Carnival Glass

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-003-8

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CARNIVAL GLASS

  Romance on the Go

  Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  Midnight might be the witching hour, but at three o’clock in the morning, darkness reigned in James’ world. Sleep often eluded him, but if he drifted into an uneasy doze, the nightmares hit with full force. Awake, each awful thing he had ever done haunted him and the stresses he struggled with during the day grew into giants to torture his troubled soul by night. The lonesome hours spent solitary in his bunk gnawed holes in what little remained of James Glass’ heart. He drank too much and spent hours mesmerized by the flame from a single candle.

  The dark green Sangria bottle held one taper, but over the months James had spent with the carnival, he had burned many. Different colors of wax decorated the sides of the bottle in intricate patterns, the results of many late night sessions. His obsession with creating the perfect drip candle kept him sane. Without it, he might yield to the ever-present temptation to end his life. He would drink too much cheap liquor and have black thoughts. The past would torment him even more.

  Other men listened to music or read books or engaged in sex with women they didn’t know. They hung out in bars, went fishing, hunting, or gambled. Some people adopted a pet or found a hobby, like collecting stamps or coins. James found some minor solace in his candles, although he had no idea why. Perhaps the flickering flame represented the sole light he allowed into his dark misery.

  The late June heat never abated much in his tiny tin can of a travel trailer, but he lacked air conditioning. He could find a cheap used window unit and adapt it to fit, but he never had. Too much effort would be required. He didn’t really want it, didn’t care for the stale, cool air it would produce. Sweating didn’t require any effort. A fine layer of perspiration coated his face and although he wiped it off with one sleeve, he continued to roast. James thought about a shower, but the water pressure lacked force, thanks to the system of hoses running through the backyard.

  He cocked his head and listened. An absence of noise indicated most of the carnies had retired for the night. Tomorrow would be another free day before Thursday morning’s work call to set up the show for the three-day run. If he ventured out, it wasn’t likely he would meet anyone now, so James blew out the candle.

  He put on a T-shirt and ventured outside. Travel trailers, motor homes, and RVs of every size surrounded his. James prowled through them and headed away from the show, out along the highway. Above, a railroad overpass traveled west, and for a moment he wondered what it might be like to hop a freight train. Living as a hobo might be a step down from a carny, he thought, but the freedom of having nothing to lose carried some appeal.

  What the hell town is this? James couldn’t remember. Every town, large or small, was much the same. “Anytown”, was what they sometimes called the stops. Almost all had a highway looping around one side or the other, a declining downtown business district, and a commercial strip lined with fast-food places, strip malls, and used car lots. As he trudged toward the town, the vapor lights reflected back from low clouds. Maybe it would rain enough to cool things down, he thought. If so, it would create a muddy field and too many puddles.

  As he passed a vacant convenience store, a realtor’s office, and a discount store, James pondered everyday life in such a burg. He’d grown up in a similar town, but most of the time he refused to remember much about it. It hurt too much to think back to when his life could be considered normal. A cat slunk from behind a dumpster at the discount store, sleek and well-fed. As it vanished into the deep shadows, a police cruiser turned the corner. James almost followed the cat, but steeled himself not to bolt. I’m not doing a damn thing wrong.

  On cue, the patrol car headed for his position and the light bar erupted into bright crimson. Screw the pooch. I should’ve stayed in my sardine can. He braced himself to be hassled, so that when the officer hit his face with a million-watt spotlight, he didn’t cringe.

  “What are you doing out at this time of day?” the officer, a fresh-faced twenty-something said.

  James lifted one hand to block the light. “I’m walking.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  He shrugged. “Nowhere in particular, I’m just out stretching my legs.”

  “Do you live here?”

  With no idea exactly where “here” was, James said, “I’m not a vag, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m here with the show, ‘Dexter Dolls Amusements’.”

  The LEO shut off the spotlight but peered at him with evident distaste. “Oh, you’re with the carnival.”

  Short answers usually made for less trouble. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’d suggest you head on back to the lot and stay there,” the officer said. “We’re not over-fond of show folks here.”

  I just bet you’re not. The blatant prejudice hit a nerve, and James spoke with reckless anger. “How’d you feel about veterans?”

  Mouth open wide, the cop gaped. “What?”

  “How do you feel about veterans, you know, soldiers who’ve served their country, who served over in the sandbox, were part of Operation Iraqi Freedom Two? I just wondered what you thought about them, as compared to carnies.”

  “Are you being smart with me? What’s your name?”

  “Glass,” he replied. “James Glass, formerly U.S. Army, 4th Infantry, Armored Division. On the show, they call me Sandman, Sandy for short.”

  “Sandman? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  James sensed he had almost worn out what little patience the officer had, but he didn’t care.

  “Everyone in the carnival life has a nickname,” he told the man. “Mine’s Sandy, because I did two and a half tours over in Iraq, known as ‘the sandbox’. Maybe you’ve heard of it? I was there. Were you?”

  Cheeks flushed, the cop hesitated. “No,” he said after a pause. “I wasn’t.”

