Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (4 page)

He left Luke to sleep and went to Lily’s soft, waiting arms.

2

Luke awoke in stages. He heard the birds chattering outside first, then felt the sun warm on his face. In his mind he imagined it to be gold and liquid with a taste like sweet honey. He caught the scent of coffee next and wondered where he was.

Then he opened his eyes, saw the girl and remembered.

She was standing between the round table and the sofa where he was sprawled, her lips pursed, her head tilted as she stared at him. Her eyes were bright and curious—a not entirely friendly curiosity.

He noted there was a faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose that he hadn’t seen when she’d been onstage or in the candleglow.

As wary as she, Luke stared back, slowly running his tongue over his teeth. His toothbrush was in the denim knapsack he’d stolen from a K Mart and hidden in some bushes nearby. He was fastidious about brushing his teeth, a habit which grew directly out of his paralyzing fear of the dentist. Particularly the one his mother had dragged him to nearly three years before. The one with breath fouled by gin and knuckles covered with coarse black hair.

He wanted to brush his teeth, to gulp down some of that hot coffee and to be alone.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

“You.” She’d been thinking about poking him and was a little disappointed that he’d awakened before she’d had the chance. “You’re skinny. Lily said you have a beautiful face, but it just looks mean to me.”

He felt a wave of disgust, and of confusion at being called beautiful by the curvy Lily. Luke had no such twisted feelings about Roxanne. She was what his stepfather called a class A bitch. Of course, Luke couldn’t remember any woman Al Cobb hadn’t considered one kind of bitch or another.

“You’re skinny
and
ugly. Now, beat it.”

“I live here,” she pointed out grandly. “And if I don’t like you I can make my daddy send you away.”

“Big freaking deal.”

“That’s bad language.” She gave a prim, ladylike sniff. At least she thought it was.

“No.” Maybe if he shocked her angelic ears, she’d take off. “Big fucking deal is bad language.”

“It is?” Interested now, she leaned closer. “What does fucking mean?”

“Christ.” He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes as he sat up. “Get out of my face, will you?”

“
I
know how to be polite.” And if she was, Roxanne thought she might get him to tell her what the new word meant. “Because I’m the hostess, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. I already made it.”

“You?” It bothered him that he hadn’t heard her rattling around.

“It’s my job.” She strutted importantly to the stove. “Because Daddy and Lily sleep late in the mornings, and I don’t like to. I hardly ever need any sleep. I didn’t even when I was a baby. It’s metabolism,” she told him, pleased with the word her father had taught her.

“Yeah. Right.” He watched her pour the coffee into a china cup. Probably tasted like mud, Luke thought, and looked forward to telling her so.

“Cream and sugar?” She chanted the words, like a peppy flight attendant.

“Lots of both.”

She took him at his word, then, with her tongue caught between her teeth, brought the brimming cup to

the table. “You can have orange juice, too, with breakfast.” Though she didn’t particularly like him, Roxanne enjoyed the idea of playing the gracious hostess, and imagined herself wearing one of Lily’s long silk gowns and teetering on high heels. “I’ll make my special one.”

“Great.” Luke braced to wince at the taste of the coffee and was surprised when it went down smoothly.

It was a bit sweet, even for his taste, but he’d never had better. “It’s pretty good,” he muttered, and Roxanne granted him a quick smile that was innately female.

“I have a magic touch with coffee. Everyone says so.” Enthusiastic now, she popped slices of bread into the toaster, then opened the fridge. “How come you don’t live with your mother and father?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“But you have to,” she pointed out. “Even if you don’t want to.”

“The hell I do. Besides I don’t have a father.”

“Oh.” She pressed her lips together. Though she was only eight, she knew such things happened. She herself had lost a mother, one she had no memory of. Since Lily had slid so seamlessly into the gap, it wasn’t a loss that jarred her. But the idea of being without a father always made her sad—and scared.

“Did he get sick, or have a terrible accident?”

“I don’t know or give a good damn. Drop it.”

Under any other circumstances, the sharp tone would have loosened her temper. Instead, it sparked her sympathies. “What part of the show did you like best?”

“I don’t know. The card tricks were pretty cool.”

“I know one. I can show you.” Carefully, she poured juice into crystal glasses. “After breakfast I will.

