What I Really Want To Do Is Direct
an excerpt

The shrieking noise echoed in Tuco’s brain, making him wince. A strangled yelp burst forth from his mouth, causing his tormentor to raise her hand and eye him warily.

“Do we have a problem?” she asked.

Tuco raised his head and glared hatefully at the instrument in her hand. An involuntary trickle of drool ran from the corner of his mouth and he wiped at it.

The oral hygienist continued her stare, her eyes holding steadily upon his over her mask. Tuco found the mask made enduring her prodding worse. He wondered why he’d agreed to the procedure. The hygienist finally arched her eyebrow, her impatience at the delay palpable. Tuco imagined her lips pursing like an ancient nun teaching in a parochial school. Except the hygienist’s weapon of choice held the potential to inflict far more pain than a ruler across the knuckles.

Tuco reclined back into the chair and opened his mouth. The hygienist scooted her chair forward and bent at the waist, looming over Tuco once more. She pressed the button on the back of the arched hook of metal just as the tip of it passed below Tuco’s field of vision. He felt the fine mist fall lightly upon his cheeks as the hook descended into his mouth. Tuco heard more than felt the hook make contact with his teeth.

The alien shriek reverberated again in a spot a few inches directly behind his eyes. Tuco didn’t make any noise, though he scrunched his eyes shut tightly. He heard the hygienist begin to hum a random tune as she resumed her work.

“There, you see. It’s not so bad,” she chided. Tuco imagined the hygienist used the same tone to berate her child’s tears over a scraped knee, if she had children. “Once the anesthetic kicks in, you barely notice its there.” Tuco convinced himself that no one who chose voluntarily to inflict such pain on people and was paid for the privilege could possibly entice anyone to mate with them willingly.

“Yah wan swit’?” Tuco offered. With the hook in his mouth, he thought the contempt in his tone was muffled beyond recognition. The oral hygienist snorted derisively in reply.

“Now if you don’t slow me down any,” the oral hygienist said slowly, “we should be done in about thirty minutes or so.” She pressed down slightly harder as she uttered the estimate, causing the shrieking in Tuco’s head to rise an octave. Suddenly, she stopped and raised the hook. Tuco relaxed visibly as the mist of combined water and his spittle ceased raining upon his face. “Would you like some headphones? We have satellite radio. You just tell us what kind of music you like, and we can get it on.” This last was the most sympathetic she’d sounded since Tuco first sat down.

Tuco considered the offer and nodded. In truth, he was thankful just for the respite from the noise and being able to relax his jaw. The oral hygienist turned and laid the hook upon a tray to her left. She stood and searched for the headphones. As she sat, she placed them gently upon Tuco’s ears. They rested comfortably and Tuco found himself surprised at how gently she had fitted them over his head. Perhaps she’s not so bad, he thought. “If they have a jazz station, that works for me,” he said gratefully.

The hygienist nodded and turned, fiddling with controls Tuco could not see. Eventually the dulcet sound of Thelonious Monk slowly grew within his ears. He raised his hand slightly once the volume had reached a comfortable level. The hygienist nodded and reached for the hook. As she leaned over Tuco’s mouth, she cocked her head slightly.

“Can you move your tongue just a bit, please? It’s covering the spot where I left off.”

Tuco complied as best he could. The topical anesthetic the dentist had administered to his gums combined with the subcutaneous shots below the gumline had left Tuco feeling like a prepubescent teenager stumbling through his first kiss. He couldn’t quite tell what his tongue was doing, where it was going and if it was doing any good when it got there. Eventually, the hygienist nodded and Tuco stopped trying to move it. The fine mist speckled his cheeks and chin.

And Tuco found himself listening to the gentle melodies of the jazz with an accompaniment of a thousand nails on chalkboards still resonating in the very core of his consciousness. A resigned sigh went unnoticed by the hygienist as she continued her work.

---

“How’d the dentist visit go?” Maddy asked aa Tuco walked past the box office. Tuco turned and glared at her, his lip curled down in a pained half-snarl. “Eeesh, that bad. So you chipped your tooth that badly? Did they have to pull it or what?”

Tuco’s expression transformed from snarl to embarrassment. “Um, it wasn’t a chipped tooth after all.”

This got Brian’s attention as he walked out from behind the concession stand. “It wasn’t? Then what was wrong? What did they do?”

Tuco glanced around the lobby nervously. The Pearland 8 Cinema hadn’t been open long that afternoon, and the early screenings had only garnered the regular assortment of retirees and unemployed slackers who felt like seeing a movie on a Wednesday afternoon. At the moment, every screen’s film was running, and no one had been inclined to step out for a snack.

Tuco turned away from Brian and muttered something unintelligible. Maddy’s curiosity piqued, she raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What was that?”

Tuco heaved a great sigh, his shoulder slumping slightly. “You have to understand, I haven’t been to a dentist in ages. Since I came of my parents’ insurance five years ago.” Maddy nodded once, her eyes never leaving Tuco’s face. Tuco glanced back over his shoulder. Brian was now standing by the tear box, arms crossed over his chest. Tuco sighed again, then stood up and took a deep breath.

“Whatever I felt in my mouth when I thought I’d chipped a tooth was actually a pretty large piece of plaque that had accumulated since my last cleaning.” Maddy uttered a disgusted moan and Brian started laughing at Tuco hysterically. Tuco closed his eyes and continued. “The process is called a ‘planing and scaling’. Since they can’t scrape it off like normal, they use a different wand that vibrates heavily and breaks it up into little pieces that they can wash it off and go.”

“Dude,” Maddy scolded him with a disgusted look on her face. “That couldn’t have been fun.”

“You have no idea. Because it was vibrating directly on my teeth, I didn’t hear the noise so much as feel it all throughout my head. My skull turned into a giant amplifier.”

Brian snickered. “We could have just put you in front of the speakers at a Metallica concert with your moth open and you probably would have had the same effect but a lot more fun.” He paused “Or was the dental assistant hot? If she was hot that’s got to be a lot better than looking at Lars Ulrich.”

Maddy glared at Brian dismissively. “Why do you assume the dental assistant was a woman? It could have been a man.”

Brain looked at Tuco horrified. “It wasn’t a dude, was it? If it was, man I’d change dentists if I were you. I don’t want some guy poking around in my mouth.”

“Paging Dr. Freud, Dr. Freud to the white courtesy phone,” Maddy intoned flatly. Brain glared at her and was about to say something, when she nodded her head at the concession stand. A short, elderly Chinese woman was standing at the register glancing back at the trio expectantly. Brian huffed at Maddy, and turned to go back behind the stand to serve the expectant customer. Maddy shook her head as she watched him go. “He’s got a one track mind. The Pussy Express.”

This elicited a chuckle from Tuco, which made Maddy smile in return. “So was it that bad?”

Tuco nodded. “You know how sometimes they talk about how crazy people think they’re getting broadcasts from aliens through their fillings? I think I know exactly what they think they’re hearing. It’s like I’m not hearing it so much as feeling it vibrate right in my brain.”

Maddy reached her hand out to Tuco. Tuco placed his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him closer. Maddy stole a glance at the phone. The main phone line in the office was engaged, indicating to her that no manager would be coming out to the floor any time soon. She looked past Tuco briefly, and saw Brian holding a bag of popcorn and inquiring of the Chinese woman if she wanted butter on her popcorn or no.

Seeing no one looking at them, Maddy stood from her chair and gave Tuco a quick peck on the lips. She pulled away slightly, but Tuco reached up and held her head in place, leaning forward and reciprocating her kiss more earnestly. She gladly kissed him back, her tongue dancing lightly with his before pulling away and slapping at his arm playfully. “You’ll get us in trouble.”

“You’re worth trouble, even if I still couldn’t really feel that,” Tuco replied. He held Maddy’s glance with his own and she smiled warmly back at him. The moment was broken when I customer knocked on the window. Maddy turned towards the customer, bending the neck of the slender microphone attached to the speaker inbedded in the glass. “Good afternoon, how can I help you?” As the customer looked over the starting times, Maddy killed her mike briefly.

“So dinner tonight once you can chew?”

Tuco nodded. “After I stop at the store and get some floss. I need to get into that habit if I want to avoid going through that again. When your dentist compares a procedure you need to scraping barnacles off of ship’s hull, you know you’ve got problems.”

Maddy had printed tickets for the screening the customer had requested and counted back his change. The customer left the window, his show apparently not starting for some time. She turned back to Tuco, mock disgust on her face. “Jesus, I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth.”

“Yeah well your mother’s never complained, I don’t know why you should.”

Maddy leaned back on the box office counter, taking a slow assessment of Tuco from head to toe. “You just keep it up there, Barney, and you’ll live to regret it.” Tuco was about to ask why she called him Barney when he recognized the joke she made about his dental work. He sighed, knowing he couldn’t say much in response and turned to head to the back room where he could change for work. Maddy snapped her fingers as Tuco was halfway across the lobby.

“Oh shit, I almost forgot. Ms Burns said you’ve got four movies to build up tomorrow night for Friday, and three to tear down,” she called after him.

Tuco turned. “Harry’s projection this week I thought?”

Maddy shook her head. “He quit. Think he knew he was going to get fired soon anyway. Ms. Burns found that collection of film clips of nude scenes he was cutting out of reels as he tore them down. She was not happy with him.”

