“Sky High Maya,” the woman said. “I’ll admit, not as catchy as the Human Spider, but it does the trick. Hope to see you both again at the performance tonight or down by Oddity Row.”
Neve hugged her Cthulhu to brace against the cold, because Joseph kept looking back at Maya as she vaulted over the barrier to the ride and headed toward the midway.
“She kind of looks like you, don’t you think?” Joseph said.
Neve laughed. “Sure. Except for the cyberpunk falls, darker skin, darker eyes and being seven inches shorter.”
“No, I mean shape. You’re both kind of the same curvy.”
“You mean she’s busty,” she said.
“No, it’s not just that. I mean, yes, she’s top-heavy and so are you. I mean…” Every time he tried to backpedal, he just got Italian red and even more tongue-tied.
Neve patted his shoulder in sympathy. “Your bigger brain isn’t getting much of the blood right now, is it, honey?”
Relief came out as his own laughter, and in a parody of Maya, he held out his arm for her to take the crook of his elbow. They strolled back through the midway toward the food court and fortune teller tent.
“It was supposed to be a compliment. I can see you wearing something like that—not in the middle of winter to visit the circus, but maybe for a more private performance,” he murmured near her ear where Maya had whispered to her. “Our own little three-ring circus. You bring the corset, and I’ll bring the flogger.”
“I think I’d like that.”
Her wardrobe had never been particularly provocative, with the exception of the sweetheart neckline on her wedding dress, because Joseph had wanted that. But when a girl was ‘top-heavy’ most of her life, she didn’t need a low-cut top for men to notice her. It had been a point of private embarrassment, bewilderment and sometimes guilt ever since puberty, when she’d started growing much sooner and faster than the other girls, earning catcalls and commentary from boys and even men who should have known better—back when she’d still just wanted to play soccer and do ballet and not have to adjust to a new body and what it meant.
But in the effort to kickstart their love life, Neve had discovered a love of sexy costumes and lingerie—when she found something that fit—and she wasn’t averse to some of the basic S&M they’d experimented with, either. All of that was Endorphins 101. The only problem with those little experiments was that they still hadn’t led to the kind of sex Joseph had been going for.
“Would you?” he said, his lips brushing her neck like a kiss.
That whisper in her ear was supposed to do something to her. She could tell, because he always squirmed when she did it to him, and he did it to her when he was in a mood.
When they reached the fortune teller tent, he guided them not to the entrance but behind it. There weren’t a lot of places to hide from other people in an open circus, but he chose the side where fewer people would see them, a dead zone between Oddity Row and the fortune teller.
“God, you’re beautiful.” Joseph stroked her cheek, which must have been as flushed as his, but from the cold. “I don’t tell you enough. They don’t know what you look like under those winter layers, but I do, and I keep seeing you in all the girls’ tiny costumes. Dancing, flirting, tumbling, walking a tightrope… It’s hot.”
She knew what he liked, and she met his kiss as he opened his coat and pulled her against him, accepted him when he unbuttoned her coat, too. Their thick coats provided cover as she brought her hips against his erection and he palmed her breasts. He’d come once just from handling her breasts, nearly smothered between them at the time, which she thought might qualify him for something in the realm of fetish. It didn’t bother her in the slightest.
It was comfortable for her to have him there against her, holding her, but it just wasn’t hot, and no matter how she tried to pretend it was, he could tell. Maybe she had to know what it was like to enjoy sex to fake it.
In fact, realizing she was faking it just frustrated him more, which sent him right over the edge to angry. And she hardly blamed him.
But she couldn’t explain in a way he could understand that he did turn her on. He lit up something wonderful and exciting in her, but it wasn’t lust. She wanted the former to be enough, or at least she wished she could fake the latter well enough to make both of them happy.
Hard to do when any suggestion of sex these days made her stomach drop and her throat tighten. Dread wasn’t much of an aphrodisiac in the bedroom—or out of it, when one’s husband was trying to be young, impetuous and frisky like a teenager in a sexy circus that was supposed to drive people this kind of crazy.
Joseph sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. He kept his hands on her breasts, under her sweater but over her bra. He had big hands that couldn’t hope to hold all of her, which was apparently how he liked it. He gave her all the back rubs she wanted to help her deal with the backaches, and when she didn’t have access to a heavy-duty sports bra, exercise was out of the question unless she wanted to risk boob punches and pain. Her biggest problem with them, though, was entirely how others reacted. But she could stand her husband’s attachment if it meant he hadn’t noticed the way she’d stiffened.
No such luck.
“I just don’t understand it,” Joseph said, eyes still closed. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”
“I’m trying, Joe. It’s not you. You know that. Please don’t leave.” She reached after him as he withdrew, adjusting his coat back around him. “We can go back to the car and I can take care of you…”
“It’s not about you taking care of me.”
Neve glanced around to see if anyone had heard him, because he wasn’t whispering anymore.
“It’s about being able to take care of you,” he said. “It’s about sparks and chemistry. And let’s face it, baby, we might not have it.”
“You used to love kissing me.”
