FINDING EDEN
DEAR ZAC
I GOT YOUR TELEGRAMS STOP I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY STOP I DIDN'T GET THEM IN TIME BECAUSE I WASN'T HOME STOP WE CHANGED THE PLANS FOR MY BIRTHDAY PARTY AND WE'VE BEEN ALL OVER TOWN TRYING TO MAKE ADJUSTMENTS ON SHORT NOTICE STOP I'M VERY DISAPPOINTED IN HOW UNFAIR YOUR LAST TELEGRAM WAS STOP I MISS YOU AND YOU HURT MY FEELINGS STOP I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON'T TRUST ME STOP I ATE WITH BILLY ONLY ONE TIME BECAUSE HE WANTED TO APOLOGIZE AND I HAVEN'T BEEN ANYWHERE WITH HIM SINCE STOP I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS BUT I COULDN'T GET OUT OF BED FOR TWO DAYS AFTER YOU LEFT STOP I STILL CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP EVERY SINGLE NIGHT BECAUSE I MISS YOU AND THE PHOTOGRAPH I RECEIVED FROM YOU IN THE MAIL MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE AND I CARRY IT EVERYWHERE I GO STOP AND YET THIS IS WHAT I GET IN RETURN QUERY YOUR DISTRUST FOR ME QUERY I'VE NEVER BEEN SO HURT ZAC STOP I LOVE YOU WHETHER YOU BELIEVE IT OR NOT STOP BUT DON'T YOU EVER TRY TO CONTACT ME AGAIN UNLESS YOU'RE IN A BETTER MOOD STOP THIS WAS RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL AND I DON'T DESERVE IT STOP I HOPE YOU HAVE A BETTER DAY STOP
LOVE
BESSIE
"Miss Harlow, I'm not confident that this will all fit on one telegram," the operator regretfully said to Bessie.
"They'll have to try," Bessie argued. "They'll just have to. It's costing me a fortune already, but it's extremely important that it gets delivered! They just have to try!"
Bessie refused to leave the Western Union office until she was assured that the message had been printed and sent out. Then she drove herself home and silently prepared herself for what her father would say once he received the telephone bill.
The telegram she had sent to Zac was in response to the two she received from him the previous night. These past couple of days had consisted of nothing but shopping and party planning and Bessie had hardly been home. While handwritten letters from him flowed in day-after-day, it was the real-time telegrams that were having the affect on her, and not in the positive way that they should have been.
Walking into the house the previous evening, she and her mother, along with Millie and Judith, were greeted by her father, who was all smiles and was insistent upon taking them all out for dinner. In spite of herself, Bessie found herself having a lovely time, eating and talking with her family. Her father had been an absolute delight these past few days and Bessie couldn't have been more grateful.
Coming home for the second time that evening, it was settled that Millie and Judith would sleep over and the trio had been discussing night clothes when they entered Bessie's bedroom and discovered the two envelopes that lay on her bed. "Oh, what are those?" Millie sang out. "More letters from Zac?"
Bessie's face lit up as she raced for her bed. "No. They're telegrams! That must mean they've made it to Philadelphia! He promised to telegram me at every stop they made."
Eager to share in Bessie's excitement, the three girls crowded on the bed as Bessie anxiously tore the first telegram out of its paper prison and drunk in the words with an insatiable thirst. In an instant, her heart sank and she went over the words repeatedly in silence in an effort to make sense of them.
"I don't understand," she muttered breathlessly as the two others peered over her shoulders. "I don't understand what he means by this."
Millie took it upon herself to get into the second telegram, retrieving it from Bessie's lap and opening it up. "I bet you opened them backward. I bet this one comes first."
"But, still," Bessie objected, shaking her head as she took the page from Millie's hand. "There's no sense in anything he said."
Looking over the second telegram, it was obvious that the one she held in her hand now was the first one that she'd received. He'd sent her the schedule for their Philadelphia run, told her he loved her and he missed her, and requested an immediate response.
Then she went back and read the second one and found herself trembling as she fought to understand it. With tears brimming her eyes, she looked up and glanced at both Millie and Judith. "Did he just break up with me? Why does he think--? Why is he talking about Billy?"
"No," Judith said gently. "Zac would never break up with you like that. It looks like he's just upset. It looks like maybe you didn't respond when he wanted you to and that made him upset--"
"So he starts jumping to conclusions?" Bessie squeaked. "And making assumptions and blaming me for things that aren't even happening?"
"He's only a man, sweetie," Judith said. "Men are notorious for acting first and thinking later. Why, I'm willing to bet he's already forgotten about it by now."
"That's bullshit," Bessie snapped.
"Bessie!" Millie gasped. "I've never heard such language come out of you!"