Tuco slapped his forehead. “Shit, there goes my weekend.” He then glanced back nervously, concerned a customer might have heard his cursing. The Chinese woman had gone back to her movie, and Brian was in the kitchen retrieving ice for the soda fountains.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about, I was working all weekend anyway, so we weren’t doing anything,” Maddy replied. She had begun organizing some of the promotional cards from upcoming films that rested on the far side of the box office counter.

“I do have a life outside of you, you know.”

This last from Tuco caused Maddy to look up from her work and stare at him incredulously. Tuco felt wounded by her disbelief, even if he knew she had a point. He shook his head and turned to continue on to the back room to change.

---

“So what are we getting this weekend? I haven’t even looked at the schedule yet.”

Tuco fumbled in his pocket for the new screening schedule as Maddy unpacked the takeout they picked up after work. He glanced at the headings across the top.

“Looks like we’re getting that new World War II drama with Tom Cruise,” Tuco announced. This elicited a derisive snort from Maddy.

“You think Nazis jumped on their sofas professing their love for Der Fuhrer?” she asked.

“Only if they knew that the name ‘Adolph’ secretly translates into Xenu in some obscure tongue,” Tuco replied, causing Maddy to cackle. “Two new kids’ flicks, it looks like,” he continued. Maddy uttered what sounded vaguely like an obscenity under her breath. “I know,” Tuco responded. “And it looks like their start times will be perfectly in sync. Which means we’ll have wall to wall ankle biters every hundred minutes in the lobby from open to close.”

Maddy paused as she opened one of the Styrofoam containers. “You know, I suddenly feel a serious illness coming on.”

“The hell with that. I have to suffer through that crap without being able to smack the little fuckers around, you have to as well.”

Maddy turned to Tuco and feigned a pout. “You wouldn’t suffer for the both of us in the name of true love?” she pleaded softly. Tuco offered an exaggerated eye roll in response. Maddy huffed and turned back towards the food. “Hmmph. We’ll see if you ever get laid again.”

“You’d miss me too much to let me go without for long,” Tuco said cockily.

“I have a Costco membership, dear heart. I can afford as many batteries as necessary to outlast your sorry ass.”

Tuco didn’t reply but smiled to himself. If nothing else, he and Maddy were well matched for the competitive stubbornness they could break out at a moment’s notice. The smile quickly vanished as he saw the last new feature on the schedule. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“What?”

“The last movie we’re picking up this weekend…it’s that three hour monster they’re pushing out for Oscar consideration.”

Maddy looked puzzled. “So?”

“So that’s gonna be at least ten reels to put together. That’s more than ninety minutes to get it together plus the three plus hours for a tech screening to make sure it’s put together right.” Tuco tossed the schedule on the counter and grabbed the beer Maddy was about to hand over to him. He twisted off the cap and flung it angrily at the trash can, missing wide. “I’m not going to get out of there before four in the morning.”

Maddy looked at Tuco with deep concern. She put her arms around his neck, pulling Tuco into an embrace he resisted at first, then gradually relented to. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered as she kissed the nape of his neck. “You’re not opening shift are you?”

“I am,” Tuco sighed heavily. “I picked up the shift from Jana when she found out her grandmother was ill and needed to leave to go home. I’m working a double.”

“Christ, you’re going to be there almost…what, fifteen hours?”

Tuco nodded. “On about four hours sleep. I may as well not go home.”

Maddy took Tuco’s face between her hands. She looked at him worriedly. “You should ask someone else to take the early shift for you. You never would have picked it up for Jana if you had known you were going to get stuck doing booth work the night before.”

Tuco pulled away from Maddy and picked up the container holding his dinner. He picked his fork through the pasta half-heartedly. “Who the hell is going to want to pick up a Friday opening shift less than a day and a half in advance of the shift? Everyone’s made weekend plans by now.”

Maddy nodded, knowing Tuco was probably right. Then she stopped, a thought crossing her face. She turned and left the room abruptly. “What’s wrong?” Tuco called after her. She didn’t reply.

A minute later she came back into the kitchen, smiling broadly and holding her planner. “I can’t take the whole shift for you, but I can at least open and have you covered until four o’clock. That’s when my regular shift starts, but that gets you at least a few more hours of sleep to get you through the long haul.”

Tuco still looked a bit wary. “You’d do that for me?”

“Why are you surprised?”

Tuco shrugged. “Just figured you’d have plans.”

Maddy set her planner down on the counter and moved to kiss Tuco deeply. He nearly dropped his supper trying to set it aside before it was mashed between their bodies. As Maddy broke the kiss, she looked seriously at him. “You know I’d do anything for you.” The serious stare morphed into a devilish grin. “For a price…”

Tuco smiled back at Maddy. “Is that a fact? And what would that price be?”

Maddy ran her tongue lasciviously along her upper lip. “I think you can guess.”

Tuco nodded, then paused briefly. He turned back towards the counter and covered up both his and Maddy’s dinner. He turned back to Maddy, placing his arms around her waist and picking her up off the ground. He began to carry her back to the bedroom.

“Hey,” she protested weakly, “our dinner will get cold.” There seemed less concern in her tone than mild disbelief at the abrupt change in plans.

Tuco carried Maddy and tossed her onto the bed, Maddy sqeauling with laughter as she landed. “That’s what microwaves are for,” he told her, then leapt onto the bed beside her.

---

“Maddy not staying with you tonight to watch one of the techs?” Mr. David asked Tuco. Tuco had begun lugging the heavy film cans back to the first projection booth.

“No,” Tuco grunted as he hefted the cans. “She’s taking the first part of my shift tomorrow, so she’s taking an early night tonight.” Tuco hated carrying the cans back as much as anything about his job. Every film canister was the same: a wide, octagonal box that opened on a hinge on the back. It wasn’t the weight of them that was so bothersome as the handles.

The cans were carried by grips that were little more than curved narrow metal rods, little wider and a car antennae. Since a full can could weigh as much as twenty or thirty pounds, the mass pulling down on the bar had the effect of feeling like a very dull knife trying to slowly saw through Tuco’s fingers at the knuckle. Tuco could lug the cans by cradling them from the bottom like a boulder, but that meant he could only carry one at a time. With eleven cans to haul up the stairs to the booth, Tuco wanted to make as few trips as possible.

“Well do you mind building the Disney movie first?” Mr. David asked. “I think we can maybe run that at 9:30. The action flick in house five hasn’t sold a ticket for the last round the last two nights. You don’t have to move it over there, I’ll take care of it.”

“Sure thing. Wife and kids coming in to watch the movie while you close up shop?”

Mr. David nodded. “Joyce and Vince have been looking forward to that one for a while.”

“Should have it built up in about an hour,” Tuco called back. He opened the door to the stairs and grunted as he began hauling the cans up the long flight.

---

Tuco turned towards the film alarm board as the reel fed out speedily through the pulley wheels and onto the platter. The last house had emptied for the night, and he made a mental note to add sensing tape to the foot of the film on screen seven. Harry had forgotten to add it, which caused the projector to read the end of the film running through as a “break” in the film. The sensing tape would trigger the shutdown cycle and bring the house lights up in the auditorium when it was done.

As the end of the last reel spooled out, the alarm suddenly shut off. Tuco glanced at the board again and saw it had been reset, probably by Mr. David. A minute later, Mr. David buzzed the booth on the intercom. “Tuco, I reset the alarm on seven. Will you please…”

“Way ahead of you, boss. Just finished the other kiddie flick. I’m going to go put the tape on now, so I won’t forget it.”

“Thanks, I’ll meet you downstairs. Can you give me a hand moving the Disney pic back to house one?” Tuco nodded before remembering Mr. David couldn’t see him. “Sure thing, give me five minutes.”

Tuco jogged down the stairs, through the booth door and across the lobby. His footsteps echoed off the tile as he went ran to the door to booth four.

A few minutes later, Tuco exited and walked to booth three. Mr. David had already fed the movie back onto one of the oversized takeup reels they used to transport films from one booth to another. “How was it?” Tuco asked as he bent to grab the lower end of the reel. Mr. David took the upper end and waited for Tuco to begin leading the way backwards down the booth stairs. Together, once the reel was extended horizontally between them, they appeared to be carrying one of the world’s largest pizzas.

“Joyce said it was pretty run of the mill Disney crap. Vince fell asleep halfway through, so she left early.”

Tuco nodded. “They haven’t been able to make a movie worth a damn since in years,” he said regretfully. As they approached the door to booth one, Tuco reached behind himself and opened the door, the other hand balancing his end of the reel precariously. Once he had a foot propping the door open, he stepped backwards slowly into the booth, Mr. David letting Tuco set the pace.

Once at the top of the stairs, Tuco affixed the large reel to the build table and wound the head of the film through the pulleys and onto the top platter of the projector. Once he was certain it was secure, he slowly started the platter pulling the film through until it was whizzing along an blinding speed. He turned back to Mr. David.

“You think this is going to do any business that we’ll be busy this weekend?” he asked. Mr. David nodded.

“We should be run ragged at least through the opening weekend. After that, who knows,” he replied, shrugging. “Since they opened that multiplex up the highway, our business hasn’t been what it used to be. I keep telling the regional manager that they need to upgrade our projectors and sound, but they say it’s not in the budget right now. Maybe next year.”