You can use the bathroom back there to wash your hands ’cause it’s almost ready.”

He was a lot more interested in emptying his straining bladder and, following the direction of her hand, found the closet-sized bathroom behind the red curtain. It smelled of woman—not the heavy, cloying scent that often trailed around his mother, but sweet, luxurious femininity.

There were stockings draped over the rung of the narrow shower stall, and a floral box of dusting powder and a big pink puff sat on a crocheted doily on the back of the toilet. In the corner was a small wedge of counter space that was crowded from edge to edge with bottles and pots and tubes.

Whore’s tools, Cobb would have called them, but Luke thought they looked kind of nice and pretty jumbled there, like a garden he’d seen on his travels, where flowers and weeds had run wild together.

Despite the clutter, the room was scrupulously clean. A far cry, he realized as he scrubbed hot water over his face, from the filthy bathroom in the filthy apartment he’d escaped from.

Unable to resist, he peeked into the medicine cabinet. There were men things in there. A razor, shaving cream, after-shave. There was also a spare toothbrush still in its box. The terror of cavities overpowered any sense of guilt he might have had as he made use of it.

It wasn’t until he was back in the hall, wondering if he could take a chance and poke around a bit that he

remembered his shoes.

He was back in the living area like a shot, diving under the table and checking his stash.

As calm as a queen on her throne, Roxanne sat on a satin pillow and sipped her juice. “How come you keep your money in your shoe when you’ve got pockets?”

“Because it’s safer there.” And it had been, he noted with relief. Every last dollar. He slid up into his seat and looked at his plate. There was a piece of toast in the center of it. It had been mounded with chunky peanut butter, drizzled with what looked like honey, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, then cut into two neat triangles.

“It’s very good,” Roxanne assured him, taking dainty bites of her own.

Luke bit a triangle in two, and was forced to agree. She smiled again when he’d finished the last crumb.

“I’ll make more.”

An hour later, when Max pushed through the curtain, he saw them sitting hip to hip on the sofa. His little girl had a short pile of bills at her elbow and was expertly shifting three cards over the table.

“Okay, where’s the queen?”

Luke blew the hair out of his eyes, hesitated, then tapped the center card. “I know it’s there this time, damn it.”

Smug, Roxanne flipped over the card, then giggled when he swore again.

“Roxy,” Max said as he crossed to them. “It’s quite rude to fleece a guest.”

“I told him Three Card Monte was a sucker’s game, Daddy.” All innocence, she beamed up at her father. “He didn’t listen.”

He chuckled and clucked her on the chin. “My little swindler. How did you sleep, Luke?”

“Okay.” He’d lost five bucks to the little cheat. It was mortifying.

“And I see you’ve eaten. If you’ve decided to stay, I’ll give you over to Mouse shortly. He’ll put you to work.”

“That’d be good.” But he knew better than to sound anxious. When you sounded anxious, that was when they pulled the rug out from under you. “For a couple days, anyhow.”

“Splendid. A free lesson before we begin.” He paused to pour coffee, sniff appreciatively then sip.

“Never bet on the house game unless losing is to your advantage. Will you need clothes?”

Though he couldn’t see how losing could ever be an advantage, Luke didn’t comment. “I’ve got some stuff.”

“All right then, you can go retrieve it. Then we’ll get started.”

One of the advantages of being a boy like Luke was that he had no expectations. Another might have anticipated touches of glamour, or adventure, perhaps a bit of jolly camaraderie of carny life. But in Luke’s philosophy, people generally got less than they paid for of the good things, and more than they could handle of the bad.

So when he was put to work by the taciturn Mouse lifting, hauling, cleaning, painting and fetching, he followed orders without complaint or conversation. Since Mouse had little to say for himself, Luke was able to keep his own counsel and observe.

Life in a carnival wasn’t glamorous, he noted. It was sweaty, and dirty. The air snapped with the scents of frying food, cheap cologne and unwashed bodies. Colors that looked so bright at night were dingy in the light of day. And the rides that seemed so fast and fearsome under a starry sky appeared tired, and more than a little unsafe under a hard summer sun.

