After wolfing down a Stouffer’s dinner in front of the TV, Ida escaped to her hour-long ritual: shower, a painful comb-out of her tangled hair, then makeup and clothes. Tonight she picked a denim mini skirt and a pink silk blouse. Ronnie was coming and he liked how she felt in that top.
Before heading out, she splashed on some of her mom’s Jean Naté.
“It’s not even six,” her mother complained from the living room. “Why can’t you watch the evening news with me?”
“I have to get there early to reload the ticket machines.”
“I’m surprised you can do any work in that outfit. The skirt is –”
“Oh, mom, it’s not that short… and I’m sitting behind the counter anyway.”
“You should pin that top. You’re falling out of it.”
“Mom!” Ida bent down and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll be home by eleven. But don’t wait up.”
“Okay, honey. Drive safe.”
Outside their apartment, the San Joaquin Valley was oven-hot, even hotter in Ida’s aging Malibu. She flicked the air conditioning on high and checked her lipstick in the rearview. She liked wearing deep reds, like the actresses wore in early Technicolor films, like her namesake Ida Lupino. “Your hair was so dark when you were born,” her mother had told her, “we just had to name you after her. And those lips…”
Thinking about dark hair made Ida squirm, having to shave her pits and everything below the waist twice a week to keep things smooth. On their last date, Ronnie had kidded her about it.
“Your pussy’s got a five o’clock shadow.”
“You’re a crude son-of-a-bitch, you know that, Ronnie?”
“I’m just sayin’ that – ”
“Be quiet and don’t spoil everything.”
Turning onto Tulare Avenue, Ida drove past the Regal Theater and parked on a quiet side street. The marquee was dark but lights were on over the snack bar. She pushed inside.
“Whatcha doin’ here so early?” Virginia called. She and Jose were struggling to hook up the soda canisters.
“Ah, you know, hangin’ with mom’s a downer. Besides, it’s cooler here.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Jose asked, snickering.
“Shut up, already, will ya,” Ida drawled. “He’ll be here after the second show starts.”
Jose grinned. “Well, ride ’em cowgirl.” Virginia dug him in the ribs.
Ida had worked the Regal for eight years, ever since she was a junior in high school. They used to show first run movies to families and to horny teenagers making out in the loge seats. But when the multiplexes opened near the highway, the owners changed the Regal to a classic film house, with two shows nightly.
Ida keyed a door off the lobby and entered the storeroom with its overstuffed couch. She pushed through heavy felt curtains into the ticket booth and slid onto the stool, its smooth covering cool against her thighs. Outside, traffic was heavy with early cruisers – Mexican field hands, gang bangers, truckers home for the night, high school punks and their babes, and the town’s eligible bachelors, all three of them.
The marquee flickered on. She stared at the poster-covered kiosk on the sidewalk. Dustin Hoffman stared back, past Mrs. Robinson pulling a stocking onto her exquisitely shaved leg. Dustin reminded Ida of guys in her class that had left for college, or to work in So Cal, anyplace away from the San Joaquin. She studied the actor’s downcast face and thought about the first time a boyfriend joined her in the booth. It was their senior year and the Regal was showing Streetcar Named Desire.
“You sure it’s okay for me to be here?” George had asked. He was short and nerdy, but with nice blue-green eyes.
“Yeah, sure. I can bring anyone in here I want. The owners are never around.”
“What are you staring at?”
“Ah, ya know, that poster.” Ida pointed outside at Marlin Brando as Stanley, in a white T-shirt, grasping the hand of a swooning Stella Dubois.
“I… I’d like to hold more than your hand,” George blurted.
Ida smiled. “What’s stopping you?”
“Really? Here? Won’t somebody see us?”
“It’s between shows. Nobody comes by.”
George turned her face toward him and kissed her, his tongue sliding between her sculpted lips. He tasted peppery, like dark Cajun spices. Eyes closed, she felt Stanley’s arms surround her, smelled his sweat and the stench of the hot New Orleans night as he worked over her face. Something slid between her thighs. Ida pulled her skirt up and spread her legs just as George’s hand reached her throbbing vagina.
“Jeez, Ida,” he whispered, “ya got no panties.”
“Shush. Don’t say anything. Just touch me.”
He sunk to the floor. She scooted forward on the stool, pressed her knees against the counter’s underside and tightened her thighs. George found her clitoris with his tongue, pushed it around in circles, sending electrical jolts through her body. She moaned as he slid a finger inside her, then two, working them back and forth and grunting like a rutting stag.
“Don’t stop, Stanley, keep touching…”
A dude with greased-back hair and his girlfriend approached. The guy leaned down to the circular hole cut in the glass.
“Shirley here says this movie’s a real classic. But is it any good?”
“OH GOD, IT’S GOOD, “Ida shouted.
The man jerked backward. The girlfriend smirked.
“All right then, gimme two tickets,” he said.
Ida felt a trickle of sweat roll down between her breasts. “Won’t start…for half an hour, but… but you can come inside now.” Her hands trembled as she hit the ticket button then made change. The couple disappeared.
She looked down. George’s face was buried in her wetness. His pants were pushed onto the floor and he was stroking his engorged penis. Ida closed her eyes and thought about Stanley and Stella on a sultry night in that Elysian Fields apartment, not worrying about love or romance, just touching.
