Touch Screen: a small town romance Page 4

  I’d discussed all this with Britton the summer before my senior year. I was being recruited by Central Michigan, but my heart wasn’t into playing ball as a career. I loved the sport, but I loved film studies more. My first class in filmmaking was a production class offered as a seminar-extension course at Northwestern Michigan that summer. I could apply the credit to my high school transcript and it helped prove my seriousness to the college admission board for film school.

  I went to classes twice a week and would often spend the rest of the day in Traverse City with Britton. I would do my homework and she would read, or I would wander around making movie clips and she would tag along. I had footage of her as well, and I suddenly wondered what had happened to that film from the old camcorder. I was sure it was long gone by now.

  I sensed even then that we were growing up, but I never sensed we were growing apart. I valued her opinion and she was very supportive of my dream. She offered me words of encouragement and faith that I would be successful. When I fought with my father, especially about my future, Britton listened, often with a reassuring hand on my back, my thigh, or my arm. She let me vent my frustration over my father’s lack of support before she offered advice on how to cope with him. Then she used her body to comfort me.

  I exited the theatre to a brightness that was blinding and took the short walk to a café offering sandwiches and salads with movie-themed names. It looked cooler inside with its bright orange painted walls and I would enjoy the relief from the heat. My jeans and dress shirt were too much for this kind of weather. Although I dressed casually in the heat of California, it was the humidity that was drenching me now.

  I slipped into the café and was waiting to be seated when I saw her again. She was sitting alone at a table near the back. I didn’t know if I should approach her or ignore her, and I waited a few seconds to see if someone would join her. When no one did, I decided to walk to her table as if I was the one she was waiting for.

  “We meet again.” I tried to sound casual.

  She looked up, startled at first. It was like she didn’t recognize me this second time.

  “Gavin?”

  “Are you expecting someone to join you?” I motioned to the empty seat.

  She shook her head.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  She nodded at the chair.

  “I only have a few more minutes,” she said softly, a catch in her voice.

  “That’s okay. I only stopped for a quick bite before I’m off to another showing.”

  “Did you see something this morning?”

  I briefly explained the movie I had just watched and the premise of the two teenage mothers.

  “It was heartbreaking. The girls were so young, and call me old-fashioned, but I hate to think of them trying to finish school and raise a child without support.”

  Britton dropped the spoon she was holding to stir her tea. In a weird reflex, it hit the inside of the cup and bounced back out, landing on the table before doing a slight flip in the air, crashing to the floor.

  “Oh my goodness,” Britton laughed as she bent to pick up the spoon, pressed on the table with one hand, and the table started to tilt from the pressure.

  “Whoa, killer. Don’t know your own strength,” I replied as I gripped the slanting table and pushed it back down, holding it steady with one hand on each side of the Formica.

  Britton placed the spoon on the table and tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. It was a classic Britton move. I sucked in a breath at how seductive it looked, however unintentional. I knew her. She wasn’t trying to be sexy, but she was. At twenty-five, she might have been more beautiful than I remembered her at eighteen. I took her in: bright blue eyes, blonde hair that was slightly shorter than when we were teens, with tan skin that glowed on her face.

  She blushed slightly, knowing I was looking at her.

  “So, the movie was disturbing?”

  “What movie?”

  “The one you just came from?”

  “Oh. No, not disturbing, but upsetting in a way. They were so young and the neighborhood looked rough. I give the credit to the film-maker for spending time following the two through their experience.”

  “What about credit for the girls?” Britton sounded a bit defensive, and I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Well, of course the girls had a horrible experience as well. I mean, who wants to have a kid at eighteen, right?”

  I laughed slightly as I looked at Britton, but she didn’t seem to think it was funny.

  “Yes, who indeed?” she mumbled to the table.

  I sat back and looked at her a moment. Her eyes still held the same brightness. No eyes had ever compared to hers in my mind, but something had changed in them. They seemed sad, maybe lonely. She blinked again and the look passed.

  “I need to go,” she said as she stood, holding the spoon on the table as if she was afraid she’d knock it off again.

  I reached out to grip her wrist. I didn’t mean it to be forceful, but I had a tight hold on her and she stopped in her movement. The heat of the connection zipped up my arm like an electric shock. The connection was so strong I felt like I couldn’t let go. I held on a moment longer than I knew was appropriate. She was looking at where my large hand circled her delicate wrist.

  “It’s been so good to see you. Will I see you around again?” It came out sounding desperate.

  “I don’t know,” she smiled that half smile, “we’ve already met twice in one day, but three’s my lucky number.”

  I felt a smile creep across my face as I released her wrist. She went to pick up her book and her bill, but I reached across the table and pulled the bill from off the top of the hard cover.

  “Let me get that for you,” I smiled broadly.

  “No thank you, Gavin. I can take care of myself.” She smiled sweetly, but there was a falseness in it as she pulled the check back from me.

  Take 8

  Under the Moonlight

  I walked down the main street for a while, aimlessly browsing picture windows and thinking again of Britton’s words.

  “Three’s my lucky number.”

