The Curse of Flight

by R. G. Hendrickson

  Glad to get up from that chair, Josh grabbed a towel from the shelf and spread it over his uncle’s chest and shoulders. “I can’t find it. Are you sure it’s in the house?”

  “Yes.” A drop of purple fell between the words. “In my room.”

  “I looked everywhere.” He sat back down in the uncomfortable chair and wiggled to find a soft spot. There was none. “There’s nowhere else.”

  “Look where I put it,” the old man said.

  Josh’s elbows rested on his knees, and he lay his head in his hands. They’d been through this all before. There was no reason to revisit it. “It would help if you knew where you put it.”

  The old man’s head lifted off the pillows and gave him a pointed look. “I do.”

  Josh tried to hold back a smirk. “I know. You told me. It’s in a safe place, where no one can find it.”

  Alfonso’s head fell back to the bed. “Burglars, yes, but you, no. You’re not looking hard enough.”

  Josh’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. “I have to take this.” He tapped the phone. “Hi Dan. Did you hear back?”

  “The music director was right,” Dan said. “The score didn’t change. We checked the recording like you asked, and there was no difference. It’s possible you heard something from the audience.”

  “It came from the speakers.” He was certain it had. It wasn’t his imagination. His uncle stared at him. Maybe the call annoyed the old man. Josh rose to leave, but Alfonso tugged on his shirt and pointed to the chair. Josh stayed put.

  “The music didn’t change,” Dan said. “It’s prerecorded, the same thing every night. You must have heard someone’s phone in the audience. You know how that is. We can increase the volume on the score. It might block out some of the background noise.”

  The old man perked an ear. Surely, he couldn’t hear Dan on the phone. It didn’t matter if he did.

  “It was loud.” Josh leaned away from his uncle. “Go ahead and try the volume, if you think it will help.”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you,” Dan said. “My friend, the realtor we talked about, I found out he’ll show at night. He said he’s free after eleven this week and might have something you’d like to see. Want his number?”

  “Give him mine.” Josh glanced at his uncle’s prying eyes. “I’m free this week. Tell him to text me where to meet him.”

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  “Thanks, Dan.”

  “Anytime, Josh. Bye.” Dan’s call disconnected.

  The old man held the cup by his side. His hand trembled. “What was this music?”

  “What music?” Josh didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I heard it all. You spoke right next to me. I’m old, not deaf.” The cup rocked.

  Josh’s eyes looked inward. “Three times it came from nowhere. That old circus tune, you know the one.”

  The cup tumbled from his uncle’s hand and tipped on the mattress. “The music, it’s the warning. It means you’re in love.”

  Juice escaped the cap and pooled on the sheet. Josh took the towel from his uncle’s chest and reached over him to wipe up the spill. “In love? Be careful. Give me that.” He put the sticky cup and the stained towel on the counter.

  “The curse is warning you.” The old man slapped his good hand on the bed. “Because you’re in love.”

  “But I’m not, and since when does the curse send a warning?”

  “It always has. With music and dreams. Have you had any?”

  “No.” None that he wanted to share with his uncle, anyway. “I’m not in love.”

  The old man gave a knowing look. “Tell it to the curse.”

  Josh’s eyes averted. “But there’s no one. The curse is confused.”

  “You spoke of getting married a few weeks ago.” The old man’s eyes narrowed.

  His uncle had a point, but not really. Josh pursed his lips, and a puff of air escaped with a hiss. “Hypothetically.”

  Alfonso slammed the good arm on the mattress. “Don’t use big words with me. Please. I’m not long for this world. If the curse sends the music, you’re in love, and you’re getting married.”

  “Why haven’t I heard this before?” Josh folded his arms.

  “Maybe you were never in love before.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Why didn’t anyone tell me this would happen?” Both hands rose to his cheeks. A finger wandered to his hair.

  “They must have,” the old man said. “I’m sure they talked about it at one time or another.”

  “If they did, it wasn’t to me.” Josh twirled a strand. “And they didn’t explain what it meant.” His hands dropped to his lap. “Not my father or my mother nor you until now, no one did.”

