“I said, what did you say?”
“You heard me, that pretty woman ever gets tired of your disappointing fucks, she needs to know where she can come get a good one.”
Covering the ground between us as fast as I can, I lunge at Razor from behind and we go crashing to the ground. I’m on top of him, and push myself up by pushing his back down into the ground.
Everyone in the lot has stopped what they were doing and is rushing to us.
“Let me make this clear now,” I yell, “Goldie is mine, and if anyone does anything to upset or disrespect her, they’re going to have to deal with me. I don’t care who you are or how long I’ve known your fucking cocksucking ass.”
“Easy, buddy. I was just messing around,” Razor says.
“And that includes messing around,” I bark, and shove his back to emphasis my point.
“Fine,” Razor mutters.
Standing, I look around at everyone and continue yelling, “And so help me God, if anyone lays a hand on her, I’ll beat your fucking head in until you don’t have a face left. Is that fucking clear?”
I glare at various nodding faces. Some people murmur things before turning away and going back to their business.
Good. I think I got the message across.
At that moment, I look up and notice Emily peeking out the door, looking whiter than she did when we first got here.
Peace Sells
(Steel)
It’s a Saturday in mid-May, and we’re still in Mississippi. It’s raining this afternoon, and the smell of damp earth mixes with the stink of the rides. Doesn’t matter, the carnival is busy anyway. That’s the thing with these little towns. The weekend the carnival comes to town is the only thing that happens all year.
I’m tired of standing out in the rain, and am going to swing by Emily’s booth to dry off under the awning.
But first I’m getting her a funnel cake. I even paid for it, and am loading it up with chocolate, toffee sauce and whip cream.
I make my way down the midway. A couple of chicks in shirts soaked from the rain and clinging to their tits are coming the other direction. They’re bleached blondes, and the taller one has tits so big that half the men she walks past crane their heads for another look.
They see my yellow carnival T-shirt, and beeline towards me. These girls know they can come to a carny for a mind-blowing fuck no local boy is capable of giving them.
Last year, I’d have had both of them at once in my room. This year, all I can think of is avoiding them.
“Hey, sexy man,” big tits says.
I ignore them and keep on walking.
“At least let us feel them muscles,” one of them shouts after I’m past them.
“We’ll give you a dollar if you show us them abs of yours,” the other shouts.
I used to pocket a pretty penny from local girls wanting to see my body. This year I’ve been turning it all down, which Razor’s been loving. He’s raking in all my turnaways, and is planning to buy a PlayStation from all the extra money.
Not breaking my stride, I ignore them and arrive at Emily’s booth. She’s standing there, somehow managing to make the yellow carnival T-shirt sexy.
“Hey, sexy,” I say, sitting on the counter. “I brought you something.”
Emily comes over to me, and leans in for a kiss.
“God, that smells good,” Emily says, breathing in the funnel cake.
“Don’t suppose you brought me one of them,” Cess says, tossing a softball in her hand.
“Next time,” I say.
“You said that last time,” Cess says.
“How’s it going, you selling any?” I ask Emily.
“She’s a natural. Ain’t you, Goldie?” Cess says.
“Not surprised. That pretty face could get a man to do anything,” I say.
“It worked on you,” Emily says and laughs.
She takes a big bite of the funnel cake, her eyes close as the flavor fills her mouth. That’s the look I’m used to seeing in our trailer, not from a bite of food.
A big, blond dude slaps five dollars on the counter. He’s with a buddy, a guy only slightly shorter who’s wearing a polo shirt. They look like the kind of people I’d expect Emily would be related to.
Cess snaps up the money and holds out three balls to him.
“I want them from her,” he says, nodding to Emily.
My attention is drawn from Emily’s pretty face to the idiot trying to win an impossible game.
“She’s busy, you gotta take them from me,” Cess says.
“I said, I want them from her,” he says.
The dude’s face coats in a smug smile as he stares at Cess. The back of my neck prickles. This guy had better drop it, if he knows what’s good for him.
“Your choice, you take my balls, or you forfeit your money,” Cess says.
“Oh, I think that pretty girl wants to give me the balls.”
It pisses me off, but I know how common fuckers like these guys are. I take another bite of funnel cake and wait to see how Emily handles the situation.
“Now careful boys, you wouldn’t want my boyfriend here to pulverize your pretty-boy faces now, would you?” Emily says.
“He’s your boyfriend? Sweetheart, you can do a lot better than him. Let me show you all the things a real man can do.” He pauses and stares at me. “Not some scumbag like him.”
Enough. I slip off the counter and ball my fist, intending to knock the mother-fucker down with a right hook.
“This is nothing, we get at least one of him an hour,” Emily says, a worried look in her eyes.
“Don’t mean he doesn’t need his head kicking in.”
A crowd has gathered round the booth. Everything inside of me is telling me to beat the guy into next Tuesday, but I decide it’ll be more fun to humiliate him in front of the town. He’ll be the laughing stock for years to come.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you six balls, no charge. If you get one in, good things will happen.”
