by Lucky Simms
So he lifted his chin a little as Wanda approached, and inhaled deeply through his nose, puffing out his chest.
“Hi, Riddick,” she sing-songed. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, hi,” he said. He pushed a rolled paper in a rubber band toward her. “I need thirty copies. Color please.”
She grinned at him and unrolled the scroll, then passed it off to Mandy for copying. Mandy was a cute one too. Tiny, mousy. She looked terrified to see him and only would glance at him from under her thick bangs. “This is for tonight? Sounds like fun.” Wanda said. “Randy has been saying he wants to throw in. I say go for it. But he doesn’t really have a chance, huh,” she giggled. Riddick squinted modestly.
“Eh, I get a good swing in now and then, but really it’s Tommy you have to worry about. That guy’s a beast.”
She batted her eyes. Seriously - she fluttered her eyelids like a silent movie heroine. Riddick was amused. If he wanted to… no. His tomcatting days were done. For whatever her faults, he’d rather have a clingy Madear who loved the hell out him without hesitation than a whole townful of disposable one-night-stands.
“No…” she averred. “Tommy is not the one Randy should be worried about.”
Riddick chuckled humbly. He held out his hand for the copies when Mandy crept back to the counter. She dropped them into his palm and darted back around the half-wall.
“So thanks,” he mumbled affably. “Maybe I’ll see you?”
“Gee I hope so,” Wanda purred. She raised her hand and waved her painted fingernails. Riddick gave a jaunty salute and strolled out the front door, making sure his posture was great and every muscle visible on the way out.
Well, it’s a living.
The downtown strip was easy to navigate. Walk in one glass door with a bell, ask permission to hang the poster near the front, do it, walk out. Chat for about thirty seconds - flirt like the dickens. Next door with a bell: repeat. After downtown, he tacked up a copy at the library then, what the hell, on the cork community board at the white clapboard Baptist church. Church boys loved to fight. And they bled like spring hogs.
He still hadn’t put on his shirt, and it was still early but he started to head back. He could grab a sandwich at the donut shop or at the carnival snack bar. Hanging out with Madear today sounded like less fun than hiking back through the weeds.
He had hours before the bouts started, but there was always something to do. Parker wanted help repairing the rickety track for the Cliff Drop again. Roger needed crates of stuffed animals and squirt gun prizes to hang on the midway. And Tommy wanted someone to spot him while he lifted weights.
Prize crates sounded doable enough, so Riddick got the keys for the storage shed and headed back. He needed new work gloves too. He got the last couple posters into the plexiglass frames by the front gate and strolled back to the office for gloves.
About 50 feet from the skee-ball area he saw Noughton come around the corner, talking. Behind him, he would swear it, was Billie. It was Billie in a dress. The wind fluttered her short sleeves around her shoulders. Her hair was all piled up on top of her head and she kept absentmindedly smoothing the sides with her palm.
She didn’t like the heat, he could tell. She wasn’t used to being outside anymore. One year of college and she seemed different, even from far away.
But, she seemed the same too. Those legs - not tan yet but lean, and strong. The wind tossed her skirt lightly around her thighs.
Riddick stopped in his tracks. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he was thrilled or terrified, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Roger Dell shuffled up and asked where the animals were.
“Parker needs my help, sorry man,” he said abruptly and tossed Roger the keys back. “Catch you later.”
NO, REALLY, NOT A PSYCHIC
Noughton pointed to the midway games. Roger Dell, the guess-your-weight guy, and big Moses were shuffling about, readying everything for their 4:00 open time. The afternoon heat was settling on everyone and they were not moving quickly. Roger, in particular, seemed to be taking his time.
“Pick one,” Noughton suggested.
“One of what?” Billie asked.
“One of them,” he said. “To read.”
Billie sucked in her breath. “What, now? Right now? I don’t think I can do that.”
