The Drafthouse - 2/4
III
Ivy and I sat in one of the restaurant booths as she polished off the leftovers; I’d managed to snag one of the salads for myself. I’d been working at the Drafthouse for over three weeks, and hanging out with Ivy was becoming one of the best parts of my day. Having a work friend always makes long shifts go by a little faster.
Ivy was saying, “I just didn’t know it was going to be a two-parter.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I read about that in some of the interviews, but it wasn’t super clear from the marketing.”
“I was kinda relieved, to be honest. With all the threads they had going, plus adding a few more toward the end, I thought it was gonna turn into a three-hour movie.”
I couldn’t stop a little snort of laughter. “Didn’t you check the runtime first?”
Ivy scoffed, “What, like some kinda nerd?”
I glanced up to see that familiar sparkle of mirth in her eyes. I’d probably be falling for her… if we weren’t coworkers. She was so easy to talk to that I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten until I glanced at the wall clock.
“I should really get going,” I said.
I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, then her impish grin returned. “You gotta get home and watch that new Star Trek, nerd?”
For a moment, I considered giving Ivy a full-on Ted Talk about the utopian dream Star Trek represents, then caught myself. I watched her take a massive bite from a chicken sandwich. She’d undone a button from her shirt, and I could see just a hint of cleavage from her breasts crammed into that vest. I purged my dirty thoughts and answered honestly. “No, I have homework, unfortunately. We will revisit that topic, though.”
I waited for Ivy to make another wisecrack about my having homework in my late 20s. Instead, she asked, “Online classes?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too, actually.” She named the same university as mine.
“Heh,” I grinned.
“What?”
“Well, in the Before Times, we might have run into each other in class.”
“Hmm,” She stared into the middle distance, “Maybe. What program are you in?”
“Criminal Justice.”
Ivy let out a musical laugh, momentarily brushing her fingertips against my hand. I stiffened. “What?”
“Oh, it just fits you really well, that’s all.”
I didn’t think she knew me well enough to make that claim, but I didn’t want to argue. “What about you?”
“Art and art history.”
“That explains your love for Spider-Verse,” I said.
“I guess it does,” She grinned. “I mean, those movies are gorgeous, aren’t they?”
I wasn’t thinking about Spider-Man as I nodded.
“Anyway, I’m focussing on secondary education. There aren’t a ton of jobs in that field, but there’s not much else you can do with an art degree, and I really love teaching.”
“That’s pretty cool… and smart.”
“Thanks, Mitch.”
I felt a lump in my throat. I slid out of the booth. I grabbed my bag. “Well, see you tomorrow!”
Ivy was sucking on the straw of an enormous theater soda, so she merely waved.
I rode back across the post-midnight downtown by the orange glow of sodium streetlamps. I tried not to imagine what my coworker looked like under that shirt and vest.
IV
The following Thursday was the opening night of the latest Fast and Furious movie. It was the busiest shift I’d worked since starting at The Drafthouse. We were showing the film in three auditoriums that weekend, and because the restaurant was so crowded, Ivy helped me work the bar. Maddison, Nat, and Doug were on their feet most of the night, with just a few short breaks between waves of customers thanks to the staggered start times.
Throughout the evening, I was painfully aware of the curvy blonde sharing my workspace. Her soft rump bumped into me every time she passed by to fetch a liquor bottle or bent to retrieve a can or bottle from the coolers. Often, when she needed to get my attention, Ivy touched my hand. She even laid her palm on my lower back a few times when she needed to get behind me. I maintained my professional composure through it all. I knew there was nothing behind her actions; we were simply working together in a tight space.
The increase in guests naturally caused an increase in food sent back from the auditoriums or messed up orders from the kitchen. Ivy stashed these on the back bar or a shelf under the front, snacking away in our few slow moments. During one of these brief reprieves, I sipped unsweetened tea and watched her scarf down a club sandwich. I thought they could have simply added tomato instead of making a whole new sandwich, but I said nothing. Ivy’s work clothes were always snug, but lately, that blouse and vest looked like they were working extra hard to hold back all those curves. Thankfully, a customer walked up and distracted me from ogling my coworker.
When cleanup and closing time finally came, the kitchen staff brought out even more leftover food than usual. Nat snatched a chicken tender off the pile, calling to her coworkers, “Y’all better get some of this before Ivy takes it all.”
Maddison grimaced. “No thanks.”
Doug grabbed a handful of fries. “She’s a vegan.”
“Poor thing,” Nat said with theatrical pity.
“What about the salads?” I asked.
Maddison had gone out to bus the beer garden, so Nat answered for her, “She says the dressing is full of chemicals.”
