The Twi-Lite, by C. J. Spataro

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Tw i - L i t e C. J. Spataro

The

T W I L I T E C. J. Spataro

Editor-in-Chief

Leslie Jill Patterson Nonfiction Editor

Elena Passarello Poetry Editor

Camille Dungy Fiction Editor

Katie Cortese

Literary Review Fiction Trifecta

2017

Managing Editors

Joe Dornich Nancy Dinan Chen Chen Rachel DeLeon

Associate Editors: Chad Abushanab, Kathleen Blackburn, Margaret Emma Brandl, Rachel DeLeon, Nancy Dinan, Allison Donahue, Mag Gabbert, Jo Anna Gaona, Colleen Harrison, Micah Heatwole, Brian Larsen, Essence London, Beth McKinney, Scott Morris, Katrina Prow, MacKenzie Regier, Kate Simonian, Jessica Smith, Amber Tayama, Robby Taylor, Jeremy Tow, and Mary White.

Copyright © 2017 Iron Horse Literary Review. All rights reserved.

Iron Horse Literary Review is a national journal of fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction. It is published six times a year at Texas Tech University, Lubbock, Texas, through the support of the TTU President’s Office, Provost’s Office, Graduate College, College of Arts & Sciences, and English Department.

Photographs: shutterstock.com.

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1 We knew a few things about Ed Sherwood. We knew that he was quiet and somewhat introverted—not one to go all hippie on us or listen to a lot of loud druggie music. As far as we knew, he never grew out his hair. His sideburns were always neat and trimmed, and we never once saw him walk the streets of our town dressed in anything tie-dyed. He was off at Ohio Northern during the height of the Vietnam conflict. If asked, he would have served. This is something that we knew for sure, knowing his family and his character the way we did, but his number never came up, so he came home to Elysium Beach and the Twi-Lite.

Ed’s dad, Dick Sherwood, owned the Twi-Lite Drive-In Theater, and after his wife Emily passed, young and unexpected, from uterine cancer, Dick poured every ounce of his energy into raising his son. He put almost as much energy into promoting the Twi-Lite, but that was more of a struggle, to be sure. About this time, almost everyone except the most crotchety and backward had a television in his or her house, and then everybody started up with all this new-fangled videotape stuff.

Drive-ins took it hard, and the Twi-Lite was no exception. Dick closed the Twi-Lite for good in 1973, about the time Ed came to Elysium.

The theater was a beauty—there was no disputing that—the pride of Elysium Beach, Ohio. Dick showed mostly family pictures, but he also showed the occasional film noir at the late-night weekend show. The Twi-Lite was easy to find, and even after Dick stopped showing films, the neon stars and blinking art-deco moon burned bright from 8 PM until midnight. Anyone driving down Route 6, from Beaver Park to

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Vermillion, could see that glorious sign shining against the indigo summer sky. It was confusing for some folks who didn’t know that the theater was officially closed, seeing it all lit up that way, but Dick lived there and loved that sign so he kept it lit. Occasionally, if enough people happened to show up, Dick might do an impromptu showing of Niagara or The Seven Year Itch—he being such a big Marilyn Monroe fan and all. The electric bill must have been something, keeping that sign lit like he did, but about the time Dick had to close the theater for good, the Reverend Williams heard how Robert Schuller got his start holding drive-in church services out in California, so Dick and the reverend came to an arrangement.

Lots of folks came to Sunday services, from every little town and burg all along Route 6, and even further inland, dressed in their bikinis and surfer shorts, tie-dyes and ponytails, to praise Jesus without leaving the comfort of their cars. Then they went straight to the beach. No doubt, church from your car, with Lake Erie just five minutes down the road, was convenient. No one cared too much about the water pollution back then; they were just anxious to escape the inland heat. After Dick passed, Ed continued to let Reverend Williams use the Twi-Lite, but we never saw Ed at any of the services—even though his dad had been a regular.

Some in Elysium hoped that Ed would reopen the Twi-Lite after his father died. At that time, porno films—or at least what passed for porno in those days—were profitable for some drive-in owners, and many in Elysium Beach and the surrounding towns would have been happy to patronize such films. We surely did miss the popcorn and the miniature golf—and the movies, too, of course. Nevertheless, we knew that it was unlikely that anyone would ever see anything projected onto the screen of the Twi-Lite again.

The last thing Ed’s father said to him was, “Don’t ever show any dirty movies at the Twi-Lite, Ed. I’d rather you just shut the poor girl down and get a job in town than resort to that.” Reportedly, Ed patted his father’s hand and smoothed his hair back off his forehead. Ed was already working in town, at the Buckeye Savings and Loan, on West Fourth Street. Mr. Sherwood had

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helped him get the job, but sometimes the dying can’t keep their facts straight. So, not wanting to upset his dad, Ed agreed to keep the theater smut-free—not that Ed would have ever showed anything smutty at the TwiLite anyway, at least not on purpose.

Now the Twi-Lite was right outside of town, and Ed continued to live out there even after his father passed. No one expected him to move—not with a perfectly good house all paid for. Some drive-in theater owners lived in trailers on their properties, and some lived next door or down the road, but the Sherwoods lived right in the movie screen itself. The house was sort of a tilted A-frame. It had one tall straight side, onto which the movies were projected, and then a slanting side, where the house proper was. The house looked more like a slanting right angle than a true A-frame, and it was painted white on the ends and on the movie-screen side. It also had several windows at each end, on both the first and second floors, and on the third floor, there were three slender dormers with windows on the roof side. Ed’s childhood bedroom was on the third floor. The room was quite narrow, and the ceiling came to a sharp point, his own personal teepee. A tall man would have had to slouch in such a space, but luckily, the Sherwoods were not tall people.

When he was a child, Ed used to stand on a small stool late at night and stare out past the glowing neon sign that lit the entrance of the Twi-Lite and imagine that he could see all the way to Lake Erie. It was impossible, of course—the glare from the lights was too bright—but from his vantage point, the sand-capped dunes and rolling waves called to him just beyond the horizon as surely as the lake-scented breeze blew his gingham curtains back and forth. Meanwhile, just around the corner, giant characters silently played out their comedies and dramas while folks from all over Lorrain county sat in their cars watching, eating buttered popcorn, swatting mosquitoes, fighting over the last Jujube, and fogging up their car windows from the backseat. ***

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Three weeks after Ed’s dad died, Ed took to sleeping in his parents’ old bedroom, the wall of which pressed up against the backside of the movie screen.

