TAKE THE LEAD AGAIN
It wasn't supposed to have been in the science fiction section, but someone must have picked it up, changed their mind about renting it, and abandoned it there. The romantic picture on the cover and Antonio Banderas' handsome face were so totally out of place among the weird-looking aliens that Pam Mahone spotted it instantly.
Take the Lead. That was the name of it, of course. She reached for the empty case—as always the DVD was kept up front at the counter to avoid theft—and held it for a few moments. It had been a while since she'd seen the film, but she remembered it. Foldly, lovingly, and more than a bit sadly, she remembered it.
What in the world are you doing? she asked herself.
Hastily, she placed it back onto the shelf. Right there in sci-fi, too; she couldn't bear to put it back where it belonged. She couldn't stand to hold it for longer than necessary.
This is exactly what you came here to avoid tonight, she reminded herself.
Actually, she'd popped into the video rental place to get a couple of movies. Cam was home, but he was in bed. The teenaged girl next door had agreed to baby-sit him for an hour or two while Pam ran out to run an errand and pick up a couple of movies for herself.
What she needed was something funny to watch. Jim Carrey, Steve Carrell, Will Ferrell—some silly, crazy funny man to make her laugh for two hours, maybe four. Until sleep finally came to her that night, if it ever did.
So why were her feet taking her right back to the sci-fi section? Why was she again staring longingly at that movie, the one with Antonio Banderas playing a ballroom dancing instructor enlisted to teach a group of inner-city, underachieving kids how to waltz, how to rumba, how to tango?
Because she'd loved that movie. But what's more, because Alex had loved it. Her big, masculine, tough-guy husband—yes, he had loved that movie. It was the kind of story he liked: uplifting, kinda fun, escapism, the music was a plus, and most of all, it was romantic. Like him. And seeing it again was no good for her, no good for her at all.
"It's got Antonio Banderas in it?" she'd asked that Sunday afternoon, holding the DVD case in her hand. "Oooooh. Okay. I'll watch it!"
Alex had looked up, almost spilling the wine he was pouring for them both. He was wearing that tight black T-shirt, the one that looked so good with his jeans and showed off his rugged shoulders.
"Antonio Banderas? Eh. I'm taller than him," he'd boasted in a playfully childish way.
"I'm sure you are. He's still pretty sexy, though," Pam had teased.
"Ah, but, you know, he's got plain ole brown eyes. Mine are blue. Baby blue."
"Really? Thank you for pointing that out. I hadn't noticed." She was having fun now. "He does have that adorable Spanish accent going for him, though, you know?" Dramatically, she mimicked the actor, extending her arm out and booming, "Yes, I am Zorro. I am here to r-r-r-ravage every woman in sight."
Alex carried the glasses into the living room for them. He checked her expression over his shoulder, his eyebrow arched.
"His accent? It's . . . all right. No big deal," he'd conceded, shrugging.
She curled up on the couch and snuggled beside him, deciding to let him off the hook. "You're way more handsome than he is, though."
"Yeah," Alex had scoffed. "I'm sure millions of women would agree with you on that one."
"Who cares what they say?" Pam had taken a sip of her wine. Wine and popcorn—what a combination! It might as well have been a feast on that lazy, wonderful, rainy Sunday afternoon. She'd fed him a popped kernel, liking the way he'd licked the butter from her fingers. "In my eyes, you are."
Where was her Alex right now, she wondered?
Pam picked up the DVD case again. There'd been a wonderful song in the movie, a remake of the song "Fascination" originally recorded by Nat King Cole. Now what was the name of the artist who'd done the modern rendition of it again? Yes, that was it—Kem. Alex had gotten the soundtrack on CD the following week.
And he'd dedicated the song to her, too. Just like a sweet high school boyfriend, he'd told her that song might as well have been written about them, because it was how he felt about her, word for word.
Pam closed her eyes. She started to replace the movie onto the shelf, then decided against it. It deserved the respect of being returned to the place where it belonged, so that was just what she did. She took it back to the drama section, though in fact it had its lighthearted moments and could have gone into the comedy section, and then she walked numbly out of the store.
Out of all the thousands of movies in that place, there'd only been one she'd wanted to see. Only one that would have touched her and yet torn her to pieces and left her wanting nothing more than one more kiss, just one. One more time in his arms, one more time in their bed.
Take the Lead. The title and the familiar cover nearly jumped out at Alex from among the numerous other movies on DVD on the shelf.
He'd stopped in the video rental store after leaving the hotel, mostly hoping that a few minutes in the store's air-conditioning would help him avoid passing out. He wasn't doing so well that day. Not too well at all. His head was all screwed-up; his brain felt like it was fried. He knew it and Dr. Sara Tancredi, Schofield's little girlfriend, had known it. How he'd managed not to keel over right in front of her was anybody's guess. This situation wasn't going from bad to worse; oh, hell, no, it had passed that point already.
Now it was a case of the situation going from bad to horrendous.
Alex sniffed, picking up the plastic DVD case. He smiled to himself; he remembered that movie. Very well, he remembered it. That was the one he and Pam had watched together and loved. When he shut his eyes, he could still see that rainy afternoon, curled up with her, a bottle of wine and some popcorn, enjoying just being together. And with his eyes shut, if he tuned out the sounds of the voices of people in the store and the movie current playing over some speakers in the store, he could still remember the words to the song:
It was fascination, I know
And it might have ended at the start
A passing glance
A brief romance
And I might have gone on my way, empty-hearted
Empty-hearted.
It was fascination, I know,
Seeing you under the moonlight above,
And I touch your hand and I kiss you
And fascination turned to love.
That might as well have happened a thousand years ago. He replaced the case onto the shelf, draping a hand over his face. He suspected he must have looked pretty bad, judging from the looks strangers were giving him.
Then he went out of the store, taking with a heart that hadn't always been as empty as it felt right now.