by Debra Kayn
On the boy's second throw a balloon popped. Bree cheered and took a step back out of the line of an excited throw that decided to go wide. She grabbed a small size stuffed animal.
The third dart missed. Before the boy could get defeated, she picked up a medium sized dragon. "I'll tell you what I'll do. Buy three more darts and I'll let you trade one of the smaller animals you won for this awesome dragon if you get one more balloon. I don't give that offer to just anyone, but I like you. What do you say, do you feel lucky today?"
"Please, mom," said the boy.
The mom sighed and dug in her purse. "One more try and that's it."
Bree scooped up the money, handed over three more darts, and smiled. "All right, you can do it. Concentrate and give it your best try."
Miss.
Miss.
Miss.
"Oh, maybe next time." She took the dragon off the counter and tossed the kid some round Pokémon creature. "Thanks for playing and come back later to try again."
She grabbed the stool she rarely sat on and climbed up on the seat and hung the giant teddy bear back up out of reach. Jumping down, she pushed her hair off her overheated face and found Battery back outside the booth.
He set a large pop on the counter. "Drink. You're going to get dehydrated. When do you get a break?"
"Five o'clock. I get an hour off and then I work until eleven when the carnival closes." She sucked on the straw and moaned in sweet, chilled relief. "Thanks for the pop. It's so hot out here."
"I'll buy you dinner," he said.
She shook her head. "I usually go back to the trailer. It's got air conditioning, and I can make myself a sandwich before I'm due back at work."
"We'll find some shade. Then, you'll eat, and tell me more about yourself." He moved off to the side out of the way of the counter without giving her a chance to decline his offer.
A group of teenage boys swaggered over to the booth to play, brag, and flirt with her. If she wanted to stay in the top carny position, she'd need to hustle and bally her ass off.
Two hours later and caught up in sales, she walked away from one of the food trailers with a corndog, curly fries, and a strawberry shake following Battery behind the caravan of carny trailers to the grassy knoll behind the grandstand where the rodeo would happen tomorrow night.
By the time she sat down in the shade and leaned her back up against the support for the bleachers, she'd eaten half her corndog. Usually, she only splurged once a week on a meal from one of the food vendors. The jacked up prices too much to dish out on a daily habit.
Battery stretched out on the ground and leaned back on his elbow and drank his milkshake without a straw. She wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand. His light brown hair swung down, half covering his face.
She dipped a fry into the pile of ranch dip in the corner of her paper tray. "Why did you buy me dinner?"
He set his cup in the grass. "You needed to eat."
She eyed him carefully. "Do you want sex or something?"
"You're sixteen years old. You shouldn't even be talking about having sex with anyone, especially me." He ran his tongue over the corner of his mouth. "Is that how you talk to everyone?"
"It's not like you're hanging around the carnival to make sure I eat and get your jollies off scaring people away from my booth." She set her tray down, crawled over, and picked up his cup.
Scooting back to her food, she dumped the remains of his milkshake in her cup and stirred it with her straw. He'd ordered banana flavor, and everyone knew bananas and strawberries went together. After it was mixed, she dumped half of the milkshake into his cup and stretched across the span of grass separating them and handed him his drink back. "Go ahead and try it now."
Battery pushed the straw to the side, tipped back his head, and drank straight from the cup. Wiping off the ice cream that clung to the bottom of his mustache, he nodded. "Good."
She smiled and drank from her straw. "So, what do you want a blowjob? A quickie?"
Battery's mouth hardened. "If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll teach you a lesson someone else should've taught you before. You shouldn't even be thinking about sex at your age."
She laughed. "Look at you being all..."
"Bree," he said, the warning clear as a bell.
"Loosen up. All men want sex. It's how you stay alive and keep breathing. Without sex, you'd die." She ate a few more fries. "So, for the hundredth time, why are you hanging around me?"
"Because I want to."
"Do you always do what you want, even if the other person doesn't want you to?" she asked.
