Sideshow

by Amy Stilgenbauer

  The bent arms of the umbrella caused water to cascade over Abby’s left shoulder. She tipped it even more, hoping not to get any wetter than necessary or to direct the flow of rainwater toward Vivian.

  “I don’t really play, you know,” Abby confessed after they had been walking in dreary silence for a minute. “I just needed to get out of there.”

  Vivian shrugged. “I figured.” They continued in silence, until she burst out, “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into her!”

  Abby stopped walking and stared at Vivian, who was clutching her umbrella so tight it seemed she might snap the metal base in half.

  She continued. “At first I thought she was into you or something, and finding out you were hooking up with Wonder Woman put her off.”

  Abby’s face turned several different shades of red as she tried to stammer out, “We were only dancing,” but her vocal cords would not obey. Just thinking about Vivian’s words made Abby feel as if she had been drinking too much champagne.

  Vivian raised an eyebrow, and Abby scrambled to cover her expression. “Oh, come on, don’t look like that. This is a carnival, not a church social. And you’re making me sound like Trixie.”

  “Della’s… no different than usual.” Abby managed to force out. The words weren’t close to what she wanted to say, what she wanted to know.

  “Like hell she isn’t.” Vivian began to pace through the mud. Her bright yellow rain boots were slicked with it up to her ankles. “Look, you don’t know her like I do. That girl’s been my best friend since day one, and this is not her. She doesn’t refuse to come out in the rain. She runs through the rain and laughs at you if you won’t go with her.”

  Abby didn’t know what to say. It was true she didn’t know Della all that well, despite spending a significant amount of time around her, but the problem still didn’t seem as serious to her as Vivian seemed to believe it was.

  “Did your brother break up with her?” Vivian asked, pausing in her pacing.

  “I don’t—” Abby stopped as well, thinking, but if she hadn’t heard from Natale, she doubted that Della had either. Della would have taunted her about it, she was sure of it. “But I don’t see why—”

  “No,” Vivian interrupted. “She would have told me. Maybe it’s her parents. God, I wish that girl would talk.”

  “I thought her parents—I thought she had a lot of boyfriends. Why would Natale matter?”

  Vivian didn’t answer. She looked at Abby as if she had a lot to say, but she didn’t answer.

  The rain continued to pound down around them, and the wind was beginning to pick up. The days had been warm, but not nearly warm enough to let people stand around in the rain as long as they had. Vivian was shaking with cold. Abby looked around at the entire grounds, still wrapped up like a discarded present.

  “Maybe she just wants to start working again,” she suggested.

  “Don’t we all?” Vivian frowned, her eyes making the same circuit over the dismal, damp carnival lot that Abby’s just had. “Look, you can go back if you want. No need to drag yourself down there. The food tent keeps slipping in the mud, plus it’s drafty.”

  “You said you needed a fourth.”

  “No offense, but if I needed a partner, I wouldn’t pick Della. Plenty of people play. Vinnie’s good; that’s how we met him. And heck, even Pasternak, who insists she only plays Jass, is actually a better hand at the game than Della.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Abby still didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to have to deal with Della at the moment, good mood or bad. “Who all will be there then?”

  “Anyone in particular you’re wondering about?” Vivian’s eyes twinkled, and Abby felt herself begin to blush again.

  “No.”

  “Well, then I guess you’re going to have to come and see. I don’t keep a guest list.” Abby had to look away so she wouldn’t see the playful grin dancing across Vivian’s face.

  WHEN THE GIRLS FINALLY GOT to the food tent, Abby wished she had taken Vivian up on the offer to turn back. The tent provided some shelter from the rain, except where it leaked through a hole around the center pole and dripped steadily into a large puddle. The few tables that had been set up were moved to the side, away from the ever-growing pool, but it was slowly encroaching on a few of them. At the farthest table, a huddled group had gathered. Abby didn’t recognize many of them, so she assumed they must be in charge of rides or concessions. Of course, it was easy enough to guess that the towering gentleman was “Marty the human giant,” to whom Celia had once referred.