  Here’s where he takes me to the station and tosses me in a cell. If I’m lucky, he’ll cut me loose in the morning. Otherwise, I’ll go up before a judge. God damn it, Lucky won’t like it if he has to bail me out again.

  Resigned to his fate, James thrust out both wrists. He waited for the cold steel handcuffs to cinch tight around them, but instead the officer grasped his right hand and shook it. “Get in,” he said. He reached across the seat to open the front passenger door. “I’ll give you a ride back to the carnival.”

  Unaccustomed to kindness, he almost balked. Then he gathered his wits. “Thank you.”

  Awkward silence reigned between the two men, but when the cruiser halted the officer said, “I appreciate your service to our country. I have no idea why you want to run with losers at a carnival, but I’d advise you to steer clear of town. The other LEOs probably won’t be as tolerant.”

  Every town, the same ugly prejudices reared up against carnies. James admitted most were not upstanding citizens. Unless born into the life, most carnival folk were running from something, somewhere. Many had long rap s
heets and some had done hard time. He bristled, then decided to let it go as a wave of weariness spread over him. “I appreciate the tip,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Dawn stained the eastern sky pink and orange as James walked past the concession wagons, the games of chance, and the bigger rides on the back lot. Somewhere, low-volume country music twanged into the early morning quiet, but he saw no one. As he reached the collection of trailers, a girl emerged from one and headed in his direction. When he recognized her, he cringed.

  “Hey, Sandman,” she said. “Wanna come over for a while?”

  Darla claimed to be eighteen and had joined the show two weeks earlier, after they worked a county fair somewhere in the lower Arkansas hinterlands. Her voluptuous build and large titties rivaled Dolly Parton in her prime, but as far as James could tell, her brain rattled around in an empty skull. Half the carnies had fucked her already but he hadn’t and wouldn’t. Among other things, she remained jailbait and besides, he lacked interest. He could get laid anytime he wanted but seldom did. Sex had to mean something, or he wouldn’t engage—unless he happened to be too piss-eyed drunk to care.

  James shook his head. “No thanks, Darla, I need to grab some shut-eye.”

  She pouted, her generous lips pursed into a cherry-red bow. “Aw, you could sleep after.”

  He kept walking. “Not this time, kiddo.”

  His cock twitched inside his jeans. He didn’t want her, but a stiff dick lacked conscience and he wasn’t made to be celibate. As James stretched out on his narrow bunk and stared up at the water-stained ceiling, he indulged in a brief fantasy where he had a woman to love, one who loved him. He imagined a life in one of these small towns, then rejected the notion in favor of living in an old city neighborhood, like the one where he spent his childhood. Maybe the suburbs even, he daydreamed.

  He allowed himself five minutes of fantasy, then shifted his thoughts. Even if he happened across a woman who appealed to him, the kind of gal he would want wouldn’t look twice at a carnie. Any decent woman would run shrieking in the opposite direction if she had any sense. Besides, there had been only one girl who had ever mattered and it’d been a long time ago, in another place, in a different life.

  ****

  Kerry Simpkins had been his dream girl. When she agreed to be his prom date during his senior year, he had experienced a natural happiness high so profound, he thought sure he could fly. Her straight black hair stretched to her slender waist and her eyes, green as a cat’s in the night, always sparkled with life. She laughed a lot and he had teased her for almost two years. They had danced a few times at the school-sponsored dances after football games, and he’d taken her out for a soda and burger more than once.

  When he arrived at her parents’ simple ranch style home in one of Kansas City’s countless neighborhoods along the interstate, his nerves twisted his stomach into a pretzel. Her dad shook his hand hard enough to crunch bone, and her mom fluttered about with camera in hand. James had almost decided prom had been the worst idea of his life—until Kerry emerged from her bedroom.

  Her crimson dress sparkled with sequins, and fit her perfectly. She walked with grace, despite the high heels he had never known her to wear. With her dark hair swept up into some kind of top knot with a few stray curls escaping, and her face painted like a Hollywood star on Oscar night, she radiated beauty and elegance beyond her years. Her perfume aroused his senses and as they posed for a dozen pictures, James realized what he should have much sooner—he loved this pretty girl.

  At the prom, they danced in each other’s arms to the slow tunes, and gyrated like the other kids did to the faster songs. Halfway through the evening, they walked outside of the gym by silent, mutual choice. In the dark parking lot, he pulled her close and kissed her in a way he hadn’t before. Oh, God, her lips burned with a contagious fever, and once he caught it, there was no turning back.

  Each touch of her hand against his skin tingled, and sweet sensations shot through his body. James wanted more and so did she. “Let’s go to the park,” she suggested, and he agreed.

  Despite the late hour, the big city park remained open, and they headed for a dark spot near a picnic shelter. He always kept an old quilt in the trunk, ‘just in case’, and he spread it on the ground beneath some tall trees. When Kerry turned around, he undid her zipper and she slithered out of the fancy dress. Beneath it, she wore a garter belt instead of panty hose. James slipped her panties down and undid her front-hook strapless bra. He removed his tuxedo pants before he lowered her to the quilt.