“Good things like what?” He says.
“Good things like I won’t break your faces,” I say, and take another bite of the funnel cake.
“And I’ll give you the balls you paid for,” Emily says, laughing. She knows it’s impossible for them to win. Emily walks back to the baskets, getting the balls. But I know the real thing she’s doing is making sure the angles on the baskets are set to impossible.
“I don’t know, Steel, that’s giving them pretty good odds. He looks like he knows how to throw a ball, ain’t no way you’ll win that one,” Cess says, winking at me.
“Six balls and you don’t think we can get one in?” the blond laughs, “I’m a pitcher.”
“Line ‘em up, Cess,” I say.
Cess puts the six balls on the counter, three in front of each of them. He picks up the first ball, aims, and throws. The ball hits the basket, and bounces out again.
“Five more tries to prove you’re really a pitcher,” I say, wiping toffee sauce from the corner of my mouth.
He ignores me, and takes another throw. The ball hits the back of the peach basket and bounces out.
“I hope you don’t treat women the way you treat the balls, just nailing it as hard as you can. It takes finesse,” I say, smirking.
“Up yours,” he says.
He throws the next ball, gentler this time, but it still bounces out. The guy’s got good aim, I’ll give him that.
“This is bullshit,” he says, looking around at the crowd.
“Ain’t no bullshit. Pass me some balls, Goldie, I’ll show him how it’s done.” Emily gets two balls out of the basket at the far end. I take one from her, look at the asshole and say, “I only need one.”
She tosses the other ball in her hand, and I take aim.
“Pay attention, you might learn something,” I say and release the ball into the basket Emily took the balls from.
It lands in the basket and thuds against the ball that’s already in it. The b
all she left in it stops the new ball from bouncing out again.
“Your turn,” I say, looking at the crowd and laughing. I lean against the counter, glaring at him as he takes aim and I take another bite of the funnel cake.
“Ah, come on, let’s stop embarrassing the poor guy,” Emily says.
“Shut up,” the guy snaps.
He throws two more balls, both of them hit the basket and bounce out again.
“Seems like this town is in need of a better pitcher,” I say.
The crowd laughs, and the guy turns red with anger and embarrassment. He throws the last ball, and it bounces out again, of course. He puts his head down, mutters something under his breath and pushes his way through the crowd.
“That was fucking hilarious, you crack me up,” Emily says and gives me a quick kiss.
Her kiss floods me with heat, and I know I made the right decision in humiliating the fuck out of the guy instead of throwing that punch. Various people from the crowd have now lined up for their chance at doing what the town’s star pitcher couldn’t. Emily takes the first guy’s money, an old guy wearing a T-shirt that barely covers his beer gut.
She hands him three balls and directs him to the basket I used, with the extra ball still in it. The guy takes aim and his first ball lands in the basket.
I look at the crowd and say, “Good to see there’s someone in this town who knows how to throw a ball.”
They laugh and some even clap. I’m buzzing from defeating the asshole. Surprisingly, it was far more satisfying that giving him a black eye.
Leaning across the counter, Emily throws her arm around my neck and pulls me close. I crush my mouth against hers, reveling in the taste of my woman.
New World Man
(Emily)
It’s June tenth. My twenty-first birthday. But it’s a Saturday, and that means I’ll be sitting in this booth all day, convincing idiots to give me five bucks to try to throw a ball into a basket.
When are they going to realize they can’t win? Unless I want them to, that is.
Cess says we have to make sure it seems like you can win, so every so often, we tilt the baskets to keep the balls from bouncing out again. You can’t tell the angles from the other side of the counter, but we still have to be extra cautious because the state regulators are known to come round posing as players. They’re checking for fixed games, and if we get caught, that means a big fine for the carnival, and Papa Smurf’s boot up my ass.
I love getting to choose who I want to win. Somehow, men who are dicks to their girlfriends never do. But when I offer a discounted or free set of balls to their girlfriends, they always win. Assuming they can hit the basket.
Kids also tend to win a lot. I just have to be careful not to let too many win, or it eats into mine and Cess’ commissions. We have to pay for the stuffed animals ourselves, and I’m not Santa Claus.
I’m loving it though. It’s lots of fun. And now I totally get what Steel was saying before, about one of the best things about this job being all the smiles we put on people’s faces. And sometimes wiping the smiles off the faces of assholes. It’s a real buzz.
We’re still in Mississippi. I never appreciated just how many small towns there actually are in one state before now, and Papa Smurf said we’re not even going to most of them.
It’s three, and I need to eat before the rush starts at four. Once it starts, we’re busy until close.
“Are you good here if I take my break?” I ask Cess.
“Sure, honey, you go get something to eat.”
“Great, back in twenty minutes,” I say, taking off my money apron.
I head straight to the Zipper. If Steel isn’t there, Razor will know where to find him.
Steel sees me pushing my way past the people in line and walks away from the pod he was loading. He meets me at the front of the line.
“Happy birthday, Goldie,” he says, hugging me and swinging me around.
