CHAPTER 5
I washed a pill down with enough water to make my gut swell and rested a little more. By midday the elephant stood and trudged off to find some other drunk head to sit on. I squinted out the window. Sun, on Main Street... Maybe I died, falling down that hill with Joq.
Joq stirred, wiped the crust from his eyes and sat up yawning. When he saw the grinning rays, he did a dramatic double take and looked at me and pointed out the window.
“Fortune’s smiling on us Nipple!”
I shook my head. “You won’t be saying that when… Anyway, shouldn’t we head up to La Rouge?
Joq pointed at the sun. “We ‘ave at least ‘til sundown before the show! It starts at…” he flipped over the flyer, read the front again and flipped it over. He glanced at me. When I blinked at the flyer, the likes of which had no show time on it, Joq begun to rummage in his empty pockets. He pulled out a clenched fist and ducked under the table murmuring, “Ah, yes, ‘ere it is! Wrote down everyfing on this scrap. You didn’t think Joq would forget the most important fing, did ya? No ser, not me. ‘Thoughtful Joq’ is what they call me! So, er, this piece o’ paper… in me ‘and reads like this… as follows…. It reads the time, which is written on this piece o’ paper in me ‘and…”
He glanced up to check if I was buying his bullshit. I guess the look on my face spoke volumes. Joq frowned, hung his head and pulled his hand out of the cookie jar.
I frowned. “You don’t know when it starts? You mugged two kids and stole a car but you didn’t find out the time? The show could be going on right now.”
“Well… I mean! ‘int no show’s goin’ on at midday, Nipple! We just ‘ave to wait a li’l!”
“We’re going now.”
“We’ll be seen in daylight! An’ we’ll ‘ave to wait in the cold, in that morbid gutter o’ yours! Not that it ‘int the most won’erfullest, magicalest gutter o’ all!” He added.
“We go now.”
“Ni-pple!”
I sighed. “It happens that I know the magic show is going to take place at night.”
Joq’s ears pricked up.
“But, we’ll go early to scope things out. And we won’t have to ‘hide in the gutter’. We don’t look much like beggar kids now.”
“But the cold!” Joq stuck out his lip and sniffed.
I raised my eyebrows, nodded at the key, the flyer, the door.
“Fine then! Nipple makes the rules! Joq never gets to make the rules, yeah? Because Joq’s just an ‘ickle baby!” He stomped over to the bar and filled up a flask before heading to the door and gesturing me to follow with his middle finger.
We stepped into the square and Joq shut the door tight and shivered. A tear shimmered down his jaw.
The burnt out shops loomed around us, but they didn’t seem intimidating. It was like they were watching over us (the bar heat and booze had gotten my head).
Far off, up the side street, past that barrier between the buildings that kept the Wealthy Devils out, Fly Me to the Moon was scratched on a far reaching gramophone.
We started up the street to where Joq had joqed himself off at the couple that had been going to the wing place. The side street was hard to climb and we took our time so we wouldn’t fall, which gave Joq a window to rattle off pointless shit about himself.
“—me father bought ‘em for me. Volumes of ‘em British movies, yeah? Used to watch ‘em all the time at me ‘ouse in the ‘ills! Big ‘ouse, it was! Full of pretty maids what gave me a good suckling even up ‘til me tenth birthday!”
I stopped at the top of the hill and waited for Joq to catch up so he could lead the way to La Rouge. Across the street, Love Bird’s Wings and Fries was empty. A few cars drove past, but this side of Main Street was otherwise vacant.
Joq led the way, talking. I followed, ridged, shrinking back whenever we passed a group. But none of them bothered us—not even the Wealthy Devils. They just passed us and kept pointing at the flyer-strewn street and murmuring excitedly about an impending snow storm, and how they were going to be late for the show, which bothered me more; the magic show in my dream happened at night.
“Calm before the storm, you know. Worst Main Street’s had, though you wouldn’t guess it by the look of the sky.”
