WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) (8 page)

After blinking a couple of times, it was still an old guy in a sailor suit. The plaque read Captain King with a subtitle King Ranch. Just to see what would happen I looked away and then back a few times, but the old codger held firm and refused to give up the haunting vision of the green-eyed woman.

“What’s the matter?”

I jumped when the owner sneaked up behind me.

“Nothing,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been standing here so long, I thought perhaps you’d seen the portrait of Pleasant Wimberley.” He must have caught something passing over my face that gave me away. “Ah, you have then. I, myself, have never been fortunate enough to see her occupy someone else’s visage, but I’ve been told you never forget it.”

Looking from him to the portrait and back again, I said, “Are you suggesting that I witnessed a paranormal event?”

He chuckled. “That’s a fancy modern way of describing it, but sure.”

“Tell me what you know about this.”

The bell that hung from the door jingled as three new customers came in. “Be right with you,” he said to them.

Lowering his voice, he said to me, “You saw the founder of the town, Pleasant Wimberley. She likes to prank the tourists by showing up in other people’s portraits. I’ve heard she’s really something to look at. I’ve also noticed she only does it to people who can handle experiencing a supernatural occurrence without going nuts about it.”

I nodded. “I wanted the painting so bad, I was going to ask you if I could work off whatever it cost.”

He laughed. “That’s a new one. I’ll bet she loved hearing that. Have a nice stay in Wimberley.”

With that he walked toward the new arrivals.

After looking at the portrait one more time, just couldn’t help myself, I walked two blocks up to the tavern. The calling card was the smell of charcoal-broiled hamburger and French fries, which carries for about a block around, and made me instantly ravenous.

It was early afternoon, but the place was still busy. I saw an open seat at the counter and headed in that direction. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the other guys sitting at the bar were also contestants. I noticed Ivan and gave him a chin lift.

I ordered the burger basket with cheese, hickory sauce, a mix of plain and sweet potato fries and a Lonestar beer.

The guy next to me said, “You’re not going to have that physique for long eating like that.”

Looking him up and down, I went out of my way to be dismissive. Honestly, I’d never had a stranger comment openly about my ‘physique’ except in auditions.

“May the best man win,” I said.

I held up my longneck Lonestar beer. He held up his longneck IBC rootbeer. When we clinked bottles, he said, “Yeah. The best man. I’m Roger.”

“Willem,” I replied, having apparently lost the ability to make my tongue form the name ‘Will’.

“You going to the barbeque?”

“Came all the way from L.A. So, yeah. I’m gonna see where this leads.”

“L.A.?” he said. “I took you for a southerner.”

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Just thought I heard it in your speech.”

After all the time, money and energy I’d spent getting rid of my accent, this wasn’t something I wanted to hear from Roger. Less than a day in Texas shouldn’t undo ten years of diction lessons.

“Where’re you from, Roger?”

“Minnesota.”

I laughed out loud. “That would be quite an adjustment, if you won. I mean I think it gets down to fifty degrees once or twice a year here.”

We chatted more or less amiably until my food came. I cut the burger in half. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there wasn’t a half pound of meat, done to perfection. I scarfed an Idaho fry, then a sweet potato fry, then bit into hickory cheeseburger heaven on Earth.

“Oh, man,” I said with my mouth half full. “I could eat here every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of this.”

Roger smirked. “So what’s your special talent?”

“Special talent?” I repeated stupidly.

“Yes. You weren’t just picked from the phone book at random. You know that, right?”

“Well,” I hesitated with burger heaven suspended just an inch from my mouth, “I hadn’t really thought about it. Maybe on some level?”

“Some level. Wow. What are you even doing here?”

“Heard the gig is a prize beyond compare.”

“Yeah,” he said, studying me. “That it is. So what do you do? For a living, I mean.”

“Out of work actor.”

“Really. Surprising. You’re good-looking enough to be in the movies.”

“That’s what I’ve been told by people who aren’t offering paying acting jobs.”

“Hmmm. Bummer.”

“How about you?”

“Roofer.”

“Roofer in Minnesota? You must have a lot of free time.”

“Really busy in the summer. Snow does a lot of damage to roofs. But I do have time for ice fishing.”

“So what brings you to this, ah, competition?”

“Roofing is rough. The work is so awful you can’t get anybody to do it except ex-cons and the only reason why they take the work is because nobody else will hire them. And let me tell you. There’s a reason why nobody else will hire them. If they had a work ethic, they wouldn’t have sought out a life of crime.”

“I can see that. So if you won, what would you do with your time?” I more or less repeated Blackwell’s question to me. He shook his head and looked embarrassed. “Come on. I won’t judge you.”

“I like orchids.”

“What?” I did my best to keep a straight face.

“You said no judging.”

“I’m not judging. I just, never mind.”

“I want to develop a new species that blooms longer.”

“Where did you go to Orientation?”

“Chicago.”

“Did they mention ‘heart’s desire’?”

“Something like that.”

“So that’s your heart’s desire. If you had free time and money wasn’t an issue, you’d fool around with flowers?”

He grinned and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well then, Roger. I hope you get the other spot.”

“If I don’t, I’m gonna be glad they wiped my memory ‘cause I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking that I might have been coaxing new orchids in a greenhouse instead of babysitting criminals on roofs.”

“I heard something about the memory wipe thing, but I didn’t think they meant that literally. I mean that can’t really be done, can it?”

He squinted his eyes and gave me a little smile like he questioned
my
sanity.

“You
do
know we’re talking about witches, right?”

“I know there are a lot of people who call themselves witches, but what it means is they like burning candles and herbs, dancing naked in some cases, I guess. Are you saying you think there are women here who really are touched by the supernatural?”

He laughed. “Man. I don’t know how you’re sitting on that stool next to me. How did you manage to get this far without knowing anything about what you’re doing here?” He shook his head. “Yes. I mean there are women here who really are touched by the supernatural.”

I had to admit that I felt a thrill start in my nipples and run all the way through my body, producing goosebumps, a cock twitch, and a half hard. What if it was true? I’d spent my whole life secretly hoping that I’d be lucky enough to have an actual encounter with the other side of reality, while not really believing that such a thing might be possible.

That’s when I realized that I’d been on the wrong path. For the first time I recognized and confronted the fact that I didn’t really want to be an actor. I hadn’t wanted to be a college student taking a foreign language I would never use or studying geology, which I would never use. But I hadn’t really wanted to be an actor either. It was just Plan B more or less suggested by other people. My heart wasn’t in it at all.

Acting as my heart’s desire? Don’t make me laugh. Actually there’s not much laughable about wasting ten years pursuing something I didn’t even want.

That revelation made me feel like the dumbest guy sitting on a counter stool anywhere. Why hadn’t I clued in before? And what if I couldn’t get jobs acting because I wasn’t
supposed
to be acting?

That follow-up insight almost blew me right off the stool.

“If that’s true, it would be beyond incredible.”

“You scared?”

It hadn’t occurred to me to be scared before and maybe that just meant I was revealing an infinite capacity for stupidity.

“Should I be?” He shrugged. “Do you believe there’s a ghost at the hotel, too?”

Roger laughed again. He had a nice laugh. I wondered if that’s what they were looking for. All of a sudden I found myself seriously caring about what they were looking for.

I wasn’t interested in contemplating a lifetime contract of marriage, but I could do a year with anybody if it meant doing actual hands-on research. Maybe I should say on-site research.

He lifted a well-toned shoulder. “Who knows? I can’t say I’ve seen anything like that, but ley lines intersect at the crossroads.”

I jerked my gaze back to his. “Ley lines? You know about ley lines?”

“I know enough.”

Deciding to let that go, I said, “So we’re going to meet the witches at the barbeque tonight?”

He shook his head while still taking a pull on his IBC. When he’d swallowed he said, “I think it’s just contestants and former winners. Our chance to talk to them about life in Wimberley or whatever. They’ll be at the big event tomorrow night though. The Witches’ Ball.”

The first time I’d heard that phrase it hadn’t made an impression on me, but this time it registered that balls usually mean formal dress. I was kind of alarmed by that.

While signing the credit card slip for my burger and beer, I said, “Hey, for the, ah, Witches’ Ball, has a suggestion been made about how to dress?”

“I think they’re pretty casual, big on letting people do their own thing.”

If Roger wasn’t competing for one of two places, I would have felt secure with that answer, but as it stood, I wasn’t sure I could trust it. And I didn’t want to be the only guy in jeans while everybody else was in ball gowns and monkey suits. On the other hand, maybe individuality was what they were looking for?

It wasn’t hard to see that I could go crazy with circular arguments. So I decided to ask around at the barbeque. If I needed a tux, I’d manage to get to either Austin or San Antonio and score black tie before tomorrow night.

There was one crispy fry left at the bottom of the basket. It looked too good to go to waste. So I popped it in my mouth to join the party going on in my happy tummy and slid off the stool.

“See you tonight,” Roger said.

“Yep,” I replied and headed for the door.

Wimberley couldn’t possibly be more different from L.A. It moved as slow as molasses. A lot of people would say that like it was a bad thing, but you know what moves even slower than molasses? L.A. freeways. Big city life isn’t all that.

I strolled back to the hotel, grabbed a newspaper from the stack at the front desk, and sat down in the lobby. Seemed like a good way to get a jump on checking out the competition.

It wasn’t hard to recognize my opponents. They were all guys in their twenties and, while I knew from the video that outstanding looks weren’t necessarily a requirement, all the suitors I’d seen in person would definitely be called “hot” by the women I know.

As they came and went from the hotel, their eyes would invariably fall on me sitting there looking over the top of a newspaper. Seemed we were all doing the same thing, trying to check out the competition, look for weaknesses, some way to eke out an edge over the next guy.