“Sure you can. You want to practice anyway right? And they’ll all be super impressed.” He put his hands on his hips and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. You’ll want to show them what you got so there’s no trouble getting along.”
“Trouble?”
He shrugged. “Oh yeah, nothing much. They’re pretty much harmless, and everybody here has their, uh… Talents, let’s say. They won’t haze you or anything. But you want them to accept you, right? No hassles?”
He looked at her. Big high pony tail, Sunday church outfit (nice legs though), glasses hiding her huge dark eyes. Like her mother, he thought, but 4000 times nerdier. She was going to need some work, for sure.
What was he going to do with her? “How about that name?” he suggested. “How did you feel about Daughter of Egypt?”
“What? No! I really don’t think I need a name.” That sounded ridiculous.
He shrugged. “We’ll think of something you like eventually. It will help you settle in, now that you’re one of us.”
No way. “One of you?”
“Yes, Billie,” Noughton smirked. “You’re a carnie.”
Mame, Billie knew, was going to have an aneurysm.
Billie could not think of a good reason why she did not want to read Roger, but still, she did not. Moses seemed like a nice man, and for some reason she had a feeling that he would be easy to talk to. She lifted one arm unconvincingly and said, "I guess I will try him."
Noughton nodded his head. He seemed pleased with the selection.
Billie walked up to Moses, trying not to seem too avid. He looked at her over one shoulder quizzically. Then he looked to his left and to his right as though she was walking toward someone else.
“Well hi there, Billie,” he said affably, but with confusion in his voice. “You’re here early today.”
She looked down and pushed a rock around the dust-like dirt with her sneaker. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I guess I work here now.”
Moses grinned widely at Noughton, who returned the expression openly. “Well, now! That’s quite the development. What are you doing? Did you bring a puppy?”
Billie was confused and showed it on her face, but it was too much to think about right now.
“No,” she stammered. “Noughton wants me to tell your future.”
Noughton rolled his head, and his eyes. “Come on, kid. Sell it! You’re a performer. Tell the man why he should let you reveal the secrets of his future!” He sang the words all creepy and waved his hands in the air like a goofball.
She squinched her eyes closed. Face it, she thought. It’s a job. Do your best. Or at least try to seem like you’re doing your best. It’s better than frying donuts with Madear.
She took a deep breath and looked at Moses, really looked at him. He was huge, way over six feet and built like a concrete pylon. But there was something gentle about him. Not soft… More like he was the sort of person who would save a baby bird by carrying it around in those massive paws of his. And feeding it. From food he pre-chewed.
“You’re…” she started, “You’re looking for something? You’re… working on something?”
Moses looked at Noughton with a concerned expression.
Billie held up her hands. “OK, I am just getting started. Give me some room here.”
Noughton took a deliberate, dramatic step back.
“You’re… on your way somewhere! No? You’re on your way back from somewhere? You’re about to meet someone who was just somewhere else but now they’re on their way here?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Moses muttered sympathetically.
Noughton waved his hands in the a
ir. “OK, OK, stop before you hurt yourself.” He stared at her. Actually he seemed to stare through her. She felt her scalp go all tingly. “Try this: Tommy wins the most bouts tonight, yes or no?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Well, just think about it for a second.”
She tried to think about it, imagine Tommy’s bouts. A bunch of generic townie beer-bellied fighters flipped through her mind randomly. Nothing there. She felt like she was just making it up.
Noughton was still staring at her so she tried again. She silently said the words Tommy wins the most bouts tonight. Nothing. Then: Tommy loses tonight.
The word Yes rang in her head. Or rather, the word Yes seemed to flavor the sentence, or something like that. It was hard to describe. But she knew it was true.
“Tommy loses tonight,” she said definitively, looking at each man in surprise.
Noughton raised his eyebrows at Moses, who nodded. “Yup, she’s right. He’ll be a 7 to 1 favorite.”