“Walk faster, or we’ll miss Julia! You know how desperately I want to see her!”
“Damn you Marissa. I’ll never bring you back to Main Street if you don’t shut up, you hear? Then you’ll have nothing to contribute to your ‘gossip girl’ group!”
Grey clouds billowed overhead and blocked out the sun, throwing Main Street back into shadows of neo-noir gloom. They kept piling on heavy so that by the time we saw the gold obelisk of Big Win Casino, streetlights tinked on.
At the intersection near my gutter there was gridlock and a swamp of escorts and Wealthy Devils and families, pushing their way into La Rouge, slipping around its marble columns and clapping up its granite steps in their stilettos and black shoes.
A man with a handlebar mustache was standing on the island-roundabout, shouting into a bullhorn. “THIS WAY, IF YOU PLEASE! ALL CARS TO VALLET! JULIA TO OPEN IN AN HOUR, ON THE HOUR! EASY DOES IT! NO PUSHING IF YOU PLEASE!”
We joined the crowd and made our way across the street and, after practically walking in place behind a particularly large group of Wealthy Devils, walked up the stairs and past the bellman. In a blur I was standing in the lobby of La Rouge.
It was vast and airy and everything was marble—the floor, the walls, everything. And there were crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a low pressure wine fountain near the center. Across the room was a sizable restaurant. Tendrils of grilled steak and fried fish scents whispered across the room and slithered up my nose.
The ‘no smoking sign’ was eclipsed by cigar smoke. Usually people left smoking for casinos, but I guess this magic show was big news and everyone wanted to show off their hundred-dollar-bill-wrapped, gold-tipped Cubans.
Cool sweat beaded my brow. There were so many adults in one place. Wealthy Devils in suits, lounged on white sofas with their escorts’ fingers tracing their zippers and the insides of their thighs. Model families sat on long, white ottomans. Fathers wore wire-rim glasses with clear, circle lenses. Mothers wore just enough makeup and had dresses that matched their husbands’ ties. The children were nearly always brother and sister and wore festive colors and khakis and dresses with little waist belts.
Clinking wine glasses. Plumes of cigarette smoke. I shut my eyes.
“Wasn’t such a bad fing we didn’t know the time!” Squeaked Joq. “Everyfin’ worked out! I’m lucky with these fings, Nipple! You’re lucky you ‘ave me!”
I massaged my eyes with my knuckles, fighting the impulse to hit him. “Yeah. Okay, we’re in. Let’s get the food and get out.”
“Sh!”
“What?”
“Shhh!” Joq pressed a finger to his lips and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
There was a group of six Wealthy Devils behind us. They were talking loud so I could make out what they were saying. My stomach knotted.
“—just stolen, yes. Would buy another, but you know the kind of flashy, touristy clunkers the Main Street dealers sell. I’ll have my chauffer take me to my personal dealer in the Hills after Julia’s show. He’s the one who makes the cars with the ridges that snake elegantly up the hood—his signature, you know. His work is immaculate—sartorial, in a mechanical sort of way.”
The man from two days ago—the man whose crew had kicked Joq’s ass. Cranston. I remembered his name, his handsome face, his slicked back brown hair.
“Did-did you know?” I asked through my teeth. Joq shook his head. He was breathing heavy.
Cranston’s lackey, the man he’d called Spot, was shaking his head, sniffing, murmuring his condolences and wiping his nose. He hadn’t taken off his bulky ca
mel hair cloak.
“Truly terrible, Cranston.” His voice made me cringe. It was choked up and whiny, and I imagined his throat was full of mucous. “If we ever get our hands on the pissant Cochon who did this, I’ll—I’ll—” his face went red all of a sudden and he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes tight, balled up his fists and throttled the air.
The Wealthy Devils looked away, and a man with greying sideburns glared at Cranston, tilted his head sharply toward Spot and looked around, as some people had noticed Spot jerking around, and were pointing with smiles frozen on their faces.
