A Night at the Operation

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Book: Read A Night at the Operation for Free Online
Authors: JEFFREY COHEN
shook his head at my naivete. But he didn’t know Sharon like I knew Sharon. And I was glad of that.
    In truth, it was a little weird that she hadn’t called back yet, but maybe there would be a message waiting when I got inside. Sharon really does need some time to rebound after bad news, especially about a patient, but I had exaggerated the extent to which she normally went to get it. Usually, just going home and not answering the phone would be enough. But she couldn’t do that this time. Gregory was there. So I’d hear from her tomorrow, for sure.
    Certain that I’d already passed the worst part of my day, I set foot inside my nice, warm theatre, where the “crowd” was already starting to gather for tonight’s showing. Leo Munson, our one-and-only regular customer, was in his accustomed seat, absolutely dead center in the auditorium, ready to see Sullivan’s Travels , a film he’d probably committed to memory.
    Comedy Tonight, in concept, should bring in fans of classic comedy movies and fans of brand-new comedy, because we show both every night. But I’ve found that the classic crowd tends to watch their favorites at home on DVD, and the contemporary crowd, for reasons I can’t fathom, prefers an impersonal multiplex in which each theatre looks very much like a proctologist’s waiting room with a huge TV and bad lighting.
    Sophie noticed me walking in and waved at me as she finished selling some popcorn to a little boy who immediately dropped large portions of it on the carpet as he walked back to the auditorium. “Elliot!” she shouted, and beckoned me over. I walked to the snack bar.
    “What’s up?”
    “I got my SAT scores, and guess what I got!” Sophie grinned.
    “Let me think.” I made a show of looking serious, and put my hand to my forehead. “Twenty-two sixty.”
    Her face fell, and I immediately felt bad about it. “You heard,” Sophie said.
    “I’m sorry. Yes, I heard when your parents were here. That’s really great, Sophie. I’m proud of you.”
    She let slip from one side of her mouth, “So am I.”
    “Congratulations, Sophie. I mean it. I hope you get into every college in the world, and pick the one you want most.”
    I patted her on the shoulder—Sophie and I haven’t reached the kiss-on-the-cheek level of familiarity yet, but we’re ahead of a handshake, for sure—and turned to head back to my office, the converted broom closet I was considering giving back to the brooms for all the good it was doing me.
    “Are you kidding?” Sophie said. Her tone made me turn back around and face her. “Do you know what I have left to do ? I haven’t even started applying to schools yet, and I have to write an essay, and get letters of recommendation . . .”
    “I’ll be happy to write you one, Sophie,” I said, smiling.
    “No, I mean from, like, people who’ll impress them,” she said.
    I nodded and turned away. I knew what she meant. She wasn’t trying to insult me. Not really. I hoped she hadn’t seen the tiny hurt on my face.
    “Elliot!” Sophie called again. Maybe she had seen it.
    “Sophie, don’t worry about—” I turned back to face her and made a point of smiling warmly.
    “Your mother’s here,” she said, pointing at the office door.
    And I’d thought the day couldn’t get worse.

5
     
     
     
     
    “WHERE is she?” my mother wailed. “Where’s my Sharon?”
    “ Your Sharon?” I asked. “What am I, chopped liver?” A classic.
    My father gave me a stern look from the farthest reaches of my office, which weren’t at all far. “Don’t sass your mother,” he said.
    “Sharon,” my mother emphasized, trying to remind us of her anguish. “Where is she?”
    Seeing as how my mother was occupying the desk chair, and that between the chair and the desk, virtually all of the space in the room was filled, I could barely move. While the theatre was undergoing what we refer to as “renovation,” I’d actually paid a carpenter to reverse the hinges

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