“OK!” Noughton clapped his hands together with a bang. “Now we are getting somewhere! This isn’t exactly the Great Kreskin, but it’s pretty damn good. You just tell people to ask you a yes or no question, and stick to that. We can call you…. Ether Orr!”
“Wait, no, I don’t want to do that. It’s just luck!”
He fixed her in his gaze. “It’s not luck and you know that. You can feel it.”
“Well,” she stammered, pushing stray damp hairs from her forehead. “Maybe it’s not luck but it’s not any kind of psychic reading or whatever.”
“Sure it is. Moses confirmed it.”
“Yeah but how does he even know?”
Noughton grinned widely. “Oh you know, dontcha, Moses?”
The big man rolled his eyes. “The house always wins, Billie. Haven’t you ever heard that?”
“Wait… you’re cheating?”
“Oh my gosh, get a load of this one!” Moses laughed, and walked away. “You’ll do great, kid!” he yelled over his shoulder as he went to finish writing the phony favorites on the sign-up board.
“How about Billie the Kid?”
“No!” she insisted. “How about just a sign that says ‘Psychic’ and a tent and a table?”
He shook his head. “You have a lot to learn about the entertainment business, duckling. We give a show. Everything here is mysterious and trashy and ripe for retelling. We get better every time they tell the story, and that’s on purpose. You need to make them feel like they got something different than their everyday life.”
“Like lottery numbers?”
“Well if you can do that… no, give them to me instead, ha ha. But no… most people are happy with a yes or no answer and a little theater to set their imagination going. That’s all. No big deal.” He seemed totally likable sometimes, this big, hairy, sweaty guy. “But maybe you could dress a little… mysterious?”
“I do not even know what that means.”
“Um, black? Something black? Maybe let your hair down? Your mom had great, crazy hair.”
Billie winced inadvertently.
“Yeah, right, sorry,” he continued. “I’ll get you set up next to potions, like I said, with lights and a table and everything. I can get Gus on signage… Do you have any props?”
“Like candles?”
“Yeah! Sure candles would be great. Maybe a crystal ball?”
They both chuckled.
“No, you’re right, that’s too cliche. Maybe some other thing? Maybe… a mysterious box? A mirror, perhaps?”
Billie thought of the large ingot on one of the shelves in the dining room sideboard. It was just a glob of uneven hardened glass and had to weigh at least 20 pounds, but she had heard Mame call it the mirror at least once, though it really didn’t look like a mirror. She was definitely not supposed to have it.
And she wasn’t about to tell Mame the details of her job to ask for it.
“I’ll… think of something,” she said finally. “Candles, crazy hair and a mysterious muumuu or something. Lots to do!”
He nodded. “Great. I know you’re going to love this. You were born for it.”
She wasn’t sure she was born for it, but at this point, she was definitely up to her knees in it. Why not go all in?
GETTING YOUR ASS KICKED LIKE IT’S YOUR JOB
It wasn’t a bad night, after all. As promised, Noughton commissioned a fairly respectable lean-to from the guess-your-weight guy, and Billie decked the whole thing out in garage sale bronze bells, incense, and a dozen pillar candles she had found in the basement.
It wasn’t a tent, and for that she was glad. Basically she had a counter with her on one side, and a couple chairs for her customers to sit on the other. Behind her was a tiny booth with shelves built into the walls, just the right size for all the diaphanous scarves she could carry and candles besides. If she didn’t set herself and everyone else on fire, she was sure to be a hit.
“Twenty dollars for a yes or no question?” she muttered to herself as she stood back to survey the setup. “They’re going to tar and feather me.”
Her closet wasn’t really equipped with “mysterious” clothes, but she’d come across a stretchy black dress with silver thread sewn in, and that seemed to be all right. It had wide straps but a plunging neckline. In the mirror, she surprised herself. She looked… voluptuous.
And the hair… wow. Untethered in this humidity, it sprang into cloud formation. Where most people’s hair seemed to grow downward, her curls made it so that her hair grew out. Laterally. Like shrubbery, she thought.