"Pretty much," he muttered.
She thought about that and nodded in acceptance. "You're like me. I do what I want too," she said, suspecting there wasn't much he wouldn't do.
He ignored her statement and looked out over the carnival grounds. "There's nothing here for you."
"What do you mean?"
"This place. Washington," he said.
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. In a week, I'll be gone. Bill—he's the owner, decided to move the carnival to Kansas after years of working this spot. I've never been there or anywhere, really, and Kansas sounds boring. Like Hicksville where the killer comes out of the corn field and stalks the town."
"That's in every town," he muttered.
"Well, it's a job, and I'm good at doing what I do." She wiped her hand on her shorts, playing his game of conversation with him. "Where are you from?"
"Montana." He gazed back around to her. "Got a house that's used as the clubhouse for the motorcycle club. I'm the only one living there. Everyone else has their own place unless we get members from out of the area visiting, and then they'll crash for a few days. I bet you'd like it there with the Rocky Mountains, the lakes, the freedom, the club."
"I like being a carny." The condensation from her cup dripped on her bare leg, and she wiped the moisture away. "I already told you, I like being by myself. I don't need anyone."
"Everyone needs someone, Bree," he said quietly. "It sounds like nothing is holding you here. You could come with me to Montana. You'd have a good life."
"You don't know anything about me," she said.
His gaze softened, and he looked away. She forgot about the food. The sadness in his eyes came and went, but she'd seen it. She recognized it. She'd felt it.
"I know enough. You're living with a broad who doesn't give two-shits about a young girl or her safety. The owner of the carnival, Bill Watkins, is in debt up to his eyeballs. By this time next year, CrazyTown Carnivals will no longer exist and then where will you go? What will you do at sixteen years old?"
She snorted. "You don't know anything. You just want me to think you can solve all these imaginary problems that aren't going to come true, and I'll be overjoyed with the help and give you a blowjob."
"Trust me, carny-girl. When I want a blowjob, it's not going to be from a teenage girl, no matter how pretty she is." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll be back later."
She put her tray down on the ground and stood. "Where are you going?"
Battery continued walking in his steady stride down the knoll and into the crowd. Rejection overwhelmed Bree, and she kicked out at the tray with her leftover fries and sent the garbage away from her.
He was wrong.
The carnival wasn't in trouble. Bill hadn't told any of the employees about money problems. The move to Kansas was a way to drum up new business at a new location. She hooked her thumbs through her belt loops on her shorts and walked toward her booth. Battery was crazy. And, he had a stupid name.
He probably never even rode a motorcycle before. She dragged her sneakers through the grass. She was sick of liars. All the carnies lied. Even Delilah tried to convince everyone she was married, and her husband lived in Wyoming or Wisconsin, some W-state. She knew it wasn't true because she'd overheard Bill call Delilah a bitter old woman who'd never had a man.
That same day she listened in on the conversation from her fold-out
bed in the trailer and learned a new word. Cocksucker.
"Cocksucker," she whispered, drawing out the word cock. The more she said cock, the more she liked it. She only had to find the right occasion to use the word.
She approached the back of her booth. With her luck, Delilah would rub off on her, and she'd never have a boyfriend or get married. Life in the carnival ruined many people. She wasn't going to let anyone mess up her life.
"Bree," said a male voice.
She turned and found Bill hurrying toward her, followed by a woman wearing high heels and navigating the field at a slower pace. Pushing her hair out of her face, she crossed her arms and waited for her boss to complain about her taking too long of a lunch break, when she knew she'd made it back in time to open the booth.
"You're done for the day." Bill held out his hand. "I'll need the key to the cash box."
"What are you talking about?" She dug in her pocket and handed the key to him. "It's Friday night. Our biggest night and the crowd is just beginning to arrive. We can't shut down the booth."
Bill handed the key to the woman beside him. Bree's lip curled at the bikini top wearing carny.
"What are you giving her the key for?" asked Bree.