The room was neat and square, and somehow Ed felt like it was what he was supposed to do. He moved many of his things down from his old room, boxed up his parents’ belongings, and stored them on the third floor. Ed often found himself plagued by large gaps of free time, and, on the weekends, he’d occasionally break out a putter and play a round of miniature golf by himself. Most of his buddies from high school had been drafted, were in graduate school, or were holed up in Canada. Ed had spent so much time with his dad in those last few months that he felt like he had no connection to anyone anymore.

He wasn’t much for television, except for the occasional Sunday night episode of Columbo. One night, amid his father’s belongings, he found several film prints, one of which was an old taped-together reel of Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House. Ed surely would have liked to watch that film—Cary Grant and Myrna Loy were two of his old-time favorites—but he’d have to wait until dark to see the picture. And, more importantly, the thought of being the sole customer at his own drive-in was just too depressing: every nine minutes, he’d have to get up and change the reel. He and his father had done it on occasion, fired up the old projector, taken turns changing the reels, but now that he was alone, he considered that he might be better off just watching TV. This thought seemed to weigh him down, too, however, and as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, a feeling started to grow inside him, something that he couldn’t quite identify, but it made him wonder: was there something better out there for him?

About the same time Ed moved into his parents’ room, Margaret Stakowski paid Ed a visit, bringing with her a hot dish of potato pirogues and a homebaked apple pie. She also brought along her niece, Lila Czarnecki. Margaret suggested that Ed donate his parents’ clothing and such, as outdated as they might be, to the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop. Ed said he’d get around to that at some point and offered to make the ladies some coffee. Both women

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said that would be wonderful, and Ed set about putting the percolator on the stove.

Now you might think by looking at Margaret that she was as innocent as the driven snow, with her soft round cheeks, plump hips, and that tangle of gray hair piled on top of her head. Of course, we knew different—and that’s not to say that Margaret wasn’t sweet and kind for going over to visit Ed, sensing that he was lonely and out of sorts—we’re not saying that at all. It’s just that she had something besides Ed’s bereavement on her mind when she decided to take her niece to meet him. What Margaret didn’t tell Ed was that Lila’s fiancé had run off and married a Vietnamese girl while he’d been stationed in Da Nang and that, after the war, the couple had moved into a little house just down the street from Lila’s parents. We all knew Lila was heartbroken, but she was determined to be brave—forging ahead, as they say—and get on with her life, much like Ed. Ed, for his part, was shocked at how Lila had changed. The two of them had attended Rutherford B. Hayes Elementary School. Lila, two years ahead of Ed, had been quiet and shy in school. After pulling the cups down from the cupboard, he closed his eyes, leaned against the counter, and tried to picture what she had looked like back then—but all he could remember was a short, shaggy hairdo; long, skinny legs; and braces. He hadn’t seen her since eighth grade, not since her family had moved to Cleveland. Ed couldn’t help but notice that her legs were no longer skinny, but long and shapely, and her hair was full and lustrous, cut just below her shoulders, falling in velvety curls.

The braces were gone, and when she smiled at him, Ed felt his stomach drop.

She was dressed in a soft white blouse with flowing sleeves and a red gabardine skirt, hemmed to just above her knees—and those legs! Well, this wasn’t unexpected. Lila’s mother had been the Elysium Beach Apple Blossom Queen of 1953. We knew Lila’d turn out to be a stunner. Why that old fiancé of hers went off and did what he did—that’s another story entirely.

Margaret was dressed smartly, too, of course, not to be outdone by her niece, but Ed had to turn away from Lila and focus on the percolating coffee

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and apple pie in order to regain his composure. Once they were sitting around the table with coffee and pie, Margaret wiped an imaginary crumb from her chin and looked directly at Ed. “Ed, perhaps you wouldn’t mind serving coffee in the living room? I think we’d all be much more comfortable in there, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Ed smiled weakly, embarrassed. “I know I have a coffee tray around here somewhere. Ladies, please make yourselves at home.”

Once they settled in again, Margaret in the big red armchair that still smelled slightly of Dick’s pipe tobacco and Ed and Lila on the davenport, Margaret began again.

“So, Ed, what are your plans now?”

“I don’t really have any plans, Mrs. Stakowski.” Ed set his cup down and stared into it as if it were a Magic 8 Ball. “I guess life will carry on, pretty much the same as always. Except without Dad, of course.”

“I see.” She folded her napkin and glanced over at Lila. “You know, Ed, I loved your parents, but I don’t think they’d want you to mope around this old house by yourself.” She reached over and patted Ed’s hand. “You should think about freshening things up a bit here. Make some changes in your house—make some changes in your life.”

He looked up at Margaret and shrugged. “I’m sure you’re right, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” He wasn’t lying. Ed had been a finance major in college and knew nothing about paint swatches or fabrics or anything remotely having to do with decorating a house. In many ways, in the weeks leading up to his father’s death, he had taken on the role of the solitary widower—despite the fact that he was still a vigorous and not unattractive young man. He owned five suits, all in varying shades of gray, blue, or brown.

Each suit had its own day of the week: gray on Monday, navy on Tuesday, and so forth. When one suit was at the cleaners, he wore his tweed sport coat with a pair of brown flare-legged trousers in wide-wale corduroy. Occasionally, he’d feel daring and mix things up—wear a different tie with a different shirt. Some of the other men around town had taken to wearing plaid or

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multi-colored leisure suits, leaving their ties at home and exposing great tufts of chest hair, but it would have been hard for us to picture Ed in such a getup.

“Dad and I did talk about doing some things around here, once he started to feel better.” He stood up, as if he were looking for something, and then he reached for the coffee pot. “More coffee, anyone?”

Lila took the coffee pot from Ed, sliding her hand over his, and set it back down on the coffee table. “I’m so sorry about your dad. He seemed like a wonderful man.”

He looked at Lila, surprised. “Did you know Dad?” “Well, not in recent years,” Lila said, looking over at Margaret. “But I do have many fond memories of the Twi-Lite.” She leaned back on the couch and smiled. “We had such good times here. Bobby Bettendorf gave me my first kiss out back behind the Snack Shack.”

