A Reel Christmas In Romance (Christmas In Romance Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2018 James J. DiBenedetto

  All Rights Reserved. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used factiously. Names, characters and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by: Shanna Hatfield

  Book design by: Colleen Sheehan (www.ampersandbookinteriors.com)

  Printed by: Createspace

  First printing:

  Writing Dreams

  Arlington, Virginia

  www.jjdibenedetto.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also From The Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Celebrate Christmas in Romance

  Excerpt From A Christmas Carol in Romance

  About the Author

  The Dream Doctor Mysteries

  Dream Student

  Dream Doctor

  Dream Child

  Dream Family

  Waking Dream

  Dream Reunion

  Dream Home

  Dream Vacation

  Fever Dream

  Dream Wedding

  Dream Fragments: Stories from the Dream Doctor Mysteries

  Betty & Howard’s Excellent Adventure

  A Box of Dreams: the collected Dream Doctor Mysteries (books 1-5)

  Dream Sequence (the Dream Doctor Mysteries, books 1-3)

  The Jane Barnaby Adventures

  Finders Keepers

  Losers Weepers

  Her Brother’s Keeper

  The Jane Barnaby Adventures Box Set

  Welcome to Romance

  Finding Dori

  All available in paperback and on Audible Audiobooks

  All available at:

  and

  www.jjdibenedetto.com

  Marianne Carter was fifteen feet up in the air, and she was not at all happy about it. Changing out the marquee was the thing she liked least about running the Esmerelda Theater. It even ranked below cleaning the bathrooms, especially on a frigid, windy day like today.

  It didn’t help that she couldn’t wear gloves – it was too hard to hold the plastic letters with them on. She’d tried, and dropped an H and two N’s before she admitted defeat and resorted to finishing the task barehanded.

  At least it was almost done; just the final “cut” in Connecticut and she could close up, climb down and get warm.

  “What are you doing up there? Don’t you have employees to do that for you?” Marianne looked down to see a mass of blonde hair flapping around in the wind. It belonged to Brooke Grundy, who owned a blown-glass studio in town. One of her creations, a gorgeous green and white Christmas tree, currently adorned the box office.

  “I do,” Marianne called down. “But Jake’s afraid of heights, Carly can’t spell to save her life and Jessie’s mother threatened to sue me for unsafe working conditions if I sent her up here.” Such were the perils of employing high schoolers. To be fair, they were pretty hard and – usually – conscientious workers. “Anyway, I’m nearly finished.” It only took a moment to finish the last word and add the showtimes. Now there was only one thing left – turning on the lights. She looked away – she’d forgotten to do that last week, and the bright marquee lights had just about blinded her. It was only dumb luck that she hadn’t fallen off the ladder. She felt around for the switch and flipped it.

  Brooke clapped. “Very nice!” Marianne closed up the marquee and climbed down to admire her handiwork. She had to agree with Brooke. It was very nice. “But aren’t you ever going to play Elf or even A Christmas Story?”

  Not at the Esmerelda Theater. “Can’t. It’s official policy, handed down from my grandfather. We don’t play any movies made after 1955.”

  “Why 1955?”

  Marianne gave the same answer Grandpa Mike always had; she could hear his gravelly voice in her head. “Because that’s the year Rebel Without a Cause came out. My grandfather always said, ‘when Janes Dean showed up, the whole world went to hell.’ So when he was running the place, he wouldn’t show anything made after that, and my uncle didn’t when he took over, and I’m just carrying on the tradition. Besides, there are so many great old Christmas movies.”

  This week’s selection, for example, was The Shop Around the Corner every night at four and eight PM, and Christmas in Connecticut at six and ten. Marianne had even gone so far as to imitate the look of Barbara Stanwyck’s character, including a faux-fur coat just like the one Stanwyck had worn in the film. Last year, she’d copied Maureen O’Hara from Miracle on 34th Street, which had been a nightmare. Dyeing her hair red was an experience Marianne swore she’d never repeat.

  “I guess that makes sense,” Brooke said, although she didn’t seem very sure about it.

  The rule wasn’t completely inflexible; Marianne broke it every time a new Star Wars movie came out, and there were other, rare exceptions. But never for the Christmas schedule. “Come for yourself and you’ll see I’m right. I’m sure you’re busy at your studio, but you must have one night free. And you can bring your husband, too. I’ll leave tickets for you at the box office. Which reminds me…” She held up a finger to Brooke before disappearing momentarily into the theater.

  Marianne returned with a stack of fliers. “Maybe you could put a couple of these up in your shop? It never hurts to remind folks, right?”

