Brainert shook his head. "I still can't get over Dean Pepper's transformation! That man's been an anxiety-ridden wreck for the past year, convinced the restoration would never end. Until a few weeks ago, he was skeptical we could get ten seats sold for the opening-night screening. Just one mention of this theater and he'd give me a look like he was ready to kill."

"So what changed his mind?"

"Not what," Brainert told me with a roll of his eyes. "Who." Seymour suddenly leaned forward to interrupt. "Did you say that guy's name is Dr. Wendell Pepper?" "Yes," said Brainert.

"You're kidding," said Seymour. "Dr. Pepper? Like the soft drink with that old dopey song-and-dance-man commercial?"

"Don't even go there," Brainert warned.

"You mean he's not"- Seymour cleared his throat and sang, "the most original teacher in the whole wide world?"

Brainert rolled his eyes. "Real mature, Tarnish."

As Dean Pepper waited for the crowd to settle down, he checked his watch and directed a little wave toward a seat in the reserved section, two rows in front of us.

An attractive woman waved back. From her youthful hairstyle of bouncy, shoulder-length cocoa-brown curls with scarlet highlights, and trendy red-framed glasses, I would have put her age at around forty, but when she turned, the wrinkles betrayed her. She was obviously much older-in her late fifties, maybe, or even a well-preserved sixty. Between plastic surgery, laser treatments, and Botox, who knew what age people were anymore?

"Is that the dean's wife?" I asked Brainert, pointing to the woman.

"No," he said flatly. "The dean just got divorced." Then he turned toward the aisle to speak with an usher who'd approached him.

"Welcome! Welcome, one and all, to the new Movie Town Theater!" Dr. Pepper was now speaking into a standing microphone, which projected his voice through a large, black amplifier, hanging high above him. "What a turnout for the very first film of what I'm sure will be an annual Film Noir Festival! Give yourselves a hand!"