“Lila! I’m sure Ed’s not interested in that,” Margaret said.

“It’s okay,” Ed said. He nodded and sat back down. He felt both grief and excitement. Lila’s touch had sent a thrill through him that had been unexpected, and the thought that she’d had her first kiss right there at the Twi-Lite was also somehow thrilling. But thoughts of his father clouded everything.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel.

“Don’t you worry,” Margaret said, this time patting Lila’s hand. “A little redecorating will do you a world of good.”

He looked around the room. Nothing much had changed since his mother had died, when he was ten. “It sure could use a fresh coat of paint.”

Margaret nodded. “I would help you myself. Everyone around Elysium knows I have excellent taste.” It was true; we all agreed that Margaret Stakowski, in her day, was a fine one to decorate. Every year, she chaired the committee in charge of the Lorain County Courthouse Christmas display.

“Well, that would be very kind of you,” Ed said, shifting in his seat.

“And I would love to do it, son, really I would,” she interjected, “but I do think you would benefit from a younger person’s opinion, and I just so happen to have the perfect person in mind for you.”

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“Really? Who?” “Why Lila, of course. She works over at the new Nathan Hale in Parma, in the design department.”

Lila leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. She smiled at Ed—not the confident, stomach-tightening smile she’d flashed at him earlier but something softer, more sincere.

“Lila?” he said.

“Why, yes, dear. She went off to Oberlin and was an art major.”

Ed pictured unwashed girls with stringy hair, stars and stripes hip-huggers, headbands, and peace sign medallions—not the beautiful young woman sitting next to him. “An art major? You don’t seem the type.”

Lila laughed. “Aunt Margaret’s a little confused. I was an art history major.”

“I see,” Ed said. He stirred his coffee.

“You seem disappointed.”

Ed turned toward her quickly, his coffee sloshing into the saucer. “Oh, not at all.”

“Well, good,” Lila said. “I can get you some great deals, if you’re interested.”

Ed smiled at Lila for the first time. “Oh, I’m interested.”

Later that night, if anyone had been driving by, they would have noticed the lights flickering in the projection booth just after midnight, about the time that Ed drifted off to sleep.

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2 Some of us who happened to be walking down the street that next afternoon waved to Ed as he left the bank. His gray suit looked fresh, and he had on a crisp white shirt and a wide red tie with diagonal black and silver stripes. Before he got into his car, he slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the passenger seat, so as not to wrinkle it on the way to Parma. Ed surely must have noticed a slight orange tinge creeping up around the edges of some of the birch tree leaves and the warm breeze drifting in off the lake. The summer had been warm that year, and we spent as much time outside as we could, planting flowers in our gardens, pruning bushes, or just sitting on the porch in our rocking chairs with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. We were storing up the sunshine, hoping to repel the frost and cold that we all knew was inevitable. Ed had his windows rolled down, his cuffs rolled up. He tapped his horn at Oscar Higgins, who’d been his father’s best friend and barber. Oscar stopped and waved, then bent to lock the door of his shop.

Ed was enjoying the weather, too, feeling good to be out of Elysium Beach for a bit. It wasn’t that Parma was a big place, but it wouldn’t take much to be bigger than Elysium. He had some time, so he took the long way. He drove along the shoreline for a while and found himself dazzled by the dappled light as it danced along the gentle rolling waves. Crews had already put in the dune fences, a largely futile attempt to keep the beach from eroding during the coming winter. Light sifted through the chipped red slats of the fence as seagulls squawked and fought over shiny pieces of foil and bits of dried fish.

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Ed wondered what his dad would think of this plan to remodel. What would he think of Lila? He shook his head. He would have liked her right off, for sure. She was charming, sweet, and smart. Part of Ed felt ridiculous about being so overcome by his attraction. His sleep the night before had been filled with dreams of her. He knew what Margaret was up to, and the part of him that didn’t feel stupid was grateful. Ed wasn’t exactly shy around women, but he wasn’t exactly aggressive either. He’d had a somewhat serious girlfriend in college named Jill. She’d had straight blonde hair and a permanently serious expression. Small town life wasn’t for her, and when Dick got sick and Ed decided to come back to Elysium Beach, she’d broken things off.

Ed parked his car in front of the store with its clean white façade and dark green awnings. He had a nest egg set aside, along with some money from his father. He was ready to spend and was hopeful he could find things he liked.

Inside, the store was quiet. He could hear muffled voices coming from the back and classical music filtering down and around some of the most beautiful pieces of furniture he’d ever seen. There were carved Chippendale-style highboys, colonial fruitwood buffets, slender Shaker-style tables and chairs, all polished and gleaming under the carefully focused track lights. As if out of nowhere, a young woman appeared with a tall, mod-looking man standing directly behind her.

“Welcome to Nathan Hale,” the young woman said. “May I help you find something?” The young woman was blonde and petite, dressed in a navy polyester dress with a white Peter Pan collar. Her stockings were white, and Ed thought that all she was missing was a crucifix and wimple. The man, on the other hand, was wearing a burgundy leisure suit with white stitching and an open-collared black-and-white striped shirt. Ed nearly turned around without responding to the young woman’s question, but for some reason, a vision of Mrs. Stakowski carrying a warm apple pie shimmered before his eyes. He blinked and said that, yes, he did need some assistance.

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“So what is it you’re looking for?” the man asked, pushing in front of the woman slightly.

“Well, actually, I’m looking for Lila Czarnecki.”

“Really?” the man said, putting his hand on his hip. “She’s the girl who sews our custom drapes.”

The young woman laughed softly. “Paul, you are exaggerating a little. Lila does, on occasion, do some design work.”

The man looked Ed up and down. “You sure you don’t want someone more experienced?”

Ed crossed his arms tight across his chest. “We had an appointment,” he said.

The young woman frowned and turned toward the back of the store. “I’ll go get her. What did you say your name was?”

“Ed. Ed Sherwood. From Elysium Beach.”

The man and woman exchanged a quick glance.

Ed folded his arms across his chest, crushing his jacket into a wrinkled mess.

The man stepped forward and extended his hand as the woman left to find Lila. “My name’s Paul Lassiter. I’m the senior assistant designer here.”

Ed shook the man’s hand and was surprised by his firm grip. “So are you an old friend of Lila’s?” Paul asked.

