by Sunniva Dee
Who knew she’d hide darker secrets than mine?
I was always there, ready to listen, to love on my doll no matter what she did. I was the perfect mom, nothing like our mother. Even so, without a single emotion revealing her state of mind, Chavali melted to one with her love fire.
If it weren’t for him, Chavali would not have done what she did. She’d have married Kaven, the flaxen-haired boy with confusion tinting his eyes. She’d have followed Romani tradition and had my nieces and nephews. She’d never have faced the plague. She’d be safe, content. Like Kennick, Kaven’s father, used to be.
What am I going to say to her tonight?
“Do you want the double ex white T-shirts with gold laminate on the front up on the display?”
I bounce back to the present when one of my employees for the night asks for instructions. “No, let’s just put a few of them on the table. They take up too much room on the board, and they don’t sell well.”
Oh Chavali. You cheated on us.
We were sisters.
EMIL
Nadia isn’t in her usual spot at the side of the stage overlooking her man. I know why. She’s keeping Zoe company in the first row of plastic bucket seats behind the mosh pit.
Zoe used to love being on stage, my exhibitionist girl. It’s a stab in the gut that she doesn’t want to be up here with me.
I belt out “Bullshit” for the first time, killing it and destroying the fans. On the slow parts, they hold up their phones, fake lighters flickering, and on the wild parts, the phones disappear and the pit explodes with movement.
I’m dripping with sweat, staring into the lights, unseeing of anything beyond the first dancers. Elias butts up against me, grinding his bass into a rhythm that has my pulse racing. Dude fucking rocks. Then again, we all do.
I’ve wanted to play “Bullshit” for a while. It makes me crackle with energy to finally play this song live. What better occasion than right now when I need it to remain sane?
I’d like to run off the stage, into the rows, find Zoe and squeeze her so close I’d bruise her. She’d push me away, disgusted. My Zoe, I hope she hears what I roar into the blinding, blizzard-white U.F.O. lights of the audience—
Give me a break—
Hear me out—
Stop—stop running away—
Have mercy, for love’s fucking sake!
It’s after the show, and she can’t be absent anymore. It’s nuts how skinny she is. She never had much flesh on her, but now her cheeks are hollow and her tits almost gone. Lord, I remember her soft, sweet boobs. I’d cup them, kiss them. They were mine.
I stand in the green room, hands hanging and watching. I feel my jaw slack, but I can’t keep up appearances when I see she who haunts my dreams for the first time in months and months.
How can I take my eyes off her again?
Don’t leave me.
She doesn’t look at me, no, she chats with Nadia and Bo. She accepts a Corona, making me think of green tea ice cream and she-male porn at gas stations. I grab whiskey and flood a cup of ice with it. Her eyes go to the bottle, watching me pour, and for the first time since she entered, she lets her stare glide up to me.
It’s accidental. I know it is. She didn’t plan to meet my gaze. Her brows contract, and in lieu of a greeting, her sweet lips crack, saying, “On a binge, Emil? If you don’t keep your drinking under control you’ll be a washed-up has-been in no time.”
Shit, it’s good to hear her mean little tongue.
“And hello to you,” I murmur. “Did Her Bitchy Majesty enjoy the show?”
She crosses her arms over that suddenly narrow chest and lifts a bony chin. “Some of the new songs are a bit over the top, don’t you think? You guys hiring some amateur lyrics writer nowadays? Let me give you some advice: have Bo write them for free. You do a great job, honey,” she adds in a milder tone, patting Bo’s back.
“Bullshit,” I say, feeling my smirk grow at our sparring. Ah! Deliciously evil Zoe; I’m in her line of fire. “Could that be the song that bugged you? ‘Bullshit?’ The one about girlfriends who’re weak jealous bitches who give up so easily they’re a fucking joke?”
She steps into my face. Absently, I register Aishe entering, gaze flickering over me and going to Troy, who holds out a beer.
“Yeah, you think that was easy? Let’s air some of your laundry, cheater. How many times did I call you, checking on you when I wasn’t here to make sure you were faithful? Then—bam—I found out what you were up to,” she purrs. “I didn’t even have to be present. The finding-out part was easy.”