  “Deal us in, boys!” Vivian called out to the group, which was actually mixed in gender.

  “You’ll have to wait ‘til this round’s over, love,” a ride jockey called back.

  “Won’t be long. Marty and me are in the barn,” added a woman’s voice, a voice that Abby knew well, Suprema’s voice. Abby’s heart jumped.

  Vivian and Abby moved closer, and Abby began to differentiate people from the mass: the older gentleman who had played guitar for Constance’s father sat next to Suprema, and a concessions vendor whom Ruth had introduced to her was opposite her. Abby had forgotten her name, but she made delicious calzones.

  “My money’s on sideshow,” Vivian laughed, and a few people groaned.

  “Too late to bet,” said Vinnie, who had been leaning against one of the nearby tent poles, watching the action. He caught Abby’s eye and winked, shaking a still smoldering but mostly damp cigar as if to scold them for arriving late.

  Abby turned away, allowing her gaze to shift to Suprema. She tried to catch her eye or send a smile of encouragement her way, but she seemed intent upon on her cards. After much consideration, she put a ten of hearts on the center of the table. The spectators raised eyebrows, but when the next cards were played—a king of diamonds, a queen of clubs, and a nine of hearts—and Suprema scooped them up with relish, they began to understand what was happening.

  “You’ve got ‘em all, don’t you?” Marty hissed.

  “No table talk!” shouted the guitar player, looking defeated.

  “But you know she does.”

  “I do.” Suprema laid out the rest of her hand, a whole set of hearts: jack, king, queen, and ace. “Read ‘em and weep, gents.”

  The other two groaned, but Marty held his hand out for Suprema to shake. She did so, beaming. That was when Abby finally caught her eye. Immediately, Suprema’s cheeks reddened, and she dropped her eyes to the table.

  ‘Well, I’m out,” she said, standing up and grabbing the umbrella that had been propped against the bench. Not listening to a single protest, she hurried off into the rain. Vinnie stamped his cigar the rest of the way out and raced after her at breakneck speed.

  “Lovers’ spat?” Vivian asked in a low whisper, but Abby couldn’t answer. She felt cold inside.

  Abby stayed at the food tent, waiting for the rain to diminish so she could go back and face Della. Even after it trailed off to a light mist, she remained. All she could bring herself to do was lean against the pole where Vinnie had been and, without paying much attention, watch the euchre players fade in and out of the game. Her thoughts were preoccupied with Suprema’s cold brush-off. She supposed it didn’t seem out of character for her, and yet, after the dance in Kalamazoo, Abby had been hoping for a much different reception the next time she saw her, though part of her couldn’t say why. She didn’t know what she expected from Suprema or even what she wanted. All she knew was the way she felt around her, as if her skin had come alive and everything she ever wanted was just around the corner; as if life were a Buddy Holly song.

  “Psst! Abby!” Vinnie called out, breaking through her fog of thoughts. She shook her head. “You in there, Abby?”

  Abby frowned and looked back at him. He was carrying an umbrella, but he hadn’t unfurled it. He looked ridiculous standing there, soaked to the bone and yet still holding an umbrella. She bit back a laugh, unsure if his
appearance was meant to be as funny as it struck her.

  “Come on, at least giggle at the shoes,” he said, holding the umbrella out for Abby.

  She hadn’t noticed his shoes. They were far too covered in mud to be distinguished from the ground. “I’m sure I will when I can see them. What’s going on?”

  “I was wondering if you were in the mood for some pizza?”

  Vivian put her cards down and turned toward them. There was a flash of protectiveness in her eyes that Abby hadn’t seen since her last night at the diner. “Abby’s playing cards with me, Vinnie,” she said, that note of vigilance flowing through her voice as well. Though Abby knew that Vinnie was her friend, she had to admit she appreciated it, especially from Vivian, whom she did not know well. She wondered if the burlesque girls were used to having to act as each other’s protectors.

