by Emily Bishop
I’ll show her strength.
“You’re off the movie,” I said. “You’re no longer doing Pride’s Death.”
Felicity staggered, her fake-lash encrusted eyes went round, and this time, the shock was real. She placed a palm to her chest, barely covered by a silken blouse, the V-neck clinging to her skin. “What?”
“You’re off the movie,” I replied.
“If I don’t move out of your way, I’m off the movie?”
“No,” I said, and the laugh that gurgled from my throat was pure rage. “You’re off the movie, regardless.” I walked around her, gave her the wide berth she deserved in case the toxicity was catching then walked off.
Heat beat down on the back of my neck, this from the sun rather than Felicity’s nuclear reaction to that announcement. She shrieked behind me—the howl silenced the gang of paps. “I’m not off the movie. You don’t get a say. You don’t get to do that!”
The words rolled off me like water off a duck’s back.
I walked on, thoughts bent on Aurora and getting to her before she did something she’d regret. No, something we’d both regret. I wouldn’t let her go like this. Not now, not ever, because I’d gone and done it.
I’d fallen in love with her, and not the bullshit love I’d felt for Felicity.
The more I examined those feelings, the more I realized that what Felicity and I’d had was comfortable, nothing more. Comfortable and easy, until it wasn’t anymore, and when all her pro acting skills fell away, the real her had been revealed.
With Aurora, it was more than the physical, it was friendship, too.
“I’m coming,” I said. “You’d better not leave.”
I tracked on, past a barbershop and a baker. Inside the stores, folks turned and stared as I passed by, and some pointed or snapped photos, but none of them came out to ask for autographs. Good deal, I didn’t have time for it today.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and stalled my steps. I dragged it out, hope building in my chest then grunted.
Rod Teller. Christ, what was the problem, now?
I swiped my thumb across the screen, put my phone to my ear and resumed walking. “Rod,” I said.
“Jarryd, do you want to explain to me why I received a hysterical call from Felicity? She was so fucking high-pitched, I’ve got a headache and every dog in America must be itching to answer her call.”
At least, he still had a sense of humor about all of this. “I fired her,” I said. “She’s off the movie.”
“You—you—you. You fucking what?”
“I fired her.”
“I give up, man. You’ve lost the last of your sanity. That girl you’re into must’ve sucked it out through your dick,” he said.
“Hey!”
“Right, sorry.” Rod backed off that topic right away. “What possessed you to do this?”
“She sabotaged Pride’s Death by feeding the press lies. She has to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around her. Talent isn’t an excuse for narcissism.”
“She’s the highest paid actress in Hollywood,” Rod said, and he’d gone all weak around the edges. His voice warbled, reminding me of water in a glass.
“And she’s also threatening to ruin me and you and everything,” I said. “I’m not in a habit of explaining my choices, Rod.”
“I’m an investor,” he replied. “You’re obligated to explain them to me.”
“And that’s the only reason I’m telling you this right now. You want Pride’s Death? You think it’ll be the next blockbuster? Then Felicity’s off the movie. I’ll find someone else. There are plenty of unknowns out there, waiting to be discovered. It’s time we give someone else a chance.” And god damn, if this wasn’t the first time I’d felt good about a decision in ages.
Rod’s heavy breathing filled the receiver and whistled in my ear. “Christ, tell me you’re not going to cast your new girlfriend in the spot.”
“No. She’s not an actress, and she wouldn’t want to do something like that anyway.” Yeah, and she didn’t want any of the attention I’d brought down on her either. My Aurora, mine in body and spirit.
Rod lit up a cigarette, huffed and puffed, and I pictured him in his seat, producing clouds of blue-gray smoke, around his rapidly balding head. “You sure about this? You sure it won’t make things worse?”
“It will likely make things worse,” I said. “At first. But in the long run, this will benefit the movie and my career.”
“And my bank balance?”
“Yes,” I replied. “And your bank balance.” Yet, Felicity off the movie didn’t automatically cure the issues I had with Pride’s Death. The characters seemed one-dimensional, surreal. They didn’t have any real flavor, yet.
“You know, Felicity’s going to kick up another shitstorm because of this. I don’t know how much more you can take.”
“I don’t take shit,” I replied. “And I don’t produce it either. That’s why the movie has taken time, Rod. I want it to be perfect.” And with Felicity out of it, I might stand a chance. But would her attempts to ruin me ruin Pride’s Death for good?
Did I even care with Aurora in the picture?
Rod was silent on the other end of the line, mulling it over and puffing on that cigarette intermittently.
“Fine,” Rod said, at long last. “Fine, kiddo. I’ll trust you on this. If you can make this go away, or at least do some damn damage control, I’ll kiss your ass, both cheeks, and give you a round the world to go with it.”
“Do I want to know what a round the world is?”
“No. No, you damn well don’t,” he replied. “Clean it up. Clean it the hell up. I meant what I said earlier. If anything else goes wrong… I trust your instincts with Felicity, she’s trouble but—”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“Good.” And he hung up.
I stowed the phone and scanned the street. Wrought iron lampposts, trees, some of their branches low-hanging, leaves littering the tarmac beneath them. Peaceful Moondance in all its beauty, and it’d been disturbed by all this damn drama.
