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“Which means I now own it.” Or I would in thirty days if I could stand living in that crummy apartment with my maternal family’s namesake. “So the theater is just as much a part of my history.” A history I’d like to forget.
“With all due respect, Mr. Anderson, you may own the building, but the town owns that land. I have been entrusted by said town to protect its history. So the Monticello Theater isn’t going anywhere. I won’t sign off on this as is. Your proposal is denied.” Charlie flipped open my proposal. It was already bloodied in red ink. She gripped the black knob of her big rubber stamp and raised it over the file.
Just as she was about to hammer the stamp down, Mayor Greene blocked her path. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, there, Charlie. I don’t think you want to do that.”
“Excuse me?” She glared at him as if she’d had enough. Which would make two of us.
“As Sebastian mentioned, the economy isn’t what it used to be now that the cigarette factory is gone. Our only big draw now are the wineries, and we need better accommodations to bring in more tourists. And it would really help our cause if we had those infrastructures in place as soon as possible. Sebastian informed me that the hotel can be finished by next year’s Wine Festival, giving us a hub right here in town.”
“Or,” Charlie began, “we can restore the theater to its 1920s glory and have it open by this year’s festival. Patrons will flood the place.”
“And how exactly are you planning to fund this restoration?” I had to give it to her, under the circumstances she was holding her own and keeping cool. But at this point I think even Minnie had caught on that Charlie was grasping at straws.
She and Minnie shared a look before she said, “We can apply for grants, host a community fundraiser?—”
“In the next twenty-four hours? We need to break ground now!” I’d been patient enough. I’d waited too long to have some fiery preservation officer with a power trip block my plan with some kitschy attempt to save a theater that no one cared about.
This theater was the cornerstone of a much bigger, more important deal. I needed to get it done, get the cash, and get out so I could move on to the main course.
“Fine. Then you can be the theater’s benefactor. We can put a nice little plaque on one of the seats. With your name on it.” She wrinkled her nose as if it were the cutest idea for a rich little guy like me.
Mayor Greene slammed his fist on the table with a gavel-like force. A tad too harshly, if you asked me. “No, Charlie! Restoring the theater is not an option. We can’t pay salaries by selling popcorn.”
“Pay whose salaries?” Charlie asked, now red-faced.
The mayor let out a sigh and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Minnie’s.”
Minnie gasped as if watching a horrific plot twist on screen.
“And yours, Charlie,” he finished, and a mini-gasp escaped her full lips. “The town’s funds are running low. If we don’t do something soon, we’ll be furloughed. Or worse. We need tourists. We need people visiting our town, staying for a weekend or longer, and spending their hard-earned money in our town.”
The corners of her mouth fell and the color in her eyes turned a melancholy gray. It was the first time since I’d met her that her defenses were down, which was saying a lot since I’d had her bare-assed and splayed over my kitchen table within ten minutes of meeting her. Despite my desire to win at all costs, that look on her face twisted something up inside me. If her vehicle was any indication, she couldn’t afford to lose her job. For a second, I wanted to offer her a break. But just a second. Because this wasn’t personal. It was business. And it was my theater. Why did I need her permission to do anything with it?
“Fine,” Charlie said, finally. “Furloughed or not, I won’t stand by and watch a wrecking ball demolish the Monticello. We can’t give up on it because of its flaws. It belongs where it is.”
“Technically, wrecking balls haven’t been used in demolition for decades, so…”
The glare she shot across the table at me made my blood heat. I gave her my best smile. Her jaw clenched, and, to my horror, her eyes became glazed with unshed tears.
Wow, she really loved this town. Never in a million years would I understand why.
Mayor Green cleared his throat. “Charlie, it’s clear you’re a woman of integrity but this is not a theater you want to die on.”
I leaned back, smug.
The mayor straightened his tie around his thick neck and continued: “But it does have historic value, and that’s one of the things about this town that people come to see. So we’ll put it to a vote.”
“A vote?” Charlie and I snapped back in unison.
“That’s right. It’s clear we won’t come to an agreement in this room. With the Monticello being such a landmark, it’s only right that everyone on the town council should get a say. And we’ll do it on the final night of the Wine Festival. The venue for the gala just fell through”—No surprises there—“so we’ll use the theater lobby.”
“Is that safe?” I asked, bristling.
“You’ll make it safe,” the mayor replied. “You have a month to make that lobby look good. In return, I’ll give you each fifteen minutes to make your case. Then the council will vote on it.” The mayor was headed in the right direction, but this was not in the blueprints.
If I didn’t get the official go-ahead, all I had was an old building that risked the lives of everyone who walked through its doors. No deal. No selling up and getting out. Nada. But I could win a vote. Once people saw the sensible vision, how could they not get behind it?
Still, I frowned. “How exactly would that work? My plan’s to raze it in its entirety. The theater is falling apart at the seams. If the council votes against it, I won’t put any money into restoring the theater as is. It’ll keep degrading until it dies along with the rest of the town.”
