Judy and the Cardboard Cutie

Chapter 1- Judy- Thursday

“There’s always something to do if you’re bored enough”

                                    Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves- Azeem

It was one p.m. on a random Thursday in March and the only sound in the entire auditorium was the hum of the projector emanating from the back room as the credits rolled across the screen. Usually, I wouldn’t stay for them as I needed to get back to work, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up. Not yet. Not when everything felt so heavy. So, I remained in my seat, watching the credits of the hit movie Moon Fire scroll by for the tenth time since January.

It was the second installment in The Duskrender Chronicles, a surprising box office sensation. I’ll admit, I was borderline obsessed with it. Though that may have a little to do with the lead actor, Weston Grey Wilder, who happened to be the hottest man to walk the earth since Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall. No, I was not yet born when that movie came out, but it’s a classic and I had my dad to thank for introducing me to it.

 The credits finally rolled to a stop and the screen faded to black, plunging me into darkness. The aisle lights turned on, and in their ambient glow I observed the theater around me. Gazing upon the rows of empty seats, I couldn’t help but ruminate on the dilapidated state of the theater.

My theater.

At twenty-four, this was not the life I had imagined for myself.

I always knew this theater would be handed down to me as it was to my father and his mother before him. I just never imagined I’d be fully in charge so soon.  

My eyes started to sting as I furiously blinked back the tears threatening to spill for the third time today. The idea that I could possibly lose this place before I even really got to run it broke my heart. The theater had been struggling for many years now, and even though I was barely making minimum wage, I couldn’t imagine not walking through these doors every day.

When I’d first felt like crying today, I’d slipped into auditorium three for a few hours of escapism. I needed help forgetting what I overheard last night in my parent’s kitchen after I’d stepped out of my room to get some water. Did I love living with my parents? There were worse things of course, like homelessness, but sometimes, most of the time, they treated me like I was still a teenager. That, I didn’t love.

Unfortunately, the usual rush of endorphins from my go-to movie didn’t do much to quell the ache in my chest. I would have to try again later in auditorium two with our flashback cinema film Mannequin. I balled my hand into a fist and roughly rubbed circles over my heart to soothe the ache. It physically hurt to see the theater I loved—the theater I grew up in—falling apart.

After graduating high school, I didn’t attend college like all my friends did. Was I scared to pursue my dreams? Maybe a little, thanks to a traumatic experience on social media. But I could have pursued something else. I stayed because I needed to help my family’s theater.

Though Mom didn’t like to even talk about it, I could see her struggle with the rare neurological condition, chronic vestibular migraine, worsening. I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d need to step into a bigger role at the theater—more than just concessions, ticket sales, and cleaning—and help Dad. Who else would keep our family legacy alive?

But then people just stopped coming to the theater and this past summer, Dad was forced to take a job at the hardware store to pay the bills. And I was given The Emerald.

We had been closed for nearly all of 2020 and still hadn’t recovered. I thought I’d be able to figure out a way to get more people to come back to the theater. But more and more people were choosing to stream movies from the comfort of their own home, skipping out on theaters altogether. During the week, we were lucky if we sold a handful of tickets, and on weekends, I might see a total of about twenty-five guests.

It was like everyone decided they didn’t want to leave their homes anymore, as if creating shared memories with the ones you loved had become a chore instead of the gift it truly was.

Not to mention the fact, Hollywood just wasn’t making the movies people wanted anymore, but I digress.

The past twelve months had been the worst: finances had gotten so tight I’d had to move back in with my parents. My dad, who’d been helping me for free at the theater, couldn’t anymore because he was working full-time at the hardware store, and I couldn’t afford to hire anyone. Thankfully, my mom was generously helping me part-time. The building was paid off, thanks to the efforts and wise financial decisions of the generations of family who owned it before me. However, I could barely afford the utilities and electricity, let alone maintenance and repairs.

So, what does a young woman do at work all day when there is practically nothing to do and no money to fix anything?

She spends entirely too much time scrolling social media, entering giveaways, and researching ways to get The Emerald qualified for consideration as a historic landmark. The tax credits, grants and funding opportunities, and property tax relief could be a game changer. But the process was arduous and overwhelming.

So, I’d treat myself to a movie—or maybe three—every day. To the average person, that may seem excessive, but I had a lot of time to kill… and to overthink.  It wasn’t just because I was bored. Sometimes—a lot of times lately—I needed to escape from the real world; from all my worries about running this theater into the ground.

I reached into the popcorn bucket, hoping for a different kind of comfort, but alas, my signature popcorn recipe full of warm, doughy morsels of deliciousness drizzled with chocolate had been entirely consumed. I sighed, feeling all the more defeated.

I was just about to get up when the lights flicked on and assaulted my eyes. “Gah!”

“Judy! Are you alive?”
            “Gosh, Mom. You act as if you didn’t already know this is where I’d be,” I said, tapping my sternum to calm myself.