The Moondance General Store appeared on my right, bobbling into view with each step. Its glass front door swung open and I held my breath—but an elderly couple appeared instead of anyone who might’ve induced another fit of anger.
They smiled at me then wandered off, hand-in-hand. The woman, her hair tufty around her ears but styled nevertheless, rested her head on her husband’s shoulder for a moment, and he kissed the top of it.
The tenderness hit me in the gut.
That was what I’d have with Aurora.
Chapter 26
Aurora
The velvet walls of the tent flapped in a slight breeze. The wind had picked up, and the clouds overhead had darkened as I’d driven from the RV park to the fairgrounds next door. Already, many of the stalls had closed for the day in anticipation of the storm.
The Ferris wheel stood stationary, and stragglers milled around the food stalls that were still open. The scent of buttery popcorn drifted on the air, along with the occasional burst of laughter or a distant rumble of thunder.
I took it all in, savoring every last bit of this moment. It would be my last in Moondance. After this, I’d be on the road again, and I likely wouldn’t find a gig as good as this one or the job at the Moondance Bar and Grill in another town.
The attitudes of townsfolk could be archaic when it came to folks like me. Travelers brought bad luck or they thieved or stole babies from their cots or any other combination of mythical tale based on nihilism.
I sighed then entered my tent, the velvet flaps rustling behind me.
For a second, the moment overwhelmed me. I’d met Jarryd in this tent, at this fair, for the first time. His cologne materialized, a ghost whiff of his smell, and I swayed on the spot.
“You can do this,” I whispered. “You’ve done it so many times before.” Packed up my shit, shoved it in the RV, and taken off. Just Mistress and me on the road, togeth
er. Two gals on the run. It would be fun.
I couldn’t force myself to believe that, no matter how I tried.
I walked to the collapsible bookcase in the corner and set to work on it. I’d only left a couple items in here, none of the important things like my crystal ball or the tarot decks. Just the shelf, the table and chairs, and the tent itself.
I made quick work of collapsing the shelf, concentrating on the menial task, rather than the pain that still hadn’t left me. A low, humming throb in the left side of my chest, right over my heart.
Finally, the bookcase was folded up. I worked on the table next, kicking the legs inward then clipping them to its underside. The top of it was scarred by wax marks or burns from hot plates. Mom and I had spent a lot of our meals at this table—she’d always preferred eating under the sky.
Every piece of furniture in here had a memory attached to her, and it all stung.
What would she have done in this situation? Would she have told me to run or stay? Oh, please, it’s not like you have a choice. You made your damn bed, now you’re going to have to lie in it.
I folded up the chairs neatly then walked out of the tent again and unlocked the bottom compartment of the RV and swung the door upward. There was more than enough space for the table, chairs, and bookcase.
“Knock, knock,” an airy voice said, light as whipped cream. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
I turned and smiled at the girl who worked the popcorn stand. I’d read her palm once, and she’d loved every second of it. She was a real sweetheart, wearing her blond locks in pigtails today, her striped uniform stain-free.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m afraid so. My time in Moondance is at its end.”
“Oh, that sucks. I enjoyed having you here,” the girl said. “Your tent added such a cool, like, mysterious vibe. I wanted to get my cards read. Remember? You said it would be fun.”
“It would be,” I replied. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time, though. If I did—”
“Are you running away?” she asked.
I stared at her, and the moment stretched between us. Her grin hadn’t faded it, and it wasn’t sharp or wolfish, not in the least bit malicious. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and one fat drop of rain splatted onto the back of my hand.
I stepped away from the RV. “Maybe I am,” I said. “Sometimes, it’s better to run than to fight.”
“Really? I’ve always thought it’s better to fight. I got bullied a lot in middle school. I guess that’s why I’m like that,” she said and giggled, high-pitched but not unpleasant.
“What’s your name?”
“Felicity.”
I looked down at my toenails and smiled. The universe was skilled at irony, apparently. “That’s a pretty name,” I said.
“I guess. I don’t know if I like it anymore. I used to but not anymore.”
I met Felicity’s gaze again, and she winked at me. “So, if you’re leaving, maybe you need some help packing up your stuff. Do you?”
“I should be fine,” I said. “It’s a couple things. And the tent.”
“It looks like a lot of work,” Felicity said and wrinkled up her button nose. “Are you sure I can’t help? I’m good with this kind of stuff, and my shift at the popcorn stand is over. My sister’s packing up.”
I looked past her at the other girl, a little older, who fiddled with the machine across from my tent. “It looks like she needs more help than I do.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t deserve help. She’s mean, like, all the time. And you’re not.” Felicity’s eyes sparkled. “I hope I can be like you when I’m older.”
“Wh-what?” That was the last thing I’d expected to hear today.
“Yeah, well, you’ve got an amazing life,” she said.
“I do? Which part?” God, if she mentions Jarryd’s name, I’m going to have a meltdown in front of her. In front of a damn teenager.
“Every part. You get to travel a lot, and you’re free to do whatever you want,” Felicity said. “And you’re pretty, and cool, and smart.”