  “Thanks, Vivian,” Abby said, trying to let her know that her words were appreciated. “But I really could go for some decent pizza right now. I’m starving.”

  Vivian looked Abby over with raised, skeptical eyebrows, then shrugged and went back to her card game.

  “So, pizza then?” Abby asked, taking Vinnie’s umbrella.

  Vinnie’s laugh sounded nervous, but Abby chose to ignore that. “Well, I never said it was going to be decent, but it will be pizza.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  WHEN ABBY AND VINNIE ARRIVED at the tiny, hidden-away pizza parlor, he grew very quiet. “H-here we are,” he said, opening the door for her.

  Abby stared at him before stepping inside. His hands were shaking. That seemed unlike him. Still, she didn’t know him well. Perhaps this pizza parlor was the site of some long-ago trauma, or perhaps he saw someone inside that he knew. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head and gestured awkwardly into the restaurant with his still-quavering arm. “Go on in.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that you’re reluctantly sending me before a firing squad?”

  Frowning, Vinnie went ahead into the restaurant. He walked toward a booth near the back. There sat Suprema, sipping soda from a glass. She looked up at them with a smile. The smile jarred Abby. She stepped forward casually, but before she could say hello, Vinnie jumped in and said, “Well, here we are; you two kids enjoy,” and rushed out the door.

  Abby stared after him, then took a seat in the booth opposite Suprema. She smiled at her because she truly was happy to see her, but Vinnie’s actions were confusing. Why ask her for pizza and then run away? Why not tell her that Suprema would be there? It seemed like an ambush. “He’s not coming back, is he?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Suprema said and glanced at the door. “He … probably thinks you’re gonna hate him, or worse, never sing with him again.”

  This puzzled Abby all the more, who looked around the pizza parlor with increasing confusion. It was a simple restaurant with booths along the wall, a few scattered tables, and a glass display counter. The decorations were sparse, just a few Italian flags and red, green, and white checked tablecloths. The counter exhibited a number of pastries that looked quite appetizing: delicately beautiful pistachio-encrusted cannoli, fig cucciddati iced in shades of pink and green, and, in the center of the case, a deeply impressive cassatta decorated with intricate marzipan figurines. Abby’s mouth watered.

  She looked at Suprema. “I give. Why would he think bringing me here would make me hate him?”

  Suprema fidgeted with her napkin ring and did not meet Abby’s eyes.

  Abby didn’t want to push, so she stayed quiet, looking over the menu, which was full of dishes which made her homesick, but far from angry with anyone, especially Vinnie.

  “I asked him to bring you,” Suprema blurted.

  Abby lowered her menu. “What do you mean?”

  With her pale face and wide eyes, Suprema looked even more nervous than Abby felt on stage. “I was afraid,” she said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “that if I asked you, you wouldn’t want to come.”

  Abby pondered what to say. It was true that she didn’t know what to make of Suprema and the way that she made her feel. The more time she spent with her, the more she liked being around her, the more she felt the funny buzz in the back of her skull and the leaping fish in her stomach. “I don’t know. I might have said yes. You did dance with me, after all.”

  Suprema’s cheeks reddened further. “I know. That’s why I thought you’d say no.”

  “I enjoyed our dance,” Abby confessed. A worm of doubt began to squirm in her gut, nagging at the fish, making them leap all the more. Abby had had a lovely time, but perhaps she had been even worse at leading than she thought. Was that why Suprema had been so cold at the card game?

  “I’m not exactly graceful,” Suprema said.

  “Neither am I.”

  “That’s not true. You move right. Me? I’m too tall and I step wrong and I’m like a bull in a china shop. It’s awful.”

  Abby frowned and watched Suprema’s face. It was almost a mask, as if Suprema didn’t want her to read the true emotions hidden there. “I really did enjoy dancing with you,” Abby said in a voice that sounded more forced than she would have liked.

  “So did I!” Suprema said. Her voice had shifted from self-deprecation to a sincere urgency. “I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t. I did. I really did. That’s why I—well, it’s silly now.”

