A Night at the Nickelodeon

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Summer 1975

Growing up, Charlie Burnett had always loved the movies, going to them every chance he could, often wishing that life could be more like them. So, when the opportunity to work at one of Bridgewater Falls' two movie theatres presented itself the summer after graduation, the nineteen-year-old jumped at the chance. That it was the Nickelodeon, rather than the more popular Pavilion, really made little difference to him.

The Pavilion, built in the early sixties, was a multiplex, with two screens and seating for nearly fifteen hundred. The Nickelodeon, in contrast, was thirty years older and barely held five hundred. A more telling difference, however, was what filled the screens of each. If you wanted to see current fare like Jaws, Rollerball, or Shampoo, then the Pavilion was the place to go. If, on the other hand, you liked classics like Arsenic and Old Lace, The Searchers, or Charlie's current favorite, Forbidden Planet, well then, the Nickelodeon was your destination.

Charlie often wondered how the smaller theatre managed to stay in business. Not only did it have a much smaller seating capacity, the sandy haired teen rarely saw more than a third of those seats filled, even during peak hours. Additionally, between a generous senior citizen discount and a liberal matinee policy, few customers paid full price. Even the popcorn and candy concession, normally the cash cow of a movie theatre, was priced lower than you'd find at the Pavilion.

'Well, this place has been around since before I was born,' Charlie thought as he checked the men's bathroom to make sure that it was clean and stocked, 'and it'll probably be here when I'm an old man. Or at least until I go off to college next month.'

Next came the women's bathroom, at the door of which he loudly announced himself before stepping inside. He just had to add a roll of toilet paper to one of the stalls and he could check that off his to-do list as well.

Stepping out into the front foyer, Charlie noticed some new lobby cards hanging in the metal display cases on the walls. A half dozen in all, each was from a movie serial of the forties and fifties. Some Charlie recognized, like Superman with Kirk Alyn, which had preceded the George Reeves television show by a couple of years, and the original Batman serial from more than twenty years before Adam West put on a cape and cowl. Also recognizable was King of the Rocket Men, the late forties serial which inspired the later Commando Cody series. The rest seemed to be westerns or detective dramas, neither of which really interested him. From what he'd been told, the plan was to run a chapter of each serial every Saturday, recreating the experience of more than a generation before. Charlie had his doubts whether kids today were going to sit through something like that, especially in black and white, but he'd find out soon enough. The first chapters were supposed to start next week.

Checking the time on his watch, the prized Timex that his father had bought him for graduation, Charlie saw that it was just about time for the box office to open. Tonight, they were running the 1957 film, "An Affair to Remember," with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, a favorite of the owner's. Charlie had seen it on television, but still looked forward to seeing it again on the big screen.

Taking the keychain from his pocket, he quickly located the one for the outer doors and unlocked them one by one. There were about thirty or forty people already in line, mostly older patrons, but also enough teenagers to make them noticeable. Charlie doubted many of them had even heard of Cary Grant, but it was Friday night, the tickets were cheap, and the theatre, especially the balcony, was dark and private - well as private as any of them required.

Before heading back inside, Charlie exchanged a quick word with Sharon Myerson, the plump, forty-something blonde who worked the ticket booth. Married with six kids at home, Sharon loved the peace and quiet her job afforded her each day, a much-needed respite from her family for a few hours.

Aside from himself and a few other teenagers, most of the staff at the Nickelodeon had been there for decades. The theatre was owned by Lillian Mason, whose husband, Alfred, along with his brother, Harold, had inherited the theatre from their father twenty years ago. Years later, they'd built the Pavilion together, but when Alfred died, his shares in the mutual enterprise had passed on to his wife, who, as everyone seemed to know, couldn't stand Harold. How they split the two theatres between them had often been the subject of great speculation in the small town, ranging from a high stake cut of the cards to a million-dollar buyout. Regardless of how it was done, the now fifty-two-year old widow had wound up with the Nickelodeon, and if she ever thought she'd gotten the short end of the stick, no one had ever heard her complain about it.