"Bobbyjean is taking over your job. Tomorrow, you'll sit in the ticket booth from eleven to seven o'clock." Bill patted Bobbyjean's ass and followed her walk to the booth with his gaze. "You're off for the night. Stay in the backyard and out of the carnival and don't cause trouble."
She stepped into his line of vision. "You can't do that to me. What about Carrie and Viv? They work the tickets."
"Carrie left an hour ago." Bill scratched his chest.
"Left?" Bree exhaled harshly over the news. "Where did she go?"
Bill swung his gaze to Bree. "That's none of my business or yours. Go, pack your things. Bobbyjean is moving in with Delilah. You can have Carrie's tent."
"A tent?" She stomped her foot. "I'm not sleeping anywhere near the ride carnies."
The thought made her lightheaded. All the younger men—who were still older than her by ten years or more—lived in the tent camp. They had an open door policy, popped beanies every night, and ran on adrenaline for three days straight before they even slept. She'd end up fighting off every single one of them. At least with Delilah, her virginity was safe.
"You're attracting attention." Bill put his hand on her back and pushed her in the direction of her temporary home. "Go get your stuff so I can have someone put Bobbyjean's belongings away before night falls."
"Bill...?" She dug her tennis shoes in the ground, refusing to accept her lowered position within the carnival. "Don't change my position."
"Girl, we need money and Bobbyjean's got the looks that'll bring in the big bucks." Bill shooed her away.
"But, I've brought in more money than anyone else running the dart game."
"Go," he said.
She marched away, angered over the changes and disgusted at Bill's opinion that somehow Bobbyjean—what a stupid name, had a better personality than her to work the booth and bring in the money. There was more to working the darts than boobs and a pretty face.
"I hate him," she muttered, breaking out into a jog.
She'd earned more than anyone this week. Bobbyjean would never earn more than her, even if she offered herself to every man who approached the counter. The slut. Bill was probably getting blowjobs from her every night.
"Hey, Bree." Tommy stepped out of his trailer parked in front of Delilah's old fifth-wheeler and gathered his long hair in a ponytail. "Whatcha doing?"
At eighteen years old, Tommy traveled with his dad who ran the Ferris wheel. The only person close to her age, he had given her a kiss—her first—when she signed on with CrazyTown Carnival, and then promptly told her she needed to practice kissing more. She eventually forgave him for insulting her, but by then he'd hooked up with a local girl and had stayed faithful to her, despite only seeing her on the weekends.
"I got fired." She reached under the metal step of the trailer and removed the hidden magnetic key box for the trailer.
"No shit?" Tommy leaned against the trailer and tucked his dingy, white tank top into his jeans. "How come?"
"Bill put some big ass, big titted, big haired woman in the booth," she mumbled, unlocking the door. "Her name is Bobbyjean, and she's moving in with Delilah, and he's sending me to the ticket booth. The ticket booth! Only women who have a man working here get sent there because the pay sucks."
"Sorry, Bree." Tommy sighed. "Maybe he'll change his mind. You're good at your job."
"Obviously, not good or pretty enough." She flung the door open. "He's kicked me out of the trailer and put me in Carrie and Bo's tent."
"Fuck," mumbled Tommy. "Do you want me to ask my dad if you can stay with us?"
Bree stared at Tommy without saying a word. Everyone knew Tommy's dad had a drug problem. She tried to stay away from trouble and the rougher crowds. "No, but thanks."
"Yeah. Okay. I hear you." Tommy pushed away from the trailer. "I need to go put in my hours. I'll check on you later."
"Don't bother." She put her foot on the step. "Maybe I won't be around."
"Are you planning on leaving and quitting the carnival?"
She shrugged, not knowing what she was going to do or where she could go. "Maybe. I don't know."
"I hope you don't." Tommy pulled at his shirt. "Bill will change his mind."
She rolled her eyes. "I need to get packed before they start bringing in the other woman's stuff."