“Not really,” Ed said. “More a friend of her aunt’s.”

“I see,” said Paul. “I wondered. I don’t know that we’ve ever had any customers from as far west as Elysium Beach.”

Ed shrugged. He wasn’t sure what the man expected him to say.

“I remember going camping there as a kid a few times,” Paul said. “Isn’t there an old drive-in there?” Paul smiled for the first time since Ed had entered the store. “Yes, I’m sure of it. It’s called the Star-Lite, or Star-Brite or Sun-Set, or something like that, isn’t it?”

“It’s called the Twi-Lite,” a quiet voice from the back of the room answered.

“That’s it!” Paul said. “The Twi-Lite.”

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Lila and the other woman stepped into the light. Ed wanted to say something but didn’t.

“It’s good to see you, Ed,” Lila said. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. I thought maybe you were just being polite.” Lila looked back at Paul, who seemed to be smirking. “Ed owns the Twi-Lite.”

“Does he?” Paul said.

“What’s the Twi-Lite?” asked the other woman.

“It’s an old drive-in theater in Elysium Beach,” Paul said.

Ed couldn’t stop staring at Lila.

“So, do you still show films there?” asked Paul.

“What?” Ed said.

“Do you still show films there?”

“I’m afraid not.” Ed looked at his shoes, which he wished he’d polished.

“So you’ve met Paul and Vickie,” Lila said.

“Yes, I guess I have,” said Ed, looking from one to the other. “Paul, at least.” He extended his hand to Vickie. “Hi, I’m Ed Sherwood.”

Vickie giggled. “Yes, I know that.”

“So, have you made any decisions?” Lila asked.

“Well,” Ed said, taking a deep breath, “I was thinking I just might re-do the whole place.”

“Well, isn’t that exciting!” Lila said, linking her arm into his and pulling him deeper into the store. “That’s going to be a big project.”

Ed couldn’t help but notice that as she said this, she looked over her shoulder at Paul and Vickie, and his stomach tightened just a little bit. “Well, I was originally thinking of doing just the bedroom, but really, the whole house could use some sprucing up.”

“The whole house, you say.” Lila smiled at Ed and tucked her arm a little more tightly into his. “Let me show you the bedroom suites that just arrived.”

Paul and Vickie faded into the background. Lila was so close that he could smell the delicate remnants of her perfume, and when he looked into her eyes, he could see tiny flecks of gold. The thought that she might only be working him for a sale never occurred to him.

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3 That night, after Ed arrived home and fixed himself a little supper, he could think of nothing but Lila Czarnecki. Her smile, the fullness of her lips, the spicy, floral bouquet of her perfume, her golden brown eyes. She seemed to know exactly which shade of blue would be his favorite. He was too excited to sleep, so he made himself a cup of Sanka and walked the grounds of the Twi-Lite. The breeze blew soft and warm off Lake Erie, and in the distance, Ed heard the call of a solitary whip-poor-will. He lit up the miniature golf course and sat down at one of the old metal picnic tables. The pink paint had worn away in spots, revealing the gray aluminum underneath. Just around the corner, behind the Snack Shack, Lila had stolen her first kiss. He wondered what picture had been showing that night, whether he’d been in the booth with his dad or already tucked into bed, listening to the cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. Ed rested his chin in his hands and watched the faded yellow paddle of the windmill twirl in the soft glow of the lights. The rusty Dutch farmer, at the next hole over, bobbed up and down in unison with the windmill, as if he were agreeing with Ed. Later that night, after Ed had turned off all the lights, put his coffee cup in the sink, and gone to sleep in his parents’ old bed, Dot Stevens drove by the Twi-Lite on her way home from the weekly meeting of the Pink Ladies Poker Night. Now, we all know how much Dot likes her beer on poker night, so no one thought much about it when she said she saw lights coming from the projection booth at the Twi-Lite. They don’t call it Miller High Life for nothing, and Dot’s been known to exaggerate a time or two. Some thought maybe Ed was feeling lonely for C. J. Spataro

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his dad and decided to watch one of his old movies. Others suggested Dot ought not to drive after poker night. Someone else said that maybe it was the Northern Lights, which, of course, just made the rest of us laugh out loud, but Dot was insistent. By God, she’d been to that theater enough times—she knew what it looked like when there was a show going on—and that night the lights had been glimmering and flickering just like in the old days. Most of us sort of snorted and waved our hands, which just made Dot more determined in her opinion. Margaret said she needed to call on Ed about something anyway, and she’d settle the dispute for us once and for all.

That suited everyone just fine, including Dot. Later that afternoon at the bank, Ed was overheard on the phone with Lila Czarnecki, making plans for her to come out to the Twi-Lite and take some measurements and Polaroids. He also asked her if she might like to stay and have supper, and she said that sounded fine. Susie Watkins, one of the tellers down at the bank, said it looked to her as if Ed’s feet didn’t quite touch the ground the whole rest of the day. No one could remember Ed ever being quite so moony over a gal, but there it was. Greg and Barb Marczak came in to talk to Ed about refinancing their house, and they said Ed hardly heard anything they said, but he did approve their loan after Barb promised to give him her famous stuffed cabbage recipe. Janice Baldwin, over at the grocery store, told us all about how Ed paid for his groceries then walked right out of the store without them, only to return ten minutes later to retrieve them with a sheepish grin on his face.

Lila arrived at the Twi-Lite about 6:30. Ed had the cabbage rolls in the oven, and a pot of coffee was percolating on the stove. Lila wore a navy Chanel-inspired suit with a ruffled cream blouse and pearls. Ed had changed out of his workday suit, but instead of throwing on his old Ohio Northern sweatshirt, as he usually did after work, he’d slipped on a freshly laundered shirt and a new V-neck sweater that he’d purchased at Ralph’s Men’s Emporium.

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“Coffee’ll be ready soon,” he said, ushering Lila into the kitchen. “Would you like to have a seat?”

“Your house really is charming,” Lila said. “I didn’t tell you that the other day. I always wondered what it would be like in here, as a kid, that is.” She placed her handbag on the counter, then sat down at the kitchen table. “You can’t really tell the odd shape of the house from the inside.”