  I stopped short. Britton knew my jersey number, even though she never saw me play baseball for my high school. She was only here in the summer months. Not even the whole summer long: half of June, all of July, and half of August. Eight weeks. Eight weeks I counted down to each year through the other forty-four, despite other girls. But Britton knew my baseball number from the baseball cap I wore often, and which she sometimes stole from me.

  Scene: The Boat

  She was fifteen; I was seventeen.

  We were on a boat trip through Elk Lake. The sun was sliding down and I knew we had to return shortly to the harbor in order to dock the boat and drive back to Traverse City. Britton had spent the day with me, Ethan, and several of our friends out on the water, skiing and sunbathing. Britton loved the sun, I remembered, and she laid on the front of the boat as we drifted about. The anchor was dropped as boats floated near one another.

  At one point, Ethan swam to a friend’s nearby boat leaving Britton and me alone. I sat next to her. My cap was on backwards and I reached forward to kiss her. Her lips were so sweet. She was so responsive to me. I loved that she leaned into me whenever I kissed her. This particular time was no exception. As I continued to kiss her, she slid her legs over mine and pulled herself onto my lap. In the fading evening sun, she straddled me. She was deepening the kiss, forgetting the surrounding boaters, and rolling lake water, when a catcall came from Ethan in another boat.

  “Give it to him, girl,” he yelled and laughed heartily.

  Britton turned bright red, deepening her already tan face, and pulled my cap from my head. She put it on her own head and pulled it low to cover her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I whispered against her lips, “give it to him.”

  She gave me a quick peck before sliding off my lap, but it was too late. I was extremely turned on and I drank her in with m
y cap on her head. She never looked more beautiful; blonde hair sticking out underneath, deeply tanned skin and bright blue eyes peeking up at me.

  “Three is definitely my lucky number,” I said. She smiled as I leaned in for another kiss before Ethan pulled up on the edge of our old Criss Craft and flung himself in it like a caught fish.

  He shook his wet, shaggy hair at us and Britton squealed as she stretched backward. I slid her down and laid on top of her for a moment, making my hard-on worse by pressing into her center to show her what she had done to me. She moaned softly against my mouth before I pushed off her.

  “Get off the babysitter,” Ethan said, and started the engine.

  * * *

  This was a memory that made me smile to myself and I envisioned it in my head again as if seeing it on a filmstrip. I could not have directed a better scene for the innocence and passion of teenagers. Suddenly, I thought of the girls in the documentary from earlier. There was no explanation of how those girls got pregnant or if they were with the fathers of their children. The film was solely about what happened afterwards. I briefly wondered if those two young girls had felt the sensual passion and innocent desire that I had felt with Britton on a beautiful summer day in July on a gorgeous lake filled with good friends and laughter. Or had their experience been one-night stands in their run-down neighborhoods on a dirty-sheeted mattress in a dark room with gunfire in the background? My imaginative mind pictured this scenario for those girls. It was their circumstances that got them pregnant, I snobbishly decided.

  I corrected this thought, though, when I thought of my own sister, pregnant at twenty as a college student. Tom was twenty as well, and he’d married Karyn. She’d dropped out of school but went back to complete it years later. They had an unusual relationship. High-school sweethearts that had the rare love that was long-lasting, as if they were soul mates meant to be together. And then there was Jess who, at twenty, had gotten Debbie pregnant during one of his returns to Elk Rapids from college. Debbie hadn’t left the area and she was awaiting Jess’ return for her after college when she became pregnant. By twenty-one, Jess was a father, married, and finishing his college degree. He had a bright future promised to him, but it all fell apart when Debbie left him and traumatized their daughter. He returned to Elk Rapids.

  I was thankful that my life had turned out differently, and I was not trapped back in Elk Rapids.

  I returned to the State Theatre for another movie showing after lunch. This one was more upbeat and I appreciated the filmmakers’ attempts at comedic relief while documenting the outrageous life of a famous scientist, long passed away. The film had potential for the big screen, I thought, but it would have to be longer for commercial success. This I’d learned from my financial backer, Zeke Steinmann, Zoe’s father. He was a shrewd businessman who was particular about what he financed and what he didn’t. His selectivity had been profitable over the years.

  I didn’t have in me the cut-throat business mind of the man who could potentially be my father-in-law one day, and at times I felt my creative spirit being extinguished around him. I was also hesitant that others would see me as a social climber, using Zeke’s money for my own personal benefit. It made me all the more determined to produce and direct films that would earn me creative recognition, not greedy profit.

  The movie ended thirty minutes before the for the discussion panel I was part of in the same space, and I milled about in the lobby while I waited. I looked at the refurbished theatre that had undergone major renovation a few years ago. I hadn’t paid much attention to the theatre when I was younger. It was closed for a few years and I took my dates to the local one in Elk Rapids anyway, with its missing seats and falling ceiling tiles. Most of my dates didn’t appreciate my critique of the films and I again recalled that only Britton listened after we saw a movie – whether comedy or creeper – and I assessed the cinematography.