“Back when I thought you loved kissing me back.”
“I do,” she said.
He turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When you’re more afraid I’m going to ask for sex now than back when we were dating, something’s wrong.”
“Well, if you didn’t pressure me by expecting it to be mind-blowing every time, maybe I wouldn’t get so tense. I love you, Joseph, but you can’t turn me on and off like a light switch.”
He whirled back around. “I can’t turn you on at all. And we’ve done everything right, haven’t we? Counselors, doctors, switching things up. But there’s just nothing! You’re a fucking gorgeous woman. I want to make love to you all the time, and you feel nothing. If I’d known we were going to go dry so early in our marriage, I wouldn’t have…” He stopped, running both hands over his buzzed head.
“What? You wouldn’t have married me?” Neve was suddenly cold all the way down to the bone, hot chocolate heat long gone. “As I recall, we had similar discussions before the wedding, and we still went through with it.”
“That was when we still thought something would work.”
She threw her hands up. “So that’s it? You want to toss a whole relationship out the window, not because I won’t have sex with you, but because I can’t enjoy it as much as you? All the other aspects of our marriage—our Netflix binges, late nights, experimentation adventures, the fact we’re so good together—none of that means anything because I don’t have, or really need, earth-shattering orgasms? That’s the hill you’re going to kill our union on?”
He sighed. “Look, I’m really mad right now. I’m going to go cool off. You go ahead and do a fortune telling. We can discuss this later, when we’re less upset. And frankly, when I’m less horny.”
Neve tried to smile, but it died halfway through.
He took her face in his hands. “I love you, Neve, and you’re my best friend. I just… I don’t know how the sex part is going to work with us.”
“Neither do I. But don’t you think six months is too early to call it quits?”
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “Sure. Go on, then. Cool off. I’ll see you at the funhouse.”
“It’s a date.” Joseph walked back toward the midway, hunched over with his hands in his coat pockets.
Neve stood behind the fortune teller’s tent alone for much longer. It was too common a fight for her to cry over it anymore, but she continued to foster that niggling doubt that, though he wasn’t handling the issue well, she was really the one at fault here. After all, why shouldn’t someone expect their spouse to be more than happy to have sex with them, especially in the early honeymoon phase? It wasn’t supposed to get stale before it even started, wasn’t supposed to be scheduled until they had children.
Variety was natural, of course, and Neve defied normal in her family in many ways, but she would have been just peachy with a normal marriage. She was used to succeeding at whatever she put her mind to—not just succeeding, but being exceptional. Sex was the only thing she’d ever wanted that she couldn’t do all by herself, so maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that that was where she failed so spectacularly.
What made this whole thing even worse was that she’d be fine the way she was. After everything, despite her willingness to try new things, she was beginning to think this wasn’t something she could change—no matter what she did, how she worked, what new ideas she conjured from self-help forums. This was what she was, and she wanted that to be okay, because when she and Joseph were doing anything else but trying to enjoy sex—and even sometimes during—she was so stinking happy. And she’d thought he was, too. But maybe things had always been more unbalanced between them than either had believed.
She’d been more or less honest about her nonexistent sex drive—as much as she could have been when she’d never had sex before. But Joseph had never indicated to her until today that the rest of the partnership had been in any way inadequate or didn’t compare with his sexual needs. If it was bad enough that he wished they’d never married, then who was the real dishonest one here?
No. Now was no time to start the blame game. This was their marriage, so it was their problem.
Maybe she needed to start thinking even farther outside the box to satisfy them both and keep him in her life. There was always a solution. If she couldn’t find one, it was usually because she wasn’t looking at the problem from the right angle.
Neve rallied herself, the way she had since her older brother first told her girls couldn’t be mad scientists. She’d come to Arcanium for fun. There was no reason to stop that now just because of a little fight.
There was already someone in the tent when she went back around, so she turtled herself in her lovely, warm scarf and waited, watching one of the guests at the picnic table try a fried grasshopper. Amusement eased her tension.
A couple stepped out of the tent with matching expressions of wonder and bafflement. That probably spoke well of this particular fortune teller. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole flimflam profession, but they were an amusing diversion to challenge her mind, and a good fortune teller, like a good magician, always kept her guessing. Knowing the trick just wasn’t as fun these days, although she’d loved solving the mysteries as a kid.
“Do come in,” a male voice called from inside the tent. “I have my own space heater. I think you’ll appreciate it.”
“Oh.” Neve entered the tent behind the couple and tied the tent flap closed. “I don’t know why I expected a woman. I’ve seen all kinds.”
“I hear that a lot.” But although he probably did hear it multiple times an hour, he didn’t appear annoyed by the repetition.
With the thick tent canvas surrounding them and a tent flap that probably stayed closed more often than not, the space heater he’d enticed her with had warmed pretty much the whole room, which was bigger than she would have expected. The fortune teller stood by a pair of small, velvet-draped parlor tables. The rest of the space appeared to exist solely to create ambience and give the incense plenty of square volume to suffuse. Beads and scarves hung from the conical ceiling, and behind the palmistry tables hulked a sideboard decorated with salt lamps, candles, carved wooden idols and crystals, including a nearly glass-like crystal ball and what appeared to be a highly included clear quartz skull. A low, winged armchair had been angled on an oriental rug in the corner, but it was empty.