But the effect must have been all right because all the carnies seemed to look twice, snapping their necks in cartoon-quality double-takes.
As the sun began to go down and the lights all turned on, Billie sat behind her counter and waited, sweating and nervous. The bartender, Polari, saluted her and smirked when he walked by to set up his bar. Did he really have potions? At this point, it was truly starting to seem possible.
She had a great view from this spot. Right after this end of the midway was Polari’s counter, then her, then a few assorted tests of strength and the guess-your-weight booth. Definitely the adult end of the carnival. A couple of the scarier rides were there and just before the gate, the fighting ring.
Somebody turned up the PA. It was nearly dusk. Couples began to stroll by, holding hands, looking at her counter with bemused expressions. It had been years since there was a psychic in the carnival, and what fun that was!
Well, it had been years since anyone knew there was a psychic, because apparently Moses was a secret.
“This looks fantastic,” said Noughton suddenly. He certainly had a way of sneaking up on her. “You’re going to kill it. Feeling good?”
“I’m feeling like I want to throw up,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “You’re going to do great. I love what you’ve done with the place. And that’s a…” he peered at her counter set-up. “A mirror? And a… paper weight?”
She looked at the framed mirror she was using as a tray, with the magnifying lens and colored glass sphere. “I have a snow globe?” she said timidly. “Would that help?”
He sighed. “No. This will be fine. It’s a good start.” He brightened and smiled at her reassuringly. “You’re gonna do great, duckling. Just remember: cash only, no refunds.”
She winked at him with as much confidence as she could and gave him a thumbs-up.
A moon-eyed couple walked up and Noughton bowed with a flourish and backed away. They wanted to know if they were going to stay together. Easy enough: yes. You could tell by looking at them that they were like puzzle pieces that snapped together perfectly. $20.
The night went by quickly like that. She watched the crowd flow, then someone or a few someones would see her counter and peel themselves from their group, looking flushed with anticipation. They’d read her sign and take a few moments to phrase their questions to yes or no, either/or. And she would taste the options in her mind, and deliver
the one that seemed the brightest.
Quickly enough, she figured out how to talk to them and draw the experience out so they felt like they got their money’s worth. She could ask them a few things, gathering more details. Many times they seemed to already know the answer. Or in any case, they knew what she should (or shouldn’t) say.
People got drunker, too. Noughton was right: she and Polari made excellent neighbors. She sent people his way, when the answer she gave them required a drink to thoroughly process, and he sent people hers, after he’d given them the courage to even ask a question.
A man in his early 20s stumbled from Polari’s counter to hers with his friends cheering him on. “Am I gonna win my fight?” He laughed as he slapped $20 on the counter. She took the bill and folded it, slipping it into the strongbox near her knees.
“Well you sure look like you’re having a good time!” she said cheerily. This was clearly one of the fellows who came in off the interstate. He’d be long gone tomorrow and she knew she could say what she liked.
He grinned unevenly. His eyes were light sky blue, almost grey like a very hazy day. He was cute and he looked strong, but somewhere behind those eyes something was not connected right. He was cruel. She could tell.
Two of his buddies stumbled up behind, throwing waves of whiskey fumes in front of them. They looked confused by all the scarves and candles. “What are you doing?”
The guy waved them off. “I’m getting my future read! Wooooo!” He yelled with his arms over his head. His friends hollered in response. Billie wondered what sort of things these guys had done together.
The grey-eyed thug leaned in. He winked. “You’re very pretty, anybody ever tell you that?” he slurred.
“I think you’ll do really well tonight,” she said quickly, trying not to breathe through her nose. She wondered if there was enough alcohol on his breath to actually ignite balls of fire and moved a candle from one side of the counter to the other.
In truth, she knew he would do well. She weighed You’re going to win tonight. It seemed bright. She weighed You’re going to lose tonight. Nothing.