“Yeah, right,” Tuco snorted. “They spend money like you’re asking them to pony up the cash personally.”

“Well we’ll have a good weekend at least,” Mr. David said quietly. He did not seem like he believed it entirely himself. “You good to lock up after you’re done?”

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna be here a while.”

Mr. David nodded and left. Tuco sat, waiting for the Disney film to finish feeding out before he began the last build of the night.

---

Don’t know what the hell they’re thinking, playing this movie up as an Oscar contender, Tuco thought as he stumbled wearily from the auditorium.

Building the three-hour long drama had taken longer than Tuco anticipated. One of the reels had the head and foot mislabeled, resulting in Tuco splicing one reel in backwards. He almost missed it, but noticed as he went to splice the next reel in that the soundtrack didn’t match up on the same side. He had to unwind the reel, feed it back onto a different empty reel to get it oriented correctly and then reattach it.

By the time he’d completed the task, he was running forty minutes behind schedule and still needed to run the film through and make sure everything was put together properly. Given the time invested, Tuco figured he would go ahead and watch the film rather than just run it and peak in periodically. So Tuco loaded his mug up with soda from the fountain, and pulled a box of candy from the storage shelves in the kitchen, leaving a note for the opening manager to remind Tuco to pay for it when he came in that afternoon. Fortified with caffeine and sugar, Tuco started the movie and settled in the empty auditorium and waited to be impressed by what had been billed as a very important film.

The film was a biopic about John Entwistle, bassist for The Who. When Entwhistle died in 2002, there was little interest in telling his life story on screen from Hollywood. Subsequent Oscar nominations for roles in biopics about Ray Charles and Johnny Cash spurred a screenwriter with visions of gold statuettes dancing through his head to try and get something written and optioned. A studio had gotten behind it and fasttracked the project to try and make the current awards season.

Tuco felt strongly that in the rush to get the movie out, everyone from the studio heads on down got every single thing wrong.

How much coke off a stripper’s ass were they snorting? Tuco wondered. Matt Damon? MATT FUCKING DAMON? He opens a couple of good spy flicks with big box office and he gets leading man material that requires him to ACT? Tuco washed out his mug shaking his head in disbelief.

Tuco wandered into the third booth to flip the breakers killing power to all the booths before heading home. He couldn’t even convincingly look like he was playing the fucking bass. Tuco’s mind wandered back to one of the staged concert scenes where he was convinced the synchronization between Damon’s “play” and the soundtrack was on completely opposite beats and laughed. I look more convincing playing Guitar Hero with a plastic toy controller than he did.

Tuco’s footsteps echoed across the lobby as he walked towards the front door, his casual clothes bundled up under his arm. He paused, thinking he heard something and idly wondered if he should check the auditoriums to make sure everyone was gone. The darkness of the theater after hours always left him a bit jumpy. Tuco didn’t believe in ghosts but figured that didn’t mean the ghosts that might exist didn’t believe in fucking with him.

The jitters jump started by his own imagination led Tuco to wish that Maddy had decided to come up to watch one of the tech screenings while he was working. Though she was rather diminutive in stature, Tuco always found her presence comforting. If she couldn’t be there with him in the theater, Tuco lamented that she couldn’t be at his apartment waiting for him to come home and crawl into bed with her. He realized his feelings for Maddy had gotten to a very serious degree and wondered if he might not find the relationship growing more serious than he anticipated going in.

Tuco found his attention shaken again, by another sound in one of the auditoriums, though real or imagined he could not say. This was enough to convince Tuco that he needed to make sure all the houses were empty. He dug around in the box office and found the heavy Mag-Lite that they used to help people look for lost items in the houses when the lights weren’t up yet. If someone had hidden in one of the houses after the theater had closed and meant Tuco ill, the flashlight would work as a viable defense weapon.

Tuco progessed down one of the exit hallways next to house one, making sure nothing came up behind him as he made his way to the end. The doors did not give as he pressed on the plate glass, securely locked. Tuco turned back and headed for house one, his thoughts wandering back to the film.

Why the hell did that thing have to be three hours long? Tuco wondered. I know they want to push the music more for soundtrack sales but that’s just ridiculous. How many times do we need to see Pete Townshend smash his guitar for crying out loud? He did that, it was their shtick, we get the point already.

A walk through house one yielded neither ghosts nor intruders. Tuco thanked his luck as the trip back through the house netted him three one dollar bills rolled up and dropped by accident on the ground by the third row of seats. The movie’s theme of sex, drugs & rock and roll lead Tuco to examine the bills for signs of white powder with the flashlight. Finding nothing left him slightly disappointed but still thankful for the extra scratch.

The next two houses held no surprised for Tuco. He moved to the fourth house, and his mind came back to the drug issues in the movie. Was doing all sorts of drugs and playing memorable shows all they could think of to show from his life? I mean, yeah he did lots of shit, but that wasn’t who he was as a person was it? Tuco could not remember if the screenplay had been adapted from a book but found himself making a mental note to find out and get a copy of the book if possible. There had to be gaps in the story the filmmakers left, even if they did take three hours to tell the story.

Tuco had finally gone through seven of the eight houses and both exit halls thinking he was utterly crazy and imagined noises out of exhaustion. He hadn’t bothered to look in house seven as it was where he’d watched the movie he was mentally picking apart. Eh, might as well give it a look, he thought. Tuco’s hand reached for the door when he froze in a panic.

What if the thing I keep thinking I hear is in there? What if I sat there in the dark with some freak killer who was hoping I’d fall asleep during the movie so he could creep out and slit my throat? Jesus, it makes perfect sense, I mean that’s what happens in the movies all the time….

It was the last thought that brought Tuco back around to his present surroundings. He realized just how silly he was being, and cursed himself for having watched so many random slasher films in his life. It occurred to Tuco that as a bonafide movie junkie, working in a place that dealt his drug of choice probably didn’t do terribly good things for his frame of mind. Still even with the sudden grounding in reality, Tuco found himself raising the flashlight as he opened the door, holding it not only to give him as much light as possible, but to facilitate a quick swing if something should come out of the darkness.

The shadows surrounded the narrow beam of light Tuco projected from the back of the auditorium. The seats lay arranged in two narrow sections of eight seats across along the side walls of the house. The wider center section stretched some 30 seats across, all three sections gradually sloping down to a low point directly in front of the screen.

Tuco panned the light across the backs of the seats nearest him, moving slowly down the row to the far side of the auditorium before moving a row closer to the front and beginning a return back to the nearest wall. Tuco realized he’d stopped breathing in an effort to hear if anything scurried in his direction from the darkness the light didn’t touch and reminded himself that passing out from a lack of oxygen would probably be a bad thing. His breath came in short quiet gasps.

By the time Tuco panned the entire seating area, he realized how absurd he’d gotten in his paranoia but could not will himself to relax. He knew he’d need to walk down to the front of the house and check the emergency exit door to make sure it was secure. He would also need to look behind the masking curtains at the bottom of the screen and make sure no one was crouching in wait in the space behind. Tuco inhaled deeply and then proceeded down the nearest aisle towards the exit door.

Once at the door, Tuco leaned on it heavily with his shoulder and felt the reassuring give that said it was solidly locked. He now needed only to look behind the masking and find nothing to realize how silly his fears had been. Which probably explained why he found his arm locked and unwilling to reach forward and grasp the material closest to him. Once he finally invoked the will to do so, he found himself hearing the voice of The Wizard of Oz, admonishing Tuco to pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. With a deep breath, Tuco pulled the material back abruptly.

The space was empty. Tuco saw the old beaten subwoofers for the house sound system and nothing else. Tuco muttered “Dumbass” to himself and turned to walk back up the top of the aisle and out of the house.

It was as Tuco reached the house door that Tuco heard the noise again and turned in a flash, the light on and panning the dark house. “Who’s there?” Tuco called loudly. The sound of his own voice in the dark made him jump slightly.

The noise gradually increased and Tuco realized it was the sound of the projector cranking up. He turned the flashlight’s beam onto the small window the projected image would shine through normally, but not only did he not see anyone through his obtuse angle to the window, but the projector itself did not appear to be on. The film laced through the pulleys and sprocketed wheels sat stock still, and no lights were on the display of the control board beside it.

Tuco then became aware of the glow emanating from the front of the auditorium. He turned and saw the screen itself illuminated brilliantly as though from behind. As Tuco stared at it, he swore that he saw a scene from the movie he’d been watching, but it looked slightly different somehow. The camera angle was different, focusing on the unknown actor who they had cast to play Pete Townshend.

As the camera panned to the right, Tuco saw that it was no longer Matt Damon playing Entwistle. The makeup altered the look of the new actor slightly, but Tuco knew who it was the moment his face came into view.

Tim Roth! That’s it exactly! Jesus, why couldn’t they have cast him instead of Damon. He’s perfect, he can act, he has some stoic charisma…Tuco’s thoughts faded out as he watched the scene play out. Some of the lines had changed slightly, the dialogue feeling less contrived. It no longer seemed like the writer’s were trying to deliberately work in the name of a different Who song at every opportunity.

