Date: Sun, 3 Jun 2007 20:55:07 -0700 (PDT)
From: gaymormonwriter@yahoo.com
Subject: "Dusk to Dawn", gay male, relationships,

Dusk To Dawn
Chapter 1

(Authors notes: This story is Copyrighted 2007 by the author. Email
comments are welcome.)

Leaving the city behind me, the two-lane blacktop broke away as I followed
its path into the countryside, cutting its way through field after field of
corn.

Finally, up ahead I saw the driveway. I pulled in and drove to the back of
the main field. I parked the car and stepped out onto the gravel and
surveyed the property. I looked down and kicked the stones away from my
feet. My eyes followed as they hit a teardrop.

The lot reminded me of a baseball diamond. Thin at the front and then wider
at its expansion towards the back. Behind the car and along the perimeter,
the lot bordered the corn stocks growing not twenty feet away. I picked up
a couple of rocks and tossed them as far as I could into the field of green
tassels.

Leaning against the backfield lamp pole, I dwelled on the reasons I was
even here in the first place. I made life choices that needed to be done. I
was here to start over or so I wanted to believe.

The rows of speaker poles lined the drive in theater. What was left of the
white painted surface on the metal shafts topped by a junction box and
speakers, were encased at the ground in concrete known as a teardrop.

The screen towered over everything. Its white facing darken by the clouds
moving in and the distant thunder I could hear as another spring storm
approached from the west.

I loved storms, the thunder and lightning kind. It gave me the impression
that the heavens could put on its own kind of show. Dramatic and violent,
loud and bright as the winds and rain pounded the earth with a force that
only nature could understand.

Feeling the early sprinkling of the first shower, I walked back to my car
and drove around to the front. By the time I got there, the rain started
pouring and I had to run to the front door of the office, located at the
bottom of the screen tower.

Inside it seemed musty and damp. The paint on the walls, a color I would
call an industrial green, was worn and peeling. The wooden desk had seen
better days for stain and varnish. Rusting away was the four-draw filing
cabinet that rested in the corner near the window. Under the window was the
old safe, which looked like something from World War II.

I stood by the window, my eyes looked past the tattered and faded curtains,
over the front of the theater as the rain fell. The roadside marquee that
wanted to stand proud; but seemed tired and depressed over the grassy lawn
that desperately needed mowing. The letters spelled out what it would open
on Friday for the weekend. Driveway lights lined the entrance, some laying
on the ground, most tilted every which way.

I turned away wondering what the hell I was doing here in this, an old run
down drive in. Even though I had been here yesterday with my district
manager for the check in, I realized now what a dump I was about to
operate, I wondered why my life been that bad that I would trade in a nice
indoor theater for this.

Just to get away? I knew, afterall.

On the other side of the office entrance was the apartment door. I unlocked
it and entered the living room area. This was one of those drive-in
theatres that provided an apartment for the manager inside the screen
tower. Walking through the entire place told me that it wasn't ready to be
moved into yet, but I had no choice. I was here and the truck was on its
way.  The storm had moved in and the sound of the pounding rain continued
against the sheet metal of the screen and echoed throughout the inside.

The apartment was furnished and I realized that I needed to throw
everything out. I encountered the bedroom first. The bed was broken and the
dressers were missing draws. Then in the bathroom, it needed tile work and
a new showerhead. The toilet flushed and the sink didn't leak, thankfully.

I looked in the mirror above the sink. My reflection reminded me how torn
up I really was. I hated that my eyes looked so sad. They weren't red but
the sparkle that he put there, so many years ago was now gone. Being only
twenty-five, I looked like an old man or maybe my imagination was working
overtime. I vowed at that moment that I would get through this and that
there was enough work here to do to take my mind off of him and the things
he had done to me.

I pulled myself away from the mirror and walked back into the bedroom and
wondered what lay ahead for me in this room.  Probably restless nights and
sleeping alone seemed like the inevitable.

The second bedroom didn't fair as well as the other rooms. Crayon and
pencil markings decorated the walls in a surreal and undiscerning way, much
like my life. Someone had actually tried wall papering the room and gave
up. The closet doors were missing and the floor was covered in dried
multi-colored paint.

I followed the stairs back down to the living room. The battered couch and
chair had to go. There was a chance I could salvage the end tables and
coffee table. The faded wallpaper of blooming flowers was grotesque and
peeling. I may be gay, but not that far out there I thought with a chuckle.