“Well, someone’s a little jumpy today,” she stated. “You came in here hours ago to mend a few chairs. I had to make sure you didn’t get swallowed up by one of them.”

“I... I got distracted.”

Of course, there weren’t any chairs that needed mending today as I’d repaired them all last night.

“You sure you weren’t in here so you could salivate over a certain boy?”

My family has never let me live down my high school Weston Wilder phase.

“Nope! He is not why I am in here.” I doubled down. “Like I said, I had to mend some of the seats.”

“So, then, the life-size cardboard cutout of said boy that was delivered here this morning, was sent here by mistake? I guess I’ll just mark it return to sender.”

“No, he’s mine!” I blurted. “I mean, it’s mine.”

Mom narrowed her gaze at me, then shook her head, the corner of her lips twitching.

“What? It may be mine, but I didn’t order him,” I hastened to explain.

“Surrre.”

“I’m serious. Remember that social media giveaway I told you about a few weeks ago?”

“Was this the one where you had to create a post discussing your favorite actor and how one of their movies positively affected your life?”

“That’s the one.”

“Then, yes, I remember.”

“Well, last week I was contacted by the host of the giveaway that I’d won, and the cardboard cutout was my prize.”

Mom propped her hand on her hip. “You spent time entering a competition to win a life-size cut out of Westly Wilderness?”

I could feel the heat creep up my neck. “Weston Grey Wilder.” 

“’Scuse me?” Her thick Georgian accent slipped out. “You know I hate when you mumble.”

I cleared my throat. “The actor’s name, it’s Weston Wilder, not Westly Wilderness.”

She waved me off. “You know I was always on the admin side of this business, Daddy was the movie buff.”

“So, where did you put him?” I asked excitedly.

“Your daddy?”

I smacked my forehead. “No, Weston Wilder.”

“Oh, I put him in the storage room. Now, quit procrastinating. I need a meeting with you in the office.”

“Of course. I just need ten more minutes.”

 “My stars, Judy. The seats look fine to me.”

“But I just found one more that needs mending.” I didn’t really. I just wasn’t in a rush to talk with her. Plus, now I really wanted to check out my prize, but Mom didn’t have to know that. I preoccupied myself with gathering sewing supplies from my pouch.

 “As if I don’t know the real reason you want ten more minutes,” Mom grumbled to herself as she headed toward the exit.

Pretending to have missed her comment, I asked, “What was that?”

“Do not think about stopping at that storage closet on your way to the office. I’ll see you in ten, angel face,” she called over her shoulder, pushing the door open and leaving it swinging behind her as she disappeared down the hall.

Dang it. I really wanted to check him out. But I still was in no hurry to get to the office and be forced to hear the bad news.

I looked out over the auditorium once more, standing by the seat I had mended yesterday. My thumb caressed the worn, velvet fabric now artistically marred by ribbed stitches where I’d patched it. I’d become adept at embroidery over the past year, thanks to spending a lot of time watching YouTube videos. I figured if we must patch the seats, they might as well have some character.

Peering down at the stitches, I smiled as an idea came to mind. From my pouch, I retrieved green thread just a shade lighter than the velvet covering the chair and got to work adding leaves to the neat rectangular patch. Then I pulled out two different shades of red and with a mix of French and Bullion knots, I added little red flowers. No two chairs in this entire theater had been mended the same. It’d become a little hobby of mine and I loved how it gave this vintage theater even more charm.

Breaking the thread with my teeth, I placed the embroidery floss back into my little pouch and zipped it up. With one last look over my shoulder, I exited the auditorium and headed across the worn, gold carpet to the main office near the front of the building to meet Mom.

Dread clenched my stomach because I already knew what she had to tell me. When I’d accidentally overheard my parents talking last night, I could hardly contain the gasp that escaped when she revealed the shocking truth to my dad. I quietly returned to my room, but the words “should close before fall” reached my ears without permission. Mom was my only employee—more like a volunteer since I couldn’t pay her—and she oversaw the books. I knew she’d be advising me to sell the theater, and I did not want to. In fact, I couldn’t stomach the thought and it kept me up all night. 

I stalled outside the office door, the faint notes of Michael Bublé wafting from behind it and Mom humming along. I didn't know if I had it in me to hear this today. I could stick my head in the sand and stay happy pretending I’d imagined her words last night.

I turned, tempted to visit Weston in the storage room. Or maybe I’d pop into one of the other auditoriums. Surely, I had missed a chair or two that needed mending when the music abruptly cut off.

“JUDY!” Mom yelled, flinging the door open and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Oh, sorry sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Slowly, I turned around plastering on a smile that maybe, possibly, could have also been a grimace.

She folded her arms, her brows cocked high on her forehead. “Going somewhere, angel face?”

“I need a few more minutes. I forgot to check the chairs in auditorium two,” I said, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder in its general direction. 

“Later. Come in, come in,” Mom unfolded herself and waved me in, holding the door open with her foot.

I took a deep breath. I can do this. I’m the owner of this place, for goodness’ sake; time to face reality. I have the final say, after all.

