I step inside the theatre and blink for a minute, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. “You need a hard hat if you’re coming in here!” someone shouts and I spot a couple of yellow ones by the door. I put one on, and follow the sound of voices. Two men, debating something. It sounds like one of them is Luke because one voice is very low. There’s a lot of sawdust underfoot and the carpeting has been torn up to reveal what have to be the original floorboards. They must be two inches thick, tiger-sawn oak. Beautiful.
I climb the stairs to the seating area and step into the theatre. I need to stop to catch my breath, which is odd since it wasn’t that much of a climb. I’m still hot, which is even more odd.
I force myself to look around. The theatre is smaller than I remember, but bigger than any place I’ve seen a movie in recent years. There’s a grandeur about it, even under construction, in the carved plaster ceiling overhead and the massive chandelier hanging over the seats.
The seats are being cleaned and repaired – I can see entire rows that are sealed under plastic to protect their restored condition. The stage is a long way away from this point, halfway up the house, and it’s bare, so it’s obvious how deep the space is. Across the front of the stage is a carved ornamental trim, one that probably sheltered the original footlights, and there are two guys sanding the wooden stage floor. They’re the ones sending up billows ofdust, and they’re masked.
The walls are open on either side, wiring exposed and partially replaced. There are easily half a dozen electricians at work. I approach Luke and the guy he’s talking to. They’re both wearing hard hats, jeans and boots but couldn’t look more different. Luke is lean and tall, all angles and energy. He almost vibrates, just standing there. Glen from Permits is sturdy, maybe even fluffy, a guy who holds his ground and doesn’t move very fast. It’s good luck to find him here – I can ask him to come across the street before he heads back to Havelock.
Luke glances toward me as his companion speaks, touching himself in the chest and raising his brows with the obvious question.Looking for me?I nod. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, but he holds up a finger. Of course, I’ll wait. I lean back against the rail of the balcony and consider the view. There are gaps in the carved wooden barricade, and I try to place where I’ve seen the design before. It was recently. Where?
“You need to remove the end seat on every row, on every aisle,” Glen says to Luke. He’s tough but fair. He comes out to inspect the greenhouses once a year along with the fire marshal, and is always underfoot when we have new construction. “You need better egress in case of emergency.”
Luke doesn’t seem to like this solution. “But they’ve been here for a hundred years.” His voice has always been low, but I’d forgotten how low. It sounds gravelly, serious.
“And code has changed.” Glen whips out a metal measuring tape, checking the aisle width, with and without that seat. “Your capacity here is almost two thousand, and with existing exits–” he’s pointing them out like a stewardess indicating emergency evacuation routes before take-off “–you need more space. It’s just that simple.”
Luke purses his lips, pivots and studies the theatre. I guess he’s counting rows, figuring out how many seats he’ll lose.I’m counting, too. I get thirty-two rows. The theatre has two aisles, making for four seats lost in each row.
“And the front row?” Luke asks with a wince. “All of it? Really?”
Glen nods, stoic as ever, and Luke frowns.
“Fire deaths are bad PR,” I contribute, earning a nod of agreement from Glen.
Luke takes off his hard hat and runs a hand over his hair before putting it back on. “It’s almost two hundred seats,” he growls.
“A hundred and forty-two,” I say.
Glen nods.
Luke swears and something about his exasperation makes me feel a bit sorry for him.
“Ka-ching,” I say, keeping my tone light. “You can’t have expected a renovation this big to be cheap.”
He casts me a smile. “No, but this place is redefining my expectations.”
“It is beautiful,” I note.
“Yes,” Luke agrees with pride. “Worth the effort.”
“If it doesn’t meet code, there won’t be a concert,” Glen reminds him. “Beautiful or not.”
“I know, I know,” Luke says. “I get to twitch a bit before agreeing, don’t I?”
He and Glen chuckle together. I’m feeling achey now and figure I did too much in the greenhouses today. Tonight, I’ll definitely sleep.
I’m not going to think about Sylvia. At all. I’m not going to remember how she was both sweet and demanding, how completely right it felt to be with her again.
I’m not going to feel used.
But I do. And I called Luke a manwhore. Maybe it just depends on who is making the invitation.
The worst thing is that if Sylvia asked me to do it again, I might – despite my principles and resolutions.
I like being with Sylvia. I can’t change it, and what I’ve learned about her expectations hasn’t changed it either.
If that isn’t stupid, I don’t know what is.