“I mean,” Doug said through a mouthful of fries, “Technically, it’s all chemicals…”
Ivy returned and stepped beside me, grabbing a chicken tender for herself. I washed drink glasses in the bar sink and addressed my snacking staff, “Let’s keep moving; there’s still a lot to do.”
Ivy gave me a mock salute, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
***
When the servers and other lower-ranking employees had all gone home, Ramon came into the restaurant carrying a food tray. He set a prime rib sandwich with au jus in front of Ivy, took the steak for himself, and set a salad in front of me. It wasn’t one of our house or Caesar salads that usually came out with the leftovers, but the cranberry walnut with vinegarette and grilled salmon added.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Opening night tradition,” Ivy said.
Ramon explained, “Ivy said you go for the salads, so I figured you’d want a good one for a change.”
The Latino chef was a little taller than Luis, with a full head of dark hair where his counterpart kept his head shaved.
“Is this alright?” I asked, unable to keep the concern out of my voice.
“Of course,” Ivy said, dipping her sandwich and taking a big bite. “A few comps are figured into the budget every shift. It’s good for morale.”
She winked, then bent to fetch a set of glasses. She poured tequila for Ramon, emptied a half-full wine bottle for herself, then looked up at me, “What’re you drinkin’?”
I raised a questioning eyebrow.
Ivy bumped her soft hip into mine. “Come on, Mitch, live a little.”
“It is tradition,” Ramon added.
I could tell this was an argument I’d already lost. “Makers on rocks.”
We clinked our glasses and made small talk while we ate. Ramon finished first, bidding us good night. Without asking, Ivy poured me a second drink, then twisted open a fresh bottle of wine for herself. I wanted to protest, but Ivy put a hand on my arm.
“Hey… you wanna see the new movie?”
She was standing very close, looking up at me through her long dark lashes. I forced myself to meet her eyes instead of looking down the front of her unbuttoned blouse. Trying to ignore the heat of her touch on my arm, I said, “It’s not really my thing. Are we even allowed to do that?”
Ivy rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Of course, it isn’t, and yes. The doors are locked and everything.”
“What about the security cameras?” I asked.
“Those are just to catch people stealing. Besides, half of them don’t even work; they’re just there as a deterrent.”
All I managed was a lame “Oh.”
“We’ve got a whole archive of stuff upstairs. What do you wanna see?”
“Have you ever seen The Big Sleep?”
She took my hand. “Let’s go look.”
Helpless to resist and not sure I even wanted to, I let Ivy pull me down the concourse, through the employees-only door, and up the stairs. She led me into the archive room with shelves filled with Blu-ray discs. Ivy found the noir film and put the disc in the machine. The projector blazed to life, and she pushed me back out the door.
“Come on, hurry!”
She ran down the hall toward the stairs, giggling. I was surprised a woman her size could move that fast. My head buzzing from the whisky, I followed her back to the restaurant, where she grabbed two buckets of popcorn—all that remained of the leftover snacks—and pushed them into my arms. She topped off our glasses and steered me toward the correct auditorium.
Every row in The Drafthouse had tables for food and drinks, and some had small couches instead of recliners. Ivy picked one of these, and we sat to watch the movie. Between the alcohol, sitting inches away from a beautiful woman, and the nervous thrill of doing something that seemed wrong to me, my head was swimming. At some point in the first act, I felt Ivy’s fingers touch the back of my hand. Reflexively, I twisted my wrist without looking down, and her fingers slid between mine. Ivy munched on popcorn while we watched the movie. It was easily one of the top five experiences of my life.
When the popcorn was gone, Ivy grabbed our empty glasses. “Be right back.”
She came back with refreshed drinks and an armload of candy packages. She’d also shed her vest. If my head had been clear, I might have wondered how she could still be hungry. I couldn’t remember the precise tally but easily recalled the stacked trays of leftovers the staff brought in before the full meal we’d shared with Ramon. Ivy’s blouse was undone far enough that I could see the lace tops of her bra, and I barely noticed the way the remaining buttons strained across her soft tummy. When Ivy dumped the candy on our table and sat back down, her hip rested against my leg.
I raised an eyebrow, looking at the pile of candy.
“Oh, shut up,” she said, “You can ring it up for me tomorrow if it makes you feel better.”
The Big Sleep is one of my favorite classic films, but I wasn’t glued to the screen anymore. I looked over and found her meeting my gaze. The blue pools of her eyes glimmered with reflected light from the projector screen. I leaned down to kiss her.
Ivy’s lips tasted like salt and wine. A moment after the kiss began, I pulled back in surprise. How drunk was I to do something so reckless?
“I’m sorry…”
Ivy’s hand slid behind me, touching the back of my neck so gently it made my skin tingle. She spoke in a whisper, leaning forward until her deep breasts mashed into my chest, “For what?”
We missed the rest of the movie.