  The old man squirmed. “Maybe we thought it was different for you. It didn’t apply. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Now you know. You must wear the ring.”

  “I can’t find it.” He’d discussed it just a minute ago with his uncle. The ring was lost. How was he supposed to wear it? Even if he had it, why should he?

  “It was your great-great-grandfather, the first of the flying Dalenzos, who called the curse on us during the time in Egypt. He took advantage of a girl in love. Her mother was a witch and cast the spell.”

  This caught Josh’s attention. He leaned in and listened. The old man coughed and choked. His crooked finger waved in the air.

  Josh’s eyes followed the wavering gesture uncertain where it focused. His uncle hacked and pointed again. Of course, the cup on the counter. Alfonso wanted a drink, and Josh handed it to him.

  The old man drank and dribbled before he spoke. “The girl he spurned still cared for him. It hurt her when our namesake married another in her village. Yet, she gave him a wedding gift, the ring, with those strange markings on the inner band.” He sipped. “Coptic letters in a lost language.” Purple dripped. “With a promise to break the curse. If true, there’s hope, if false, despair. We don’t know which. Until then, the spell has its way with us.” Alfonso put the empty cup down on the bed. “The ring might protect you, if you can find it and understand its meaning.”

  “What does the inscription say?” Josh was almost afraid to ask.

  His uncle passed him the cup. “Here, take this. My father told me when I was a boy. It made no sense to me, and now I don’t remember.”

  Josh set the cup on the counter. “Don’t you want to know? Can I find out?”

  “Yes, you should.”

  This was just like his uncle to offer no more information than that. “How?”

  “Find an interpreter of lost languages but first find the ring. You can’t sell the house until you do.”

  “I’m not selling the house.”

  The old man gave him a sharp look. “You have a realtor, don’t you?”

  Josh’s eyes rolled in his head and viewed the ceiling’s mottled tiles, nothing of interest there but a quick reprieve from accusation. “I’m buying a place to rent out. It’s for income when I can’t fly anymore. I saved some money for it. I’m not selling the house.”

  The old man’s head sunk in the pillow. “Wise. You remind me of your grandfather. He always said we must prepare for a fall. Bring the ring.”

  Chapter 6

  Scissors sang, the sound of metal sliding. He never needed a haircut. A fraction of an inch fell every day during make-up. Steve’s favorite thing about the gig, Bernard took care of it with a few snips before each show.

  Powder tickled Steve’s nose and made him cough. He waved his hands in front of his face to clear the air. One of the guys in line sneezed.

  Bernard put away the fluffy brush. “Sorry. The fabulous must suffer. They taught me that in beauty school. Now stand up, so I can check your pants.”

  Steve set his phone on the counter and rose from the make-up chair. The fastener snapped behind his head as Bernard opened the apron and pulled it off him. A cool breeze from the ceiling vent caressed Steve’s shoulders.

  Bernard tugged at the Velcro
seams of the custom-cut jeans. So tight, they might as well have been painted on. Problem was, they had to come off.

  Bernard performed, too, backstage with his white capris and gold Gucci belt, together with that blousy purple shirt. Steve appreciated the lighted-hearted show. It cheered him up some days.

  “Looks good.” Bernard tugged at the Velcro. “No wardrobe malfunctions, at least until scheduled. How’s that hand?”

  Steve stuck out his palm. No sign of ink now. The guys in line all looked.

  “Poor baby. I thought it would never fade. What did he use, a tattoo needle?” Bernard looked askance at a chuckle over his shoulder. The guys in line backed up and adjusted their costumes.

  “Just a magic marker, indelible.” If Steve could only get it off his mind as easy as his hand.

  “A good concealer saved the day. It’s not the first time.” Bernard dabbed a sponge in make-up. “That boy really hurt your feelings. Didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” It must have shown in Steve’s face, probably still did. One of the guys in line snickered. It didn’t matter what they thought. He could kick their asses, and they knew it.