Ed smiled. “The only room that isn’t square is my old room up on the third floor.” Ed sat down across from her at the table and tried not to stare at his hands. “I thought about opening it up a bit, making the dormers bigger and whatnot, but then I thought it might look really strange from the outside.”

She looked at Ed like she wanted to say something but then didn’t. He wasn’t sure what to make of her change in mood, and they sat in silence for a moment, as the falling shadows of the setting sun slipped through the kitchen windows.

“I think the coffee’s ready. Would you like some?” Ed asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Lila said.

He placed the mug down in front of her, along with the cream pitcher and sugar bowl from his mother’s good china. Then he poured a mug for himself.

Lila set down her spoon and looked across the table at Ed, at his neatly pressed shirt, his new sweater. He looked at her, and for the first time, she really saw his eyes, how they were almost caramel-colored, how long and dark his lashes were. His face was ruddy cheeked with a strong chin, but for all his youthful good looks, he seemed older. Or maybe, she thought, he was just sad. Perhaps it was the house—or maybe it was that he was so polite. Like many of us, Lila had become accustomed to a certain degree of rudeness in everyday life. There was no real accounting for it, just the way the world had become, always rushing and pushing, wanting to go faster, but somehow Ed seemed different. He was gentle. What had started out for her as a chance to make a big sale and impress her boss had turned into something else.

“What do you have in the oven?” Lila asked. “It smells wonderful.”

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Ed smiled, and the color rose in his cheeks. “Barb Marczak’s famous cabbage rolls.” He sat back in his chair, a panic-stricken look on his face. “You do like cabbage rolls? You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you? I didn’t even think to ask you.”

Lila laughed. “Now what kind of good Polish girl would I be if I didn’t eat cabbage rolls!”

“Well, okay, I guess you’re right.” Ed laughed, too, and then fell silent for a moment.

“How about I take some measurements before dinner?” Lila asked.

“That sounds fine,” Ed said. “Where would you like to start?”

“How about we start upstairs and work our way down.”

Ed nodded and Lila rose from the table and gathered her notebook and tape measure from her handbag. Ed showed her upstairs, first to the bathroom where Lila surprised him by not suggesting that they rip out all the old art-deco touches. Paint, curtains, reglazing the old claw-foot tub—these were the only recommendations she made. She thought the guest room might make a nice den. They could warm up the space with paneling and carpet, but despite the energy savings, she did not recommend lowering the ceiling. She said that she wanted it to be a den, not a cave, and Ed laughed. She measured all the windows, drew little diagrams in her notebook, and took several pictures of each room. Then Ed showed her what used to be his parents’ bedroom.

“This is a nice large master,” Lila said. “I didn’t expect it to be this big.”

“The furniture belonged to my grandparents. You think it’s worth saving?”

Lila ran her fingers along the carved footboard of the bed. The polished mahogany felt cool to the touch. “Well, the fashion these days is for something more modern. Lighter woods, cleaner lines, but personally, I think this is beautiful.” She turned to look at him. “It’s up to you if you want to change the furniture. We could update the linens, make everything a little more masculine, but keep the bed. The bed is lovely.”

Ed nodded. In his head was a picture of Lila, on that bed, dressed in a sheer negligee, her dark hair splayed out against the pale pillowcases. He

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moved toward her, touched her hand. “I’ll leave myself in your hands.” She smiled, rotating her hand so that their fingers were interlaced and resting on the edge of the footboard.

“Ed?” “Yes?” “I smell something burning.”

“I do, too,” he said, moving in closer to her.

“No, really,” she said, pulling her hand away, laughing. “In the kitchen.”

“Damn it!” Ed said and ran downstairs to rescue his cabbage.

Later that night, after Lila left and Ed had cleared away the dinner dishes and was sleeping soundly in that big mahogany bed, Dot Stevens was once again driving out past the Twi-Lite. This time, she was with her cousin Betty Ferry, returning late from a visit with their great uncle Florien over in Vermillion. Neither woman could ignore the way the Twi-Lite was all lit up that night. The neon seemed to be burning brighter than ever, and as they passed by, there was a distinct shimmer coming from the projection booth, a narrow shaft of light shooting out toward the giant screen.

“Well, would you look at that,” Betty said. “Do you think Ed’s showing a movie?”

Dot slowed the truck to a crawl. “Don’t know. I guess we could go ask.”

“You mean just barge in on him?”

“Well, his old man used to show the occasional movie. Maybe Ed’s doing the same,” Dot said, putting the truck in reverse.

“Maybe,” Betty said.

The way Dot tells it, she did a U-turn in the middle of Route 6 and pulled right into the Twi-Lite. She insists that Ed was nowhere to be found, the house locked up tighter than a drum, but when they came around the corner of the movie screen, there, flickering thirty feet high, was a black-andwhite scene right out of one of those movies Ed swore to his dad he’d never

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show at the Twi-Lite. A young woman with long dark hair was lying back against an old four-poster mahogany bed. Her clothes were askew, her hair mussed, and she was sporting a very satisfied smile. A lit cigarette dangled from her full painted lips, and she stared seductively and directly into the camera. A small black dog wearing a Santa hat jumped on the bed, barked at the camera, and then jumped out of the frame. Dot and Betty, while scandalized and a little confused, figured they’d managed to show up just after the good part. Dot pulled into one of parking spaces and rolled down the window.

“What’s she saying?” Betty asked.

“Don’t know,” Dot said. “Let me see if the speaker’s working.” Dot reached over and hooked the speaker to the partially rolled-down window.

There was a faint crackling noise, but no real sound.

“I’m going to see if Ed’s in the booth,” Betty said. “I want to know the name of this picture.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dot said. “That girl looks like a young Lana Turner.”

Betty snorted. “She looks like Lila Czarnecki to me.”

Dot nodded, although at the time she hadn’t seen Lila since her family had moved away. But the resemblance was striking. Now they both say that the film continued as they made their way to the projection booth, but as soon as Betty put her hand on the doorknob, the booth went dark, and the projector, which they had both heard spinning, came to a quick and silent halt.

Convinced that Ed was inside, had seen them, and was just embarrassed at having been found out, they pushed open the door to the booth. Betty flicked on the light. The room was empty except for the two film projectors, both cold to the touch and covered with dust.