The scene shifted, and instead of seeing the next scene in the film, Tuco saw a scene that had never occurred in the film he watched. The Who were trying to record “My Generation,” but Entwistle kept breaking the strings on his bass he was playing so aggressively during his solo. Roth as Entwisle eventually got up and went to purchase new strings only to find the strings he used normally were not in stock at the music store closest to the studio. He wound up buying a brand new bass in order to get the strings he wanted. And then proceeded to break every string on that bass as well.

Tuco found himself laughing as the sequence occurred two more times before they finally managed to finish the recording on the fifth try with a fourth different bass. Tuco thought he remembered hearing something about this particular incident but had always believed the story to be apocryphal. Suddenly, as quickly as the screen had begun to glow, the illumination and images faded away.

Tuco suddenly wondered what it was he’d just seen and what had caused it. He turned and ran to the booth door, opening it up and waiting to see something or someone standing by the projector. The machinery stood silent and no one attended to it in any way. Tuco walked slowly up to the projector, moving past the front of it and peering through the window into the house from above.

His flashlight panned out over the floor but nothing new appeared in its beam. Tuco turned and placed his had on the vents that cycled cooler air over the engine that drove the projector. They were still a bit warm from his tech screening, but showed no signs of the projector having been run any more recently than when he shut it down after the film was done. Then he remembered turning off the breakers in the other booth and ran to booth three to check the breakers.

Nothing had been turned on.

Tuco slowly descended the steps to the booth, trying to fathom what he had seen. Well, he considered, I’ve never done drugs so that rules out flashback effects. But seriously, what the hell was that? Am I dreaming?

Tuco walked to the men’s room and stood at the sink, splashing cold water on his face. He turned off the water and stood staring into the mirror. Other than some slight circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep, Tuco saw nothing out of the ordinary about his face or what he saw. He turned to the paper towel dispenser, pulled out a couple of sheets and began blotting at the water still dripping from his face.

You’re tired. You’ve been working too much lately and your mind is just playing tricks on you. You were picking that movie over too much in your own head and your brain just got carried away.

Tuco wadded up the towels and threw them in the trash. He chuckled a bit at his own overactive imagination. You just need to get into your car and get home soon before you get too tired and become a danger to yourself and everyone else out there on the road. As Tuco’s common sense took hold, he knew this to be true. Exhaustion and some work burnout had clearly taken hold of him.

Tuco retrieved his clothes and made his way out the main door of the theater, making sure it latched tightly behind him. He walked out to his car sitting all lone under the sodium arcs of the parking lot that provided sickly yellow illumination. As Tuco fished his keys out of his pocket, he considered again the scene he imagined and Roth in the role.

God, if they’d just made that one casting switch, that would have been genius. Tuco slowly slotted the key into the lock and opened the door, falling into the driver’s seat more so than sitting down. He pulled the door shut weakly and sat there for a minute staring at the dashboard clock. The digital readout glowed green and informed Tuco it now was almost quarter to five in the moring.

Well that and shave an hour off the runtime. Is there really anything in those three hours they couldn’t have said in two? Tuco turned the key, and the car’s engine sputtered to life. It thrummed weakly as Tuco threw it into gear and slowly turned around to move to the exit of the lot.

As he turned, he stole a last glance at the front of the theater. Harry as closing box office person had placed the new movie posters up for the week and taken the old ones down for the films leaving that weekend. Tuco saw the bright animated characters from both the children’s films opening that weekend and was silently thankful he didn’t have to work Saturday during the day. The number of children descending on his workplace would make the auditoriums a nightmare to clean up over the weekend.

Next to those posters sat the one for the film he’d seen. It was a quick and easy Photoshop job from the look of it. Various pictures of Damon s Entwistle from various stages of the film, with the title in simple block script at the bottom: Who Are You?

And for Christ’s sake could they have come up with a lamer title? Tuco thought as he drove away. I mean if you’re going to crib your title from a Who song, use My Generation or something else. Maybe call it Teenage Wasteland if you’re really going to play up the drug angle. Who Are You? sounds like some crappy missing identity mystery.

---

Tuco had hit the snooze bar at least five times before finally rousing himself out of bed. The clock read a quarter past noon. Tuco swiped at the off switch, nearly knocking the clock off the nightstand, then lay back on the bed staring at his ceiling. The prospect of another eleven hours at the theater after more than twelve the night before left Tuco feeling less than enthusiastic about the day.

At least Maddy saved me a few hours sleep, Tuco thought. He considered the possibility of bringing her flowers in appreciation, but realized there was nothing to keep them in at the theater, and they’d just sit in the break room or the office until she left for the day. Tuco made a mental note to set aside some of his next check to take Maddy out for a nice dinner in thanks.

A long shower and quick lunch left Tuco feeling more awake and ready for his long day. On his way to work, he decided to walk up the street to the coffee shop on the corner to grab a double dose of caffeine to ensure he was fully charged for his shift. As the bells affixed to the door jangled, the tattooed goth chick behind the counter glanced up from a magazine.

“Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez!” she called, knowing the film reference Tuco’s parents drew his name from.

“Known as ‘The Rat,’” Tuco replied in a low growl. His Eastwood impression was not anything to write home about, but it didn’t need to be for such a short line.

“To hang by the neck until dead. May god have mercy on his soul,” she finished.

“Yeah, I’ll feel like that by the time this day is done,” Tuco told her ruefully. “How’s it going, Spooky?”

“Same shit, you know the rest. What’ll you have?”

“Jumbo latte, extra shot if you please,” Tuco ordered, looking around. “Where are you guys stashing the Chronicles these days?”

“Over by the bathrooms,” Spooky told him, pointing at the stand near the back of the shop as she packed ground coffee into the filter basket.

Tuco went to retrieve a copy of the free weekly alternative paper. He wanted to check the reviews on the new movies for the week to try and get a feel for what the weekend business might be like. He leafed to the back of the paper searching for the movie listings. Upon finding them, he scanned the list of new releases and then froze.

The first two reviews were lukewarm appraisals for Lucky, the Littlest Bulldog and The Enchanted Forest, the two children’s films opening for the weekend. Tuco knew reviews for children’s films didn’t matter much as parents were usually looking for anything they could take their kids out to without having to worry much about the content. If it featured a happy animated animal of any sort, it usually meant a long weekend of work for anyone at the theater.

What gave Tuco pause was the third listing under the new releases. There, the film reviewer had posted a positively glowing review about a new biopic opening up this weekend. The biopic chronicled the life of the late John Entwistle, bassist for The Who. “The depth with which the film examines the struggles Entwistle had with substance abuse during his lifetime, and the way that is contrasted with Entwistle’s stoic demeanor on stage bears the hallmark of exceptional filmmaking,” the review gushed.

“Of particular note is the performance of Tim Roth in the main role. Roth brings depth and subtlety to a role about a man that most people who aren’t die hard Who fans probably know little about.”

The title of the film as listed in the review: Teenage Wasteland.

“Got your eye-opener up and ready for you, sweetheart,” Spooky called from behind the counter. She turned her attention to the couple who had just entered the shop.

Tuco scanned over the rest of the review quickly. The review made note of two critical scenes Tuco had no recollection of seeing during his tech screening. There was special praise for the efficiency of the screenplay, which presented a significant amount of information and played out multiple events during Entwistle’s life in a solid two-hour running time. One of the scenes noted in the review was the recording of “My Generation” that Tuco was certain he’d hallucinated in house seven.

“Tuco, darlin’? You ok back there?”

Tuco turned back towards Spooky, slowly making his way to the counter. A glance at the theater listings showed the Pearland 8 as showing the movie Teenage Wasteland that week. The showtimes listed were completely different from what Tuco remembered seeing on the schedule for Who Are You?

Tuco closed the paper, and looked up, finding Spooky staring at him inquisitively. “Y’allright?” she asked.

“I’m…I’m not sure,” Tuco replied quietly.

“What do you guys have opening this weekend?”

“Um,” Tuco sputtered, picking up his drink. He took a long swallow, the heat of the coffee burning his tongue slightly. “We’ve got a couple of kiddie flicks starting up, and then this movie about John Entwistle of The Who.”

“Teenage Wasteland? Can’t wait to see it!” Spooky said excitedly. The name caused Tuco to stare at Spooky as though she’d told him she molested collies. “Ever since I saw the trailer for it, I’ve been looking forward to it. My dad learned how to play bass in college because he wanted to be John Entwistle.” She laughed at the last, shaking her head in disbelief. “My dad was such a dork.”

“You know about that movie?” Tuco asked her. Spooky nodded her head. “And it was always called Teenage Wasteland?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t think they’ve ever called it anything else. I saw the trailer for it…I don’t know, maybe four or five months ago.”

Tuco suddenly felt queasy. He couldn’t tell if he was the victim of a very complicated practical joke, or if he had just had one long delusional episode from the moment he’d helped Mr. David move the Littlest Bulldog to a different booth until he’d gone to bed. “Matt Damon,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” Spooky replied.

Tuco turned away and started towards the door. “I thought it was Matt Damon in that movie, not Tim Roth.”

Spooky laughed loudly from behind Tuco, prompting him to pause at the door and look at her. “What’s so funny?”

Spooky shook her head. “Just the thought of Matt Damon in that role. I mean, you’re a movie geek, you’re with me on this, right? Can you think of anybody less appropriate to play a rock and roll god like John Entwistle?”