Looking out of the window from the doom and gloom idea of an apartment, I
noticed the sun was breaking through as the rain moved on and the clouds
had opened up.

While walking along the driveway towards the highway, I wondered what it
was like for this theater back in its heyday of the sixties. The screen
tower had had at one time, a vast display of neon, spelling out the name of
theater with different colored borders and for an accent, a musical note.

The Melody Drive In was nearly thirty years old. Lucky to still be around,
most drive-ins fell to the ever-widening expansion of many cities
growth. Someday, maybe, the Melody drive in may be engulfed into the
future, as destiny would have its way the day the theatre closes.

At the end of the driveway stood a single pole, standing about twelve feet
high, with a neon sign atop, it read simply, "Entrance". I walked up to
it. I placed my hand on its painted surface. Like a ritual, I would always
touch a piece of the theatre, close my eyes and hope to feel some kind of
energy force that might exist. My fingers felt the peeling paint as my
heart reached out for that connection, that one moment of sense that would
reassure me that I was where I needed to be. I released the pole;
disappointed that I didn't feel that needed reassurance. I turned and
walked away.

The marquee had obviously been a beautiful attraction with neon and
flashing tracing lights to border the sign. This sign was worn with paint
peeling, broken tracks and cracked letters barely hanging on to proclaim
the next attractions.

I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous pairing of "American Gigolo"
and "Norman, Is That You?" What was the booker thinking by pairing an
overly sexual heterosexual drama with a gay comedy?

I decided it would take me nearly all summer to fix the old place up. Why
they wanted to spend the money, I didn't know. I guessed it had to do with
property values or capital improvements for tax purposes. Whatever it was
it was fine for me. I had asked for this theatre to get away and try to
forget him.

Forget us. I couldn't help it. I thought of him. His beautiful eyes, his
pointed smile, the touch of his fingers in mine. Damn him.

Distracted by the car pulling in, I turned and walked towards it. It
stopped and a young man about 20 exited from the driver's side of a classic
Ford Mustang convertible.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"You're the new manager?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Great. I'm Jeff Clark, the assistant manager. Glad to meet you," he said
offering his hand to shake.

"Hi, Jeff. I'm Matt Johnson," I said, shaking his hand.

Jeff was about six foot tall, with brown wavy hair. His piercing blue eyes
reminded me too much of him. The slender build was nicely displayed by his
tight fitting jeans and a t-shirt, that was obviously too small for him.

"Have you had the tour yet?" he asked.

"I've walked the lot, but haven't been in the concession stand yet."

"My mother is the snack bar manager and she tried to get everything fixed
or replaced, without success. So its not in very good shape."

"I'm here to get in good shape," I said still looking over the guy. I began
to dislike the way he reminded me so much of him, when he was at that age,
the age I fell in love with him.

"Great, she'll be glad to hear that," he said, walking towards the box
office. I couldn't help marvel at the movement of his ass as he walked.

"Stop it," I told myself as I followed him. I had promised myself that guys
were off limits.

"How long have you worked here?" I asked.

"I worked in the snack bar for a couple of years without pay. When I turned
sixteen, I went on the payroll officially. That was four years ago and we
have had about seven managers in that time," he said, turning to me, his
eyes zeroed in on mine. "They usually don't stay, getting out as fast as
they can."

I understood the logic to that and said, "Well, Jeff, that won't be a
problem for me. I plan to stay a while."

"Good," he said, with a wink. I wondered what that meant or was my
imagination playing games with me.

He opened the box office door and we entered. There was a small counting
room first then it opened up into the front booth area with ticket selling
available on both sides. It was the usual layout with an old ticket machine
and two cash drawers below the main counter. A telephone sat to the side.

"Not much here," I said.

"Nope."

"Does the theater do that much business to warrant using both lanes to sell
tickets?" I asked.

"When I started it did. Now, we are required to do so since the accident
three years ago."

"What happened?"

"One night, the line of cars extended onto the highway," he said, pointing
out to the main entrance. "Usually the cars move to the side of the road
and this driver wasn't paying attention and ran into the back of another
car."

"Were the cars on the highway or off?"

"The first car wasn't completely off and the second claimed that they had
to swerve away from a car that had crossed the double yellow line."

"Okay," I said, imagining the accident and how it could happen.

