Voodoo Heart Part 14

"Let me ask you one last thing, then, if you are so over it," he said. "Why haven't you gone to the fair down on Orange Blossom?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, it has to do with everything, my friend. Before the fair opened, again and again you said you wanted to take Joan there. But now the fair is about to close and you still have not gone. Why is that, Miller?"

"Maybe I don't feel like it. Maybe I've been busy here this week, with it being Dumpster Tuesday and everything."

"Maybe you haven't gone to the fair because this singer, this d.i.c.k is there, and you would not be able to control yourself when you saw him."

"I'll go this weekend. I'll take Joan on Sat.u.r.day."

"No, see. I'm saying you should not go. I'm saying you should stay away. My point is that you yourself know you are not over d.i.c.k, as you say. You should listen to yourself more, Miller. Really listen."

"Orlando, look," I said, but Orlando made a hissing sound that meant shut up because we had a customer.

"We'll talk later," he said, waving me away.

I glanced up and saw a woman standing at the front door. Orlando inspected her through the gate. She wore a tracksuit and was carrying a small plastic bag full of gold chains. As soon as he buzzed her in she hurried over to the counter.

"Look what I got," she said, laying the bag on the gla.s.s. "Score." Dark sweat circles showed beneath her arms. Her fingers all had Band-Aids around the tips.

I got out the gla.s.s cleaner and went over to the jewelry case. I already knew how this would turn out, and I wasn't in the mood to watch. She would tell Orlando what her boyfriend or husband had told her the chains were worth when he gave them to her-back before he left her, which he would have just done, left her for someone else or simply disappeared-and Orlando would get out the nitric acid and the touchstone and test the chains; and of course they'd turn out to be worth hardly anything. They'd end up being gold-plated, not gold-filled, or 10 karat, or maybe not even gold at all.

I took my time cleaning the case, careful to stay at the far end, letting my eyes drift over the jewelry-the racks of gold chains, the tie clips and money clips, the watches. I glanced at the ring I'd given Pearl; it was resting near the back of the row, on a small black prop. I leaned in closer. Every movement I made ignited a wild circuitry of light in the stone. Pearl hadn't picked it out with me. There had been no deliberation. I'd bought the ring on impulse one day while I was on my lunch hour. I just went into the store and chose it-a standard, three-stone setting, platinum band-in less than half an hour. I had just felt like it was the right time. All my friends at work were married or getting married soon.

"Hey, Miller, look at this," said Orlando, at my side now. The woman was on her way to the door. Apparently her business with us was done. Orlando laid a nameplate pendant on the counter. Angie.

"It's funny," said Orlando. "That woman, Angie. She comes in here all the time. I bought this last nameplate for five dollars more than it's worth. I feel sorry for her, you know? Always making the same mistake?"

"I'm going to the fair and I'm bringing Joan," I said.

He shook his head, then took the box containing all the nameplates from beneath the jewelry case. "Do what you want, but like I said, I would stay away if I were you."

"No. I planned on going, and I'm going to go."

"Hey, it's your life," said Orlando, tossing Angie in with all the other names.

The Kwimper County Fair was not an impressive spectacle. This was clear from the moment Joan and I walked through the fairground's turnstile. The striped booths lining the thoroughfare were old and shabby-tented roofs sagging, duct tape patching holes in the walls. The rides were all falling apart too; the Ferris wheel creaked and groaned. The maze of mirrors was so smeared and dirty that finding your way out looked easier than getting lost. The only parts of the fair that appeared even the least bit impressive were the dance floor and the stage.

The dance floor was enormous and circular, painted a deep midnight blue, with a net of lanterns strung above it. The stage was simply a rectangular area level to the ground at the far end of the dance floor, but all around it rose a high scaffolding of lights and speakers. Stacks of hay bales stood at either end of the stage, and behind it loomed a tall, red stage-prop barn with a banner over its open doors that read BARN DANCE!!! in Western lettering. No one was performing yet-technicians were still climbing the scaffolding, testing the lights, the sound system-but people had already started to gather nearby for the first act. Just staring at the spot where d.i.c.k would soon be performing, I felt a p.r.i.c.kle of agitation.

I looked away from the dance floor and out at the parking lot. Teenagers were sitting on top of their cars, drinking out of paper bags, smoking. Two were lying entwined on top of the Silver Coach. They were kissing with their mouths gaping open, like they were blowing life into each other.

I yelled at them to get down.

"Don't bother. They're just kids," said Joan. She took my hand and we meandered toward the rides. "You know, I recognized that name on the bill tonight," she said after a while. "I know that's the guy you had the whole fight with."

"I didn't fight with him. I-"

Joan squeezed my hand. "I just want you to know that you don't have to prove anything to me, that's all."

"I'm not. I'm fine," I said. We pa.s.sed a giant canister that spun so fast the people inside stuck to its walls. Screams came whirling up from the bottom.