---

“What are you staring at?”

The question from Heather in the box office jolted Tuco out of his stunned silence. He had arrived at the theater and found himself staring at poster displays beside the box office window. The poster he’d dismissed the previous night was nowhere to be seen. Where the poster for Who Are You? once stood there now lay a different poster, one bearing the title Teenage Wasteland. Where the various pics of Damon as Entwisle once made up the background of the poster, there was now a sole pic of Tim Roth looking very strung out. One of Entwistle’s signature “buzzard bass” guitars stood leaning against a wall nearby. Roth held his head in his hands, but he could just as easily have been staring at the bass with fixture of longing and loathing.

The microphone on the box office speaker popped as Heather switched it on again. “Tuco?”

Tuco shook his head and made his way to the doors of the theater. Heather held it open for Tuco to enter. She looked at him perplexed.

“What is your damage today? Is everything ok?”

“Did…did anyone change out the posters this morning?” Tuco’s question sounded almost desperate for an explanation.

Heather shook her head. “Harry put the new ones up last night like he always does. Why, did someone steal one?”

Tuco slowly shook his head, as much negating Heather’s question as he was acknowledging his on internal disbelief. Did I imagine all of that last night? Tuco asked of himself. If I imagined it, which part? The movie itself or the bit afterwards? But how in the hell could I imagine a whole movie being…something else? Tuco knew that didn’t make any sense.

Heather’s concern turned into an indignant huff. “Well you need to get your shit together. We’re going to get overrun by ankle biters next round, and Ms. Elizabeth said she wants all stations open by 2 behind the stand. Maddy’s working on it, but she’ll need help. And I can’t do that, I’m scheduled for box today, and that’s all I plan on doing.”

Heather’s prissy attitude brought Tuco back to earth. Tuco was always amazed at how Heather thought she was above many of the more menial or demanding tasks that the theater required. Tuco blew Heather off and ran to the back to clock in, change, and help Maddy get everything opened up.

Five minutes later, Tuco ran into the kitchen where he found Maddy shoveling ice into a bucket to transfer to one of the drink fountains. “I’ve got that, babe,” Tuco told her. Maddy looked up at the sound of his voice and smiled as she saw him. Tuco took the ice scoop from his hand and kissed him as she moved to return to the front of the concession stand.

Tuco shoveled the ice and replayed everything he had done the night before, trying to figure out if there was some point where he just completely lost his mind. He knew he could quote chapter and verse some of the worst dialogue from Who Are You? as he saw the film the previous night. He also suspected that if he were able to go and sit and watch the first screening of the day, he’d see nothing of the film he saw the night before. He couldn’t understand how it was possible that the film he’d seen after putting it together could just cease to exist in any form, be it story, cast, or even the promotional materials.

Tuco grunted as he lifted the two heavy buckets laden with Ice and waddled with them to the front of the concession stand. As he made his way through the door and behind the counter, he saw Maddy counting back change to a young mother as her child stood next to her. Tuco presumed it was a child, as all he could see was the very top of a chili bowl haircut of dark hair above the edge of the counter.

Mother and child turned and headed for their auditorium. Maddy turned and took one of the ice buckets from Tuco, pouring its contents into the bin on the fountain to her left. Tuco did likewise into the bin to the right of her register. “How did it go last night?” Maddy asked.

“Ok, I guess,” Tuco responded. Maddy looked at him quizzically. Tuco’s voice clearly reflected some of the confusion that lingered in his mind over what he thought he’d watched the night before. “You ok, love?”

Tuco finished emptying the ice into the bin and wiped at a strand of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “Yeah, I just don’t think I’m awake yet. Still feeling a little…muddled I guess.”

Maddy nodded and hugged him close. “Well we need to get all the stations open before the next round. If you don’t mind getting all the ice, I’ll make sure candy is stocked and get the other popper going.”

Tuco nodded, and took the bucket from Maddy’s hand. He found himself predisposed to thinking everything he had “seen” the previous night to be some elaborate hallucination, probably spurned from exhaustion. Best to forget about it and put it all out of his mind. The day would prove to be challenging enough with the amount business they were anticipating doing through the weekend.

---

Just before the seven o’clock round was due to kick off, Tuco found himself helping with usher duties. The waves of children at two and five had left him run ragged behind the concession stand and both he and Maddy found themselves getting more than a bit cross with each other, though that stemmed more from frustration with customers than any grievance between the two of them.

Tuco had all but forgotten about everything from the night before and was lost in the familiar rhythms of working behind the stand. He always hated the pressures that managers put on concession staff to upsell when helping customers, but it tended to be easier to do when working during a children’s movie opening.

Nudging a mother into going from a medium to a large popcorn was easy when she had four hyper children crowded about her, especially when mentioning the free refill option, since half of what they took into the theater would probably wind up on the floor anyway. Likewise, pushing the “something wet, something salty, something sweet” options. A popcorn and drink order invariably led Tuco to ask if the customer wanted some candy with that whenever a child was present. Thirty seconds of pleading from the munchkin was usually enough to take an overpriced box of M&Ms onto the order.

Tuco almost felt guilty nudging parents into buying extra when everything at the stand seemed so overpriced, but it was what was expected of the job and he felt better about getting paid than he did guilty over charging someone five dollars for a big bucket of popcorn. Still, when Ms. Elizabeth asked him to help the usher clean houses as they emptied out, Tuco was thankful for the change of pace. He winked at Maddy as he walked past and she returned the gesture with a wink and a smile of her own.

Cleaning up after Enchanted Forest and the Littlest Bulldog was a nightmare as expected. Harry and Tricia had drawn usher duty for the afternoon and were appreciative of the extra help. Mountains of spilled popcorn clogged most every aisle, along with the sticky residue of spilled soft drinks. As Harry and Tricia moved swiftly down the aisle chucking the larger discarded items into a rolling trash barrel, Tuco moved back and forth down each row with a push broom, shoving detritus into the aisles so that they could sweep it all up at once. He stopped when he heard a disgusted cry from Tricia near the front of the house.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, why do people have to be so disgusting?” she shouted.

Harry and Tuco looked up, and Tuco found himself grinning despite himself. “Diaper?” Harry asked knowingly.

Tricia’s face was scrunched up in a look of absolute revulsion. Her focus was trained on the floor and Tuco and Harry could hear an odd rolling sound as Tricia seemed to be nudging something along the ground with her feet. As she reached the aisle, Tuco saw the white oblong bundle rumble into the aisle.

“Fucking hate breeders,” Tricia said as she continued to stare at the bundle.

“Thought only homosexuals referred to us heteros as breeders,” Harry said as he resumed chucking trash into the barrel.

“For people this disgusting, I’ll make an exception against my own kind,” Tricia retorted.

Tuco walked down to the row Tricia stood rooted at. It was almost as though she felt like she could not walk past the diaper, lest it explode and vomit up its contents on her as she passed, like a biological landmine. Tuco managed to scoop up the bundle with the dustpan he had brought to sweep up the smaller trash with. His nose wrinkled. The smell of the thing wafted to him as he deposited it into the trash barrel. “It’s a loaded one, too. Jesus how was it possible for them to change the kid in here and not have someone complain about that?” Tuco wondered aloud.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Tricia said. He disgust had rounded out into a barely seething anger. “I swear to god, one of these days, I’m going to quit this job, come to one of these screenings and watch for the parents with infants. I’ll stalk the people who leave these things behind and collect them. Then when they’re asleep, I’ll find a way to get onto their roof and drop the fucking thing in their chimney. That’ll teach the fuckers a lesson.”

The image of Tricia prowling atop someone’s roof, soiled diaper in hand as she wore some ridiculous cat burglar outfit set Tuco to laughing heartily. “What is so goddamn funny?” Tricia asked indignantly. Tuco shook his head at her and regained some composure. When she was in one of these moods, she was not someone to mess with. Tuco half feared she would overcome her disgust at hurl another fecal laden bundle at him if he continued to enjoy a laugh at her expense.

“Tuco, I’ve got it the rest of the way,” Harry told Tuco. He pulled a folded up show schedule out of his breast pocket. “Why don’t you go get seven? That should be letting out in a few minutes.”

Tuco nodded and made his way out of the auditorium. He stopped at the janitor’s closet to retrieve the other rolling barrel and went to the door of house seven. As he opened it, he realized that he was walking into the last few minutes of Wasteland. Tuco paused and felt some sense of trepidation before opening the interior house doors and sticking his head in to get a glance at what point the film had reached and gauge how much time it had left.

The action that played on screen was completely foreign to Tuco. He knew for a fact he’d never seen this film before beyond what he imagined he had seen projected onto the screen in that particular house before. On screen Roth was snorting cocaine in a hotel room. Tuco guessed this would be the last hit Entwistle took before dying in the Las Vegas Hard Rock Hotel. He had no clue what, if anything would happen next. Abstractly, Tuco considered that he might have to come back and watch this movie over and see if anything matched what he had seen…or imagined he had seen the night prior.

There was a loud thunk on the door as Tuco collected his thoughts. Tuco pulled his head back and looked at the door, then the ground in front of it. A large key ring lay on the ground where it fell after hitting the door. Tuco turned and saw Ms. Elizabeth glaring at him.