“You didn’t really do any mending today did you?” Mom asked, the apples of her cheeks popped, and her lips sly as if she were some great detective. 

“I did! I added some flourishes to what I patched last night,” I defended. “Art takes time.”

“Heavens to Betsy. I may get brain fog sometimes because of my migraines, but I am your Mama. Take how much you think I know about you and multiply it by a thousand.”

“I really did add artistic detail to the seats.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

“Then what is this about?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her heart-shaped lips, a cute trait I’d inherited. “I also know that you spent all of ten minutes on those seats and the rest watching Moon Fire… again.”

I pressed my lips together so my jaw wouldn’t drop.

“I mean, I could hardly blame you. Westly Wilderness is a handsome man, and very easy on the eyes,” she waggled her brows.

“Mom,” I groaned. “It’s Weston Wilder, and please don’t waggle your eyebrows like that ever again.”

“In any case, Weston Wilder,” she exaggeratedly enunciated, “is so ruggedly handsome that he evokes wildness in all those women who are always throwing themselves at him when he is in public. At least my daughter just stalks him in private.” 

“Mom!” I plopped onto the stool against the wall.

She cackled and snorted, which made her laugh even harder. Mom knew that I had just the slightest crush on the actor with those baby blues and golden blonde hair. He’d captivated me since the moment he came onto the Hollywood scene eight years ago. But not only that, there was just something so raw, so real, about the way that he acts. It's in direct contrast to how social media portrays him.

“If you must know, then yes, I was watching Moon Fire. But not because he’s in it. It’s actually a really good movie. Plus, I was working in there and it’s boring without background noise.”

“But how can you see?” Before I could answer with a lame excuse, she added, “And didn't you just watch it yesterday?”

I flicked invisible lint off my shoulder. “Nooo,  that was Sun Rider.”

“Same thing, angel face.”

“Nooo, Sun Rider is the first movie of The Duskrender Chronicles. I’m rewatching them in order because I have to be prepared for when they release the final movie.”

Mom pursed her lips and quirked them to the side. “But isn’t the production of the final movie on hold?”

My vibrato deflated in one fell swoop, and with it, my shoulders sagged. “Yes, but I still need to be prepared. I’m centering some marketing campaigns around its release to help us sell more tickets.”

The Duskrender Chronicles was the biggest box office hit of all time, beating out Avatar by over fifteen million dollars. It also brought more people to our theater on opening weekend than the prior six months combined. The Emerald needed this movie to come out—and quickly.

Mom patted my shoulder. “If you’re stressing yourself on account of this theater, well, just press pause on that for now. But if you’re stressing about whether or not the series will be completed, I have faith that Mr. Wilder will turn up and you’ll get your final movie.”

Will I? Filming of the final scenes had already been on hold for three weeks and two days—ever since Wilder vanished from an exclusive Oscars after-party. No one had seen or heard from him since, and the media was in a frenzy.

“Hello, anyone home?” Mom waved her hands in front of my face. “Good grief! You’d a thought I just said he died. My darlin’, he is only an actor. They’re great to look at, but their egos are this big—” she stretched her hands wide on either side of her head— “I don’t think they’d fit through the double doors of this theater.”

I huffed, blowing a lock of hair from my face. “Now who’s being dramatic.” True, his disappearance was not the same as losing a loved one, but it was still upsetting. My favorite series of all-time might permanently be stuck on a cliffhanger. Besides, I could never admit to my family or friends that I just felt this connection to Weston every time I saw his face. Or that, when he was in a movie delivering lines, it felt like they were directed at me. That would make me crazy. Pragmatically speaking, he was an excellent actor, and naturally his talent fostered a slight crush.

Mom leaned against the short counter, folded her arms across her chest, and leveled me with a profoundly skeptical gaze. “Having a crush is fine, just make sure you aren’t comparing the real men in your life to a fantasy.”

I almost burst out laughing. What men? I never went anywhere besides home or the theater.

“Mom, I’m an adult. I can totally separate fantasy from reality. What I really want to see is this story finished on the big screen. Our theater needs this box office smash, and my gut is telling me it’s not gonna happen.” 

Mom pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. She poured hot water from the electric kettle into a teacup, then held out the blue mug to me that had been sitting there steeping, the steam still rising. “Here, drink this.”

I stood to retrieve it and inhaled its sweet vapors. “Mmmm… Passion. Thanks.”

Mom nodded and took a seat, looking tired and forlorn. For a minute I had forgotten why I was dreading coming in here.

“Is your head okay? Is working at the theater too much? Do you need to quit and you’re just not telling me? Do you need to go home?”

“Oh, angel face. Don’t you worry about that, I’m fine.”

“Well, then, what did you want to talk about?” I asked, placing my hand over hers, my thumb gently stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand.

After a pregnant pause, Mom looked up at me with wet, glittering eyes, placed the back of her hand over her mouth, and let out a muffled sob that cleaved my heart in two.