Passing the concession stand, Charlie also said hello to Doris Kappelhoff, the twice divorced sixty-three year old who had run it for the last thirty-two years. He'd known Doris since he was a kid attending the Saturday matinees, where she would always put extra butter on his popcorn. Nowadays, however, the buxom redhead's more salacious comments to him suggested that it was more than his popcorn that she'd like to butter. He'd heard rumors that, on slow nights, Doris like to take some of the younger employees behind the curtains for a little R&R, but, so far at least, Charlie hadn't been inclined to test their validity.

Standing off to the side, he watched for a few minutes as customers bought snacks and drinks before heading to their seats. Older customers tended to gravitate to the first-floor orchestra seats, while almost without exception the younger set headed up to the balcony. Once in a while he would see a few older patrons also head upstairs, but in their cases it was usually for the bird's eye view from the overhead seats, rather than privacy.

Again checking his watch, Charlie walked away from the concession stand and started up the broad staircase to the balcony, veering off from the moviegoers around him at the top landing where a narrower set of stairs led to the projection booth. There he found Roy Montgomery, the sixty-eight year old projectionist who'd been showing films at the Nickelodeon since before Charlie had been born.

"All ready to go, Roy?" Charlie asked as he stepped into the small booth.

"When am I not?" the sexagenarian grinned as he waved his hand toward the twin projectors and the stack of film canisters between them.

"Just seeing if you had anything that needed doing," the younger man smiled.

"Not right now," Roy replied, "but they did tell you that I can't stay for the second show tonight, didn't they? I told the missus that I'd be home by ten-thirty."

"Don't worry, Roy," Charlie smiled, acknowledging that they had. "I'll have you on your way before the credits roll."

One of the first things Charlie had learned, when he'd started at the Nickelodeon three months ago, was how to run the projection equipment. Doing so had added an extra quarter an hour to his pay, since it qualified him as a back-up projectionist. He still made less than what they were paying Roy, but he wasn't about to complain about it, since he got the whole two thirty-five an hour whether he worked in the booth or not. The whole set-up was barely more complicated than the A/V equipment he used to run in high school, but because of the added responsibility to make sure it all ran perfectly, few staffers wanted to learn how to do it.

He watched as Roy threw the first three switches on the light panel on the wall, causing the theater to dim to half its previous level. Then, using his other hand, the older man pulled a handle on the side of one of the projectors, bringing it to life as images appeared on the screen.

Looking out one of the cutout windows, Charlie watched the coming attractions for a few minutes, then glanced down at the scattering of people spread across the balcony, their features partially illuminated by the over projection beam. As he expected, they were all teenage couples, interested more in when the rest of the lights would be shut off than whatever might be showing in the coming weeks.

It wasn't all that long ago, back when he and Cindy Owens were still a thing, that Charlie might've found himself in those same seats. That had ended, of course, when Cindy had dumped him a week after graduation, having only waited that long so as to be sure of having an escort for the Prom. Charlie hadn't dated since then, his primary focus over the summer being to add to his college fund.

There were limits to how much sacrifice he could expect his parents to make in order to further his education, especially since he had two younger siblings coming up fast behind him, one entering high school in the fall. If his older sister hadn't preferred an early marriage to a college degree, he might not be going at all. So, for the time being at least, a girlfriend took a back seat to working.

As the previews ended, Roy tripped the last two switches on the light panel and started the main feature. Once more Charlie checked his watch and, recalling that the movie ran a hundred and fifteen minutes, he made a quick mental calculation as to what time he needed to be back here to relieve Roy.

"I'll see you at nine-fifty," he said as he turned to leave.

"No later," Roy replied as he took his eyes off the screen to turn in Charlie's direction. "I've got a promise tonight and I'm going to be right pissed if that changes."

Charlie knew what a promise was and held up his arm, displaying the watch on his wrist. Then he was gone.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

He made another round of the theatre, lending a hand here and there, then made his way back to the box office, where he picked up the cash receipts from Mrs. Myerson. They weren't much, but Mrs. Mason liked to tally them up during each show rather than wait until the end of the night. It seemed an odd thing to do, but since she was the one who signed his checks, Charlie wasn't about to comment on it.