“Are you going to watch the movie, or are you working here?” Ms. Elizbeth barked angrily.
Ms. Elizabeth was the theater general manager. A diminutive woman in her later forties, she had been the GM of the theater for almost seven years. Tuco had never known someone whose personality could run from cold to hot as quickly as hers could. When she was in a good mood, Ms. Elizabeth could be as nice a person as one could ask for.

Tuco remembered a shift the previous year where he had been suffering from a miserable cold. Ms. Elizbeth had made Heather switch positions with Tuco, putting Tuco in the box office to put as little strain as possible on him during a particularly busy night. She then sent Tuco home as the last round for the night was wrapping up, taking over the box office for him and telling him to take the rest of the weekend off.

When Tuco came in for his first shift after he had shaken the cold, he saw that Ms. Elizabeth had given him credit for working the shifts even though he’d stayed home. There was no sick leave for Tuco’s position, so he was stunned to see Ms. Elizabeth buck the rules so flagrantly to his benefit. It was why Tuco felt compelled to stick up for her when some of the other employees were in the mood to bash her when Ms. Elizabeth wasn’t working.

When she was in a bad mood, however, hurricanes did less damage. Tuco realized that Ms. Elizabeth had thrown her keys at him and wondered if she’d missed him on accident or deliberately.

“Well?” she hissed again.

“I was just checking to see how much time was left. Harry told me it was about to let out,” Tuco replied sullenly. As though on cue, a small cluster of patrons exited the house at that moment. Tuco turned and saw the credits scrolling up the screen over the heads of people exiting.

Ms. Elizabeth glared a second longer at Tuco before pushing past the exiting customers and scooping her keys up off the ground. She shot Tuco a last baleful glance before moving towards the lobby. Tuco was annoyed that she had time to chuck keys at him, but couldn’t be bothered to help clean the house.

Tuco noticed Roth’s name on the cast credits as they scrolled slowly up the screen. The name seemed almost to taunt Tuco, mocking his confusion over what portion of his memories were real and which were imaginary. As Tuco slowly worked his way through the exiting patrons moving in the opposite direction, he caught occasional snippets of conversation as people discussed the movie as best the could over the music playing with the credits.

“…looked like he really knew how to play like Entwistle did. I remember seeing The Who…”

“Incredible movie.”

“…cast it just right.”

Tuco did feel some reassurance in what he heard. Even if he wasn’t certain of what it was he had really seen during his tech screening, the things he had believed (seen?) in the alternate (actual?) version of the film that would make it better were being well received. One audience in one theater was hardly a definitive sampling, but Tuco instinctively felt between this audience’s comments, what he read in the Chronicle review, and even from Spooky’s observations from the trailer she had seen that he knew what would make for a good movie. In this case. He thought.

But if that was my imagination, Tuco thought, if that was just what I imagined the movie could be if it were done poorly, where did that idea come from? I don’t think I’d ever even thought about this movie before I had to build it up. So where did three hours of crap film come from? Why did I imagine it?

Another thought made Tuco’s head swim. What if it wasn’t three hours? But then what the hell happened to that time in my head? What was I doing? Tuco found himself getting nauseous the more he tried to tease the problem apart. He felt that the best solution would be to just forget about it and chalk it up to a strange mental episode brought on by overworking. What else could it be?

---

Teenage Wasteland wound up being the third biggest opening film of the weekend. Opening against kiddie flicks, it was anticipated the the drama wouldn’t finish at the top of the charts. But the film managed to beat out the animated features in average per screen, taking in nearly as much while boasting only a third as many screenings. More importantly for the film, it had very positive word of mouth amongst audiences and critics.

Tuco found himself being asked by people at the theater whether he’d watched the movie when he put it together and what did he think of it? Tuco’s recollection of specific scenes was limited to only what he saw or dreamt he saw in the last moments in the theater before he left. But he did always manage to find a way to praise the casting of Roth in the lead and that he imagined the pacing was just right for its length.

No one ever pressed him for greater details about the film, but those who came back to see it that week agreed passionately with the things Tuco cited as positives. Another week came and went and Tuco had forgotten about the questions of what had been real about the tech screening and what was not.

A part of Tuco always intended to go back and see it and yet always seemed to find an excuse to give it a pass. It wasn’t until Maddy insisted on a “date night” since they’d not been out in a while, and that she wanted to see Wasteland specifically as part of the date that Tuco realized he wouldn’t be able to dodge it anymore.

Maddy turned to Tuco as the two of them sat in the theater. She saw him sitting rather tensely in his seat, his knuckles a bit pale as they gripped the armrest. “Are you ok? Why are you so wound up?”

Tuco realized what Maddy was seeing in him and forced his grip to relax. He offered her a smile that he hoped looked genuine, and when she returned it warmly, Tuco knew he’d managed to get it right. Maddy leaned over and gave Tuco a lingering kiss, her tongue dancing lightly across his lips. Tuco forgot about his anxieties for moment.

“You know,” Maddy said, casting her eyes downward shyly, “you didn’t have to see this again just for me. We could have done something else, I wouldn’t have minded.”

Tuco fought the urge to take the escape clause she offered, knowing how silly it would sound if he tried to back out now. “No, that’s ok,” he reassured her. He placed his hand over hers on her lap. Maddy took his hand gently between her own and brought it to her cheek. Tuco savored the softness of her skin and found himself in awe of the look of admiration she gave him. An unexpected truth fell from Tuco’s lips.

“I needed to see it and see if it was everything I remembered or not.”

Maddy chuckled quietly at Tuco’s comment as the lights dimmed in the theater. She kissed Tuco’s hand and brought it back down to her lap, still clasping it tightly. “Ever the wannabe critic,” she chided him.

---

Tuco’s anxieties faded as the movie rolled. Some basic scenes in what he saw with Maddy were unchanged from what he had seen in his tech screening, though no scene in which Entwistle was on screen was anything like what he remembered or hallucinated. Tuco found as the movie wore on, his memories of what he thought he’d seen that first night grew dimmer and less cohesive. He felt a momentary jolt as the scene that had projected from the screen itself when he first pictured Roth in the role played out exactly as it had that night.

It was the most vivid connection Tuco had with that night alone in the theater and he thought he might have broken out in a light sweat. Then the scene was past, more of this movie which he hadn’t seen played out and he found himself in a state reserved for films he really enjoyed. Everything else faded out of existence, even Maddy, as Tuco found himself completely immersed in the movie. The unfamiliarity provided Tuco with some unexpected pleasant surprises. Lines cut differently, scenes shot from different angles that changed the impact of the moment. It was all gloriously put together.

When the film reached its climax, Entwistle laying in his hotel room bed in Las Vegas, drifting off into a slumber from which he would never awaken, Tuco found himself shaken from the reverie he’d slipped into with the story when he realized Maddy was crying silently. He reached into the cupholder on his armrest, pulling a few napkins he’d gotten with their snacks at the concession stand and handed them over. Maddy grabbed at them appreciatively, then looked closely at Tuco in the darkness and smiled wanly. “You too, huh?” she asked. It was only in that moment that Tuco realized he had shed tears as well.

It was, as it turned out, one of the best movies Tuco had seen in some time.

---

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me how good that was!” Maddy exclaimed. They were walking back to her car in the parking lot. Maddy had needed a moment in the bathroom to regain her composure. She was prone to crying at movies in general if there was anything remotely emotional about a given scene. Something that touched her deeply could leave her a sobbing wreck. Wasteland had not quite gotten her to that point, but Tuco gauged from her face it was a near thing.

“I’ll be honest with you, I think I was so wiped by the end of my shift that I don’t think any of it really lingered with me,” Tuco fibbed slightly. He felt somewhat guilty about lying to Maddy, even for something he was not sure was real, and was compelled to chase the white lie with a full truth. “I swear, it was almost like I was seeing it for the first time all over again tonight.”

“Still I ought to kick your ass for not warning me ahead of time,” she said as she unlocked the car. Tuco opened his door and climbed into the passenger seat. “You know how I get emotional with sad movies,” Maddy continued. She took a deep breath that shuddered somewhat as she exhaled. Tuco thought she might be about to lose it again in remembering the last moments of the film and put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her awkwardly over the car’s center console.

“I really wasn’t sure how you would react,” Tuco told her. “I mean, you’re not into the music at all, so I wasn’t sure how invested you’d get in the characters.”

Maddy gave Tuco a level glare, as though trying to gauge his sincerity. It made Tuco a little uneasy, but he resisted reacting to it. Given how little he was certain he actually experienced in the now fading memories of that night surreal night, Tuco now felt extremely silly about what he thought he’d experienced.

Maddy’s glare turned into a broad smile and she kissed Tuco quickly on the cheek before starting her little Honda up. The engine sputtered briefly before catching and roaring to life. Maddy threw the car into gear and wheeled quickly to the exit of the lot.

As Maddy paused waiting for traffic to clear so she could turn onto Riverside Drive, she continued to gush about the movie. “And was Tim Roth not the single most amazing actor you’ve ever seen in your life in that movie?” she asked.

“I don’t know if I would go that far,” Tuco countered, “but I will definitely say it’s the best thing he’s ever done in his career. That, there is no question about.”