I kissed the top of Joan's head. "Why should I not get to take my girlfriend to the fair just because d.i.c.k Doyle is playing there? He's in the past."

Joan put her head on my shoulder. "I didn't mean to suggest anything," she said. "I just got nervous when I saw his name. I don't want you to have to deal with anything that's going to make you upset."

"Well, he isn't going to make me upset," I said. "I'm not going to think about him at all."

"Promise?" she said.

"Promise," I said.

Joan and I spent the rest of the day exploring the fair together. We rode the carousel. We went on the b.u.mper cars, ramming into each other, teaming up against other drivers; the conductor rods at the back of our vehicles trailed sparks across the ceiling. For a snack we had steaming popcorn b.a.l.l.s covered in caramel. And to my surprise, as we did these things, I felt my promise to Joan becoming true: I did start to forget about d.i.c.k. I forgot about Pearl, too.

I won a stuffed dog for Orlando, for him to send to his nieces and nephews. Joan popped a balloon with a dart and won a small mirror with gold stars painted around the border. We rode the Ferris wheel as the sun was sinking; the peak afforded a view of the whole landscape, the housing developments and citrus groves, the streetlights just starting to ignite.

Joan and I had dinner in the food tent, just to the side of the dance floor, so that we could listen to the bands as we ate. The first group was a Western swing ensemble, playing two-steps and country waltzes. Couples danced around the dark blue floor, spinning and dipping, sometimes stepping along side by side with their arms locked. Most of the dancers were old, and it made me feel good to be moving with them. They were still happy and in love after all these years, and even though Joan and I were two of the few young people on the floor, there was something oddly comforting about our synchronicity. The night air was cool, but the lanterns created little islands of heat to travel between. Joan felt perfect in my arms, and each time we navigated the shining blue floor I felt more sure that things would work out, not just between us, but in general. When the dance finally ended, I dipped Joan and gave her a long kiss.

"Excuse me," said a familiar voice.

I felt my stomach drop. I looked up and there she was, right in front of me.

"I thought that was you," said Pearl. The lantern light was in her eyes, making them sparkle blue. "I wasn't sure if I should come over. But, I don't know, I just wanted to say something to you-to you both, I guess. If that's okay."

I studied her face, the face I'd woken up beside for the past three years: the curve of her mouth, the faint mole beneath her eye. She was dressed in the style of that woman who introduced d.i.c.k onstage. She wore pink cowboy boots, a denim skirt with sleigh bells hanging off the hem. Her T-shirt had a picture of d.i.c.k on it-a scanned photograph of his face, wrung up into the pained approximation of a smile. It was then that I noticed d.i.c.k himself, standing right next to her.

He was gazing past me, at nothing in particular. His suit was bright red, with sequined playing cards on the lapels. His mouth hung slightly open; I could hear him breathing.

I looked away from him, back at Pearl. I was afraid that if I stayed focused on his face, even for one more moment, I'd lose it.

I tried to smile at Pearl. "You were saying?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I...I wanted to let you know how bad I felt about the police being called on you that time you came to the house. It wasn't d.i.c.k or me who did that. We weren't even there." She glanced at Joan, then back at me. "I just wanted you to know that."

Both women waited for me to say something. I felt as though I were balancing on a high post. I needed to stay very still. A breeze rolled over us, causing the lanterns above to creak and sway.

"That's fine," I said.

Pearl waited a moment. "I guess we should be getting back," she said. "We're on in a little while."

"Good luck up there," said Joan.

"Thanks," she said, and then turned to me. "It was good to see you." She smiled, but there was something very sad tucked into the corners of her mouth.

Hold on for a few more seconds, I thought. Both of them will be gone. Just be cool.

"It was nice meeting you," Pearl finally said to Joan.

"Nice meeting you too," said Joan. "And you," she said to d.i.c.k, whose hand suddenly shot out in front of Joan. The fingers were bulky and callused, with dark hair growing around the knuckles.

d.i.c.k's hand hung there between all of us, trembling.

"He wants to shake hands with you," said Pearl. "This is wonderful. He's hardly ever this aware offstage."

"I'm flattered," said Joan. She reached for his hand.

"No, no," said Pearl. "Please. Let him come to you. It's good for him."

Joan held her hand above d.i.c.k's.

All three of us stood there watching as d.i.c.k's twitching hand slowly rose, the thick fingers straining toward Joan's open palm. The hand seemed to take forever to ascend a few inches. When the fingers finally arrived, Joan gave them a gentle shake.

"Proud of you," said Pearl, rubbing d.i.c.k's arm.

After Joan broke from him, he let his hand fall back to his side. Then he took a few angling baby steps that left him pointed in my direction. I steeled myself. Don't even think about it, I thought. Don't... But his hand was already trembling at his waist.

"Do you want to shake hands with him, too, d.i.c.k? Is that what you want to do?" said Pearl.

She turned to me, excited. "Would that be okay? This is more than I've seen him try at once in I don't even know how long."

