smiled at her. “You decide. Preferably a comedy.”
The girl searched her face. “There are three or four showing. You don’t care which one?”
“Not really.” All Barbie wanted to do was escape reality for the next two hours.
The teenager took her money and a single ticket shot up, which she gave Barbie, along with her change. “Theater number twelve,” she instructed. “The movie starts at four twenty-five.”
Although she wasn’t hungry, the instant Barbie stepped into the lobby, the scent of popcorn made her mouth water. She purchased a small bag and a soft drink, then headed for the-ater number twelve.
The previews were underway, and Barbie quickly located a seat in a middle row. She settled down with her popcorn and drink, dropping her purse in the empty seat beside her.
Glancing about, Barbie saw nothing but couples, most of them older and presumably retired. She nibbled on her popcorn and all at once her throat went dry. The entire world seemed to be made up of people in love. She envied the other women in the audience their long-lasting relationships, their forever loves, which was what she and Gary should have had. She wanted another chance. She was attractive, well-off, a nice person—and alone. Falling in love again was first on her list of wishes. But she didn’t want another relationship unless she could find a man like Gary and there didn’t seem to be many of those.
Until the other widows had started talking about those stupid wishes, Barbie’s life had seemed to be trudging along satisfactorily enough. Her mother’s list was nearly complete. Not Barbie’s. She’d written down a few things besides falling in love. She wanted to learn how to belly dance. She and Gary had seen a belly dance performance during a brief stopover in Cairo years before and she’d been intrigued by the sensuous, feminine movements. She’d listed something else, too. She wanted to go snorkeling in Hawaii and shopping in Paris and sightseeing in London—all of which she’d done with Gary and enjoyed. But she didn’t want to do them alone.
At the moment, her desire to fall in love again seemed an illusion beyond her grasp. But she wasn’t exactly looking for a relationship. If she truly wanted to love and be loved, she had to be receptive to love, open to it, willing to risk the pain of loss.
She shook her head, telling herself there was no point in believing that a man might one day love her the way Gary had. Love her. Not her money, not her beauty. Her.
All of a sudden tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them angrily away. She didn’t have a thing to cry about. Not a single, solitary thing. Dozens of women, hundreds of them, would envy her life. She had no money problems, her children were responsible adults, and at forty she didn’t look a day over thirty. The tears made no sense whatsoever, and yet there was no denying them.
Reaching for her purse, Barbie pulled out a pack of tissues, grabbed one and loudly blew her nose.
The previews for upcoming features were still flashing across the screen. They were apparently comedies because the audience found the clips amusing. Sporadic laughter broke out around her.
Sniffling and dabbing her eyes, she noticed a man in a wheelchair approaching the row. He was staring at her, which wasn’t uncommon. Men liked to look at her. Only it wasn’t appreciation or approval she saw in his gaze. Instead, he seemed to be regarding her with irritation.
Maneuvering his chair into the empty space beside Barbie, he turned to glare at her. “In case you weren’t aware of it, you’re sitting in the row reserved for people with wheelchairs and their companions.”
“Oh.” Barbie hadn’t realized that, although now he’d mentioned it, she saw the row was clearly marked.
“You’ll need to leave.” His words lacked any hint of friendliness.
He must have someone with him and wanted the seat for that person. No wonder he frowned at her as if she’d trespassed on his personal property.
Retrieving her large purse, she draped it over her shoulder, grabbed her popcorn and soft drink and stood. Instead of walking all the way through the empty row, she tried to get past him.
In an effort to give her the necessary room, he started to roll back his wheelchair and somehow caught the hem of her pants. Barbie stumbled and in the process of righting herself, dumped the entire contents of her soft drink in his lap.
The man gasped at the shock as the soda drenched his pants and ice cubes slid to the floor.
“Oh, I am so sorry.” Barbie plunged her hand in her purse for the tissue packet and managed to spill her popcorn on him as well.
“I…I couldn’t be sorrier,” she muttered, more embarrassed than she’d ever felt before.
“Would you kindly just leave.”
“I—”
He pointed in the direction he wanted her to go, then shook his head in disgust.
Barbie couldn’t get out of the row fast enough. Feeling like a clumsy fool, she rushed into the empty lobby. She yanked a handful of napkins from the dispenser and hurriedly returned to the theater.
The man was still brushing popcorn off his lap when she offered him the napkins.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked in a loud whisper.
His intense blue eyes glared back at her. “I think you’ve already done enough. The best thing you could do is leave me alone.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t need to be so rude. “I said I was sorry,” she told him.
“Fine. Apology accepted. Now if it’s possible, I’d like to enjoy the movie.”
Barbie gritted her teeth. She felt like dumping another soft drink on his head. It wasn’t as if she’d purposely spilled the soda. It’d been an accident and she’d apologized repeatedly. She felt her regret turn into annoyance at his ungracious reaction.
Because he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted her far away, Barbie took an empty seat on the aisle five rows back from the wheelchair section. She made a determined effort to focus her attention on the movie, which had started about ten minutes earlier.
It was a comedy, just as she’d requested, only now she wasn’t in any mood to laugh. Instead, she tapped her foot compulsively, scowling at the unfriendly man seated below her. When she saw that her tapping was irritating others, she crossed her legs and allowed her foot to swing. In all her life she’d never met anyone so incredibly rude. He deserved to have that soda dumped in his lap!
The rest of the audience laughed at the antics on the screen. Barbie might have, too, if she’d been able to concentrate. Almost against her will, her eyes kept traveling to the man in the wheelchair. The little girl in her wanted to stick her tongue out at him.
He’d asked her to move and yet no one sat next to him. In fact, the entire row was empty. He hadn’t come with anyone; he just didn’t want her sitting next to him.
What exactly was wrong with her? Lots of men would have welcomed her company. And they would’ve been more polite about that little accident, too. She was tempted to give that… that Neanderthal a piece