In the three months he'd worked at the Nickelodeon, Charlie still hadn't decided what to make of the owner. Age wise, she was nearly as old as his grandmother, yet she acted like a woman twenty years younger, constantly engaging with the staff and sharing their interests. Josh Wagner, who'd had Charlie's job last summer, told him that when he'd left for college she'd even thrown him a party. She was active in the community and was a frequent contributor to both the local Little League and Girl Scout chapter.

Heading down the narrow staircase to the basement, Charlie walked down the corridor to the far end where Mrs. Mason had her office. It was originally one of the storage rooms, but she preferred working down here over the much smaller space her husband had used upstairs, just off the lobby. In fact, after she'd had it renovated, it looked more like a small apartment, with a tiny kitchenette and a plush sofa that opened into a bed. There were times, he'd heard, that she spent the night there, rather than go home to the house on Dupont Drive that she had shared with her husband.

"Mrs. Mason, it's Charlie," he said as he knocked on the door, even though he knew it wouldn't be locked, "I brought down the receipts."

"Come on in, Charlie," a soft yet strong voice said through the thick wooden door.

As he did so, he made sure that he tripped the lock as he closed it behind him. While it was highly doubtful that a gang of armed desperados would come rushing in to steal the meager bounty that the night so far had brought, it was still common practice to make sure the room was as secure as could be while the money was counted. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, the office being almost as dim as the theatre above it, with only the desk lamp and the one by the couch giving off any light. It was under that free-standing torchiere that he saw Mrs. Mason, sitting on the end of the couch, a glass of dark brown liquid in her hand.

"Just put it over there, Charlie," she said, pointing to the old secretary desk in the corner. "and haven't I asked you to call me, Lillian? Mrs. Mason makes me sound so old."

"Yes, Ma'am," Charlie replied with a smile.

"That makes me sound even older," she laughed.

"Okay, I'll try to remember," he said.

Walking around to the back of the desk, Charlie placed the envelope with the money on the edge, noticing as he did a pile of invoices, alongside a large business size checkbook. Not unusual in itself - after all, that was one of the purposes of the office, a place to keep track of and pay the bills - but what did strike him as odd was that at least half of the papers referred to charges for the Pavilion, not the Nickelodeon. Why would she have those, he thought.

'Something wrong, Charlie?" she asked, noting the confusion on his face.

"No, not at all, Mrs. Mason, I mean Lillian," he said, thinking it was none of his business. "I mean, I ... I mean, I couldn't help but notice that a number of these invoices are for the Pavilion."

"So?" Lillian asked.

"Doesn't Mr. Mason own that?" he asked, referring to her brother in law, not her late husband.

"Where in God's name did you get a foolish idea like that?" Lillian asked, a soft chuckle accenting her words.

"I don't know, I guess it was just something everyone knows," Charlie replied.

"Harold Mason couldn't manage a hot dog cart on his own, much less a multiplex," Lillian commented. "If it wasn't for my Alfred watching out for him all his life, that idiot wouldn't even have a pot to piss in. No, the Pavilion is as much mine as the Nickelodeon; I just prefer to spend my time here instead of there."

Charlie's expression indicated that he didn't understand.

"The Pavilion is a business, a quite lucrative one, I might add," Lillian said, "but the Nickelodeon, the Nickelodeon was the love of my husband's life - right after me of course, although there were times that I wasn't absolutely sure about that."

That she was laughing at that last remark told Charlie that she really didn't mean it.

"Alfred loved movies," the gray haired fifty-two-year old said, "especially the ones he grew up with. The two of you were alike in that. When I'm here at the Nickelodeon, I still feel close to him."

Looking around the office, Charlie noted the large amount of movie paraphernalia covering the walls. Most if not all of it, he now guessed, had belonged to the late Mr. Mason.

"It was nine years ago today that he passed away," Lillian added, a touch of sorrow in her tone. "That's why I was having a drink to remember him."