Maddy eyed the gap in traffic she’d been waiting for and zipped into it as soon as she could. She quickly adjusted to the flow of traffic and began the familiar drive to Tuco’s apartment. “Well all I know is if he isn’t receiving an Oscar when the time comes for this movie, there’s no point in even giving the things away anymore. I mean, honestly, who the hell do I have to blow to get that man the recognition he deserves?”

Tuco laughed at Maddy as he watched the city pass by his window. “Well, you know…” he started. “That would be me, actually.”

“Oh really,” Maddy replied incredulously. She made a turn onto Woodhollow and slowed down on the more residential street.

“Absolutely,” Tuco retorted confidentally. He turned to look at Maddy. “You know, it’s because of me Tim Roth was even in that movie.”

“Is that right? Wow. I had no idea I’d been dating such an influential Hollywood player.”

“Damn skippy,” Tuco replied. He was enjoying the game they were playing and decided to run with it as far as he could. “You wouldn’t believe how many casting agents and directors have me on speed dial.”

“Uh-huh,” Maddy muttered. The bemused look on her face reminded Tuco of how Maddy looked whenever she heard her seven-year-old nephew talk about how he saw a dinosaur at school.

“Spielberg called me yesterday, as a matter of fact. We’re doing lunch next week.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, it wasn’t really Spielberg,” Tuco said shyly. The suddenly demure response got Maddy’s attention as she pulled into a parking space at Tuco’s apartment. She put the car into park and killed the engine, turning towards Tuco to hear his next line.

“Yeah, well, it was actually his people. Calling my people. You know how these Hollywood things work.”

Maddy crossed her arms across her chest, and feigned skepticism. “You? Have people?”

“Well, no. I just make like I have people. You’d be surprised how many crappy accents I can fake when the pressure is on.”

Maddy laughed lightly at Tuco. He found himself staring at Maddy and feeling the affection he felt for her overflowing again. He reached out and began lightly stroking the hair on the side of her head. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in being ‘my people’?” he asked her. “I could use a girl like you.”

“Really?” Maddy said quietly. She nuzzled her head into Tuco’s head, relishing his touch. “And just what would being ‘your people’ entail?”

Tuco looked thoughtful for a moment. “Blowing me to get Tim Roth into more movies?”

“I don’t think so,” Maddy said with a smile.

“So you’re not interested in blowing me?” Tuco replied with a pout. He did his best to look like a child that had been told Santa would not be visiting this Christmas.

Maddy shook her head at Tuco’s pathetic expression. “I didn’t necessarily say that…”

They kissed deeply, passionately. Tuco lost all sense of time whenever he kissed Maddy. He didn’t know how long they had been snogging, but he felt an urge to cop a surreptitious feel of Maddy’s breast. She slapped his hand away playfully. “Behave yourself,” she scolded him.

Tuco feigned his pout again, and Maddy now looked at Tuco slightly annoyed. “That look is so not going to get you laid tonight.”

“How about this then?” Tuco asked, crossing his eyes.

Maddy’s turned stoic. In the flattest monotone she could muster, she replied. “Oooh yes, oh baby, you do so know what I like.”

“Gets them every time,” Tuco told her brashly.

“Them? What them?”

“Uhh…” Tuco froze. They both knew the other was kidding, it would just be a question of who broke character first.

Maddy wound up relenting. She leaned her head against her headrest, looking longingly at Tuco. “I love you,” she said softly.

And in that brief moment Tuco froze, his discomfort visible on his face. Maddy saw it and breathed a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching to open her door.

Tuco felt the moment slipping away and gently grabbed a hold of her shoulder, turning Maddy back towards him. Maddy turned reluctantly, her face displaying a suppressed resignation.
“Don’t ever apologize for saying that,” Tuco chastised her. He was upset that Maddy had apologized but he was more upset with himself for making her feel like she needed to.

“It makes you uncomfortable, I know this,” she replied.

“It doesn’t, it’s just….” Tuco’s words trailed off into nothing.

“You don’t feel the same way.” Maddy’s utterance came off more a statement of fact than a question.

“No, don’t think that. Maddy, you mean the world to me, you know this.”

“Then why can’t you say it?” Tuco could see Maddy was fighting back tears. He grabbed hold of Maddy and hugged her tightly to himself.

“I…” Tuco started, the words feeling like a softball lodged in his throat. “I…love you.” The last word trailed off so quietly that had he not been clutching Maddy so close to himself, Maddy might never have heard it from Tuco.

“I don’t mean to act like a ‘girl’ on you, but you know it doesn’t quite carry the same weight when you’re just saying cause you think I need to hear it,” Maddy told Tuco. He couldn’t see her face, but Tuco could hear her sniffling and knew Maddy was fighting back tears for the second time that night.

“You’re not acting like a girl, you’re acting like an adult,” he replied. “Which is why I sometimes think you’re too good for me. Like I don’t know why you love a shlub like me.”

“We’ve been over this before, you’re not just some shlub,” Maddy told him pulling back. Now it was her turn to look concerned. “You’re a terrific person, Tuco. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I’ve never dated a guy I felt as close to as I do with you.”

“Despite the fact I’m working a shit job in a movie theater at the ripe old age of 25?” he asked.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, 25 isn’t old!”

“It’s too old to be working a near minimum wage job. I should be degreed and working in the real world right now,” Tuco lamented. He could barely conceal his self-disgust.

Maddy rolled her eyes, having fought this argument with Tuco before. “You struggled through your first couple of years in college, trying to be what you thought your parents wanted you to be. You’re not the first person to take some time away from school, and you’re not going to be the last. You intend to go back?”

Tuco shrugged. He still hadn’t found a way to respond to Maddy when she had the arguments that countered everything he said.

“If you intend to go back, then you just need to figure out what it is you’re really meant to do with your life. You were never cut out for business school. I think we’ve figured that part out. So just make do until you find your calling and in the meantime try to find some joy in life.” Maddy sighed heavily. It was obvious she was frustrated with this line of conversation, not least because they had been in these circles before.

They sat in an awkward silence for what seemed an eternity. Tuco forced himself to look at Maddy after averting her gaze afraid of what he might see in her eyes. She hadn’t moved her head from the headrest. Tuco saw a depth of emotion in her eyes that he found devastatingly beautiful…and overwhelmingly intimidating.

His eyes were drawn the nape of her slender neck. They traced the line up to her strong jaw. There was no mistaking when she had dug in her heels on a given position. Her jaw set and pushed forward ever so slightly, as though she were daring someone to try and cross her.

Tuco found himself in awe of her sheer force of will more often than not. And he wondered desperately if he was man enough to match her will over the long haul.

He reached his hand out towards her neck, his palm cupping that jaw he was so intimidated by. He sensed Maddy relaxing slightly with his touch, turning her head towards his hand ever so slightly. He raised his thumb to caress her cheek.

“I love you, Maddy,” he whispered softly.

“Are you saying that because you mean it or because you think I’m expecting you to say it since I did?” Tuco suspected the question would have stung him more if he didn’t understand the origins of her doubts.

“I’m saying it because it’s true. I don’t know how or why I came to be with such an amazing woman or to meet her in such an unexpected place in my life, but I am thankful every day that I did.” Tuco wasn’t sure that he knew much of anything about anything, but he did know that much was immutable fact.

Maddy turned her head enough to kiss Tuco’s palm.

“Will you come up with me?” Tuco asked. It wasn’t about the potential for anything to happen, as much as Tuco simply not wanting her to leave.

Maddy smiled at the request. What had been a warm love in her eyes suddenly became mischievous and Tuco knew that she would stay. “Maybe. Should I have my people call your people?”

“No ma’am, you’re a VIP associate with Tuco’s Top Talent. You never have to deal with ‘people’. You always get to talk to the man at the top.”

“Well with an offer like that, how could I possibly refuse?”

---

Tuco found himself sweating profusely. He had plenty of light in the booth, but he still questioned whether he was seeing everything clearly that he needed to. What he knew was that he needed to get things just right or he would catch hell for doing things wrong.

He counted silently under his breath and then raised the cutter slowly.

---

The change in Teenage Wasteland that Tuco had seen had been all but forgotten after a few weeks. Tuco had noticed the praise that the movie had earned from critics, and it had slowly built up its business that it qualified as a bona fide commercial success to go with its critical laurels. Life for Tuco went on as normal for a bit more than a month, and he and Maddy seemed to be doing well.

It was near the middle of October when Tuco drew another projection shift to build opening films for the weekend. It was a light shift, only one movie ending its run and needing to be torn down and only one opening up. In anticipation of Halloween, a new horror film had been booked to try and bring in the crowds.

Tuco arrived at the Pearland at eight o’clock Thursday evening. Heather was working box office and did not bother to look up from the magazine she was leafing through during the down time between rounds. Tuco regarded her with equal indifference and knocked on the manager’s office. Tuco saw the light through the peephole fade briefly and then the door opened wide. “Hey Tuco, come on in,” Mr. Sweeny offered.

Tuco walked past Mr. Sweeny and went to one of the chairs in front of the large desk that belonged to Ms. Elizabeth. Mr. Sweeny walked to his own desk, which had stacks of cash arranged across it.

Mr. Sweeny had worked at the Pearland for a few years prior to Tuco coming to work there. He had finished a liberal arts degree from the local University and found the job market to be lacking. He had worked part time for the theater during school, and because the opportunity to work full time as a manager was readily available, he took the job with a wife and a kid on the way.

