Kiss Me Hard Before You Go (9 page)

“You think it’ll make me act like Sally Stratton?” he teased. Sally Stratton was one of Haines’ notorious drunks. She spent many nights in the tank for drunken and disorderly behavior, and her husband, Tom, never drank an ounce of alcohol in his life. Most people said that she drank enough for the two of them and that’s why he avoided it.

Her brow wrinkled. “It’s for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure’s fine till I have to go see the doc. What does he know anyhow?”

“Maybe those ten years of college make him qualified,” she said sarcastically.

“I would’ve gotten around to getting these,” he said, picking up the bottle and squinting his eyes to read the label.

“When? At the end of summer?”

“Hardy, har, har,” he said. “When I had time. Bet they cost as much as the battery.”

“It doesn’t matter. If your doctor says you have to take them, you should.”

He grinned and said, “You’re a bossy butt.”

“Just make sure you take them,” she pressed.

***

Opening day for the carnival was a success. Kip liked the stacks of bills his bookkeeper counted at night’s end. Gray’s farm was the perfect location – near the interstate and close enough to the North Carolina border. He knew it’d only be a matter of days until the townies from other areas flocked to the carnival.

Finch’s job was simple. Fix anything that appeared to be broken. He had repaired his fair share of rides over the years. Some too many times. He told Kip to replace a few, that their years were coming to an end, but Kip would just say, “You can fix it, kid.” He could put a Bandaid on it, but eventually, it’d peel off and then what?

He walked the property, hearing people scream in joy from the thrill of being flung side-to-side and up and down at unimaginable speeds. All of the motions the rides produced would make anyone giddy like a kid. He knew, because he was like that once. He’d shriek and throw his hands up in the air, feeling like he was having the time of his life. But then something happened, like when a kid discovers Santa Claus isn’t real, and then Christmas is never the same. The excitement of staying up late, waiting for Santa to arrive disappears and Christmas just becomes another day. It was a day with pomp and circumstance, but for most people it was all just a facade that hid their true feelings about the strife it created for them. The carnival became like that for him. It became monotony – the mysticism was gone, and in the end, it was just a job.

A group of people were in line waiting to see Doris, Friedrich and Mouse. A lump caught in Finch’s throat, and he swallowed hard. He knew it was their job, that they didn’t mind the stares and comments, but something about it bothered him. He couldn’t stand the sight of it – people waiting in line to ooh and aah over his friends, to gawk at them, and then whisper insults and other rude comments under their breaths.

“Bunch of dumb rubes,” he muttered as he passed them by, almost running into Dmitri, the carnival’s juggler, and his wife Olga.

“Sorry,” Finch said.

“It is fine,” Dmitri said, his arms were wrapped tight around Olga’s petite waist. He offered Finch a faint smile.

“How was the show?” he asked.

“A success. These townies like our act,” he said with a strong accent and without much of an expression.

“That’s good,” Finch said, feeling happy for him. Dmitri and Olga were well-liked for their quiet and kind demeanors, although no one in the carnival really knew them. They mostly kept to themselves and often spoke in Russian, which no one else in the carnival understood or even wanted to try to comprehend.

Anyone that didn’t cause drama and stayed out of trouble in the carnival was liked. So much senseless drama ensued – too many drunken brawls and fights over who was sleeping with whom. It was welcome when a normal married couple was amongst the crew. Dmitri wowed the crowds with his ability to juggle several items at once. He could juggle up to ten bowling pins, often silencing any crowd who wondered how in the world could he do it. People asked, and he’d just act like it was no big deal. Like it was a talent any hack off the street could pick up and master. Olga didn’t have any talents. She worked the concession, selling funnel cakes and cotton candy to hungry townies, who were thankful to be waited on by such an angelic face. Olga’s features were soft around the edges. It was rumored that she was a model in her home country, but this was never confirmed or denied. She was definitely eye candy for all of the men on the circuit, leaving Dmitri with an even tighter rein on his wife.

“Goodbye,” Dmitri said, and Finch nodded his head once.

Finch went on with his day, counting the minutes, and wondering if this was it. If this was his lot in life—fixing what needed to be repaired. If only he could find someone to “fix” him. A non-stop job indeed. It would be as constant a battle as fixing Kip’s antique rides.