  “I like silly things too,” Abby tried to tease, then winced at her own lack of wit.

  “I’ve never been on a date before, but I can tell this isn’t going all that well.”

  It hit Abby like an icicle to the eye. She stared, stunned, at the lovely woman seated across from her. This was supposed to be a date. She couldn’t parse it. She had felt an attraction to Suprema. She knew that. She had known ever since she had discussed her love life with Ruth, but to hear it laid out in such plain, clear terms… She was on a date. She and Frank had gone on dates. They had gone to movie theaters and dances and pizza parlors just like this one.

  Still, clarity eluded her. She blinked, trying to block her racing thoughts and settle on the moment. Right now. This second. Suprema had asked her here. This was a date. She was happy. She was intrigued. The buzzing sounded less like bees and more like the purr of a cat. “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

  “Vinnie didn’t—?”

  “Vinnie didn’t explain anything. He just asked me if I was in the mood for pizza.”

  Suprema sighed. “I’m sorry, I just—I like you, and I thought, maybe, you’d like me too. I should have known—”

  Abby reached across the table and took her hand. “You have got to stop doing that.” Moving purely on instinct, she looked Suprema in the eyes. She found the irises, where shades of blue faded into gray, mesmerizing. “How about we just order a pizza and see how this goes?”

  Suprema looked back at her for a long while. Then she let out a long breath and smiled. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

  Abby ordered a mushroom pizza with just a few anchovies because Suprema made a face when she mentioned them. Just as Vinnie had implied, the pizza turned out to be a mouth-burningly hot, thick-crusted, far-too-cheesy monstrosity, but Abby did not mind. In fact, as she took her first bite, she closed her eyes and smiled. Her Nonna’s pizza was nothing like this, but that didn’t matter. That was a pizza from her home and her family. This was a pizza that she was sharing with Suprema.

  “You’re much easier to please than Vinnie,” Suprema said with a light laugh. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a pizza without him whining about it.”

  Abby had to laugh. Vinnie seemed exactly like the kind of person who would do that. She took another bite of the pizza and watched Suprema’s face. She seemed so shy, so unlike the girl who had stormed through the carnival tent on that first day. “Suprema, if it helps, you can pretend that—”

  “Would you like me to put a song on the jukebox?” she asked, quickly.

  Abby’s eyes lit up. She missed having a jukebox around. “Ye
s, please.”

  “Which song?”

  “Play your favorite.”

  Suprema went over to the jukebox and flipped through the titles. She seemed to carefully examine and consider each one, which brought a smile to Abby’s face. Her days as a waitress at the Cedar Road Diner had taught her a lot about how to read people from the way they chose a song at the jukebox. There were the spontaneous types, who selected the first interesting record they came to; the extra-spontaneous types who just punched in a random number; the indecisive types who stood, barely reading the titles, until a crowd formed and began to complain; the type that asked everyone for suggestions; the decisive type that knew exactly what they wanted to hear; and Suprema’s type, the analytic type that chose carefully in order to convey exactly the right message. Such people made pro-con lists and took decisions seriously. They didn’t ask girls out on dates unless they were sure they felt something for them. A blush rose on Abby’s cheeks. Then the first strains of “Why Do Fools Fall in Love?” floated through the restaurant, and Abby’s blush deepened.

  “This is your favorite song?” she asked in a squeaky voice when Suprema returned.

  Suprema nodded, also blushing. “It is now.”

  Abby’s shyness made her afraid to say anything. She fought it, bit her lip, and then barreled forward. “I didn’t realize how much I missed music,” she said. Suprema glanced around the restaurant, then touched her hand as if to say “go on.” “Before the carnival, my life was all music. Opera during the day. My mother’s folk songs or the diner jukebox at night. Now? Della doesn’t even have a radio. I don’t think I’ve heard a new song since I left Cleveland, and I used to listen to Moondog nightly.”

  “And here I thought you were all sophistication, Abby Amaro,” Suprema teased.