  Bernard applied the sponge to Steve’s chest. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get over it.” Wet and cold it swiped under the pecs and between the abs, strategically for contour. This was Bernard’s way of telling him the definition was getting a little fuzzy and to cut back on the beer. A sigh escaped Steve’s lungs with each stroke. Bernard patted him on the arm and made him feel better.

  This wasn’t a big deal for Steve. He didn’t have to do it. It was just a side thing for him, a gig, on top of his real job in real estate. The guys in line made fun of him. He didn’t care. They all danced for a living. Younger and straight, they didn’t get it. He just did this for kicks.

  Bernard concluded with a clap of his hands. “Okay, all done. Who’s up?”

  Steve’s phone buzzed on the counter. He picked it up, and the next guy sat in the chair. The phone beeped. He checked it on the way to the stage entrance. Through the peep hole in the curtain, the house filled. In the two front rows, a bachelorette party wore matching tiaras. The women laughed and shouted at each other across the aisle.

  He went to the stage left wall away from the ropes and sat on a folding chair to scan some more profiles. One came up he’d never seen before. Circus702 had to be Josh. Yeah, it was, hard to tell for sure without his face, but it was him.

  He typed a quick message. Looked for you Tuesdays at Pariah. On second thought, he didn’t send it. Always the romantic, his profile had a headshot, though a smile wouldn’t work online, if it hadn’t in person. He might do better with a dick pic unless Josh recognized that too.

  Would Josh remember him at all? Maybe not. That would be the worst, not only dismissed but forgotten. Steve lost hope he would ever find love.

  A text popped up from Dan. Here’s that guy’s number. The one who wants to see places at night. Josh Dalenzo 555-3467. He’s free this week after eleven and says to text him the address.

  Wow, his name was Josh. What a coincidence. No, things like that only happened in the movies, and Dalenzo wasn’t a French name. He could see Josh being a trapeze artist though. Yeah, and then some. Weird, Josh wouldn’t tell him what he did. Like he was a spy or something. Just like Bond, one of those double agents for a foreign power, maybe Canada, bent on world domination.

  Steve added Josh Dalenzo to his contacts and typed a text. Hi, this is your realtor. Meet me at 2999 Paradise Road in the building lobby midnight tonight. Maybe he would finally sell that place. That would cheer him up and the property manager too. Steve’s dad was getting a lot of flak from the owner for not unloading it sooner. It wasn’t his dad’s fault. The client wouldn’t let them stage the place. That man was an oddball.

  A text came in. Okay, see you there.

  The guys lined up for their entrance. Steve turned off his phone and left it on the chair. House lights dimmed in the peephole. The audience grew silent as the curtain rose. The spotlight blinded him. The crowd cheered.

  Chapter 7

  The Diavel purred. Josh waited for the light to change. His earpiece rang. Dan’s name showed on the phone in the cradle, and Josh tapped it. “Hello.”

  “Where the hell are you? The realtor’s waiting. He called me.”

  The device screeched in Josh’s ear. “Hold on. I’m having a problem.”

  Josh squeezed his hand in between the helmet and his head. A deafening squeal. He winced at the pitch and pulled out the source. It fell to the pavement.

  He reached to touch his phone. “I put you on speaker. I’m on The Strip, almost there.”

  “You took The Strip? No wonder you’re late.”

  “There was an accident at Paradise.”

  “Call him back. He says he left a message.”

  “What did he want?” Josh asked. “I ran out after the show and didn’t check.”

  A Porsche with dark windows and candy apple paint pulled up beside him. The glare caught his eye and reflected the lights above.

  “He’s in the unit. He says it’s a dump. You might not like it. 5C. Ask the garage attendant where to park.”

  Josh’s heels tapped on the asphalt and rocked the bike. “A dump? Not much of a salesman, is he?”

  “No, he’s good. Probably wants to sell you something bigger, something you didn’t think you needed, and if you’re not careful he might. That’s what happened to Genie and me. We got more house than we bargained for.”

