by Diane Kelly
At the end of the line, the announcer raised a gun. “On your mark!” he called.
We competitors leaned forward, anxious and ready to go.
“Get set!”
A boy down the row leaned in a little too far and fell forward, one arm wind-milling as he went down.
The announcer pulled the trigger. Bang! “Go!”
Jason took off and in an instant was ten feet ahead of me. I took three jumps in my sack before losing my balance and falling flat on my face on the dry grass. I might not be much of an athlete, but I was nonetheless a good sport. I struggled to my feet and took off again, making it five jumps this time before getting tripped up and falling to my knees.
Up ahead, the long-jump girl led the pack by four yards or so, her spiky blond nemesis doing his best to catch up. The other teens and competitors spanned the field. Some had a good rhythm going and were making impressive progress, while others who were less agile, like me, couldn’t seem to stay on their feet.
Jason was halfway across the field when he looked back and spotted me all twisted up in my bag. Hooking a U-turn, he hopped back in my direction. “Don’t worry, Ally!” he called. “I’ll save you!”
My hero.
Unfortunately, a small child fell unexpectedly sideways into Jason’s path and, when he diverted course, he got tripped up himself. He sprawled on the ground just as I got myself untangled and hopped up to him.
“Clown down!” he cried, rolling around in his sack. “Clown down!”
Laughing, I reached a hand down to help him up. Instead, he pulled me down with him.
“Hey!”
Chuckling, he began to roll in his sack toward the finish line. I followed suit, rolling over and over and over, feeling momentarily carefree, until I made it to the end. By the time Guff and I were both standing again, the race was over, the long-jumper had been declared the winner, and the group of girls was doing a celebratory dance and shouting “in yo’ face!” to the boys.
“Wow,” said Jason as he turned his sack in. “We stink at this.”
“Maybe we’ll do better at the three-legged race.”
We didn’t.
While we didn’t come in dead last, we beat only one other team, disadvantaged by the fact that Jason was tall with very long legs and I was petite with short ones. The disparity made for difficult maneuvering, though it did give our thighs the opportunity to rub against each other and become intimately acquainted.
“Gotta say,” Jason said as he untied the swath of orange ribbon holding our legs together, “that was not entirely unpleasant.” He leaned in to whisper, “Was it good for you, too?”
I whispered back. “Let’s just say it was the most fun I’ve ever had being tied up.”
“Oh, baby,” he moaned. “Don’t get me started.”
The rest of the day was just as much fun. We carved pumpkins, shared cotton candy and funnel cake, and, when it grew dark, found a nice spot near a copse of trees from which to enjoy the fireworks.
Buh-bang! A firework exploded, creating an echo and a fiery red trail in the air. “Oooh,” Jason said.
“Aah,” I replied.
“Careful.” He nudged me with his elbow. “You’re turning me on.” He pointed to his enormous shoes. “You know what they say about guys with big feet. Things could get dangerous.”
Damn if he didn’t have me laughing again.
When the fireworks were over, we loaded onto the trailer to enjoy the hay ride. By that time, most of the families with young children had gone home, leaving only the diehards, teenagers, and me and Jason behind. We found a spot near the rear of the trailer and leaned back against the hay bale. The truck took off with a jolt.
“Whoa!” I grabbed Jason’s arm to keep from falling off the back. Once I’d stabilized myself, I released him.
“No need to let go.” He immediately grabbed my hand and encircled my arm with his. “There. That’s better.”
It was better. His arm in mine felt warm and safe and surprisingly comfortable given that we’d known each other only since the morning. I’d never clicked with a man so quickly and completely. My heart felt as if it were levitating on its own without the use of magnets or hidden strings or some other type of trickery.
Careful, Ally. The day had been an absolute blast, but it would be naïve to think one great day meant Guff—I mean Jason—and I were meant for each other. I should just enjoy the evening for what it was. One special night when the stars had apparently aligned and fate decided to cut me some slack for a change. Think too much about it and poof! It just might disappear.
Jason looked up at the sky, where a full moon shined brightly, illuminating the crisp, autumn night. “It’s getting cool.”
“Sure is.” The falling temperature provided the perfect excuse for me to snuggle up next to him.
Around us, several of the teenagers who’d paired off took advantage of the relative dark to begin sucking face, including the dark-haired long jumper and the spiky-haired blond boy who’d been goading each other earlier at the sack race.