His blue eyes are electric in the daylight, and even though I look in them a zillion times a day, my tummy still flutters under their gaze. He presses his lips against mine, and we lock together in a kiss that increases the fluttering inside me.
There are a few catcalls and whistles from people in the line.
“Get a room,” someone calls, but we don’t give a shit. He presses his hand into the small of my back, and our kiss deepens. So does the need in me.
I break the kiss, and say, “I only have twenty minutes.”
“Come for a ride, and I mean come,” he says with a devilish grin.
“I’m starving,” I say. I’d planned on getting some onion rings for lunch.
Ignoring me, Steel takes my hand and leads me to a waiting Zipper pod.
“Hey, no butting, asshole!” someone yells from the line.
“Easy, dude,” Steel says.
“You can’t just drag your carny bitch ho to the front of the line,” the guy says. He’s young, around my age, and is standing in line with what looks like his twin brother.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Steel says, screwing up his face.
“Anything, except get a real job,” the guy says.
Steel glances at me, and looks at the ride. He sees something on the ride, and his massive, Hollywood smile springs across his face.
“Tell you what, buddy, why don’t you and your twin come up here right now, as a way of me apologizing to you,” Steel says.
This is weird. I don’t know what his plan is, but I know he’d never apologize to a townie, ever.
Without further prompting, the guy and his twin push past the people ahead of them in line, not seeing the irony, and arrive at the pod.
“Hey, how’s that fair?” a woman’s voice shouts.
Steel glances back at the line, and with his smile says, “It’s good. These big, tough guys want a ride, we’ll let them have a ride.”
The twins climb into the pod, and Steel secures the door. Razor moves the ride around to the next pod, and the people get out. I go to get on, but Steel holds me back.
“Not this time,” he says, “Go stand with Razor.”
Confused, I walk over to where Razor’s standing at the controls.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Those assholes are about to stink up my ride, is what,” Razor says, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“They just got on pod nine, we call it Loosey Goosey, because it spins easier than the others.”
“And?”
“And this ride is going to be a little faster and a little longer than usual, and those two will be trying to get the stink of puke off themselves for days.”
Grossed out, I chuckle, and say, “How do you know they’ll puke?”
“Because unless they’re one of us or fighter pilots, they’re going to puke.”
“And all the other people on the ride?”
Razor grins, and says, “They should be okay. Unless they’re pukers to begin with.”
When the ride’s fully loaded, Steel comes and puts his arm around me.
“Let’s torture these assholes,” Steel says.
Since the day at my booth with the pitcher and all the missed balls, Steel’s taken to embarrassing anyone who pisses him off. He thinks it’s hilarious, and so do I. According to Razor, he can’t believe Steel hasn’t thrown a single punch this year.
It still freaks me out that Steel, according to Razor, ‘could beat the shit out of a giant,’ but he hasn’t. I’m guessing because of me. And I think it’s amazing that he hasn’t. It’s just proof of how much he cares, and how much he wants to be a better man because of me. It makes me all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.
Razor starts the ride, and it doesn’t take long before it’s creaking around the track. I keep my eyes on Loosey Goosey, the pod the twins are in, and it’s spinning probably four times the rate of the others.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, flecks of puke spray fr
om the twins’ pod. The sight makes my stomach turn, and I fight back retching.
“This better not turn into a barf-o-rama,” Razor says.
Steel laughs, “I’m outta here, it’s all your problem if it does.”
“Like fuck, at least get me the hose.”
Razor stops the ride, and I stand well out of the way while they unload it. Even where I am, the acrid smell of puke poisons the air.
They unload the twins last. It takes several minutes to unload and load the ride, and the twins must be desperate to get out of their little puke-coated cage.
“Oh, fuck,” Steel says, shielding his face with the crook of his arm in an exaggerated way. Both him and Razor mock puke, and walk away from the car while the twins get out.
Everyone in the line is either laughing or gagging at the puke-covered twins.
“I can’t even remember the last time we had a puker. You two sure ain’t tough. You want us to hose you down?” Steel says, laughing.
The twins don’t even look at him, instead they look like the walking dead as they make their way from the ride.
Razor turns on the hose and starts spraying out the pod.
Steel meshes his hand through mine, and says, “Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’ve lost my appetite, thanks.”
“It was worth it though, right?”
I chuckle and say, “Maybe. Those assholes had it coming.”
One
(Steel)
It’s the start of July, and we’re still in Mississippi. We’ve been weaving around, hitting all the little towns Papa Smurf arranged to get us a weekend in. It seems like we’re going to be in this sweat-box of a state all summer.
Emily doesn’t seem to mind though. Even after four months, she’s still fresh with the excitement of being in the carnival.
Cess says she’s a real natural at getting men to play their game. Can’t say I’m surprised one bit. She just has to flash that pretty smile and let her blue eyes twinkle, and they start digging into their pockets for a chance to impress her.
I’m lying in bed awake, coated in sweat even in the middle of the night. Emily’s beside me, sleeping on her back like a baby. Propping myself up on my elbows, I examine her.
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