"Well, anyway, there were two girls in the trunk of the car that got
hit. One was killed."

"Oh, wow."

I had always known that it was a common practice for teens to hide in the
trunk to avoid paying.  Something, even parents were would do with their
teen-aged kids.

"Yeah. The parents sued the theater."

"Why?" I asked, thinking that was ridiculous.

"Because the line of cars for the theater wasn't moving fast enough to get
it off the highway. The judge saw it their way and the company lost big
bucks in the judgment."

"Damn. Even though the girls were sneaking in and shouldn't have been in
the trunk in the first place? That sounds like wrongful endangerment to
me."

"Yeah, and I kind of thought it stunk since most patrons don't bother to
pull out their money until they get to the box office, which slows things
down."

"So, a million bucks for a teenager acting stupid and the theater pays?"

"Yeah. The company appealed and ended up with a settlement."

"Were both sides of the box office open that night?"

"They were."

"The only thing left to do would've to redesign the whole front of the
theater to accommodate all those cars," I said, surveying the driveway,
which had to be at least a half-mile long already.

"They didn't want to do that, but the company insisted we have both lanes
open on the weekends anyway, no matter what the business is."

"I see."

We left the box office and walked around the wing of the screen toward the
snack bar. I found myself taking a liking to Jeff despite my resolve not
to.

I noticed how badly the lot needed gravel. The ramps were dirt bare with
weeds growing around the teardrops.

The building that contained the snack bar, projection booth and rest rooms
were built with cider block. It was painted white and looked ugly since it
too, was peeling and faded.

Jeff showed me the restrooms. The Ladies Room was really dull and
unpleasant. The smell would kill a skunk, I thought. The mirrors were
cracked and loose, the wooden partitions needed paint and new locks on the
doors. The soap dispensers were hanging precariously on the walls above the
sinks, with only two of four that actually worked. Two of the five sinks
had 'out of order' signs on them as well as three of the six toilets.

Walking around to the other side the building was the Mens Room. I
continued to stare at Jeff's butt as he talked about the discussions over
the years concerning the closing of the theater that had been persistently
rumored. The Mens Room was in better shape than the Ladies Room. All the
toilets worked and the urinal was one long trough. "Great", I thought. Open
visual of guys taking a piss for the entire world to gaze upon, including
me and I had to be careful. Jeff walked up to the urinal while still
chatting away as he took a piss and without any shyness at all. I watched
him from behind and paid much attention to his movements to get some sense
of what he was handling between his legs. From the sound of the water
hitting the porcelain, I could tell he had a strong flow, which meant to me
he was probably thick. I had always known that when I a guy finished his
business, he would shake or stroke the last drops of urine. Jeff did
both. I turned away before he turned around.  I noticed he didn't wash his
hands.

Inside the snack bar, the cafeteria style design with two lanes starting at
each end of the building and ending in the center for the cash registers.

At the beginning were the sandwich warmers for the hot dogs. Moving along
past the popcorn warmer/display, then to the drink station. Behind the
drink station were the grill and fryer. I glanced up at the battered menu
board and checked that they sold hamburgers as well as French fries.

And, oh yes, the infamous Smithfield barbeque, that actually tasted pretty
good, but the trailer stock for the intermission reel was hilariously bad.

A sharp turn towards the cash register, found the ice cream chest and the
candy displayed shelves, which featured the staples of most
theaters. 'Goobers', 'Raisinettes', 'Sno-Caps', 'Milk Duds', 'Whoppers',
and the ever dependable 'M&M's'.

The popcorn popper looked to be something from the forties. An antique at
best, but maybe a piece of junk in the end.

"Mom loves it here," Jeff said.

"Really?" I asked, wondering how the heck the theater ever passed a health
inspection. "Why?"

"I don't really know. She knows everyone who comes here."

"How long has she worked here?"

"Over twenty years now."

I just shook my head, asking myself what does a person see in a place like
this to stay fifteen years, to myself.

"How long have you been working theaters?" he asked.

"I got my first job as an usher nine years ago. I can't imagine doing
anything else."

"I'm still wondering what I want to do. Been taking some college credit
classes at the community college in town. I might get my business degree."

"You should. You can do better than what I'm doing."

"Why do you say that?"

"I never went to college. Finished high school and started managing."

"Why not college?"

"Just didn't have an interest I guess."

"Okay," he said, looking at me like he was trying to figure me out. I
managed a weak smile.