As for adventure, there was nothing exciting about scrubbing down the long black trailer, or helping Mouse change the spark plugs in the Chevy pickup that hauled it.

Mouse had head and shoulders under the hood, and his tiny eyes were slitted nearly closed as he listened to the idling engine. Occasionally he would hum a little tune, or grunt and make a few more adjustments.

Luke shifted from foot to foot. The heat was terrible. Sweat was beginning to seep through the faded bandanna he’d tied around his head. He didn’t know a damn thing about cars, and didn’t see why he needed to when he wouldn’t be able to drive one for years and years. The way Mouse was humming and fiddling was getting on his nerves.

“It sounds okay to me.”

Mouse blinked his eyes open. There was grease on his hands, streaked on his moon pie face, smeared on his baggy white T-shirt. He was quite simply in Mouse heaven.

“Missing,” he corrected, then closed his eyes again. He made minute adjustments, as gently as a man in love would initiate a virgin. The engine purred for him. “Sweet baby,” he said under his breath.

There was nothing in Mouse’s world more fascinating, or seductive, than a well-oiled machine.

“Jesus, it’s just a stupid truck.”

Mouse opened his eyes again, and there was a smile in them. He was barely twenty, and because of his size and plodding manner, had been considered a freak by the other children in the state home where he’d grown up. He neither trusted nor liked a great many people, but he’d already developed a tolerant affection for Luke.

There was something about his smile—it was slow and pure as a baby’s—that made Luke grin back.

“You done yet or what?”

“Done.” To prove it Mouse closed the hood, then rounded it to take the keys from the ignition and pocket them. He’d never forgotten the surge of pride he’d felt when Max had trusted him with the keys for the first time. “She’ll run fine tonight when we head to Manchester.”

“How long are we there?”

“Three days.” Mouse took a pack of Pall Malls from his rolled sleeve, shook the pack and nipped one out with his teeth before offering the pack to Luke. Luke accepted it as casually as possible. “Hard work tonight. Loading up.”

Luke let the cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth and waited for Mouse to light a match. “How come somebody like Mr. Nouvelle’s in a cheap carny like this?”

The match flared as Mouse touched it to the end of his cigarette. “Got his reasons.” He held the match to the tip of Luke’s, then leaned back on the truck and began to daydream about the long, quiet drive.

Luke took an experimental puff, choked back a hacking cough and made the mistake of inhaling. He coughed hard enough to make his eyes water, but when Mouse glanced his way, he struggled for dignity.

“Not my usual brand.” His voice was a thin squeak before he took another determined drag. This time he swallowed the smoke, gagged and fought a sweaty battle to keep from losing his lunch. It felt as though his eyes were rolling back in his head to meet his rising stomach.

“Hey. Hey, kid.” Concern at the green tinge of Luke’s skin had Mouse slapping a fist to his back hard enough to take Luke to his knees. When he vomited weakly, Mouse patted his head with a greasy hand.

“Holy cow. You sick or something?”

“Do we have a problem here?” Max crossed to them. Lily broke from his side to crouch beside Luke.

“Oh, honey. You poor thing,” she crooned, rubbing a hand up and down Luke’s back. “Just stay down there, sweetie, till it passes.” She spotted the smoldering cigarette that had dropped from Luke’s hand and clucked her tongue. “What in the world was this child doing with one of those awful things?”

“My fault.” Mouse stared miserably at his own feet. “I wasn’t thinking when I gave him a cigarette, Max.

It’s my fault.”

“He didn’t have to take it.” Max shook his head as Luke braced himself on his hands and knees and struggled with the nausea. “And he’s certainly paying for it. Another free lesson. Don’t take what you can’t hold.”

“Oh, leave the child be.” Her mothering instinct on overdrive, Lily pressed Luke’s clammy face to her breast, where he breathed in a heady mixture of Chanel and sweat. Holding Luke close, Lily glared at Max. “Just because you’ve never been sick a day in your life is no reason to be unsympathetic.”

“Quite right,” Max agreed and hid a smile. “Mouse and I will leave him to your tender care.”

“We’ll fix you up,” she murmured to Luke. “You just come with Lily, honey. Come on now, lean on me.”

“I’m okay.” But as he dragged himself to his feet, his head spun in counterpoint to his roiling stomach.