Cranston’s face chameleoned with his wine glass.
“Remy.” He hissed. “Remy!” Spot froze, looked up slowly and turned to his friends and looked over his shoulder. Then he gazed at Cranston with puppy dog eyes and sniffed.
Cranston loosened his tie with a hand and gritted his teeth. A vein throbbed on his temple. He glared away from Spot, and his eyes seemed to flick over me and Joq. I snapped my head away instantly. He saw me! He saw us! Shit! But a moment later I heard him whisper, “Stop that this instant, Spot. You look… epileptic.”
I let out a ragged breath and looked back over Joq’s trembling shoulder. The Wealthy Devils were looking around uncomfortably, clearing their throats and draining their wine.
“Aw Cranston! Don’t go back to calling me that. Please? It makes me sound like… When you call me that, it’s like you’re telling a dog to—”
“Anyway,” cut in the man with the sideburns, “how is my prodigy doing?” He leaned over to talk to someone I hadn’t seen before, standing next to Cranston. I pushed Joq over and squinted. When one of the men with his back turned to me shifted, I saw that the Wealthy Devil group was accompanied by a pretty girl who looked a couple years older than me. “Been practicing, darling?” He chuckled and cupped her chin and pinched her cheek. “Hm? Not that you need practice.”
That’s what a real British accent sounds like, Joq. I thought. But I kept my mouth shut; I was captivated by the girl.
Like I said, she was pretty, but it looked like she had a little too much makeup on—especially under her eyes. She wore black lipstick which suited her pale skin and blonde hair and black earrings but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all meant to cover something up. Few girls could pull off the look, and have every Wealthy Devil and devout father in the room sneaking glances. She had brown eyes and brown eyebrows. Her dress was elegant and—
“They don’t notice us… We’re clear, yeah?”
I blinked. Joq was plucking my vest. I grunted. “Yeah. Um, yeah but hold on…”
But Joq was practically bouncing. He kept swaying from side to side like a cobra. “Come on, Nipple! We got the keys an’ the car. We need to place the order, Nipple!”
“Yeah… hold on a sec.”
The man with the sideburns was saying something to the girl. He handed his glass to Remy, rounded his arms, put his fingertips together, so they almost touched, and put his hands out in front of his hips. Bras bas something…First position…It was hard to focus on the man’s voice with Joq bouncing around.
“You listenin’, Nipple? We got to go to that restaurant an’ order all the food for our ‘wealthy patron’ and ‘ave ‘is car—”
“Yeah, load the food in the car. Got it. How about you place the order. I’ll keep watch, right here.”
Joq looked like he’d been reeled up from a deep lake. “You—I—we.” He stammered. “This is a joint venture, yeah?”
“Right. You order the food. I keep watch. I’m practically risking my neck a second time for you, Joq! Go on, move it. The sooner we place the order, the better.”
Joq grunted and looked at the restaurant and the bartender, taking orders, and the line of people. I raised my brows. After a moment of silent fuming, he stormed across the lobby. When he had gone, I positioned myself next to a group of top-hatted men and went back to eavesdropping.
The sideburns man was still fiddling with his hands and, occasionally, he’d touch the girl’s hands and press her fingers together and stroked the back of her arm—a little more than friendly, I thought. The girl looked uncomfortable; it looked like she was just going along with it to be polite. But Cranston looked a little piqued; his jaw was taut, like he was hiding a grimace. When the sideburns guy wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist, ‘guiding her hips to Frank Sinatra’, Cranston gripped his shoulder.
“Ballet can wait ‘til after the show. The designated lessons are more than sufficient.”
It was as though the man with the sideburns was in a fevered trance. He was breathing heavy and spittle was seeping from a corner of his lip. His pupils were black quarters. He barely glanced up when Cranston grabbed him.
