind himself that he was probably in mortal danger.
Finally, they heard some applause and then the sound of a voice. They couldn’t make out what it was saying.
“I don’t know if the program outside is the real order of the evening,” Dash whispered. “If it isn’t, Blumenthal could be on first.”
“So let’s try to get in.”
“What if we get caught?”
“We’ll say we’re unloading ferns.”
Dash thought about it. “Let’s wait until we hear applause. You know, between acts. Then maybe there’ll be a lot of people moving around and we’ll blend in.”
“Good thinking,” Walter said.
They heard singing through the wall. Horrible, shrieky lady-singing. Then a man replied to her, singing in a rumbly, vibrating voice. Someone was playing a tinkly piano. At the next explosion of applause, the two boys slid out from their hiding place and walked through the door. Backstage swarmed with activity. The ferns were being moved deeper into the interior of the building and pieces of set were coming out. A large woman in a dress plastered with feathers came hurrying back, peelingher eyelashes off. “Thenk you, thenk you
very
much,” she said in a plummy British accent to everyone who passed her, including those who had said nothing to her at all.
“Excellent rendition,” Walter said to her.
“My deepest g
rrr
atitude,” she said, rolling her rs. “I am always moved by the musical sensibility one finds in the Colonies. Now come along, Roland,” she called to a tall, thin man in a tuxedo. He was mopping the sweat from his brow.
Dash and Walt carried on. Soon they were standing close to the wings where some other performers were waiting to go on. “Here,” Dash whispered. “We can stand back here by the ropes and wait until it’s his turn.”
They
She stood up and exited the little box office through a door in the back. Walter’s shoulders sank. “I forgot she worked here.”
“You’re pretty famous in these parts.”
“A buck for a window! I paid
some
of it … jeepers.”
“We can’t give up.”
“Whadder we gonna do?”
“Follow me.”
There was an open alleyway on the east side of the Century and Dash nipped into it. It was dark, but at the mouth there was a sign that said T HE F INEST IN C INEMA P ROJECTION and beside that were a couple of painted faces. Dash recognized one of them as Charlie Chaplin’s.
Behind the cinema was a gravel service road. Two young men were unloading ferns in pots and a couple pieces of painted scenery from a horse-drawn cart. They shuttled back and forth between the truck and a door in the back of the theatre.
“Grab a fern!” Walter said. When the coast was clear, they both ducked into the back of the cart and grabbed a plant.
“I saw this in a movie once, I’m sure of it,” Dash said.
They walked the two heavy pots into the back of the theatre and put them down. Dash grabbed Walt’s sleeve and pulled him aside. “In here,” he said. He went through a door into a stairwell.
“What’re we gonna do?” Walt asked.
“Come up with a plan.”
Light filtered under the door and a bulb burned on a landing above. They heard another door open on an upper level, and footsteps came down.
“Follow me,” Walter said, and he led Dash behind and under the stairs. It was darker there, and it smelled of mould. “Shh.”
They sat there in the dark and waited. After a while, Walter gave a single
glurk
of laughter, and then he did it again, and Dash elbowed him.
“You want us to get found?”
“No,” Walter said, but even in the dark, Dash could hear him smiling.
The rest of the time until curtain passed slowly, and every few minutes a small snort, followed by an urgently whispered
sorry
, came from Walter Gibson. Dash pressed his lips together and tried to remind himself that he was probably in mortal danger.
Finally, they heard some applause and then the sound of a voice. They couldn’t make out what it was saying.
“I don’t know if the program outside is the real order of the evening,” Dash whispered. “If it isn’t, Blumenthal could be on first.”
“So let’s try to get in.”
“What if we get caught?”
“We’ll say we’re unloading ferns.”
Dash thought about it. “Let’s wait until we hear applause. You know, between acts. Then maybe there’ll be a lot of people moving around and we’ll blend in.”
“Good thinking,” Walter said.
They heard singing through the wall. Horrible, shrieky lady-singing. Then a man replied to her, singing in a rumbly, vibrating voice. Someone was playing a tinkly piano. At the next explosion of applause, the two boys slid out from their hiding place and walked through the door. Backstage swarmed with activity. The ferns were being moved deeper into the interior of the building and pieces of set were coming out. A large woman in a dress plastered with feathers came hurrying back, peelingher eyelashes off. “Thenk you, thenk you
very
much,” she said in a plummy British accent to everyone who passed her, including those who had said nothing to her at all.
“Excellent rendition,” Walter said to her.
“My deepest g
rrr
atitude,” she said, rolling her rs. “I am always moved by the musical sensibility one finds in the Colonies. Now come along, Roland,” she called to a tall, thin man in a tuxedo. He was mopping the sweat from his brow.
Dash and Walt carried on. Soon they were standing close to the wings where some other performers were waiting to go on. “Here,” Dash whispered. “We can stand back here by the ropes and wait until it’s his turn.”
They
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