  Brooke grinned and took the fliers. “Sure thing. You’re advertising for me, it’s only fair.” It was true; Marianne had put up a little sign describing Brooke’s artwork in the box office, along with a hand-drawn map from the theater to her studio.

  “Thanks! And remember, you’ve got an open invitation. Come any night.” She said her goodbyes to Brooke and headed back into the warmth of the theater, then up the stairs and to her tiny office behind the balcony.

  There was barely any room to move; Marianne had to contort herself nearly into a pretzel to fit herself in her desk chair. Someday she’d figure out where to store all the junk that was cluttering up the office so she could have a little space to breathe, but she wasn’t sure when that day would come. Whenever she thought she might have more than an hour of free time, something seemed to crop up. On the other hand, though, being too busy was probably better than the alternative.

  She went through her email. There was a message from
Lucas Chase, owner of Romance Heating and Plumbing, asking when she wanted to schedule the check-up for the theater’s HVAC system that she’d already cancelled and re-scheduled three times. She decided to leave that for later; no point in proposing yet another date that she’d end up having to cancel because someone wanted to book the theater for a private party she didn’t have the heart to say no to.

  There was the daily report from her dog-walker, Stacie Rosenthal. Asta – what else could she have named a terrier? – had eaten, drank and pooped normally, and he’d also nearly caught a squirrel. Marianne didn’t have much to say to that, besides thanking Stacie for doing such a good job.

  And then there was the email she’d been hoping for, a message from someone she only knew by their email address: “ducksforever.” Clearly a graduate – or, possibly, still a student, although she thought that unlikely – of the University of Oregon.

  She’d “met” her correspondent on Romantic Notions, the town’s email list. Among the messages about lost pets, household items for sale or trade, upcoming town events and so forth, his – Marianne was certain it was a he – messages had stood out. After a few weeks, she’d emailed him off-list, and now they exchanged messages almost daily. His always began by greeting her as Esme; Marianne had adopted the theater’s name for her own email address – “MoviesWithEsme.”

  Dear Esme,

  I have to ask, since you’ve lived in Romance a lot longer than I have: has the town always been like this? Has everyone always gone completely insane every Christmas?

  Don’t get me wrong; I like Christmas as much as the next person. Unless that next person happens to be a citizen of Romance, because this town takes the holiday to a whole new level.

  There are more Christmas lights per square foot than I’ve ever seen anywhere else; on a cloudless night you can probably see them from orbit. I haven’t heard a single song that’s not holiday-related in three weeks. And your own theater has joined in; it’s all Christmas movies from now through the New Year.

  I shudder to think what happens here for Valentine’s Day. Which is a holiday that, again, I like as much as the next person. What’s more, I like it even though I haven’t had anyone to share the holiday with for the last couple of years.

  Please tell me that, even if you do join into the madness of Valentine’s Day, you do it with some measure of restraint and decorum. And by that I mean, please tell me that you will not be showing An Affair to Remember, (any version!), because it is the most overly-sentimental and absurd story ever told. If you do, I may have to organize a boycott of your theater.

  Just kidding. But I will be disappointed in your lack of taste.

  Anyway, that’s it. I’m just looking for any sign of sanity, and I hope you can provide it.

  Yours truly,

  The Duck-man

  Marianne could not honestly provide her correspondent with the sign he desired; the Valentine’s Day schedule was already put together, and while it did not include An Affair to Remember. it was filled with nothing but romance day and night for two weeks straight.

  She wrote back, and signed it, as she always did, “Esme.” She couldn’t say why she didn’t sign her real name. It was silly, really. There wasn’t any good reason not to, except that, as long as he wasn’t signing his own name, it felt wrong somehow to sign hers. She supposed it kept them on an equal footing. She had no idea who he really was, or what he did. And, being new to the town, he might well not know that she wasn’t just an employee of the theater, but the owner.

  Marianne wondered what story she and her mysterious email friend were playing out right now. Unsurprisingly, she tended to view the relationships and events in her life in terms of movies, assigning appropriate roles to all the people around her. Most of her friends and family laughed it off, but she’d lost more than one boyfriend as a result.

  Her situation now was nothing like The Shop Around the Corner, which was the only movie that came to mind at the moment. Yes, it was true, there was a pen-pal relationship in that movie, and neither of the participants knew the other’s name for most of the story, but any resemblance to her real life ended there. The Duck-Man was obviously not one of her employees, nor could he work for one of her competitors, because she didn’t have any.

  No, it was nothing like that movie. It was just a fun little distraction, nothing more. And it was one that she needed to set aside. She had actual work to do. The theater’s checkbook wasn’t going to balance itself, after all.