***

He walked alone, enjoying the gentle breeze the night air offered him. All of the rides’ bright lights were off, and the carnival was closed for the night. A warm glow from the moon filled the dark, starry sky. Crickets chirped incessantly, and the fireflies flickering lights danced in the shadows as he made his way through the maze of tents – the place that the carnies would call home for the next five weeks.

He heard shouting from the inside of Doris’ tent. He ran inside and held his hand up to his nose, a powerful stench of manure permeated the air. Doris and Friedrich stood behind Evie’s pet ox, Miles, pushing against him with all of their might, while Mouse sat on top of it, tapping it against the neck, yelling, “Move! Move!”

“
Bewegung! Bewegung!
” shouted Friedrich in his native German language. Finch had managed to learn basic German phrases over the years—a skill he didn’t see any use for—but that seemed to impress girls.

“Sie wollen, dass mit Ketchup?” he’d whisper, and they’d giggle at the sound of his voice saying something so foreign to them. They were oblivious to what he said, thinking he was whispering sweet nothings in their ears, but translated into English, Finch was telling them “Do you want ketchup with that?”

He begged Friedrich to teach him phrases like these. Things he thought were fun to say, because learning how to say important things like “how much” or “I need medical attention” just didn’t have the same snazzy ring to them. He had mastered the accent, and any clueless girl who heard him speak in German was unnecessarily dazzled.

Miles wouldn’t move an inch. He was obviously too enthralled with the candy bar that currently occupied his mouth. Half-eaten wrappers of other sweets and candy laid on the ground around him, and the place looked like it had been ransacked.

“He won’t budge,” Doris said between heavy breaths. “I didn’t even think they ate candy.”

“Every living thing eats sugar,” Finch said.

“We’ve been trying to get him to leave, but he’s intent on eating everything in sight.” She shoved Miles again, and nothing happened. “I’m pooped.” Sweat trickled down her face.

Friedrich leaned forward and pushed as hard as he could. Finch could see veins protruding from below the surface of his thick neck. He gritted his crooked teeth, moaned, and let out a wail of frustration. “
Dumm Kopf!
” he shouted, nearly spitting the words out.

“This places smells like the whole damn town took a shit in here,” Doris said, plugging her nose and waving her hands back and forth.

“Help me off,” Mouse said, and Finch lifted him and placed his feet firmly on the ground.

Finch looked Miles in the eye. The two were having a stare off, and neither of them moved. Finch whispered under his breath, “Time to go on.”

Miles took a small step forward and nuzzled up close to Finch, his mouth grabbing hold of Finch’s Led Zeppelin t-shirt – one that was frayed and had seen its last days. Finch gently pushed Miles’ head away from his shirt. “Not the shirt,” he said, but Miles refused to listen.

He grabbed hold of it again, and let out a soft “Moo.”

“He likes you,” Doris said. “You finally found a fan.” She laughed.

Finch scowled at her. “He won’t let go.” He shooed Miles again, but the stubborn ox only held on tighter. “What’ll I do?” he asked them, feeling helpless. The ox had attached itself to Finch, and it wasn’t going to let go.

“Take him to Evie. He’s hers, ain’t he?” she said. “And while you’re out, better grab a shovel.” She looked down at the pile of cow manure and grimaced.

“You take him,” he argued.

She cocked an eyebrow. “You saw how well that was working out.”

“Fine,” he relented and took a step forward; Miles went with him.

“Just don’t be a piss-ant. She ain’t ever gonna go on a date with you if you keep killing her with your charm, Mister Charming Pants,” Doris said.

Finch was able to get the ox to quit chewing on his tethered shirt. “Can’t wear this again,” he complained, seeing the big chunk of fabric missing. He passed by tents with glimmers of light emitting from kerosene lamps. The chattering of voices and laughter could be heard, echoing through the camp. Even though it was late, most carnies didn’t get to sleep until well into the night. Finch knew from personal experience, five hours was a good night’s rest, and if he got more, then it was a miracle.

Miles trailed behind Finch following him as he trudged through the dark. He mooed every now and again, and Finch caught himself talking to him, shuddering at the thought.“I can’t believe I’m talking to a dumb cow,” he muttered.