“Wha—um? Well, this particular… Why, I say, Sky’s physique is superb…I—she…”
Cranston knuckles went white. Veins writhed like maggots on the back of his fist. His grimace twitched to a smile. “You’re red as a beet, James. Really, that’s enough. Julia’s act is stunning—I’ve seen it a hundred times. You won’t want to be exhausted.”
James’s pupils shrunk and he straightened up and looked around at his Wealthy Devil comrades—all of whom were whistling off tune and admiring the lobby. He shook his head and yipped and nervous laughed. “Ah—ha—yes, well um.” His voice cracked. “What was I thinking? Certainly the foyer of La Rouge is an inappropriate place to—er—practice ballet. The floor is marble! For God’s sake, what was I thinking? Ha! Er, anyway, Cranston, tell us about your Julia!” James glanced at Sky. She was staring at her feet. “Being that she’s your friend and all! I just… Er…”
Instantly the crew’s attention was on Cranston. They all looked at him like he was some sort of war hero.
Cranston looked down at Sky. “You don’t have to worry about this one.” He scoffed. “She knows to keep her mouth shut about my little fling. We’ve come to an understanding. Isn’t that right, Sky? Hm?” He gave her a soft rap on the head and laughed. Her forehead creased but she didn’t respond.
“How do you do it, Cranston? How do you hide a woman like Julia from Maria?” asked a portly Devil.
“My wife would castrate me if she knew I was on Main Street!” added one with a top hat.
“Tell us Cranston!” blurted Remy.
“For the most part I take ‘business trips’ for extended periods.” Cranston smiled and draped an arm over Sky’s shoulders. “But this time I have a most trustworthy alibi: my dear daughter.”
The Devils looked ready to take notes.
“Maria kept nagging me to take Sky on holiday—thought that a break from those caustic trust fund brats in the Hills would air Sky’s brain out. Julia calls, around the same time, to let me know she’d be performing at La Rouge. I decided there was a ‘mandatory executives meeting’ that week, outside of Easter City. Of course at that point the wife welds herself to my rear and trails me around the manor, like a gnat. She kept whining for me to ‘put family before work’ and take Sky on a retreat.” He laughed. “I badly wanted to swat her. I almost escaped my family obligations but this one” he ruffled Sky’s hair. “couldn’t keep her pretty nostrils clean. The night before the trip Karen found blow all over Sky’s dresser, snorted it, and screamed me into taking her on a ‘retreat’. I looked up a spa package at the place housewives go East of the Hills and Maria approved. Me and Sky had a discussion about where I was really going and who I was going to see, and I let my fist relate the importance of sealed lips, so Sky would understand that gabbing about private matters has consequences. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Who am I to disagree with Solomon?”
For some reason my heart did this shallow stuttering thing whenever I looked at Sky and I felt oddly protective of her. She wasn’t crying but it pissed me off that her own father and his friends were bullying her.
“You’re lucky Cranston.” Said James, chuckling and wiping his
eyes. “Marissa wouldn’t shut up about this show and she’s less than—shall I say— fastidious in the satin.”
This sent Cranston and the others into another sniggering fit.
“I have a grounding in women that you gents lack.” explained Cranston. “The key to a proper mistress is that she know her trade. Julia is an ace. She’s a renowned sword swallower. Not to take any credit for her talent, as I’m sure much of it comes natural, but I played a role in her honing.” The Wealthy Devils laughed harder. Sky stared at the ground.
“I put Julia through rigorous paces when we get together—when her pig brother isn’t jumping down her throat about staying away from me. Our regiment is pertinent to her success.” Cranston patted the portly man on the belly. “You should put us in the pictures, Cal. A documentary of the rise and rituals of the Mystical Julia, and her muse. Call it: The Tumescent Acclimation. Eh? The Art of Polishing and Swallowing Swords. Hm? Or—”
“What is it they say about boastful men? Remind me, Mr. Borden.” Another man had joined Cranston’s crew, only I hadn’t seen him because the elephantine man—the one they called Cal—was blocking my view. I shifted over.