  Jack Nelson wasn’t sure what to make of the latest email from “Esme.” He had read it twice already, and re-read it once again:

  My Fair Duck-Man,

  I’m afraid I cannot give you much in the way of good news. The Esmerelda Theater will be participating fully in the town’s Valentine’s Day celebrations, and, as you already guessed, those celebrations will be rather extensive.

  I can promise that An Affair to Remember will not be shown, but if you are averse to sentiment and absurdity, you probably won’t be pleased with our Valentine’s schedule.

  By the way, there IS only one version of An Affair to Remember. While there are several films with the same story, both the 1939 and 1993 films are titled Love Affair. And of course there’s also Sleepless in Seattle, which definitely qualifies as both sentimental and absurd, although it doesn’t follow the plot quite as closely as either version of Love Affair.

  I hope I haven’t disappointed you too much!

  Sincerely,

  Esme

  Was she – no question it was a she - flirting with him, or just amusing herself with her clever little messages? And who was she, anyway? She couldn’t be the owner of the theater. He’d seen Marianne Carter just last week at a town council meeting, and although he wasn’t the best judge of people’s ages, there was no way she could be older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. And nobody under thirty used words like “averse.” Most people under thirty barely used complete sentences in emails – when they even bothered to email instead of texting, which wasn’t very often. If both his parents hadn’t been high school English teachers, Jack doubted he’d write in proper sentences either.

  Besides the question of vocabulary, it was difficult to picture the young woman in the ridiculous fake (he hoped it was fake, anyway) fur coat having such an encyclopedic knowledge of old movies. No, it had to be someone else who worked at the theater. There had to be someone in the back office who handled the schedule and the business affairs, someone more mature and better-read. Maybe Marianne had an older cousin, or an aunt, working for her.

  Jack wasn’t at all sure how he felt about being flirted with by an older woman. It was flattering, if that’s what these emails were, but hard-won experience had taught him that he needed to find someone his own age. All four of his serious girlfriends had been older than him, and all four had broken his heart. He knew when the universe was trying to send him a message.

  Besides, he wasn’t in Romance for romance. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to let a few flirty – or whatever they were – emails get in the way. Unless, of course, “Esme” or someone else at the theater knew who he really worked for, and why he was here in town. But how could they, unless they had an inside source in Salem? They couldn’t. The very idea was ridiculous. He’d told everyone who asked that he was from the state Tourism Board, and everyone seemed to accept that at face value.

  If Esme did know what he was doing here, he’d have to leave town. His job was to make an objective, unbiased, completely dispassionate assessment of the Esmerelda Theater, and whether or not it deserved to be named a State Historical Landmark. He couldn’t have anyone who worked for the theater trying to influence his report; that was the whole point of sending someone in unannounced.

  So far, the theater met all the objective criteria, but it wasn’t as simple as checking boxes off a list. There was the question of how the theater functioned withi
n the community; it wasn’t enough to just be an old and architecturally interesting building. There was also the future to consider – there had to be a commitment from the owner to both preserve the theater, and also keep it up to date with the latest building codes, safety rules and all the rest of it.

  But, again, he had to discover that without announcing who he was. Obviously, Marianne Carter would say all the right things to an official agent of the state, but what did that really mean? Anyone could pass a test if they had all the answers ahead of time.

  No, he’d have to get to know her better the old-fashioned way, win her trust, and then see what she said in an unguarded moment. That was the only way to be sure. And maybe he could use his correspondence with Esme to get close to Marianne.

  “No good deed goes unpunished,’ Marianne muttered to herself. Her whole schedule was ruined.

  Maybe that was an overreaction. She was only losing one night – Saturday, December 22nd. She’d just gotten off the phone with Mary McKay, director of the town’s annual stage production of A Christmas Carol. Mary had called her in a panic; the high school auditorium, the usual venue for her production, was unavailable this year, and the only other location in town with enough seats was the Esmerelda.

  Of course Marianne had agreed. She loved the play, attended every year, and had even acted in it once – she’d played Belle, Scrooge’s first, lost love, in her senior year of high school. Besides, it was impossible to say no to Mary McKay.

  But it left her with a big problem. Her all-time favorite Christmas movie had been scheduled for that night. The Bishop’s Wife had everything, and most of all it had Cary Grant as a mischievous angel. Marianne saw it as her duty to introduce the movie to as many people as possible. Now she couldn’t show it without bumping another movie, and then the schedule would really get out of control.

  She could survive one Christmas without Cary Grant, couldn’t she?

  To distract herself from that unhappy question, she checked her email, in hopes there might be an email from her favorite correspondent. And, sure enough, there was: