by Lucky Simms
More ladies were turning out so see the exhibitions he held with Tommy and Sweet Ray too. Once a week or so, they set up a wheel with their names on it. Townies lined up and paid their $20 for a chance at the kitty. Then one by one, they spun the wheel to see who they’d fight.
Sometimes he’d had three or more three-minute matches in a night. You got a point for every good hit, and five off if you took a knee to quit. The townie with the most points won half and the rest went home with some impressive bruises. Riddick, Sweet Ray and Tommy split the other half of the kitty, plus half the sidebets with Moses. He let Tommy and Sweet Ray split the lady spectators.
It was a decent living. That plus free room at the motor lodge meant he could sock away a good amount. A few more years of this, then a house? Marriage? Kids? He felt good about it, like he had his legs under him. Like everything would be fine.
And Madear, she was great. Sweet, forgiving, and enthusiastic in the sack. Plus she looked at him like he hung the moon every night just for her.
So why did he want to run? And even if he did - where would he go?
THE PITCH
Mame did not think working at the carnival was a great idea. In fact, she truly, absolutely, clearly and without reservation thought it was positively terrible. And she said so. Repeatedly. And sometimes loudly.
Still, Billie presented her case in the morning after the second garden was spotlessly manicured. She wanted something temporary. She needed something because nothing was not an option. Her classes got out a week late and the jobs that were available to someone with her meager skills had already been snapped up by highschoolers.
She implied but did not outright say that the donut shop had no openings. In truth, she hadn’t made time to see Madear yet. In a related truth, she didn’t want Madear to get her a job. She wanted to see what the carnival had for her.
No, she was not above bagging groceries, but apparently bagging groceries was above her. With a high school diploma and one year of college level liberal arts and sciences 100-level classes under her belt, she was just about qualified to wear a paper hat and a nametag. Only, nobody even wanted her to do that.
Billie remained calm and steadfast - the best way to handle Mame’s raging opinion storm - until Mame could clearly see that rationally there were no real options for her in Burntown. Carnival, it would have to be.
Billie found a dress she didn’t hate in the back of her closet: a pale pink cotton blend with tiny rosettes and cap sleeves. Mame was right. This was just as cool and pleasant as wearing shorts, but she looked dressed up. She looked feminine, she thought, and remembered the pictures of her mother when she was 19. Mavis had been long-legged and pretty, with a sullen scowl that only highlighted her dark, brooding eyes. She looked like the sort of person who would keep your secrets, at least until she needed them for something.
Billie sighed and stared in the mirror in her stuffy bedroom. Instead of makeup, she went for a modest application of mascara around her dark eyes and a little blush on the apples of her cheeks. At least this way she wouldn’t have running streaks of makeup, no matter how much more muggy it got.
Pulling her curls off her neck, she tried for at least 30 seconds to get all her dark, curly hair to look like it came from the same head, and then just gave up and went with the high ponytail/bun. It was fine for these parts. Around here, she was practically dressed for a wedding.
College was different, she had quickly found out. Staying in the dorms for the first year was a campus rule, and she met people from all over the state, with a few out-of-state transfers too. It was amazing to her that people from a few dozen miles from where she grew up could be so completely different.
Everyone had conflicting ideas about proper dress, rules of etiquette, and personal space. She supposed that was to be expected. But she had never lived in such close quarters with people who had money. Like, real money. Money to burn. $20 for lunch? Sure why not. Seven, eight, two dozen purses? Totally reasonable. It boggled her mind.
And it seemed like they had all heard of Burntown. At first she loved the notoriety. It gave her an air of mystery and danger that she would never have been able to cultivate on her own, with just her regular life. Nobody really realized that they were conflating the carnival with the town, and her townie experiences were not nearly as lurid as anything they’d heard about the carnival. She just let them think what they liked, and sometimes tried to affect her mother’s wordless, knowing scowl in response.
But after a while, being associated with the Middle-Ohio version of Las Vegas, Bangkok, and Amsterdam all rolled into one started to wear on her. It was as though they expected her to saunter into every class reeking of pot and sex. She couldn’t really live up to that kind of pressure, even if she wanted to.
But there was always Jase. He knew her in ways they couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to say he followed her there - he had gotten in and made his scholarship on his own steam and talent - but if she had gone somewhere else, that’s where he naturally would have been. Hot on her trail since the sixth grade, Jase was her first kiss, her first dance, her first sex, and her first love. It was love, she was sure.
He totally understood her. He sheltered her from everyone else’s opinions like a safe harbor. Like a windbreaker. He was always ready with a smile. He loved to stand behind her and cross his arms over her shoulders, feel the whole length of her body in front of him. He was kind and smart and thoughtful, and had absolutely no doubts about Billie. He never had. His mind was totally settled.
But hers was not.
She began to feel restless before the semester ended, like she had slept in too long and the sun was shining outside, enticing her into the light. She could think of no good reasons to tell him they should be apart except that, well, she could think of no good reasons to stay together either. He had become as natural as breathing but when she thought about it, she figured she would be alright without him.
Billie told him, holding both his hands while they sat on a curved concrete planter outside the science labs. He looked crushed and totally surprised as though this simply did not compute. He told her he thought it was a terrible idea, but he knew she would come back. He didn’t mind waiting a little while. His courageous expression of faith in her made her want to scream.
Jase didn’t think the carnival was such a hot idea either, for the record.
Billie wondered why Mame hadn’t asked her anything about Jase yet as she stared into her closet, looking for shoes. She would be disappointed when Billie finally told her. But what else could she do, she wondered while trying to decide between sneakers and sandals. Sneakers. It was a long walk.
Working her bare toes into the sneakers, Billie gave herself one more twirl in front of the mirror and left the room, moderately satisfied. She felt like she had really dodged a bullet, somehow. Mame had acquiesced to the carnival job. Madear hadn’t tracked her down just yet. Jase hadn’t called and spilled the beans about their breakup. It was as though all her obstacles decided simultaneously to look the other way and let her pass, unimpeded, into the next adventure of her life. Maybe things would finally get exciting? Or maybe everyone had finally decided to accept her as an adult who could make her own decisions? Billie chuckled confidently to herself and strode down the stairs and out into the first garden, leaning into the mild wind that had started up, holding her skirt modestly around her thighs.
When something really weird happens, people naturally expect some warning. Maybe background music? Maybe a cold shiver? But actually, weird things happen all the time and people get no warning at all. The day ticks by just like any other, feels just normal and regular, and in all likelihood people don’t even see the strange things that happen around them. Their brains just put up a Do Not Process message and the information slips past like water through a sieve.
So Billie could have turned back as she left the gate and turned onto the narrow road. She could have seen Mame on the porch waving her arms, trying to step off
and going nowhere. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, pantomiming her calling out, calling… Calling… And making no sound.
But Billie did not turn around so she didn’t see it. And later, Mame did not remember.
READY OR NOT
Noughton’s office was a small room behind the skee-ball prize display. There was a small half door, big enough for a dwarf or 4-year-old under the giant hairy whale. Most people used the full-sized back door, coming around the side of the building and past the stacks of wooden pallets.
Billie knocked and waited. It was nice to be out of the sun, which was baking the shabby asphalt paths and hard-packed dirt between until it gave off fumes. She had forgotten that sunscreen was something you applied in the morning here, right after you brushed your teeth, before you left the house.
She wasn’t a hundred percent sure she wanted him to answer the door, so she knocked again. Better to barrel forward with some momentum than to wimp out without trying.
After a few more seconds she really was ready to give up and maybe try again later when the door swung inward, sending a full-body gust of air-conditioned cool right onto her. Inadvertently, Billie gasped and grinned. She hadn’t realized how hot the morning had become until just that moment.
Noughton stood there, big as life. He hadn’t changed much since that first encounter behind the Beverage Shed. Still tall, barrel-chested, and hairy like a walrus. But bald now. Shiny on top. His head looked like a concrete block with a face. She wondered what he would look like with a monocle and a curly moustache.
“Well, lookie here!” he bellowed, but his voice was genuinely friendly. “You still owe me $20, missie. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I never forget.” He winked and stood aside the door, gesturing inside.
“Hello, Noughton,” she muttered politely and stepped through the doorway. It felt strange to not call her potential boss Mister-Something, but she didn’t know his last name. She didn’t really know if he had a last name.
The walls of the tiny office were panelled in dark, fake wood. There were a few pictures here and there, and a cheap bookshelf with paperbacks and manilla file folders heaped on it in disarray. It was completely ordinary and looked like the temporary office of a construction foreman or something.
Noughton made the room appear even smaller by being so large. He squeezed himself behind the desk that took up nearly the width of the far end, temporarily blocking the light from the small window behind his head. There was a corporate-looking poster of a breaching whale on the wall.
He sat with a sigh, leaning his head back into the path of the cold air being thrown out by the AC unit mounted into the wall. “Sit, sit,” he beckoned and gestured at the pair of chairs in front of his sloppy desk.
Billie lowered herself into one of the vinyl and chrome chairs. They looked like they’d been liberated from the waiting room of a tire repair place and smelled strongly of diesel.
Noughton sighed dramatically and grinned. He folded his hands across his chest. They said nothing. Billie smiled politely, looking around at the poster, the plaques from local clubs declaring gratitude for various generosities, the AC, the coat rack.
The threadbare carpet, the ceiling tiles.
The horse shoe paperweight, the anniversary clock.
The clipboards of curled paper, the standing ashtray.
“Well?” he said finally. “Are you ready to be my psychic?”
Billie shook her head emphatically. She had already thought out what she wanted to say and had it all planned out. “No. I can do a lot of other things, though. I can work any of the concessions. I can walk around, sell tickets, operate a ride… Er… Well I guess I could do just about anything.”
“OK!” he laughed. “Barefist fighting it is! It’s been maybe 20 years since we had a woman in the ring. People will go wild. I’ll rent a billboard on the interstate.”
