It was a sultry July afternoon, with the thermometer in the 90s and the humidity chasing it. The sky was blue over the multiplex parking lot, and the teenagers ran through the heat to get to the theater entryway and temperature rationality again. Shelley walked behind them quickly, wearing her mirror sunglasses, yellow halter top, short blue skirt and sandals. The kid waited for her just inside the door because she was paying for them.
There wasn't a line at either the ticket counter or concessions, so it didn't take long for the three kids to have their rations for an animated comedy. They dashed off with their ticket stubs without a word, leaving her to wonder why she was holding an extra large drink and a stub for a movie she'd never see of her own free will.
No suspicion surfaced over her choice; the kids didn't care she never watched gruesome murder mysteries before, or that she'd dress in such a skimpy manner to watch a movie. She usually wore more than this when they went to the beach. But this afternoon she was going to meet him: she was meeting Constantine, her pen pan from afar. Over the last eight years, they'd talked about a lot, shared their intimate thoughts with each other, but this was their first meeting in the flesh. It took a lot to make this happen, but a darkened movie theater seemed like a safe place. She could always walk out, scream if he did something too strange, and having to leave with the kids gave her an exit time.
She wondered what he wanted to be called. "Conny" sounded a bit strange, but she'd heard men use it before. "Tino" sounded Italian, which wasn't bad, but wasn't him. She'd find out.
The trailers were running when she came in; only one man was sitting across the way. It had to be him. He'd told her what to wear and where to go: 2/3 of the way up the rows toward the back, in the middle of the row. She trembled as she walked up the steps, counting the rows, then giving up when she realized he was going to find her no matter where she sat down. Entering the row from the left, she want to the middle and put the armrest to her right up. Settling in, she started watching the trailers, waiting for the moment he joined her.
It took some time. Four clips played out, movies she never wanted to see, and no one else entered the theater. The feature they were going to see got horrible reviews and it was leaving the multiplex in a couple of days. A shame how big stars could lose their touch so quickly. A thought crossed her head: he was waiting, waiting to see if anyone followed her in. There shouldn't be a reason for that: she took the kids to the movies regularly on summer weekday afternoons, it was a small spot of peace she valued, and everyone knew that, especially. . .
The screen went dark as the theater's clip played just before the feature, and someone sat on her right next to her. "Hello, Carissima." he murmured in a silken voice, giving her ear the briefest nuzzle. His body was oversized, but not grotesquely, his hands were graceful as he cradled a huge tub of popcorn.
"Hello," she said and instantly regretted it. For years she wanted to see this man, to hear his voice, to claim a bear hug from him, among other things. He'd written erotic stories she loved, as well as sharing an exotic spirituality. A simple "hello" wasn't the way she wanted to speak to him the first time. Taking a sip from her drink, she continued: "Hello, Constantine. Glad you could make it."
"Me, too. Call me Stan. Like some popcorn?"
She tensed a little bit. Stan liked to spring surprises, as he told her many times, and juvenile tricks didn't seem beyond him. For all she knew, there was something extra in the tub of popcorn. Part of her wanted to find out, and part wanted it to be so, but it was a lot for her to cope with while she was still scared about being alone in the dark with a strange man. Exciting, yes, but still. . .