“Right.” I’m not playful anymore. I soak her up like sunshine, stare at each features, makeup perfectly applied as always. The rain—the Mojave Desert heat—nothing altered her flawless appearance. She’d keep her little makeup purse close, making sure she looked porcelain perfect. The only times I ever saw Zoe without makeup was in the shower.
Zoe in the shower.
Dear God.
“Yeah, sure,” I re-start my response. She eases closer to me, so close I’m unable to keep my fingers from brushing her neck. I’m in the fast lane of a waterslide. Powerless, I can’t rock off course when her stare bores into mine, and she, she’s sucked into our vacuum too.
When I touch her below the ear, she yanks back with a noise that resembles a hiss. I let my hands drop.
“Yeah. I want to talk about that,” I manage. “There’s nothing I’d rather do. You, Zoe, are the most jealous woman in the world. Did you ever consider that by never, ever trusting me, you pushed me away? Did you?
“How many times did I tell you that no-fucking-one can ever be you to me? That you’re so fucking special that if I lost you I’d never get over you?”
It’s not true. I didn’t tell her the second part. I didn’t know yet.
People are leaving, except for Nadia, whose hand squeezes over Zoe’s shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”
Aishe lingers after everyone else too. Troy bends to her, whispering against her ear. He wants her to go with him, but she’s hesitant.
“No, you pushed me away, jerk. You and your tours, always with your meet-n-greets and after-parties, all the damn girls with their boobs and belly buttons.”
“I just signed them is all! Didn’t I take you to our room afterward and love you senseless? Huh? Wasn’t that what I always did, because you were the only one I wanted?”
Her lip trembles, blue eyes storming at me. Nadia tries again, pleading for her to come with her.
“Why can’t you be like Nadia?” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you trust me instead of fight when we were apart? I always Skyped you when you weren’t here. You were all I needed! Why didn’t you believe me when we had an extra layover in Bogota on our way to Buenos Aires that time? I told you—everyone could’ve verified it—but you wanted to think I’d been cooped up in a hotel with a groupie, so we fought until I got on stage that night. Remember? Remember!”
She pulls her dear face back, stare brimming with what she feels for me.
“Don’t you eat now,” I growl, “because you can’t live without me either? Is that why you’re fucking skinny?”
Zoe slaps me. It’s a zing to my cheek that’s so unexpected I’m stunned. My face burns. I lift a hand and cover it.
“And why couldn’t you be like Bo and never accept a blowjob from whores who aren’t your girlfriend?”
She’s walking away. I can’t have her walk away—again—and not let me talk. “Zee, I know you’ve always trusted everyone else more than me, but let me explain what really happened.”
“Because it’d change everything?” Zoe throws at me from the door. “I’d suddenly find a reason to believe in you as some awesome, dedicated, chaste boyfriend? Yeah, no. And believe me, there are plenty of actual nice guys in L.A.” She exits. Disappears from our conversation.
“Oh like the dull golf pro wannabe you’ve been on two dates with?” I shout to make her hear me.
She angles her head back in th
rough the doorway. Eyes squinted with disdain, she snarls, “Nice. You damn stalker!”
I open my mouth to answer, but Troy appears, blocking my view. “Emil. Dude. Enough for one night, yes? Let’s get out of here. Have pizza down the street.”
I want my bitchy girl.
“No meet-n-greet?” My voice is hoarse. Troll won’t be happy about that.
“Not in another hour. The venue’s figuring out their logistical issues between us loading out and Moksha hitting them up early; they’re playing tomorrow, you know. Troll will buzz me when the meet-n-greet’s set up.”
I look around for my jacket, and Aishe holds it up for me. I thank her, and she strokes the back of my arm in lieu of a “welcome.”
I can’t look at Aishe. My disappointment over Zoe walking off is too big. I’d fight with her for days straight if it meant we’d be in the same room, if I could extend a hand and touch her even if just for moments.