On the second table, the fortune teller had arranged a phrenology bust, several hands of old tarot cards for the visitor to select and what looked like a steampunked Magic 8-Ball, which made Neve giggle.
The fortune teller grinned when he saw what amused her. “You like that? It was a gift from a crafty fan. At least two of my oddities are going to enjoy this. Do join me. It’s warmer at the table.”
“Your oddities?”
“I’m but a humble fortune teller by day, but behind the curtain, Arcanium is mine. Have you enjoyed your visit so far?” He remained standing like a gentleman until she’d taken the seat opposite him.
“I love it, especially Oddity Row. I’ve heard the haunted funhouse is one of the best, too, so I’m looking forward to that.”
“I pride myself on doing well with what I’m given. But not everything went well during your visit today, did it? Trouble in paradise.” He placed his right hand palm up on the table.
She offered her hand palm up as well, but he turned it around to move the wedding ring on her finger, a small diamond inset within the platinum band rather than displayed in a setting—that way she could wear it under her latex gloves at work rather than string it on a necklace like some of the married women who worked in the same lab.
Joseph’s parents had protested it wasn’t enough, that she could absolutely ask for a bigger rock because he could afford it. But Neve had told Joseph exactly what she’d wanted. It was only a symbol, a small diamond as enduring as a large one.
“How did you— Oh, never mind.” She laughed to conceal embarrassment that stopped just short of humiliation. “I shouldn’t be surprised when you do that. But you heard us, didn’t you?”
“My ways are often mysterious, my dear, but they can be quite mundane as well, if you permit me the confession.”
“Were we that loud?”
“You were that close.” He nodded to the sideboard. “The canvas is thick, but it’s certainly not a wall.”
“Please tell me you weren’t with a customer,” Neve said.
“Despite all my training to tell you what you want to hear…”
“Oh God.” Neve pulled her hand from the fortune teller’s and covered her face.
“They’ve already forgotten it.” The fortune teller came around the table and knelt in front of her. He took her wrists, parted them. “There now. No need to cover such a pretty face. I manage dozens of people in this dramatic profession. Scandal doesn’t scare me away, and it shouldn’t make you so ashamed.”
“It’s not the issue so much as the venue.” When he let her go, she unwound her scarf. Turned out space heaters and embarrassment did wonders for fighting the winter chill.
“I completely understand. But let’s start again, love, as though none of the trouble outside ever happened.” He placed both hands on the table and beckoned for hers. “A blank slate, in return for a moderately overpriced fee that you may place under the Fantastic Mr. Magic 8-Ball.”
“Sounds reasonable.” She paid him then offered her hands again.
He bent over them, stroking over the lines in the palm with his thumbs. The way he shifted them independently but with purpose made her suspect he was ambidextrous.
Her friends often found the things that intrigued her odd. For instance, she’d noted he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing above his black leather pants, if accessories didn’t count as clothing, but the possibility of him being ambidextrous fascinated her more. Good-looking half-naked men could be found everywhere, but perfect ambidexterity wasn�
�t so common.
“Ah, a scientist but not a skeptic.”
“Is that not something you see often?” she asked.
“Believe it or not, artists challenge me the most. The right-brained guests who pass through my tent tend to be far more open to the experience of the supernatural or divine.”
“I believe it. I don’t know if you’re really supernatural or not, but you’re interesting—and beyond that, does it matter?” Neve shrugged. “Besides, ‘supernatural’ is a misnomer. What we call ‘supernatural’ is all too often just ‘natural’ we can’t explain. Algebra would probably be called numerology if you go back far enough. Chemistry would be alchemy. We think that because we know so many things now, we must know almost everything, and therefore anything we don’t know must be ‘magic’. I’m confident we’ll eventually understand the things we attribute to magic or to aliens or to God, but I think it’ll take a lot longer than we think.”
“Quite a blasphemous tongue for a believer.” It was hard to tell whether the ankh charm he wore on his necklace or the crystals around him signified he was pagan or whether those were all just figments of his persona, but she didn’t detect contempt.
“Not really. Just because I say God operates within natural laws He existed in before He turned around and created them for us doesn’t mean I’m saying He isn’t there or that He isn’t God or isn’t powerful. Believing scientific principles hold up—and if they don’t, that they’ll be adjusted to accommodate new knowledge—and believing in God isn’t a contradiction from where I sit.”
“A rousing thesis for why the analysts who present me their palms tend to have more faith than the relativistic creatives.” The fortune teller caressed her lines again in a manner she was sure had earned him his share of blushing maidens. “I’m being overly simplistic, of course. There are a variety of factors that influence why a customer believes or does not believe in me.”
“Have you ever convinced someone who didn’t believe in you that you were the real thing?”
“What a delightful question. Yes. I’m unusually convincing.”
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