I shake my head. "No, it doesn't feel like it." I look away and back at him. "I have to do something for you. Something good, I'd say, in your case."
"Why?"
I almost tell him I don't know, but I refuse to lie. "Because you need it."
Does he need a good turnout like Father O'Reilly?
I doubt it. Not twice.
"Maybe"--he comes closer--"you'll finish when you come back to see that free movie."
"All right," I agree.
"You can bring your girlfriend," he suggests. "You got a girl, Ed?"
I indulge the moment.
"Yes," I say. "I got a girl."
"Well, bring her along." He rubs his hands together. "Nothing like just you and your girl in front of the big screen." A mischievous laugh jumbles from his mouth now. "I used to love bringing the girls here myself when I was a kid. That's why I bought this place when I retired from building."
"Did you ever make any money out of it?"
"Oh, Christ no, I don't need it. I just like putting them on, watching them, sleeping a bit. The wife says if it keeps me out of strife, why not?"
"Fair enough."
"So when you think you'll make it back?"
"Tomorrow, maybe."
He gives me a catalog the size of an encyclopedia to look through and suggest a movie, but I don't need it.
"No, thanks," I explain to him. "I know what I want."
"Really? Already?"
I nod. "Cool Hand Luke."
He rubs his hands together again and grins. "Lovely choice. A great film. Paul Newman's outstanding, and George Kennedy, your namesake--unforgettable. Seven-thirty tomorrow?"
"Beautiful."
"Great, I'll see you and your girl tomorrow then. What's her name, this girl of yours?"
"Audrey."
"Ah, lovely."
I'm about to leave when I realize I have no idea of this man's name.
He apologizes. "Oh, I'm very sorry, Ed. My name's Bernie. Bernie Price."
"Well, n
ice to meet you, Bernie." I make my way out.
"Same here," he says. "I'm glad you came."