Not waiting for a reply, she went inside the trailer and ground the heels of her hands against her eyes. More than the upset at losing her job, the thought of moving to a tent scared her. All alone, there would be nothing to keep the perverted men away from her. When they all got to drinking and doing drugs, nothing stopped them from harassing her. She'd heard the stories and witnessed the victims that walked away after spending a night in the backyard in the tent section.
She stepped over to the couch and picked up her blanket. Bill wouldn't keep the men away from her. Nobody would. She'd be better off leaving the carnival and trying to find a job somewhere else.
Chapter Three
A woman about Battery's age posed with her breasts over the counter inside Bree's booth and flirted with two men lined up to throw darts. Battery's forehead pounded at finding a change in Bree's routine, and he scanned the area looking for her. He had a bad feeling.
The tension continued to intensify the longer he went without finding her.
The men strolled away from the booth without winning and elbowed each other talking about the looker doing her best to get them to play the game again. Battery walked over before another surge of men came to check out the woman orchestrating the booth.
He placed his hands on the plywood counter. "Where's Bree?"
"Well, hello there, sugar." The woman smacked her gum and leaned toward him, displaying overlarge breasts. "I bet you could pop a balloon without even trying."
"I asked you, where's Bree?'
She reached over and stroked his forearm. "Bree who, sugar?"
He grabbed her wrist, removed her touch, and squeezed hard enough he got her attention on the question. "The girl that runs the booth. Where is she?"
"Ow." She rolled her shoulder and stuck out her lower lip. "I don't know who you're talking about."
"Think hard."
She whined and stuck out her lower lip. "Bill fired her."
Fuck. He let go of the woman and walked down the main strip of the carnival. His gut feeling about Bree paid off, and he'd need to find her fast.
Just a young girl, she could be anywhere, licking her wounds, or making a bad decision. Nobody paid attention to Bree. Though she noticed everything and if she acted before thinking, she'd find herself in a dangerous situation without anyone to help her.
He scaled the roped off area and entered the parking lot full of trailers. Enough people loitered around; he wasn't worried about security. Though
he had no idea where to even start looking for Bree without drawing everyone's attention and he needed no trouble from the carnies. The fewer people who took notice of him, the better.
As he drew closer to a group of four men, he lit a cigarette. "Hey, anyone know where Bree is hanging?"
"Whose looking for her?" said a man half Battery's size.
"Bill," Battery said, knowing there was only one name that would get everyone talking. "He wanted to see Bree five minutes ago and sent me after her."
The shorter man shook his head. "Nah, I ain't seen her. She keeps to herself over at the trailers."
"Which one is Delilah's trailer?" Battery tossed the cigarette on the ground.
The man rubbed his forehead. "Uh, you go back about—"
"I'll show you." One of the ladies nearby stepped forward.
Battery walked with the woman in the opposite direction. Between the curious glances and her checking out his body, she delivered him to an older fifth wheeler attached to an even older pickup with rusted out panels.
"This is where Delilah stays, but you won't find the girl in there." The lady propped her hand on her hips and winked at him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of the others, cause I know the girl tries to keep to herself and out of everyone's business but she won't be back with Delilah, and if it were me, I'd be happier than hell to get away from that slut. She's so far up her cousin's ass, she reeks."
"Where would I find Bree?" He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "Is she in a different trailer?"
The lady shook her head.
Battery reached into his pocket, removed his wallet, and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. "Start talking, cause that's all you're getting."
"Bill fired her and put Bobbyjean in Bree's booth. Just so you know, Bobbyjean is Bill's latest bitch, and she gives him what he wants, unlike Bree. Last I heard, Bill shoved Bree out into the ticket booth starting tomorrow, and she was forced to move to the tent area," said the lady.
He had no idea why the woman said the word tent like it left a bitter taste on her pierced tongue. But, he was going to find out.
He walked away, but the lady grabbed his arm. He stared down at her hand touching him until she let go.