It was seven years later, and he was still working the same position he had when he first accepted the job. As new multiplexes opened in town, Mr. Sweeny always tried to snag a new general manager position. Every time he came up empty handed. Tuco always felt bad for Mr. Sweeny. He put as much effort into doing his job well as anyone there, and it never took Mr. Sweeny anywhere.

“Close down one of the stations at the stand already?” Tuco asked, pointing at the money.

“Yup,” Mr. Sweeny said as he sat down to resume closing the till. He picked up the stack of ones and began rapidly counting the bills down onto the desk.

Tuco watched Mr. Sweeny count silently. He had an urge to start saying random numbers to mess with Mr. Sweeny’s count, but decided to play nice for the evening. Mr. Sweeny finished his count and made a note on a balance sheet.

“How are Kathryn and Jeff?” Tuco asked.

“They’re good. Jeff started kindergarten this year and seems to be adjusting to it ok.”

“How’s Kathryn taking not having him around the house anymore during the day?”

Mr. Sweeny paused for a moment before answering. Tuco figured Mr. Sweeny was trying to assess just how honest to be in his response. Though Mr. Sweeny was as well liked as anyone could be at the theater, his wife had a reputation for being more than a tad brusque.

“She was pretty bad the first day of school. I think she’s adjusting to it, but it hasn’t been easy,” he admitted.

“For you or for her?”

“Yes.”

Tuco laughed as Mr. Sweeny pecked out figures on the desktop calculator to his left. The printer on the calculator tape burred angrily as the numbers spooled out. Mr. Sweeny brought up the total and sighed deeply.

“Bad numbers?” Tuco asked.

“Well they’re not good,” Mr. Sweeny replied. He ripped off the tape, scrawled his initials on it, and then noted the final amounts on the balance sheet. “The numbers have been steadily lower ever since they opened up the Southpoint last year.”

“Well, of course, they’ve got all the new bells and whistles. Digital projection, stadium seating. I mean, I don’t know why anyone would come here to see a movie if they can go there and get all that plus the same flick.” Tuco paused, and looked at Mr. Sweeny. “Say, do you know if they’re hiring? I don’t know why I’m here.”

Mr. Sweeny glared at Tuco, prompting Tuco to laugh hysterically. Tuco had no interest in leaving the Pearland, but he found it amusing to mess with Mr. Sweeny.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Mr. Sweeny scolded. “I’ve been paranoid about us losing staff to them ever since Harry popped up over there.”

“Is that where he wound up?” Tuco responded. He was surprised any theater had bothered to take Harry on. “I always figured you or Ms. Elizabeth had shit canned him.”

“Yeah, he left us because they offered him another dollar ten an hour to go over there.”

“That whore. They’ll regret it the minute they have a movie with any nudity in it. I can hear the complaints now. ‘The movie kept jumping around. Why do you always show old prints here? Can’t you afford a new one with as much as you charge us for popcorn?’” Mr. Sweeny laughed at Tuco’s impersonation of one of the complaining customers they’d had over a movie Harry had butchered particularly egregiously.

“Oh you laugh but you know it’s true,” Tuco retorted. “Those shy bastards who are too cheap or embarrassed to go out and rent porn on their own pay very close attention to any splice we put into those kinds of movies. Deny them one second of Angelina Jolie’s breasts that they think they’ve paid for and you’d think you shot their dog.”

“Well that may be the case, but he kept the movies running on time and built up and tore down faster than anybody here. Even you.”

Tuco snorted derisively. “Well then I better go get started on tonight’s work, since you’re clearly watching the clock on my ass. Anyone staying on or coming in to watch the tech tonight on this?”

Mr. Sweeny shook his head. “You know I don’t like those gory movies and anyone who might be interested is probably coming back to see it with a date tomorrow or Saturday night.”

“You didn’t make sure those lazy SOBs were on the schedule to hand the rushes we’re gonna have with this thing?”

Mr. Sweeny shrugged. “Southpoint has it. We’ll just get the leftovers once they’ve sold everything out and they have it on two or three screens.”

Tuco nodded. It bothered him somewhat to see Mr. Sweeny so resigned to second class status as the theater went. Whether Tuco understood it or agreed with it or not, Mr. Sweeny was very committed to the success of the theater. Tuco thought it admirable, even if the upper management within the theater company didn’t appreciate just how dedicated Mr. Sweeny was.

---

The cutter came down, slicing through cleanly. Tuco raised the arm back up, and then lifted the lower end of the film up off the plicer. He held it up to the light, silently uttering a prayer that he had counted correctly and cut in the right spot.

The light shined through the frame of film, and because of the light background of the scene, Tuco could clearly see the black line delineating the bottom of the frame on the edge of his cut. Counting upwards from that black line, Tuco exhaled with relief. Four sprocket holes on each side reassure Tuco that his cut was true.

Tuco began slowly sliding the film upwards between his hands counting in his head.

One, two, three…

As he ran through the numbers, an idle thought crossed Tuco’s mind. It never ceased to amaze Tuco how movie studios seemed to be under the impression that punctuation somehow made a movie title more exciting or interesting.

---

When Tuco was seven, he remembered being up a bit past his bedtime and flipping through channels on the cable box that rested on the top of his family’s TV set. The seven-year-old Tuco found himself overwhelmed by the potential that existed in the magical box that gave him twenty-four channels to choose from, most of which were far removed from the local channels Tuco knew in his home of El Paso.

Pushing the buttons at random, he found himself looking for anything that caught his attention and held it for more than a second. His parents were not watching TV that night, opting instead to play cards with friends who had dropped in unexpectedly. Tuco pressed button after button, the images flashing on the curved screen.

A couple speaking in Spanish and then kissing passionately magically transformed into a heavily muscular man firing a gun at an unseen target. The shooter then turned in a flash into a news anchor intoning gravely about some conflict in a part of the world Tuco knew nothing about nor cared for. Another button, another image. Except this time, Tuco found himself mesmerized and stopped.

On the TV set, Tuco saw a number of people in Army uniforms. They were slowly advancing on a position across a desert landscape. The wind had whipped up a dust storm that made it difficult for the men to see, as well as obscuring them to Tuco somewhat. Eventually they stopped, as a shrill repetitive shrieking pierced through the sound of the blowing wind.

To Tuco, it sounded like the noise the car Tuco’s father made when it first started up. It was a repetitive, cyclical sound, metal scraping upon metal in long, rhythmic squeals. Tuco’s father had tried to show Tuco what was wrong with the car, talking about the fan belt, but Tuco had little head for mechanical devices and how they worked. Though Tuco’s father did his best to show Tuco how a car worked and how the pieces fit together, nothing really stuck.

As the shrieking noise built in volume, Tuco’s jaw dropped as the camera’s angle changed, and he saw what appeared to be the head of a giant ant moved into the frame. The soldiers dropped back as the ant moved towards them, firing their guns at the attacking insect. The shrieking noise wavered higher and lower in volume. If the bullets the soldiers fired at the ant were impacting, Tuco didn’t see where they were striking or how.

Tuco normally did not care for movies that were in black and white. He associated them with old things that had no meaning to him on any level. But Tuco found this scene to be something exciting. Even though the ant was differing shades of grey on the TV screen, he imagined in his mind that this was clearly a red ant attacking the soldiers. As more soldiers fired on the target, the sounds of gunfire grew in volume until the shots were louder than the shrieking noise that the ant was making. Eventually the ant’s head fell to the ground, dead from gunfire. Tuco did not notice or did not care that there was not a full body to the ant that he could see.

The screen momentarily faded to black and then the scene Tuco had just seen flashed back up with the words “After these messages, we shall return you to….THEM!”

Tuco found himself watching the rest of the movie until his parents made him go to bed. He was already on the verge of falling asleep when they ordered him to bed, but he was able to see most of the movie. He knew that the giant ants had been somehow mutated by radiation. And that a queen anhad somehow escaped the onslaught of the US Army and had started a colony of giant ants in the sewer system that ran under the city of Los Angeles.

Tuco went to bed that night and dreamt of giant ants that chased him through the streets of El Paso, Texas. The Army sent soldiers from the base at Fort Bliss who saved Tuco from certain death at the mandibles of the horrific creatures. Tuco awoke the next morning wanting to see Them! again and see whether the Army had been able to kill off all the ants or if the country would be overrun by these ravenous creatures. He pitched a fit unlike any he’d ever had before when he found out that he could not see the rest of the movie as it was not scheduled to be on that day. It would be another ten years before Tuco would be able to see the ending of that movie.

Tuco was born to a father who adored movies of all types. It was for this reason that Tuco’s father insisted on naming his first son after a character in a movie that he loved more than any other he’d ever seen. Unlike most children of Tuco’s generation, when Tuco was born, two certificates were filed on the day of his birth.

Tuco’s birth certificate makes note that on October 27, 1972 he was born with a given name of Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez Rodriguez. On that same exact date, a legal name change was filed, shortening Tuco’s legal name to Tuco Pacifico Rodriguez.

So in many respects, Tuco’s love of movies was something that was practically hard wired into his DNA. When Tuco found himself captivated by Them! on TV that night when he was seven, the only thing he really did was reaffirm his own birthright.

---