I studied d.i.c.k's eyes, searching for any glimmer of mischief. Nothing at all. Still, I decided that if this was a joke in any way, I'd strangle d.i.c.k to death.

I put out my hand.

d.i.c.k's hand began to rise again. The fingers shook violently, like the effort to lift them was too much for him. I kept my hand where it was, waiting. My heart was thudding in my chest.

"You can do it," said Pearl. "Shake his hand!"

d.i.c.k's hand hovered just beneath mine. I could feel the warmth from his fingers radiating up into my palm. I kept my eyes fixed on his, which, as always, peered out at nothing. It would be so easy to test him, to see if he was faking. All I'd have to do was take the hand in mine and squeeze.

"Come on, d.i.c.k," said Joan.

His spastic hand floated there, suspended. Our fingers were practically touching.

"You can, you can!" said Pearl.

"Do it, d.i.c.k," I said. "Go on."

Finally, the hand fell back to d.i.c.k's side.

Pearl sighed. "Ugh. I'm sorry. He was having such a good day."

"He did great, right?" Joan said to me.

"He did just fine," I said.

"Thanks. He's trying hard. It's a long road," Pearl said, slipping her arm around d.i.c.k's waist. "Well, take care. Both of you." Then she turned him around, and the two of them walked away.

I watched her go, the bells on her skirt faintly jangling.

"That was a nice surprise," said Joan.

I was suddenly aware of being alone on the dance floor with her. The stagehands were already setting up for the next band. I looked around to see if anyone was watching us.

"Hey, buster," Joan said. "I'm proud of you. You handled that very well. I thought we were going to have a problem, but you acted like a true gentleman."

I was still breathing hard. "I told you I'd be okay."

"Let's go home, Mr. Miller," said Joan, leading me off the dance floor.

"We can stay," I said, suddenly quite proud of myself. "We can dance to d.i.c.k's singing, if you want. It'd be nice to hear him."

"I think I've had enough of the fair for one night," she said.

As we made our way through the crowd to the parking lot, I felt better than I had in a long time; I felt as though a fog were lifting, a fog of rage and jealousy in which I'd been lost for weeks, maybe months. By the time we reached the Silver Coach I couldn't keep my hands off Joan. I was overwhelmed by a wild and joyous horniness.

"Down," Joan said, laughing as she unlocked the door.

But as soon as we were inside she was kissing me back, pulling my shirt off. I made for her belt, but she stopped.

"Wait. Let's not until we get home," she said.

I kissed her belly, unzipping the top of her jeans.

"There's too many people around," she said, but she was already unb.u.t.toning her blouse. I looked out the windshield and saw no one close enough to worry about.

The coils were loud that night, groaning and crying beneath us. I held Joan's hips as we moved. She pressed back into me, her skin hot and soft against my own. I grabbed at her, wanting to envelop her, to be touching every part at once.

"That feels so good," she said, moving faster now.

I closed my eyes. I could feel the shuttle rocking on its wheels. The sounds the Coach made were exciting, the creaking and huffing, and yet beneath the racket I thought I heard something else, some other, deeper strain of noise. The sound was faint, but persistent. I listened harder, until I realized what I was hearing. The noise was a voice: d.i.c.k Doyle's voice.

I opened my eyes and saw something so shocking, I nearly froze: standing on the dashboard just behind the steering wheel, guitar in hand, was a miniature d.i.c.k Doyle. He couldn't have been more than six inches tall, a tiny doppelganger, wearing a little red suit, a minuscule cowboy hat on his head. And he was singing to me; I could hear his voice beneath the squeaking of the seat, that high, whiny crooning of his.

But then I realized that, of course, this wasn't a miniature d.i.c.k Doyle at all; the figure was just a reflection. Joan had left the mirror she'd won on top of her bag, and it reflected the fair's stage. The gold stars around its border twinkled in the light. They hovered all around d.i.c.k, shimmering.

I turned away from the mirror and concentrated on Joan. I watched the shiny groove of her back, the bounce of her. I tried to listen to the sounds she made, to the rocking Coach. But beneath the noise, I could still hear d.i.c.k's nasal, grating voice. I craned my neck to get a look at the actual stage, but the Coach's windshield was angled toward the thoroughfare. All I could see of d.i.c.k Doyle was his reflection.

Hee-hee, went the springs beneath the seat. Hee-hee-hee. I thought back to how close d.i.c.k had let his hand get to mine a moment before, so close that I'd actually believed he was going to shake with me. I recalled that trick kids play on each other, putting a hand out, then yanking it back. Fooled you, s.h.i.thead! Hee-hee-hee-hee. And there was little d.i.c.k, singing from the dashboard. The sequined playing cards flashed from his lapels.

I took off my watch and flung it at the mirror, but it missed and hit the windshield.

"What was that?" Joan said over her shoulder.

"Nothing," I said. "Don't stop."

"You threw something. I saw you. What's the matter?"