  His fingers touched her breasts as his excitement grew, and he caressed her, a little rough, but what he lacked in finesse he made up for with enthusiasm. Their kisses became wilder and more intense. He nibbled his way along her throat and became so hard that he didn’t dare wait or he’d explode all over her flat belly. Although a virgin, he had listened to enough locker-room talk, read a few books, and paid attention to the half-assed instructions his brother and older cousins offered.

  James touched her pussy and stroked the fine, soft hair covering her mound. Kerry whimpered, and he inserted a finger into her slit. When her inner warmth enveloped it and her wetness slimed his skin, he had to take her or die. He hammered into her, too hard for a virgin, but he couldn’t help it. She cried out, and her expression shifted to one of pain. God damn, he had hurt her and he didn’t want to. Before he could open his mouth to apologize, though, she twisted her butt beneath him and her face colored red. Kerry moaned, but this time he was pretty sure it was from pleasure, not pain.

  He rode her, bouncing up and down in an awkward, fast rhythm, until he came in a heated burst of intense release. His vision dimmed, he saw stars, and he thought for a moment he would pass out. Kerry clung to him, and when he’d finished, he figured she hadn’t quite made it in tandem. James used his hand to stroke her pussy, then fingered her clit until she convulsed beneath him. Her ecstatic cries made him ache to do it again, but there probably wasn’t time since he had promised to have her home by midnight.

  “I love you,” he told her. “I do.”

  Kerry’s smile remained in his memory, as bright and as beautiful as on that night. “I love you, too, Jamie,” she whispered. No one else had ever called him ‘Jamie’, but he liked it because it became special from her mouth.

  After that, they were together, totally in love, until he had to report for Basic Training in July. When Kerry learned he had joined the Army months earlier, she cried and promised to wait, but her dad took him aside one night and set James straight.

  “She’s going to college this fall,” Mr. Simpkins told James. “She’s going to become a teacher and she’s going to have a good life. I want more for her than to be some Army wife, always moving from one post to another, forever waiting for you to come home. So, son, as much as I like you—and I do—it’s time for you to move on. Let Kerry live her life the way it’s meant to be, without you.”

  He had argued and pleaded. When he told Kerry what her daddy said, she cried and they vowed they wouldn’t let him keep them apart. James went to Basic at Fort Hood in Texas, and he wrote to her every day. Her letters reached him at least once a week, even after she began her freshman year. By December, he still heard from her and she sent him a Christmas present. He wished he could have gone home, but it had been impossible. By the time spring flowers bloomed, she’d quit writing. The first week without a letter, he figured she must be busy. After the second, he worried she might be sick or something. But no more came, ever. He sent letters to her but they always came back, returned by the post office.

  Kerry broke his heart, and he promised himself no woman would ever get to him like that again. Through his years in the Army, his two-and-a-half tours in Iraq, and his injuries, he kept the vow, but he thought of her so much, it hurt.

  After he returned home as a civilian, he drifted until he joined the carnival. Then he did his best not to think about Kerry or his life anymore. Most of the time it worked. Sometimes, like now, it f
ailed. His heart, as fragile as glass, had shattered, and he believed it was irretrievably broken.

  ****

  James lay on his side in the humid heat and drifted to sleep around seven or so, when fatigue won the battle against his consciousness. He slept until mid-afternoon and woke hungry.

  Despite the fact that the show wouldn’t open until Friday noon, food aromas wafted through the open windows. James inhaled with a sigh the smells of the classic corn dogs and popcorn, along with the more enticing smell of hamburgers and brats sizzling on grills. His cupboards remained bare most of the time and when he had to prepare something edible, he relied on ramen noodles, canned soup, or tamales, peanut butter, and good old bologna. Maybe if he begged, Flo or Little Mary would toss a hamburger his way.

  He managed a quick shower, and afterward pulled on his usual faded blue jeans and muscle shirt. James emerged to find half the carnies sitting in a circle around several smoking grills, enjoying an impromptu barbecue. He headed toward the largest group, but one of the ride jocks called his name.

  “Hey, Sandy!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wanna go to town and get some eats with us?”

  “Sure, I’d like that.” The chance to find some cozy little diner or a mom-and-pop restaurant appealed to him. Thoughts of fried chicken or catfish or a roast beef dinner made his mouth water. “Let’s go.”

  Four of them piled into one of the rigs that hauled the larger rides and they headed into the burg. As long as they didn’t bump into the cop, it would be good. For a short time, they could pretend they belonged somewhere besides the lot, and James liked that more than he should, since the show had become all the life he had left.

  Chapter Two

  A good blue plate special—roast beef with all the trimmings—went a long way toward improving James’ mood. He opted to finish up with a slice of pecan pie, a rare indulgence. Conversation had centered on the show, and he got caught up on all the current gossip. Curly-Q, who normally operated the Tilt-A-Whirl, asked James if he would run the Ferris wheel or the carousel this engagement.