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4 Now if Dot had made this discovery when she was alone, no one would have quite believed her. But the fact that Betty, always thought of as the more sober and practical of the two cousins, confirmed the story made all of us stop and wonder what was going on up there at the Twi-Lite. We agreed we’d keep a collective eye on the place, and if anyone saw any more midnight showings—well, they were to get on the party line and let Dot know, who would then let everyone else know.

The next evening, after the Pink Ladies Poker Night, Shelby Burnham decided that maybe she’d give Dot a ride home. The reason she gave, of course, was all the Miller High Life, but nobody was fooling anybody. Those two wanted to see what was going on at the Twi-Lite.

Sure enough, same as before, the lights inside the house were dark, but the neon out front was ablaze. Dot and Shelby looked at each other, and, without a word, they drove in. It seemed to be the same young star on the screen, a dark-haired, doe-eyed Lana Turner. In this film, she was dressed in a 1950s-style two-piece bathing suit. It wasn’t a slinky string bikini, which had become all the rage, but the suit was sexy nonetheless. The girl was laughing and running along the beach, the small black dog chasing after her. While she didn’t stare seductively at the screen, she did laugh and wave, as if to another person off-camera.

Dot and Shelby tried several different speakers, hoping to find some sound. Finally, they gave up and sat in Shelby’s car, watching for a while, wishing they had some popcorn. Even though the film was in blackand-white, it was impossible to miss the drama of the sunset as it played off the waves of the beach. They each let out a sigh as the woman built

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a fire and was at last joined on camera by a young male companion. While they were never able to see his face clearly, even when he looked directly at the camera, he seemed somehow familiar. His limbs were long and strong; his skin, tanned and smooth. After stoking the fire, he moved in close to the woman and wrapped them both in a blanket. A blurry figure in a Santa suit danced around the fire for a moment and then vanished. The dog barked and then fell asleep. Dot and Shelby looked at each other.

“He looks like Tyrone Power,” Shelby said.

“Who? The guy in the Santa suit?” Dot said.

Shelby gave her a slap on the leg as Santa reappeared for a moment and then flew off into the sunset like a popped balloon.

“Not Santa. The guy near the fire.”

“No way. More like Errol Flynn,” Dot said.

“Ooh, he was a perv, you know that?” Shelby said.

“Who cares?” Dot answered, rolling down her window. They were quiet as the man on screen pushed down the woman’s bathing suit strap, cupped her breast in his hand. Shelby rolled down her window as well.

“Damn hot flashes,” she said, fanning herself with a week-old copy of the local Pennysaver. The man and woman on screen were nearly nude, their bodies lean and supple, and as they began to make love in the surf the waves discreetly covered their naked flesh. The woman clutched the man’s back, her eyes squeezed shut, and a silent moan escaped from her lips. The fire on the beach began to wane, and so did the light from the projection booth.

Dot and Shelby had been at the Twi-Lite for over half an hour.

“Well, I never thought I’d see such smut at the Twi-Lite,” Shelby said.

Dot looked at her friend and crossed her arms. “You’ve got the keys. We could’ve left at any time.”

Shelby rolled up her window. “That’s true, but I guess you can’t really criticize something without seeing it first.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Dot said with a snort. “Come on, looks like the show’s over. I feel like going home and waking up Bob.”

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Shelby laughed. “You know, Dot, you’re a perv.”

“Yeah, me and Errol Flynn,” Dot said.

“What was the deal with Santa?” Shelby asked.

“Who knows,” said Dot as Shelby turned on the engine. “Probably some kind of Eye-talian art film.”

No one knew exactly who the mysterious couple was on the screen. The man in the films never quite came into focus, his face blurry and just out of reach.

Everyone speculated who the girl might be. Even though Betty Ferry kept insisting that it was Lila Czarnecki, no one really thought she was right. The woman on screen was as beautiful as any Hollywood starlet, and many in town theorized that Dick had made some silent films of some unknown local actress back before he was married. Others thought it was Ed playing some kind of elaborate trick on all of us—that somehow he’d rigged the projection booth to go off and on as soon as anyone approached, but no one could ever explain the dust. Some said they thought it was magic or maybe the work of the devil. They suggested that we involve the Reverend Williams in some kind of drive-in movie theater exorcism. Most of us didn’t ask questions we couldn’t answer; we just showed up and watched the story unfold. The love scenes were expertly done. They got you going all right without being outright pornographic, and for the next few weeks, many couples smiled with satisfaction as they walked the streets of Elysium Beach.

Meanwhile, Ed and Lila agreed to meet once Lila had pulled together some fabric swatches and paint samples. Ed could hardly contain his excitement.

Lila had not pulled away from him that evening in the bedroom, and if he’d only been a little slicker, and not had the oven up so high, then perhaps he might have been able to kiss her, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

Lila was a charming girl, but he really didn’t know that much about her. She

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might only be humoring him, and at this point, he couldn’t deny that she could have sold him just about anything. He was practically bursting when he bumped into Oscar Higgins on his way to work.

“Good morning, Ed,” Oscar said.

“Well, good morning to you, Mr. Higgins,” Ed said.

“Say, Ed, I hear that you’ve been seeing the Czarnecki girl. Is that true?”

Ed was a little taken aback by the question. Oscar wasn’t one to be so direct. “She’s helping me fix up the old homestead,” Ed said, somewhat deflated. “I wouldn’t say that we’re exactly seeing each other.”

“That’s right. That’s what Margaret said.” Oscar rubbed his chin. “She’s a lovely girl. Too bad about her fiancé, the way he went off and married that other girl.”

“Oh, yes, that was too bad.” Ed wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Ask her to give my best to her parents, would you?” Oscar said. “Come around for a trim later, Ed. Looks like you could use one.” He slapped Ed on the shoulder.

“Sure, thanks, Mr. Higgins,” Ed said.

Lila had planned to stop by before dinner with the samples. She said that she didn’t want Ed to feel like he always had to prepare a meal for her and had promised her aunt a visit, too. Ed had agreed that whatever worked best for her was okay with him, but he was secretly disappointed that she wouldn’t be staying longer.

When Lila arrived, she was dressed much more casually, wearing a pair of flair-bottomed hip-huggers and a plunging V-neck sweater. Ed showed Lila to the living room, took her coat, and then sat down on the old, spring-worn sofa. He really didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He felt absurd, completely overwhelmed by his feelings and at Lila’s mercy. She sat down next to him and placed the samples on the coffee table.