Zoe and her crazy brain. So possessive, so whom I need. Sometimes I wake up thinking it was a dream that she left me. Those are the worst mornings, because my damn head roams for signs that she didn’t really walk off. In the end, I always have to settle with the truth.
“Aishe?” Shandor’s in the doorway, wanting her attention. “Chavali and her husband are at the exit.”
She pulls in a breath, tensing. “They came?”
“Yep. She wants to see you.”
“Got plans tonight?” I go through the motions of asking.
“Guess I do…” She trails off, unsure-sounding.
“You’ll be fine, Aishe,” Troy says.
“Who with?” I grab my backpack and pull out my wallet.
“My sister. I haven’t seen her in six years.”
“Whoa.” I turn to look at her. She’s pale beneath that golden tint. “You don’t look so good. What’s wrong?”
“They’re not really on speaking terms. Or is that too strong a verdict?” Troy adds.
She bites her lip. “No… it’s not too strong.”
“Ah so your sister’s why you’re not traveling with your folk anymore?” I suggest. It would make sense. The girl never talks about her family, and Gypsies, the way I saw them back home in Sweden, seemed damn close.
Instead of replying, Aishe looks like I just punched her in the face.
AISHE
“I don’t want to go alone.”
“No need for that. We’re family. I’m always here for you.” Shandor’s eyes burn with sincerity as his hand curves around my hip, keeping me from being pushed over by drunken concertgoers on the arena floor.
Outside, hundreds of fans linger in clumps. Which has no impact on me. Because Chavali is the only one I see.
I was wrong. She isn’t taller than me. I’m wearing jeans now, and she’s wearing her best jewelry and a long, lush skirt, but if it weren’t for our outfits, we’d be reflections of each other.
Resentment wars with love inside me when her hands fidget with the fabric of her skirt. Oh God, I think, because she’s worried and I have no idea how to feel about that.
Despite what happened, my little sister shouldn’t be worried. No, she shouldn’t. I hate that she’s worried over seeing me again.
“What are you doing in America?” It’s my first thought, and I let it escape.
“Looking for you.” Chavali’s pitch breaks on me, round eyes overflowing and letting tears drip down cheeks that are darker than most around us.
Behind my sister stands a man with eyes as tender as hers. He’s barely an inch taller, and no meat fleshes out his wiry physique. With the original tan of our families, despite the twenty years he holds on Chavali, he dons scarce wrinkles, and those he has are subtle and show an inclination to smile.
My sister makes you smile.
Protective of Chavali, whom I used to shelter, he rests a hand on her arm, stroking discreetly as he waits to see how our reunion plays out.
Old bitterness flares high in me. This man is my parents’ age. As a young girl, I didn’t pay much attention to his generation, so I don’t actually know him. He was just the father of a boy who, for a heartbeat, was my sister’s fiancé.
Six years it’s been. The two of them left family, friends, even his son behind. They’ve been married for six years. Ostracized for six years.
“Hi, Kennick,” I force myself to say. “How are you?”
He takes a step forward, grateful for my civility. I wasn’t so civil the last time I saw him when my sister had her bags packed and wanted my blessing before she eloped. “I am well. It’s good to see you, Aishe. Chavali and I are so happy you had time for us.”
In lieu of an answer, I turn to my sister while Shandor murmurs his greeting to them both. “You look good,” I whisper, my tears falling like hers as I touch her face. “Look at you. Don’t cry, baby girl.”
She giggles the way she used to giggle. “You stop first. I can’t stop if you’re crying.” Which makes us both giggle.
She’s in my arms, my sweet little sister, and I can’t believe how long it’s been. She’d call me. I didn’t pick up. What a vicious cycle of resentment and pride. I want to forget it, make sure she’s okay.
The two of them have a black car with a big motor, which can pull their camper through state after state, complying with the urges of our blood. Kennick drives us to a restaurant that’s built inside an old-fashioned RV. The Trailer Park isn’t run by Romani, neither is it on their campground, but they chose it, Chavali says, because the place serves juicy burgers and fries so perfect they melt on your tongue once you’ve bitten through the crispy shell.
With an air of peace I don’t recall from her, she tells us of their adventures since we last met. The two of them have traveled Europe alone, occasionally meeting different Romani clans on their way.