Their porch light shined in the distance, and he could see a figure sitting on the front porch swing, swaying back and forth as gently as the soft billowing breeze that swept through the cool night air. He moved closer and saw the light shining onto her blond locks of hair, and her face looked absolutely relaxed, serene almost. He couldn’t help but spy.

His feet wandered through the long blades of grass, and he made his way to the steps leading to Evie’s front porch. He cleared his throat. He never cleared his throat and couldn’t understand the strong case of nerves he suddenly had. On his territory, he was much more confident, but being at her house in the dark of night was a different matter. He cleared his throat again, and then shouted, “Hey!”

She jumped in surprise, and then got a hold of herself when she saw it was him. Tripod stood up and let out one pathetic bark, then settled himself back down onto the porch.

“What do you want?” she shouted back at him in an unfriendly tone.

“Your cow was eating all of Doris’ junk food,” he said, pointing to Miles who was busy chewing on the grass surrounding Finch’s shoes.

“Miles!” She hopped off the swing and ran down the steps. Tripod trailed behind her, rumbling down the steps as only a three-legged dog could do. She stood a few feet away from Finch and the smitten ox. “You know better than to wander off,” she scolded, and Finch tried hard not to laugh, but to him it was comical that she was talking to the ox like he was her kid. She peered up at Finch and said, “Tell Doris I’m sorry.”

Tripod inched closer to Finch and sniffed him. Finch peered down at him with a strange look and then patted him on the head. “Hey there, what’s your name?”

“His name is Tripod,” her tone was haughty. “And you don’t get to talk to him.” She snapped her fingers at Tripod, trying to get his attention away from Finch.

Finch let out a soft chuckle. “He’d fit right in on the midway.” He tapped him a few more times on his furry head and bent down to cup his face. “Better go on, boy.” Tripod licked Finch’s fingers before he slowly made his way to the front porch. Finch wiped his wet fingers against his jeans. “Not much for watch dogging, though, is he? I could have been Jack the Ripper.”

“His senses must be off,” Evie mumbled. She raised her hand to her lips and started to chew on a nail, and then abruptly stopped, suddenly aware of what she was doing.

Finch cocked an eyebrow but said nothing else. He looked down at her ensemble – a thin, poor excuse for fabric barely covered her. The light coming from the porch shone through the piece of clothing that adorned her and created a perfect silhouette. He could see the outline of her body and the curve of her breasts. She was dressed in a night shirt and an old pair of cowboy boots. Wind crept underneath her gown. She pushed it down with her hands, noticing that her palms were clammy and her heart was fluttering. She felt a shiver, and crossed her arms over her chest, seeing that Finch’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.

“How’d you get him here?” she asked, one arm was draped across her chest, while the other tugged on her night shirt.

He shrugged. “Don’t know. “He scratched at his head. “He seems to like me, or maybe it’s my shirt.” Finch pointed to the big patch of bare stomach, and Evie quickly averted her eyes, trying not to ogle. Finch noticed, and his lips curled upward.

“I’m sure it’s the shirt,” she said quickly, trying to rattle Finch’s confidence. “He likes Zeppelin.”

“He has good taste then,” Finch said. He wasn’t in the mood to tease her or give her a hard time. It was getting late, and he had quite the hike back to his tent. Plus, he didn’t want to stand within ten feet of her when she was wearing that stupid frock – the one that was sheer and lime green and possibly made out of satin or rayon, he couldn’t tell, and had a strip of lace at the top of her chest. It kept tickling her legs, blowing from the hush of the wind, and showed the perfect shape of her hips and her legs that were long and smooth looking. He wanted to shout up at the air and tell it to stop moving so swiftly so he could gather his thoughts and quit gawking at her.

Things suddenly felt awkward, and a wind chime clattered. “I gotta go. Try to keep that cow of yours away from Doris’ tent,” he barked before he walked away.

“He’s an ox, not a cow!” she snapped.

He turned to face her. “What?” He didn’t know why he even bothered to ask. A cow, an ox, who cared?

“Cows are female, oxen are male. He’s male. If you knew anything, you would’ve noticed.” She felt a surge of triumph, content that she had finally brought his ego down a notch or two. She could outsmart him when it came to agriculture.

“Maybe you spend your free time checking out animal’s private parts, but I got better things to do with my time,” he shot back. “Try not to chew those nails off.”

He began to walk away, and Miles charged toward him, following behind him.