  When the discussion panel began, I was fully focused until I caught a glimpse of a blonde in the back rows. The panel was passing quickly, but what struck me most was the girl in the shadows. She didn’t ask any questions, but she seemed interested in what others asked. She shifted in her seat in the direction of a speaker and nodded when she agreed with a question asked. She laughed at answers and nodded again at serious comments. And then she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear once or twice as she concentrated. I knew instantly that Britton was in the crowd.

  I tried to focus on the questions asked of me, and I tried to respond directly to the person who asked them, but I found my eyes would often shift to Britton. Was she listening to me? Was she paying attention to me? I was being silly in many ways, but I wanted her to see how serious I was about my work. I wanted her to be proud of me. And yet that in and of itself was silly, because I felt there was no one who really knew how serious I was except her. Until Zoe.

  I’d met Zoe at a movie screening. On rare occasions, film students received discounted tickets to movie premieres and I had purchased one for the opening of a sci-fi fantasy through a younger friend still at UCLA. I loved the special effects created in films and the technology needed to make them, and I was eager to see this long awaited movie. In an awkward crowd near the entrance, I bumped into Zoe’s backside while in line. When she turned to say something to me, her first response might have been rude, but she told me that when she saw my homegrown looks, as she called it, she had to say something sweet.

  When I apologized for bumping into her, she responded that I could bump into her anytime, and the flirtation began. That banter led me into an immediate sexual affair before I later learned who she was and who her father was. The sexual attraction pulled me into the easy spotlight of being Zoe Steinmann’s boyfriend and Zeke Steinmann’s lap dog. When Zeke said bark, I did.

  But I wasn’t thinking of Zoe as the discussion panel came to an end and the people were beginning to stand to approach the panelists, or exit the auditorium for the cocktail reception in the lobby. I wanted to catch up to Britton and ask her what she thought. I noticed her standing, as if waiting at the end of her row. She paused for several minutes, and I was making my way down the stairs into the audience when an older woman cornered me.

  “Aren’t you Gavin Scott, Sara and Jack’s son?”

  “Yes ma’am, I am.” I tried to look over her shoulder and saw Britton exiting her row.

  “They must be so proud,” she beamed. I didn’t know how to react in regards to my parents and I briefly looked down at her.

  “I…I hope so,” I said. I shifted my eyes back to the exit door closest to Britton only to see her slip out through the opening.

  “Could you excuse me for a moment? Thank you for attending tonight.” I patted the woman’s shoulder gently and swiftly moved up the aisle to the same door Britton had exited. I felt pulled to her like a magnet, following her, and as I entered the lobby, I saw her slip away again out the glass entrance doors. She had just passed a couple that smiled at her. I was moving through the crowd slowly, making my way to those doors in hopes of catching up to her when I realized that the couple was my parents.

  Take 9

  Under the Moonlight

  I was cursing myself for how I blew my lucky third time seeing her, so I almost missed the fact that Mum’s gaze followed Britton out the door. I’d lost her again.

  “Mum?” I reached out to hug her. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We wouldn’t have missed it,” she smiled at me.

  “I didn’t know you were coming.” My voice gave away my confusion and frustration at missing Britton.

  “Well, we wanted to surprise you.”

  “I could have gotten you tickets. Are you staying for the cocktail hour?”

  I was rubbing my forehead as if the headache from this morning could return at any moment.

  “We thought we could take you to dinner,” my father interjected with his firm tone. He leveled a stare at me.

  “I can’t leave yet. I need to stay through the cocktail h
our. I’m tied up until seven.” I looked away from my father to the front doors again, as if I could will her to return.

  “No worries, lovie,” Mum said, softly. “We plan on coming to the opening on Thursday night.”

  “It’s called a premiere, Mum,” I corrected her, and my father looked at me again.

  The older woman who approached me inside the theatre auditorium walked up to Mum then. Mum recognized her and turned away from me to address the woman who was tooting the joy of the whole festival and her excitement that a local was being honored during the week. The woman smiled at me

  Dad addressed me firmly under his breath. “She was so excited to see you. Don’t ruin it for her.”

  I hung my head and felt like a disobedient teenager at his words.

  “She’s proud of you, and she’s been singing your praises to everyone. It was supposed to be a surprise on Thursday, but a lot of people are coming to show their support, and your mum’s friend, Grace Hutchinson, is hosting a party for you at her home up the bay. We figured it was too far to have everyone drive back to the farm, and I don’t think your mum could have hosted a party anyway. Karyn wanted to do it, but Grace offered. It was generous of her.”

  Dad gave me another leveled glare and I looked at my frail mother conversing with the overly enthusiastic woman. She was a pillar of calm, and I felt guilty that I hadn’t been home in years. I had a feeling I had missed more than I could visibly see.

  “I’ll be there, Dad.”

  “Of course you will. It’s for you.”

  I saw that Mum was having trouble ending the conversation, but Dad intervened.

  “I’m sorry you can’t join us tonight. We’ll see you soon?” I noticed the hesitation in Mum’s voice.