“We felt lost in the beginning. It was hard to adjust to such a lonely existence,” Chavali murmurs, beaming at her plague. He beams back, gaze caressing whenever it finds my sister.
“Yes, it was. My sweetheart cried a lot.” Kennick is more honest than I expected. “You missed everyone, didn’t you? Especially Aishe,” he adds, looking to his wife—my sister—for her input in ways I don’t remember from the older generation. It makes me wonder if our love fire evolved.
Chavali smiles. “He wanted to return me to the clan.” The rapid blink of her eyelids when she concentrates reminds me of her toddler self.
“He did?”
“Yeah, Kennick didn’t think us being together outweighed my pain. It took him a while to understand that the thought of him was the only thing keeping me alive. If it weren’t for his face before me in my mind—”
Her cheek targets his shoulder in a sloppy motion meant to be funny, but really, all it does is deepen my fear of the future; the plague punches you in the gut and in the heart. Kicks you into action. It’s one of two: it’s going to kill you or lift you into an intense heaven.
Ah how silly was I thinking I could trick it with Emil.
Later, much later, peace has settled inside me too. Portland is a hotel night for the band, so we can stay out late. Shandor and I go with them to their campground. Get a tour of their simple camper decorated with what Chavali calls chevron paper overlays—wallpaper-style canvases in festive colors, all with love as a clear theme.
“Hearts, huh?” I ask, pressing my lips in between my teeth to keep from smiling, because I don’t condone her actions back then. I’m still upset by how she left me, how she didn’t speak about what she went through before it was too late. But to see her in front of a blazing bonfire lit by a husband who adores her? It’s a relief beyond any I had imagined.
“Yes, hearts. I know what you’ve been up to, Big Sis. You’ve been on the run from the plague,” Chavali teases, gaze skimming my expression. “Is it working?”
I scan the dark tree line for Romani men. Kennick took Shandor to the lake twenty minutes ago, beers in hand and jovial back-slaps accompanying low laughs as they trotted off. Something about fish jum
ping at midnight. For now, no leaves rustle alerting us to their arrival.
“It went well for a long time,” I whisper. My sister angles closer, the flames honeying her features.
Instead of easing, the tug of longing stiffens beneath my ribs. I lean over crossed legs and pull her in. Chavali’s arms go around my neck, and the closer we are, the more I hiccough. It’s so strange to sit like this, with the years we spent apart spilling like sand through my fingers.
“I love you,” my sister snivels out.
“Your voice sounds weird,” I say, causing us both to laugh. I squeeze her tight, tight, like I should have instead of yell at her when she almost died.
“Who is he?” she whispers. “Shandor doesn’t know, right? His only mission in life since we were little has been to keep you out of harm’s way.”
“Nuh-uh. That’s not true.”
“He came back, remember? Instead of taking classes on campus, he returned to be with the family. And when did he leave the family again?” she asks, knowing.
“At the same time as I did.”
“Yes, so Shandor will be on your case until you’re safe, either with a good love fire, or when you’re so old you’ve beaten the plague forever.” Despite the gravity of the future she paints for me, I smile. After years apart, she still has our cousin pinned down. “Does he have a love fire? He doesn’t, right?” she adds.
“Right.”
“I bet he hasn’t had time because he’s too busy watching over you.”
“Oh come on, Chavali.”
She just sniffs in response. “Tell me about yours, Aishe.”
I hesitate. Then realize I have no reason to hold back. “My plan was to beat the plague by deciding who I’d pick instead of letting it invade me, but as I selected him, it turned out the plague had picked me.” I have something digging into my side. It’s a distraction that keeps a sob of self-pity from slipping out.
“He’s the singer of Clown Irruption,” I say. “Emil. You saw him onstage tonight. I just didn’t realize who he was to me until it was too late.”
We’re on a blanket. The ground is uneven, and I reach down to pull the branch out from beneath me. I toss the small piece on the fire and watch the flames lick it, calmly at first, then with more insistence, slowly changing its color from pale to dark. Soon, it will turn to charcoal.