by Lola White
“It’s a free country,” Derrick replied, slouching and crossing his arms. “I paid my ticket for the faire. And hers.”
“Our circus rents the grounds, and I own this tent and everything in it. Your lady should be out to you in a few minutes.”
“If you think I’m leaving you with my girl…” Derrick began.
“For God’s sake, Derrick, just go,” Maya said, burying her head in her hands. “I already paid my ten dollars. Don’t make a scene or else I’ll leave you at the circus.”
“What-the-fuck-ever,” Derrick said. He batted the tent flap open and stalked out. The evening’s flood lamps had switched on after they’d entered the fortune teller’s tent. Derrick became a sharply outlined shadow against the canvas.
“Sorry about that,” Maya said as the fortune teller resumed his seat. “It’s been a long day. He doesn’t know his limits.”
“There is no need to apologize for him,” the fortune teller replied smoothly.
The fortune teller held out his hands once more. Somehow the gesture was more intimate when it was just them.
“Now, where were we?” the fortune teller asked.
“The future. Disclaimer. Danger. I think I’ll risk it,” Maya said, placing her hands in his again. Shades, shadows, cold readings, all in good fun…but none of it was real. It was all well and good to get taken in—that’s where the enjoyment came from.
But not too much. Too much led to phone psychics and horoscopes, and Maya wasn’t that kind of woman.
“Very well then,” the fortune teller said. “Would it be too self-serving if I suggested that the boy standing outside will not be your long-term partner?”
“If he keeps acting like that, he certainly won’t be,” Maya muttered. “I promise he isn’t always like this.”
“No, I don’t suppose he is. But he still doesn’t figure into your long-term plans, even after all the sacrifices you have made and will continue to make to maintain the relationship,” the fortune teller said. “Familiarity does not always breed contempt, but love soured long ago. Now, you immerse yourself in contempt for its familiarity.”
Maya jerked her hands away.
“I warned you that fortune telling is not always a pleasant art,” the fortune teller said gently.
“Then excuse me if the fortune does seem a little self-serving.” Maya stood. “It’s really none of your business.”
“I wasn’t finished,” the fortune teller said.
“No, I’m pretty sure you were,” Maya replied.
“You made it my business when you asked for my services,” the fortune teller said as she gathered her skirts to leave. “Maya.”
Maya stopped just in front of the tent flap. The places where the fortune teller had warmed her hands all of a sudden went cold. She had never told him her name, and she was almost certain Derrick hadn’t used it either.
“Your relationship with the boy will end badly, but your life will not shatter because of it. You’ll discover that you are not the person you have become,” the fortune teller said.
“Cryptic much?” Maya said, turning around to face him. She cocked her hip, just daring him to keep trying to get into her pants.
“You want specifics?” the fortune teller asked. He stepped around the table. “How is this for specific? Though you are a teacher yourself, you still have instruction yourself yet to endure.”
Holy Mother of God, this guy was not serious.
“And the next time you’re on your knees before a man,” the fortune teller said, advancing with intense deliberation, “it won’t be because you think less of yourself or because he thinks less of you.”
Holy Mother of God, this guy might be insane.
Maya pushed her way out of the tent and grabbed Derrick’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“What? Didn’t like your fortune?” Derrick asked.
“Creepy son of a bitch was hitting on me,” Maya replied.
“You just noticed? He was hitting on you from the second he walked in.”
“Well, this time he was really explicit about it, and not in a harmless way,” Maya said. “I guess next time I want my fortune told, I’ll buy Chinese.”
“I could have told you that,” Derrick muttered.
“Derrick?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m on your side, and no one likes being told ‘I told you so’.”
“So, circus ring?” Derrick asked, wisely changing the subject.
“Are there funnel cakes?”
“I think there are cinnamon pretzels,” he replied.
“That’ll do.”
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About the Author
I’ve always been a storyteller, just as I’ve always been an avid reader. I love stories that twist reality at its edges, and adore new takes on old myths and legends. I’ve travelled extensively, which has given me the opportunity to hear many legends from many cultures and I make use of these in my stories as often as possible.
Email: [email protected]
Lola loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
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