  The signal turned green. Josh leaned on the gas. As the Diavel roared for the next light, the Porsche fell behind in the lane to the right. Exhaust filled the air. He coughed at the fine haze. “They increased the volume today.”

  “Did it help?” Dan asked.

  “Maybe a little. I heard something. Distracting.”

  “I didn’t notice. Good show tonight.”

  “Any night I walk away is a good show.” He broke. The bike slowed to the red. Soles slid to a stop.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,” Dan said.

  “So, you say he’s going to sell me more than I need? Why did you recommend him then?”

  The Porsche rolled up next to the Diavel.

  “Steve and I practically grew up together,” Dan said. “He’s a great guy, and he fit your schedule. At this hour, who else would? Even in Vegas.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a side job. Is he a realtor who dances or a dancer who does real estate?”

  “He was a realtor a long time before he got that gig,” Dan said.

  Josh noticed but paid no attention when the driver’s side window rolled down on the Porsche. He worried he acted like a prima donna. Finding a real estate agent wasn’t in Dan’s job description as production manager for Josh’s show. Dan was a nice guy who liked to help. Josh didn’t want to take advantage.

  On a marquee above, shirtless men flashed across the screen, a promotion for an all-male review. The guy on the left looked familiar to Josh. From where, he didn’t recall. He would be meeting one of these fellows in a few minutes and wondered which one.

  Something distracted him. In the Porsche beside the Diavel, a young woman flipped her hair. The corner of her eye turned to him. He glanced, but his focus remained on the road.

  “You might like him,” Dan said.

  Josh caught the movement in the periphery when the woman’s ear perked.

  “Why is that?” He looked at her and smiled.

  She peeped at him.

  “He’s gay,” Dan said. “My wife thinks he’s lonely.”

  “And all us gay guys like each other just because we’re gay?”

  The window rolled up.

  “Beats me,” Dan said. “We don’t talk about stuff like that. I know him from football when we were kids, and we stayed friends. I told her she was crazy. How could a guy who gets paid for stripping be lonely?”

  “Wrong audience I guess.” The traffic crawled.

  “Yeah right, all those screaming women. Lucky
bastard doesn’t know what he’s got. I’m out of here. See you tomorrow.”

  Josh pulled into the driveway for the high-rise and followed signs through a landscaped lane. At the garage entrance, he stopped by the attendant.

  “I’m here to see an apartment, 5C. Where do I go?”

  “The agent’s up there.” The attendant handed him a parking placard. “Put this somewhere on the bike. It says it expires midnight, but I’m here until two. I won’t let them tow you before then. The visitor parking is in the back. The elevator’s next to it.”

  Josh nodded. “Thanks.”

  The Diavel sprang forward for a moment and then meandered to the back of the lot, where he stopped at a spot marked Visitor. He swung a leg off the bike and with his right hand put the keys in his pocket. The left hand held the placard. He put it on the seat. The helmet came off and locked in its compartment.

  On second thought, he moved the placard from the seat to the dash. No reason why, just an impulse. He sometimes attended too much to detail and learned in his trade to take it as a warning. A fall was coming. Focus was everything.

  His bootheels echoed on the concrete floor as he walked to the elevator and pushed the button. The doors opened. Inside, he faced twenty-five choices and selected number five. “Kind of complicated just to go home.” He mumbled to himself and slipped off his jacket. It rested in the crook of his arm.

  The fifth floor appeared with a table and fern against the wall. He stepped out and turned to the corridor where a plaque marked door 5C. Under his breath, he grumbled. Next to the elevator, noisy.

  Josh twirled his hair. He knocked. It opened. “Oh shit.” That hookup. The billboard didn’t do the guy justice. Should have known though. Maybe in the back of his head, Josh had known, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. Steve’s eyes and mouth got wide and round.

  “You!” With knob in hand, Steve’s arm cocked the door back, as if preparing to slam it shut. He stopped short.

  With a will of its own, Josh’s head waived side to side. From denial to resignation, he stopped at a sideways glance. The old rules wouldn’t help him anymore. “Do you want me to leave? I’m not running. If you want me to go just say so.”