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“Ed, I really hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but, well. . . .”

Lila looked down at her lap. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about Ed, but she’d thought about him every day, all day, and that was something.

“Forward’s okay,” Ed said. He took her hand.

She looked up at him, leaned in, and kissed him. Tentatively at first and then, as Ed gathered her in his arms, letting his fingers get tangled in her hair, pulling her close, she pressed up hard against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and really kissed him. Ed thought for a brief moment that the room was spinning, the glow from the chandelier filling the room with a swirling luminosity. He felt woozy, light-headed, but quickly found himself again, the other parts of his body, urging him back to the present. His fear had been that if he ever had the nerve to actually kiss Lila, it would be a dud, fall flat, but this, this kiss was something that all other kisses could be measured against.

Lila was the first to pull back, take a breath. “I guess forward is okay with you.”

Ed blinked, brushed the hair out of Lila’s face. He started to say something but leaned in to kiss her again, and she let him, relaxing in his arms, her head falling against his shoulder. “Do you have to go over to your aunt’s house?”

Ed asked.

She traced his chin with her finger. “I’m afraid so. Besides, I don’t trust myself to stay too long.”

“Probably the right instinct,” Ed said, smiling, “but, to be forward, I would love for you to stay.”

“That would be nice,” Lila said as she sat up, “but I did promise Auntie Margaret.”

Ed sat up, too, finally catching his breath but still a little woozy from Lila’s perfume. “Well, I guess you’d better show me what you’ve brought even though I won’t remember a thing after you leave.”

After going through all the samples, with Lila taking notes in her notebook, Ed chose the colors he wanted for his bedroom and the kitchen. After

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a long lingering kiss next to her car, Lila drove over to her Aunt Margaret’s house, and Ed, exhausted, fell asleep on the davenport in the living room, the cushions still fragrant with Lila’s scent.

By this point, almost everyone in town, including Margaret, was sneaking off to the Twi-Lite to watch the movies. Margaret was the only one who thought she knew what was going on, but as is typical for Margaret, she was playing things pretty close to the vest. We were all so hooked we didn’t care if it was the devil himself showing those flickering old movies up on the screen. Folks had started bringing picnic baskets full of sandwiches and cold fried chicken. Others brought bags of hot buttered popcorn and boxes of Snowcaps and Milk Duds. Dot always had a cooler full in her trunk and was more than willing to share. So far, all the sex had gotten folks kind of stirred up, and nothing had been too graphic, but Margaret’s worry was that things might get a bit out of hand, revealing things about each of the unknown stars that would embarrass everyone. This was the real reason why she’d insisted that Lila come to her house for dinner that night. She’d been rooting for Ed and Lila. The tenderness that she felt for her niece, and for Ed, was something she couldn’t quite explain to herself, and yet she had put the two of them together. She wanted to see them happy. She knew from her conversations with Lila what was going on and that eventually their mutual attraction would get the better of them both. She didn’t want the whole town watching when it did.

So that’s how she’d tried to explain the whole thing to Lila over spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of Lambrusco. Lila shook her head. She didn’t get it. Ed was doing what? Margaret repeated her story. Finally, Lila stood up, exasperated.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, dear, it certainly doesn’t,” Margaret said. “Now please sit down and eat your dessert.”

Lila sat down but left her chocolate ice cream melting in the bowl. “Who told you this was happening?”

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“Dot Stevens.”

“Well, that explains everything,” Lila said, throwing her napkin onto the table.

“Lila, I’ve seen it for myself. I’m going to take you tonight, after it gets dark, and hopefully you’ll see it, too.”

Lila stared at her aunt with such bewilderment that it nearly broke Margaret’s heart. “So you’re saying that every night, after Ed’s asleep, or at least you think he’s asleep, no one is really sure, the entire town drives out to the Twi-Lite and watches his dreams—his dreams of me.”

“Yes, I think that’s exactly what’s happening, as unbelievable as that sounds.”

“Well, it does sound unbelievable. I’m sorry.”

Margaret took a deliberate sip of her coffee and a spoonful of ice cream.

“They aren’t really explicit, are they?” Lila asked.

“Lila, you’re old enough to know that a man has no control over his subconscious mind. After all, dear, I believe he’s sound asleep at the time.”

Lila buried her head in her hands.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Margaret said. “But the whole town is riveted.”

“And everyone knows it’s me?”

Margaret smiled at her niece. “No, dear. The only person besides me who can see the resemblance is Betty Ferry, who grew up with your mother. I think I’ve managed to convince everyone that it’s a very young Joan Crawford.”

“And Ed? What does he look like?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing. The face of the man is never clear. That’s what convinced me in the end that it’s all a dream.” She patted Lila’s hand.

“Who sees their own face in their own dream?”

Lila leaned back in her seat. “You know, I almost didn’t come over here tonight.”

“And why was that?”

“Because Ed’s a really good kisser.”

Margaret smiled. “Yes, dear, I know.”

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5 While Margaret and Lila were finishing their coffee and ice cream, Margaret received a phone call from Dot Stevens. She nodded and made some agreements to something and then told Lila they needed to go over to the Twi-Lite.

Once in the car, Lila began to fidget. “I thought you said that the show always starts late?”

“Well, Dot and Betty were coming back from Vermillion, like they do every other Tuesday, and they saw the Twi-Lite all lit up like the Fourth of July.” Margaret patted Lila’s hand. “From what Dot said, that must have been some kiss this afternoon.”

Lila swallowed. “I’m going to wake him up. This can’t go on. I mean, what will happen after we—well, you know.”

“I would hope that nothing like that would happen outside of marriage,” Margaret said.

Lila frowned at her aunt.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not naive. Maybe that’s what needs to happen to break the spell. On the other hand, maybe it will all just keep happening until Ed’s not in love with you anymore, but honestly, I think the boy will love you until the day he dies. Maybe it will all just go on until the Twi-Lite crumbles to the ground, a forgotten remnant of another time.”

When Margaret pulled into the Twi-Lite lot, most of us were already there. The film was in full swing. Dot and her husband Bob were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and had brought Cold

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Duck for everyone. Oscar Higgins and Ralph Valente were passing around a pizza, while Greg and Barb Marczak sat necking in the backseat of their Chevy station wagon.