Jason cast a glance their way and looked back at me, his blue eyes shiny in the moonlight. “We can’t let these young punks show us up, can we?”
My heart spun in my chest like the cotton candy machine. “Heck, no.”
Chapter Six
A Magical Kiss
Jason closed his eyes and leaned in. I closed my eyes, too, trying my best not to burst into confetti when his warm lips met mine. The kiss was soft and sweet, one a girl would want many more of and could lose herself in.
“Ew!” called one of the boys from his perch atop a hay bale. “It’s clown porn!”
Jason and I separated, bursting into laughter. I supposed we did present quite a spectacle. It wasn’t every day you saw a clown and a wart-nosed witch sharing a kiss.
The hay ride bumped over the uneven ground at the edge of the property, jostling those of us in the trailer, hitting a large rut and sending us airborne. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the driver was doing his best to make the ride a wild adventure for us.
When the ride was over, Jason hopped out of the trailer first and extended his hand up to help me. Taking his hand, I used my other to lift my cape and stepped down off the trailer.
The announcer’s voice came over the loudspeakers once again. “It’s closing time, folks. We hope you had a wonderful time at this year’s Fall Festival. See you next year!”
I sighed inwardly. They wouldn’t be seeing me next year. By the time Halloween rolled around again I’d be engrossed in my restaurant management studies at the junior college.
Jason and I began to make our way to the parking lot.
“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.
There was still the chance that Jason was an axe murderer disguised as a clown, but for another kiss like the one he’d just given me I was willing to risk it. Besides, I could use the help getting both myself and my props back to my apartment. “That would be great. Thanks.”
We gathered up my props from the stage area and carried them out to his car. He bleeped the locks and opened the passenger door for me, holding out a hand to help me in. For a guy who squirted unsuspecting people with a plastic flower, he had remarkably good manners.
He put the top down, situated my props in the back seat, and climbed in beside me. Settling in the driver’s seat, he started the engine and drove to the exit. “Right or left?”
I pointed left. “My apartment’s that way.” Such as it was. Three-hundred square feet filled with rickety garage sale furniture. Not exactly impressive.
He turned left. As we drove, we noted smashed pumpkins in the street and toilet paper streaming from trees, evidence of Halloween tricks. Jack-o-lanterns eyed us from their spots on porches and in windows, their smiles seeming more like sneers to me. I could almost hear their toothy mouths taunting me. There’s no such thing as magic.
Looked like they were right.
The Grinch’s heart might have gr
own three sizes on Christmas morning, but tonight, on Halloween, my heart contracted four sizes or more, imploding with disappointment. As we made our way to my place, I tried to convince myself that giving up on my magic wasn’t the end of the world. It wouldn’t be so bad, right? I mean, other people worked regular jobs every day, managed businesses, punched a clock. And they were perfectly happy doing it.
Oh, who was I fooling? Again, not myself. I’d be miserable working at the sports bar and I knew it. But at least I wouldn’t be broke.
When we reached my apartment, Jason helped me bring my props inside. He took a quick glance around. Given that my place comprised only a single rectangular room, a quick glance was all that was needed to take the entire place in.
“Nice place,” he said.
“Liar.” The retort came out sharper than I’d intended, but my emotions were beginning to get the best of me. I held up a hand. “Sorry. It’s just that I know this place is a dump. There’s no need to pretend otherwise.”
His expression became wary. “Where do you want these?” he asked, holding up my chairs.
Normally, I stored everything in my van. There wasn’t enough room to keep my props in my apartment. But with my van on the fritz across town I’d have to find space tonight, somehow.
“The kitchen is fine for now,” I said. The sawing apparatus would block the refrigerator, but It’s not like there was any food in the fridge anyway.
Jason eyed me when he’d finished with my equipment. “What are you going to do about your tire?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Guess I’ll buy a new one.” Of course that meant I’d be eating peanut butter sandwiches for the next month, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
“You’ll have to get at least two so they’ll match,” he said. “And I noticed all of your tires looked a little bald. It would be better to get four.”
I didn’t want to admit to him that I couldn’t afford new tires. The fact that I was living in this pathetic little apartment was embarrassing enough. “Sure,” I replied. “I’ll do that.” Just as soon as I win the lottery.
His eyes narrowed and his face grew serious. Well, as serious as a face with a painted-on smile can get. “Are you okay, Ally?”