When I got a proper look at him my throat constricted and I teared up. My heart stuttered in a different way.
The blonde man with the cane clacked to Cranston’s side. The Wealthy Devils were intimidated—it was all over their faces. They stopped laughing when they saw him, and started squawking.
“Mr. Denmark!”
“How do you do, this night, sir?”
Sky beamed at the man, which was enough to send me tilting over, clutching my chest. Cranston on the other hand, didn’t bother turning around. “Danny boy” he said, “you loath Main Street. It reminds you of unfaithfulness and promiscuity, no?”
Mr. Denmark chuckled, shoved between Cranston and Sky and placed a hand on Sky’s head. “Stunning as always darling.” he smiled. Then he looked at Cranston. “Main Street reminds me that money can rot a man’s heart quicker than any degenerative illness, and that devils live in people’s hearts and are birthed in Easter City.”
Cranston crowed, “I mistook you for an English professor just then, I must say, Danny boy! I was under the impression that I’d have to set you up to one of those Hawking machines before I got the gist of your prattle!”
The Wealthy Devils were watching intently. Remy, foremost of them all, was bug-eyed and snot-nosed. He was glancing excitedly between Cranston and Mr. Denmark.
Mr. Denmark smiled and scratched his stubble. “I’m looking for someone in this cesspool…”
Cranston looked at his crew, derision all over his face. “Looking for someone, he says! What does a man such as yourself expect to find in Main Street? Your manhood? Eh?” He guffawed. “Certainly, you’re not looking for that whore you called a—”
“I” boomed Mr. Denmark, “am certainly not looking for my wife. You, on the other hand should take care to look after yourself. Maria wouldn’t appreciate your—how did you put it—‘sword swallowing lessons’ with Julia. Walls have eyes as well as ears Mr. Borden.”
At this, Cranston shot Julia a look that made her go back to staring at her feet. Mr. Denmark squeezed the cane handle, rubbed Sky’s shoulder and glared at Cranston. “A man doesn’t get any much stronger by boxing a feather pillow.” Sparks jumped between their eyes. “Challenge yourself.”
Cranston barked a laugh. “Pick on someone my own size, eh? A washed up gimp professor is a challenge, then?” He swigged his glass dry.
It looked like Cranston was about to say something else but at that moment another ghost from my dream materialized at Mr. Denmark’s side. The Devil kid. He looked like a clean cut, handsome, older version of Joq. His hair was gelled back and he had on a black bow tie and black suspenders. His jaw was strong, his frame slender.
The kid stood there for a moment with the sly grin on his face and said, “Am I interrupting? “Sincere apologies.” His voice was raspy and deep. He gave a slight bow that looked mocking.
“Skylar.” He kissed her hand. She didn’t blush or anything but she was grinning and there was light in her eyes. The Wealthy Devils—ballet teacher in particular—were glaring so hard at him I thought their eyes would pop out. I’d have shit myself if a group of Wealthy Devils were spitting that type of venom at me from their eyes, but the kid’s chest did this twitching thing, like he was stifling laughter.
“May we, father?” the Devil kid gestured at the restaurant with Sky’s hand, and pulled her close to his chest.
Mr. Denmark, horns still locked with Cranston didn’t break his gaze. “Of course, son.” Cranston held Mr. Denmark’s gaze, his jaw rigid. “You’ll do no such thing, Skylar darling.” He said in a sweet voice. “Daddy makes the decisions, remember? Eh? Hey!” Cranston cried out in furry when he looked around to see the backs of the Devil kid and Sky. They melded with the crowd.
After that, there were more witty remarks shot back and forth, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about the Devil kid and Sky, wondering how the universe decided what life you’d be born into and how it’d all pan out. Maybe I was a bad person in my past life…
I just stood there for a while, thinking about my dream and what would happen when the show began. Then my bladder gave a squeeze.
I figured Joq would be fine having the car loaded. I need to piss and I didn’t want to be all jittery when Julia shoved her sword in my face.