Jeff unlocked the door to the projection booth and he showed me around
it. It had one projector and a film platter system, which I had never used
before.

"Do you know how to run this?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. They taught me last year when they put the platter in."

"Good. You'll have to show me since all I know is reel to reel," I said,
remembering my last theater ran on six thousand foot reels.

"Sure," he said, almost too enthusiastically.

I found myself being drawn into his eyes. I couldn't help it. I swore I
wouldn't allow myself to be attracted to younger guys, especially his age,
ever again. What was it about him that found me looking at him like I
shouldn't?

The blue irises were almost hypnotic, like they were searching me inside
and out. I wouldn't assume he was even gay. Besides, a mentor of mine once
advised me that it was good business to keep you peter out of the
payroll. I've stood by that advise.

I looked over the projector. It was a Simplex 35. I was surprised to see it
was clean and spotless. I checked the oil level and it was perfect. The
projector looked as if it had been installed not too long ago. With a
Xetron xenon lamp house and rectifier.

I suddenly felt his hand on my shoulder.

"It's a nice projector. They put it in last year with the platter. The old
ones were nearly fifty years old, still worked fine, but they felt they had
to upgrade with the platter being installed."

"Okay," I said, wondering why his hand was on my shoulder. I scolded myself
for thinking it felt nice.

"Do you remember what kind they were?"

"Simplex E7," he said.

"E7s were quite the machine," I said. "Around 1970, Simplex offered to
replace any working E7 with a new Simplex 35. They had to stop the offer
since there were so many that were still running."

"Wow! They didn't know what they had when they built that one did they?"

"No, I guess not."

Jeff's hand left my shoulder as he turned to show me the maintenance
room. I immediately wanted it back. I followed him through the door and
found it to be the typical junk room with tools and speaker parts.  It was
a mess. Doesn't anyone clean up around here?

"When was the last time you guys did a speaker check?" I asked.

Jeff turned around and gave that look of disbelief and shrugged his
shoulders and said, "The managers that have been here before really didn't
care about keeping things up. I guess you can tell."

I nodded my head and asked, "How bad is the field?"

"I would say about half the speakers work, some have shorts, others have
been stolen. It's nothing to watch patrons drive the lot looking for a
speaker that works."

This just blew me away. If this theater has been losing money because of
manager apathy, no wonder it trickled down to the staff.

"Jeff, follow me."

I went outside the snack bar and looked more closely at the lot. He's
right, this time I noticed the missing speakers. I remember seeing just
about all the speakers just hanging off the poles without being hung up,
now I can know why.

Jeff stood next to me. This time I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Jeff, I'm really going to need your help here. The company wants the
theater cleaned up and running right by July the 4th. That means every
speaker is going to be working. It means that we fix and clean everything
else around here. Are you up for that?"

He looked a little surprised. His eyebrows hiked up a little and a slight
smile appeared. "You're joking aren't you?" he asked. "No one really cares
about this place."

"Believe it or not, Jeff, and I find it hard to believe myself, but, yes,
they want it cleaned up."

Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, "There's a lot of work to do then."

"I want to know everything you know about this place and then teach you
what you don't know."

"Okay," he said, a slight doubtful smirk.

I looked at my watch and noticed it was late.

"My brother should be here anytime with the U-haul truck with my
stuff. Will you stick around and help unload it?"

"Sure I can," he said. "Mom wanted me to invite you for dinner. She figured
you wouldn't be cooking much in that apartment."

I had completely missed looking at the kitchen. I could only imagine how
bad it was.

"I'll have to call her and let her know we will be there after we unload
the truck.

We walked back to the Box Office so he could use the phone. I noticed the
two "Coming Soon" poster cases outside the Box Office needed changing since
"American Gigolo" and "Norman, Is That You?" were still encased.

Jeff stopped in front of the "Norman" poster, looked at me and said, "Do
you know what that one is about?"

I looked at the poster and then at him. His face was serious and I almost
cracked up laughing.

"Are you sure you want to know?" I asked.

"Yes."

"It's a comedy with Redd Foxx, the guy from 'Sanford and Son'".

"I remember the show."

"Well, I guess, he discovers things about his son he wished he hadn't."

Jeff looked at me inquisitively, waiting for me to answer the obvious
question.

"His son is gay, Jeff," I said, waiting for his reaction.


The end of Chapter 1