A glance at the open bottle sitting on the small folding table next to the couch showed only a small amount missing, so the drink in her hand had to have been her first. Not that it was any of his business, Charlie thought, whether it was her first or twentieth.

"Why don't you have one with me, Charlie?" Lillian suggested.

Charlie hesitated in responding.

"Oh, I know that you're only nineteen," Lillian said, "but I also remember what it was like being that age. You're not going to tell me that you've never had a drink before, and I'm not about to tell anyone if you have one now."

Charlie had indeed had a drink before, much more than one, going back to his sixteenth birthday when his dad and uncles began letting him have a beer at family events. He'd only been drunk once, an experience he had no desire to repeat. Although he'd never had whiskey before, which he had now identified by the label on the bottle, he figured, what harm could one little drink do?

"I'd be honored," he said.

"There's glasses over on the counter," Lillian said, pointing to the short table to the right of the desk. "Grab yourself one."

Taking one of them, Charlie poured a small amount of the brown liquid into it, then joined Lillian on the couch. He waited for her to say something before taking a sip.

"To my Alfred," she said as she stood up and raised her glass.

Charlie immediately did the same.

"... husband, friend, provider and one hell of a fuck!" she laughed, toasting the glass in the direction of a framed photograph on the wall.

The wording of the salutation took Charlie by surprise, but he figured Lillian was entitled to remember him any way she wanted. His eyes turned toward the photograph, now realizing that it was their wedding photo. They didn't look much older than he was now; in fact, aside from the old-style suit, the late Mr. Mason looked a little like him, at least in general appearance. They both had short, light brown hair and slim builds, and, based on where he stood next to his new wife, Charlie guessed they weren't more than an inch or so apart in height.

Lillian, still five four, had, however, gained some weight since her wedding day. If he had to guess, Charlie would've said she was now around one sixty, which, combined with her gray hair, gave her a decidedly matronly appearance. He didn't necessarily think it was a bad look on her, just not one he thought about - at least not in the manner he normally thought about women.

"To Mr. Mason," Charlie said as he brought his glass to his lips, deciding he really didn't need to repeat more than the original toast.

He had only meant to take a sip, but at the last second noted that Lillian downed the entire glass. So as not to disrespect what he thought might be part of the tradition of the toast, Charlie attempted to do the same. It turned out to be the worst thing he could've done.

The whiskey went down like a fireball, causing him to nearly fall back onto the couch. His hand went to his throat as he gasped for breath, taking a few long seconds to regain it.

"Easy now," Lillian said as she placed her own now empty glass on the side table and then took the one from Charlie's hand as well. "You should've just taken a sip, not gulped it all down in one shot."

"Now you tell me," Charlie said, his throat still burning.

"Here, have some water," Lillian said, pouring cold liquid from a decanter next to the whiskey bottle into Charlie's glass.

The water helped a little, but it would be a few minutes before Charlie felt comfortable talking. Which was all right with Lillian, because she seemed happy to fill the void.

"You're a good guy, Charlie," she said, "and in case I didn't tell you before, I was really impressed how many hours you've put in this summer to raise money for school, rather than just rely on your parents footing the bill. Most of the kids I hire work just hard enough to have spending money for the weekend."

Charlie nodded his appreciation.

"I think that Alfred would've liked you," she added. "The two of you are a lot alike. In fact, now that I think about it, you even look a little like him when he was your age."

Evidently, Lillian had also noticed the similarities in the photograph.

"I've also noticed that you've made other sacrifices in order to work as hard as you have been doing," she continued, "sacrifices that a lot of young men your age wouldn't think of making. "

"I'm not sure what you mean," Charlie said.

"Well, you're the only employee that hasn't made use of the free movie passes that I give out," Lillian noted.

"Why would I need a pass to see a movie? I'm here practically every day," Charlie said.

"The passes are for you to bring someone to the movies," the older woman laughed. "Doug Walsh, for example, has, over the summer, brought at least a dozen different girls."

"Oh," Charlie replied, not really having considered that.