“Oh God,” she moaned and climaxed, spraying George’s forehead and cheeks with her pent-up fluids. He came a moment later, whimpering, his head resting against her sticky thigh.
After that first time, Ida did all of her lovemaking at the Regal. The word got out among her classmates and she always had companionship. But after eight years, most had disappeared, or had fallen in love and/or gotten married. Ronnie was one of the last hangers-on. He worked in his father’s plumbing supply shop, was a talker with big plans. Hell, if someone had whispered “plastics” to Ronnie, he’d probably go buy stock. Ida laughed to herself. The Graduate had been showing for three weeks and she knew all its important lines.
At 6:30, she removed the wooden barrier from the ticket window. A line of gray-haired patrons had formed on the terrazzo. Wednesday was senior discount night. Ida liked the old people. The women called her miss or honey and commented on her “lovely” hair and hazel eyes. The men stared open-mouthed when she bent low at the waist and slid them their tickets, and then arched her back, pushing her perfect breasts out to their fullest.
“You got some kinda father complex,” Ronnie had said when she’d told him about teasing the geezers. After that crack, Ida didn’t tell him anything.
The first show was sold out. The second attracted only a few couples and assorted weirdoes. At 10:15, Ida counted the money and slipped the cash and paperwork into a canvas bag. As she clicked off the light, someone tapped on the door. Ronnie was still wearing his baggy gray uniform.
“You’re late,” Ida complained. “I’m about ready to lock up.”
“That’s cool. We can go to my place. I need to shower anyway.”
“I told you NO, and I meant it.”
“What kinda sicko deal is it that you’ll only fuck me here?”
“Just shut up.”
“Ah, come on, babe. I’ve had a hard day too.”
Ronnie slumped onto the couch and patted the seat next to him. Ida stowed the bag under the ticket counter and parted the curtains before rejoining him. He slipped off his shirt and pants, his pungent pheromone scent mixing with her Jean Naté. In filtered light from the marquee, Ida saw Dustin Hoffman’s somber face staring past Anne Bancroft’s stockinged leg. She removed her blouse and skirt and stood naked before him, her body tingling, fingers lightly stroking her clit.
“Come on babe, you know what I like,” he murmured.
Ida dropped to her knees and began kissing his thighs. She slid his jockey shorts off. His penis sprang to attention and she took it in her mouth and caressed it with her tongue, aroused by the foreign wild taste of him. He moaned, reached forward and rubbed her breasts until each nipple was erect and hard.
“Come onto me babe, come now.”
Ida positioned herself over him. He looked fragile, like a boy really, except for his massive cock. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him and rotated her hips, just a little at first, then with more motion and elevation. He was full inside her. She rode him down to his base then slid back to the tip, keeping slow and steady.
“That’s it. Ahhhh, babe, that’s it. Fuck me slowly.”
“Shhhhhhhhh…” Ida hissed and placed a finger over his lips.
The couch groaned to their rhythm. He took one of her breasts in his mouth and sucked. She rode the slow train toward the station, knowing it would take more force to get her there tonight. Ida stood, then knelt on the sofa, facing the parted curtains and Dustin. He entered her from behind and began pumping, his runner’s thighs slapping against her tight ass, his hands laced through her obsidian hair, pulling her head back like a bridled mare. She stared into Dustin’s eyes and thought about the scene where Katherine Ross sat across from him while a stripper did the tassel dance. Ida felt the sexual tension in that scene, felt the yearning between the two of them, knew what crazy things love can make you do, even make-believe love.
Ronnie picked up speed. Ida braced herself, breathing heavy. She bit her lip as she climaxed and pushed back hard, shuddering, taking one last glimpse of the big-nosed actor. As she bowed her head and let her legs relax, a flash vision of Mrs. Robinson filled her mind. The spurned seductress, rain-soaked and shivering, was at the door staring in; her lips pulled back in a yellowed face, dark hair a tangled mass.
“Oh God,” Ida moaned and slumped onto the couch.
“You okay, babe? You seem…distracted.”
“No, it was fine. I just thought I saw…”
“Saw what?”
“I thought I saw me.”
“What the hell you talkin’ about?”
“Nothing. Forget it. I’ve been weird all day.”
“You getting your period?”
“Jesus, Ronnie, is that your answer to everything?”
“Hell, I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying.”
“You’d better go. The second show will be out soon.”
“Yeah, okay. But we’re on for Saturday, right?
Ida nodded and kissed him on the cheek. Alone in the shadows, she felt her body cool. Dressing, she retrieved the canvas bag, took out a stack of bills and slipped it into her purse. After zeroing out the ticket counters, she opened the door. Jose and Virginia were making out in back of the snack bar. Trembling, she walked to the office and crammed the bag into the floor safe.
In the lobby, Virginia waved. “Hey, so I’ll see ya tomorrow?”
“I’ll see ya. You can turn the marquee off now.”
“Oh yeah, forgot. I got distracted.”
The night wind blew hot. Ida strode down the deserted sidewalk, wrinkling her nose at the smell of pesticide mixed with diesel exhaust. She thought about Dustin streaking south in his red Alpha Romeo, chasing after Katherine Ross, the only thing that was real to him. Inside her Malibu, she checked the gas gauge and smiled. She had enough to get her there. Ida took the ramp onto Highway 99, heading toward the Grapevine Pass and the twinkling lights of the vast California Southland beyond.
Originally published January 2008: Expectant