I felt my eyes tear up again. Damn! Well, it was too late now. Might as well tell him the truth. “Today was my last show.” I blinked in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. “I’m giving up magic.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
I gestured around me. “This is why. This crappy apartment is why. Four new tires I can’t afford is why. I’m sick of being broke. The starving artist thing sucks. I’ve been trying to make a go at magic for five years and I have nothing to show for it. It’s time to face reality and move on.”
He was quiet for a moment, his face pensive and thoughtful. Finally, he said simply, “You might not have much, Ally. But your dream is worth more than anything else.”
“Easy for you to say,” I said softly. “You’ve got a new VW with four good tires and a fancy gym membership.” I’d spotted his fitness center card in his car, as well as a garage door opener, which meant he lived somewhere with protected parking. My van had been parked in the open for years, subjecting it to the hot sun and seemingly gallons of bird poop.
I looked down, unable to meet Jason’s gaze, afraid I’d see pity there. I wasn’t sure I could take it. I walked the two steps it took to reach the door and opened it, giving him the cue to go. Better to end this night before it devolved any further. “Thanks for everything today, Jason. I appreciate it.”
He put a finger under my chin and lifted my face, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t give up on magic, Ally. Don’t give up on yourself.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Chapter Seven
There’s No Business Like Show Business
I slept fitfully and didn’t get out of bed until late the next morning. There was no reason to get up early. The sports bar didn’t open until noon on Sundays. And I certainly didn’t want to go for my usual walk. My dreams had been smashed, just like those pumpkins we’d seen in the streets last night. A crappy metaphor, I know, but still.
Tommy was purring on my lap—the darn cat was immune to my agony—and I was gnawing my way through the rock-hard bagel when my cell phone rang. Checking the readout, I didn’t recognize the number. I was tempted to ignore it. After all, it was probably a solicitor, maybe even Jason’s brother calling to sell me aluminum siding. But something told me to take the call.
I jabbed the button to accept. “Hello?”
A woman’s voice came over the line. “Hi. Are you Ally Kazam?”
“Yes,” I said hesitantly. “I am.” Or I had been, anyway.
“I was wondering if you might be free on November 14th for my daughter’s birthday party,” the woman said. “I saw the video clip on your website and I bet she and her friends would love your act.”
What? She saw a video clip on my website?
What video clip?
What website?
Though I’d vowed to give up magic and had been trying my damndest to come to terms with the decision, something told me to tell this woman yes. “Sure,” I replied. “I’d love to perform at your daughter’s party.”
The woman gave me the time and address, and I jotted them down. “See you then!”
As soon as I ended the call, I logged onto my laptop, pulled up my search engine, and typed in “Ally Kazam.”
Up popped a colorful professional website complete with an image of me in cartoon form wearing my genie outfit. Stardust twinkled along the edges of the page, creating a magical effect. There was also a link to a short performance clip an audience member had posted on YouTube last year, and a smiling photo of me from yesterday’s performance followed by a caption noting that my costume and act could be modified to accommodate any occasion. My phone number was listed, along with a box in which visitors to the site could type in their e-mail address to be notified of my upcoming performances.
What the heck?
At the very bottom of the screen, my eyes noted a line that read: THIS SITE DESIGNED BY GUFF PUBLIC RELATIONS, INC.
Jason. Jason, who had totally crossed a line here.
He’d appropriated my likeness without permission.
He’d put my phone number on the internet for all the world to see.
He’d forced me back into the game when I’d decided to put my magic career behind me.
And I adored him for it.
Happy tears brimming in my eyes, I pulled up a new screen and typed in “Guff Public Relations.” Clickety-click-click. The search led me to a website for Jason’s firm. When I clicked on the link, a screen popped up with a photograph of the converted bungalow from which Jason ran his PR business. Per the information contained therein, the firm specialized in media relations and online promotions. While the About the Firm page listed Jason’s impressive credentials—university marketing degree, three year’s experience at a major PR firm in Chicago, two years running his own company—the bio contained no photograph.
My heartbeat pounding in my ears, I dialed the phone number listed.
After three rings, a male voice answered. “Good morning. This is Jason Guff.”
“Guff, it’s Ally. I saw the website.”
He was silent a moment. “Look,” he said finally. “I probably shouldn’t have done it. But All you needed was a little push, some marketing. None of my clients would have ever gotten their small businesses off the ground on their own. They know their crafts, but they don’t know PR and marketing. I do. And I wanted to help you.” He paused another moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I couldn’t stand to see you give up on your dream.”