Billie sighed through her nose. She hated being mocked. The tiny room and his enormous size already made the power difference cartoonishly apparent. Why did he have to be so condescending? She swallowed her sarcasm and plastered a smile on her face, determined not to let him think he was getting the better of her.
“I think a certain sort of person would really enjoy that, actually,” she said thoughtfully. “Should I go home and change?”
He regarded her with a friendly twinkle in his eye. His hands hovered in the air, palm up, as though weighing invisible choices. Then he let them fall back into his sizable lap and resumed waiting.
Billie stared at him. She knew better than to try to outwit him, but he had already dismantled the offer she had so carefully planned out. She had the distinct feeling there wasn't really a choice on the table. He had waited five years for this, and apparently thought it was a done deal. How long should she try to deny the inevitable?
“My grandmother will kill me.”
“Your grandmother will understand. She misses Lu Blue too. We all miss her.” He sighed. “She was a great woman.” Billie felt a twinge in her chest. When Lu Blue was gone it was…. It was horrible. Mame wouldn’t speak for days, just slamming cupboards and raging through her silence. Billie had gone and stayed at Madear’s house until the worst of it had passed. When she returned, she found Mame suspiciously upbeat, but then another topic of conversation had gone onto the list of things Mame would never speak of.
“I am no Lu Blue.”
He nodded gravely. “No, you’re not.”
“I don’t even… I don’t even know the smallest thing about this, Noughton. And combined with the wrath of Mame, it just seems very weird to me that you’re even still considering it.”
“I told you. I never forget. You still owe me and now you’re able to pay up,” he said simply.
“Even if that’s true,” she said, trying to stifle her frustration, “I don’t know how to do it.”
“You will know. I bet you’re a natural.”
“I’m not a natural anything,” she muttered, mostly to herself, thinking through a mental montage of failures and false starts. Dancing lessons, musical instruments, archery, gardening… everything seemed to come to her only with difficulty. She had always had to work twice as hard as everyone else to do even simple things.
“You never know until you try.”
“My grandmother will kill me,” she said again.
“Your grandmother will understand,” he replied, exactly the same.
“No, Mame is not going to understand. To tell you the truth, I don’t understand. Why would you even want me there? I’m going to be terrible at it. What about… What about customer service and things like that?”
Noughton waved a giant paw in the air dismissively. He seemed pleased, as though everything was now settled. Time to move onto planning. “I’ll put you right by potions. Everyone you see will be willing and thrilled and ready to believe.”
Billie got instantly irritable. She could imagine it, and it was just too much to stomach. “So I’ll be selling bullshit to a bunch of drunk people? Mame is going to kill me, seriously. And then possibly you. How about something different? Karaoke was big at school. Or coffee - I could make great coffee.”
He sighed. “You’re a doll. I have always said that. When you were little, I used to tell your mother, ‘One day, this one… She’s going to be something else.’”
Billie looked away. He continued. “Oh you remember. Sure you do.”
She shook her head. “No,” she muttered.
“Remember when you had the little dogs? The little trained dogs? She made them outfits. Hats. Something like that.”
Wait… She did sort of remember that. Now that he brought it up, she did have a dim recollection like some old-time film reel. The film was scratchy and gapped but there were small dogs balancing on their hind legs. It didn’t feel like this happened here though - had she ever been anywhere else? There was a poodle with a silver cape. Maybe a tricycle? On a ramp? Festooned platforms. Wait, a kitten!
Billie hadn’t remembered
a lot, for a long time. Mame’s command to never speak of Mavis had been so compelling it washed away memories like a tide going after sandcastles. Things just crumbled. Then they became some other shape, then no shape. Then, finally, it was like they’d never been there at all.
“We don’t really talk about her.”
“Oh,” he said knowingly. “Mame’s orders, I suppose. Well, you have to do what she says, I guess. But only that. Not this - here you have a job. That’s what you wanted, right?” She nodded reluctantly. “Good. Then here, you have to do what I say. I am your boss. And I say, you’re my new psychic.” He smiled broadly and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Billie the Kid? Madame Wilhemina?”
She was shocked. “Oh god no! I have to have a name?”
“Of course you have to have a name! Daughter of Egypt? Donna of the Mysteries?”
A thousand thoughts came at her all at once, and they all spelled trouble. Mame would take about three days to hear of this, and when she did, it was not going to be good. There was no way to keep a secret around Burntown. The way information travelled here, you’d think everyone was genuinely psychically connected. So what did they need a fake one for? She was never going to be able to get away with this.
SPREADING THE WORD
Riddick knew the ladies at the copy shop didn’t mind if he came in shirtless, so he didn’t bother taking the t-shirt out of his back pocket. He leaned nonchalantly on the counter, closing his eyes in the breeze from the oscillating fan.
When he heard footsteps approaching, he didn’t open his eyes right away. Yeah, that was sort of arrogant, to just pose like that and assume she wanted to see him. Maybe it was manipulative, as Madear had once pointed out. But that was his job. Riddick considered himself a performer and right now, he had to promote his show.