On screen, our leading lady—there was no mistaking now, for anyone, that it was Lila Czarnecki—was radiant in a white organza dress with a tightly fitted bodice showing her bosom to full advantage. No one needed to set the scene or fill anyone in. Music blared from every speaker: “Elsa’s March” from Lohengrin. The aisle that the screen-Lila was walking down seemed endless, as if she were on a treadmill, and in the distance, waiting, we could clearly see Ed, dressed in a white tuxedo, looking as handsome as we had ever seen him.

Ralph Valente shouted to everyone that he had a tuxedo just like that in his men’s store, and Dot filled his plastic cup with more Cold Duck. Meanwhile, the movie played on. The onscreen Lila was jogging down the aisle, and in the background, the clouds streaked by, but she seemed to make no progress toward Ed. Next to Ed, at the end of the aisle, was the Reverend Williams, dressed in purple and green surfer shorts and a top hat. While the reverend should have been holding a Bible, in order to perform the ceremony, he instead held the small dog that had been in several of the films. Finally, the screen-Lila reached her destination. The dog jumped from the reverend’s arms, barked once, and disappeared. Ed dipped Lila into a deep embrace.

Lila stared at the screen, her mouth open. “How does he know what I want my wedding dress to look like?”

Margaret shrugged. “I don’t know, dear, but I think what usually happens after a wedding is the honeymoon. And if what we’ve seen on other nights is any indication, you might want to go wake him up.”

Lila kissed her aunt on the cheek and ran toward the screen.

“Where’s she going?” Dot called out to Margaret.

“She’s going to find Ed,” Margaret said.

“She can’t. She’ll ruin everything,” Shelby said. “We have to stop her!”

“It’s too late—look!” Oscar pointed at the screen.

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Oscar was right. For some reason that none of us could explain—not that any of us could ever really explain anything that happened that fall—the scene had shifted to one of those artsy-fartsy type movie things that none of us was too fond of but had kind of gotten used to. Instead of seeing Ed and Lila on their honeymoon, which is what we all wanted to see, we saw Lila on the screen, running toward the house, dressed in her hip-huggers and sweater. The wedding had dissolved, and we could see ourselves projected up on the screen, superimposed over Lila as she opened the back door and rushed toward Ed, who was blissfully sleeping on the couch. It was as if the movie screen had become a mirror, or a double-exposed photograph, showing us Lila and Ed as well as us watching Lila and Ed. The music was still playing—no longer “Elsa’s March,” but something equally stirring, perhaps

by Nino Rota or Richard Rogers. Lila knelt next to the couch. We could see how moved she was by Ed’s peaceful expression. Dot blew her nose and held her husband’s hand. Oscar secretly pressed Ralph’s hand, and Ralph smiled back at Oscar. We were all thinking the same thing: there is nothing like watching someone you love sleep, their tender childlike expression. Lila brushed back Ed’s damp bangs, and he stirred but didn’t wake, and the strings of the orchestra glissandoed to a high, poignant chord. Shelby sighed and handed Dot another tissue.

“Ed?” Lila said. “Ed, I need you to wake up.”

He did, of course, slowly opening his eyes, not believing that it was Lila kneeling next to the couch. He smiled. “Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?”

“Not even if I tried,” Lila said, stroking his face.

“It was a hell of a kiss,” Ed said.

“Yes, it was.” And even though Lila could hear all of us cheering as Ed pulled her back down onto the couch, she didn’t care. The scene faded to black, and we were left standing in the dark. The lights at the Twi-Lite had all gone out.

“Shoot, Margaret, why’d you let her go and spoil it all,” Dot said.

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Margaret sighed and patted Dot on the shoulder. “Well, it couldn’t very well go on forever now, could it?”

“It was a mighty fine show while it lasted,” Oscar said.

“Yes, it was,” Margaret said, “but now it’s over.”

“I guess you’re right,” Oscar said. He nodded to Ralph, and they slid into Oscar’s Pontiac, the first to drive away. Margaret was next, and then Betty Ferry, and Shelby Burnham and her husband Frank, and Greg and Barb Marczak, and all the rest of us, until it was just Dot and her husband Bob, sitting alone in the empty, silent parking lot, drinking Cold Duck from the bottle.

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B I O C. J. Spataro is the MFA program director at Rosemont College in suburban Philadelphia and the editorial director of Philadelphia Stories and PS Books. She is a Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant winner for fiction, and her short fiction has appeared in a number of literary journals, including Permafrost, The Baltimore Review, XConnect, Mason’s Road, and Painted Bride Quarterly. Her work has also been anthologized in Another Breath, Forgotten Philadelphia, Extraordinary Gifts, and 50 Over 50.

About the genesis of “The Twi-Lite,” Spataro writes, “I got the idea for this story after watching a documentary about the heyday and decline of drive-in movie theaters. Several featured in the film showed how theater owners lived in homes attached to, or a part of, the movie screen itself. I had been working on a story collection in which every story was set near one of the great lakes, so I thought it might be fun to set this story in a fictional town on the shores of Lake Erie. It was a ‘what if ?’ scenario. What if this guy, who’s very lonely and lives inside the movie screen, somehow, without his knowing, manages to project his dreams onto the screen so other people can see them? Once I started to imagine this little town, it took on a life of its own. The mid-’70s were such an odd time. The Vietnam War was a disaster; Nixon had resigned in disgrace; and women, especially, were fighting for a place at the table. I wanted to reflect that uncertainty in the story as maybe the reason why so many people in the town were drawn to watch the strange movies at the drive-in, and why they were so sad when they ended.”

Iron Horse Literary Review would like to thank its supporters, without whose generous help we could not publish Iron Horse successfully. In particular, we would like to thank our benefactors and equestrian donors. If you would like to join our network of friends, please contact us at ihlr.mail@gmail.com for information on the various levels of support.

Benefactors ($300) Wendell Aycock Lon and Carol Baugh Beverly and George Cox Sam Dragga Madonne Miner Charles and Patricia Patterson Gordon Weaver Equestrian ($3,000 and above) TTU English Department, Chair Brian Still TTU College of Arts & Sciences, Dean Brent Lindquist TTU Graduate School, Dean Mark Sheridan TTU Provost’s Office, Provost Rob Stewart TTU President’s Office, President Lawrence Schovanec