“My head will explode if you say more.” This would’ve been an ego boost if not for the crappy circumstances. “And my kind of life is overrated. It’s dangerous, too, and you’re only as free as you feel.”
“I guess,” Felicity said. “But I figured that you’re the type of person who’s at home wherever you go. I want that feeling.”
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat didn’t go down. “There are other ways to get that feeling,” I said. “Anyway, let’s get to work. If you still want to help me, that is.” The sooner we ended the conversation, the better. It’d made me beyond uncomfortable.
“Yeah, for sure!” She gave me a double thumbs up—now, that was enthusiastic—then bustled into the depths of the tent and brought out the folded bookcase. “Where does this go?”
Working with someone else made everything go quicker, and smoother. It felt good, too, having someone younger working with me. It was kind of like having a little sister helping out. She listened to my instructions and made cute jokes. And I laughed for the first time the entire day.
The tent came down fast, and Felicity helped me fold it up and pack it into the compartment. In no time, we were all done.
The clouds overhead had thickened further, they were on the brink of bursting. The heavy silence before a storm hovered between the stalls.
I brushed my hands off on my skirt. “That’s that,” I said and shut the RV’s luggage compartment. “All done. Thank you so much for your help. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or something?”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary. Tea gives me the trots, and coffee makes me crazy.” She gave me another signature double thumbs up. “Good luck with your trip. I hope you’ll come back to Moondance one day. I might still be here.” She grimaced at that.
“There are worse fates, trust me.”
Felicity trundled up to me and gave me a quick hug, enveloping me in the smell of coconut shampoo and popcorn oil. “Good luck, Aurora.” She let go and hurried off without a backward glance.
I shook my head and managed another small smile. Sometimes, inspiration came from the weirdest sources. I walked to the RV’s side door then clambered up the steps and into its interior.
Mistress sat on the kitchen table, licking her paws and washing behind her ears. She always did that right before it rained.
“Well, gorgeous,” I said, “it’s about time we get out of here.”
Mistress continued her cleaning but flicked her tail by way of response. Even she wasn’t pleased about this.
I’d given up on Jarryd, on fighting for the house, and this was my easy way out. I shouldn’t feel ashamed about this. There’s no shame in running. Is there?
“Girl.” A rasp from outside then a knock on the RV door.
I jumped about a foot and landed with a yelp, spun around and stared at the interloper. “Mama Kate,” I gasped. “You scared my socks off.”
The old woman’s gaze swept down to my bare toes. “I see that.”
“Come on in,” I said.
Mama Kate looked over her shoulder, up at the sky then into the RV. She’d never been good indoors, not in all the time I’d known her in Moondance. But she buried whatever misgivings she had and clambered up the stairs, using the door handle for leverage.
She squeezed her broad hips through the door, the beads on her arms rattling, and lowered herself onto one of the benches at the kitchen table.
Mistress looked up from her cleaning and meowed.
“Yes, old soul,” Mama Kate said. “The storm’s coming but ain’t nothing you can do about it. Cleaning won’t help.”
Mistress meowed again and placed both front paws firmly on the table.
“There’s a good one.” Mama Kate scratched her behind the ears.
“Would you like some tea, Mama?”
“You got that green tea?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Then no thanks
,” she replied. Mama Kate’s accent was a mixture of everything I’d ever heard, a little twang, a little drawl and rasp. I loved it. To my mind, she was well traveled, and that appealed to me. Or it had before this whole Jarryd thing. Falling in love changed things.
“What can I help you with, Mama?”
“You’re leaving again,” she said. “Leaving Moondance, yes?” She stroked Mistress’s back, and her beads rattled again. She swung her head and looked up at me. The scarf tied around her head was aquamarine and complemented her soulful eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t have a choice.”
“Why’s that, girlie?”
“Because… well, some things happened.”
“The actor,” she said, with her usual spooky intuitiveness.
“I—yeah. How did you know?”
“Girl, I hear things. Also, Jerr got an outside TV at the Bar and Grill yesterday.”
“Oh,” I said. That ruled out intuition. “So you heard. Or you know.”
“I know that you’re a damn fool if you leave Moondance now. You can’t let what other assholes think rule your life. What are you gonna do? Everywhere you go, there’s assholes. Every damn town is packed full of ‘em from here to New York to Texas. Hairy assholes, fat assholes, gassy assholes.”
I snorted in spite of my mood. “Mama, I get your point.”
“Then? Why you wanna leave?” She sniffed, scratched the tip of her nose.
“Because… it’s complicated. It’s not about me. It’s about Jarryd, too, and I won’t condemn his career with who I am.”
“Condemn his career, hot damn,” Mama Kate said. “You sure think a lot of yourself if you think you can do that. Girl, you’re being dumb. You’ve got to reach out and grab your opportunities while you still got the chance, understand?”
“Jarryd’s a person, not an opportunity.”
“Tomato, tomato,” she said, and she didn’t even pronounce the words differently. It made not a whit of sense. “He loves you from what I hear. From what I see.”
“Mama, I don’t have a choice.”
“You’re right there, girl. You can’t run from your destiny.” Mama Kate infuriated me at times like this.