"I don't care. This is unacceptable."
The more Bessie thought about it, the angrier she grew. She was hurt at first, afraid that Zac had decided he was finished with her. Now she realized how unreasonable and unfair he was being, trying to pick fights and control her from fifteen hundred miles away when he should be focusing on his act and on coming back home. Well, Bessie was through. She would be turning nineteen in a week and it was high time she grew up and became her own woman. Judith could make excuses for him all she wanted to, but Bessie wanted to be a woman that could be respected--and that included being respected by her own beau. Tomorrow would be a new day.
Bessie felt the red in her own cheeks as Millie said to her gently, "Bessie. I've known Zac for quiet awhile now. And sometimes he just gets...angry. For no reason, it just comes out."
Bessie whipped her head to the right, appalled at her raven-haired cousin, surprised that she appeared to be taking his side, as well. "Well, this is beyond...unfair. And absurd..."
"I know. I just--when I first met Zac, their parents had been gone about a year. And all he did was brood. All the time. There were times when I thought smiling might physically hurt him. But he stayed angry all the time--at everyone and everything...he was extremely unpleasant to be around. And he hasn't seemed to have much to live for since then, since...well, until you came along. Bessie, honestly, I don't think he means any of this. I think he misses you and he hurts--and getting angry is his way of coping."
"But he can't--he can't take it out on me like that. I wouldn't take it when we first met and I won't take it now. And either he can learn to control his temper on paper or he can just not contact me at all. I am a grown woman now. And I won't take such nonsense lying down."
"Bessie!" Judith gasped. "Surely you don't mean that about contacting you!"
"I do mean it. And I mean to march right up to the Western Union office first thing in the morning and tell him so, too."
Which was exactly what she did. The next morning, she wasted no time at all leaving Millie and Judith sleeping in her bed while she drove the spare automobile into town with a clutch purse full of change. She ignored the operator's wide eyes as she kept dictating her telegram to her, aware of how long it must have been. But Bessie didn't care. She hated that even while Zac was away they seemed to fight, but in the end, in a situation like this, there was nobody to stand up for Bessie but herself. And, by God, from here on out, nobody was going to treat her like a child or walk all over her ever again.
"Miss Harlow," the operator said once she was finished receiving the message. "It appears that the money you have on the counter there won't quite be enough to cover this."
Dejectedly, Bessie sighed. "Charge it to our telephone bill, please."
______________________________________________________
Zac walked into the trailer, knowing that Taylor and Isaac would be upset at him for his prolonged absence and he'd been right. He was drenched from the rain, from head to toe, and he was feeling warm on the inside and loose on the outside from the bottle of liquor he'd managed to sneak and pour down his throat on his way from the Western Union office.
While the rain had put a halt on the opening of the Philadelphia Fair for the day, Taylor and Isaac opted to use their time wisely and rehearse. Zac stumbled around the small space, barely able to get out of his wet clothes and into dry ones, before collapsing down onto the bench that belonged to him, choosing to criticize his brothers rather than rehearse with them. His head swam and his lips were loose and numb as a sarcastic smile took permanent residence across his face.
"Ike. Seriously? Tearing up newspapers? That's what you're practicing today? Hell, anybody can tear paper. Give it to me and I'll tear, fucking...make fucking confetti out of it or something. Jesus."
In the thick haze of his drunkenness, Zac watched Isaac hold out the newspaper and tear it into strips, and then all the way down into tiny bits, balling the remnants up into his fist. Then he scowled at Zac, lifting his fist and showing him the wadded up mess. "For your information, I'm going to restore this paper."
"No dice," Zac shot from his slouched position. "I watched you tear it up and I don't see any backups laying around."
"Au contraire, my sloppy drunk baby brother. Watch and be amazed."
Rolling his eyes, Zac watched Isaac's stupid act. Then he found himself blinking to focus on the fully restored paper that Isaac pulled out of his fist. Attempting to shake the focus into his eyes, he concentrated on the newspaper that hung from Isaac's fingertips. "Okay," Zac nodded, sitting up. "How'd you do it?"
"A good magician never reveals his secrets."
"Unless his brother is in his act," Zac shot back.
"Maybe I'll let you in on it when you're sober. Meanwhile, you smell like a fucking illegal distillery, you're gonna get us all arrested."
"Right. Because you're not constantly packing," Zac mumbled with a huff. Then he slouched back down in his seat and looked his eldest brother over, with his perfectly coiffed, short, dark blonde hair and his perfectly tailored vest with the pocket watch hanging out of his pants pocket. "You gonna try that parlor trick tonight?" He slurred.
"This is no parlor trick, believe me," Isaac corrected his brother. "But probably, yes. I might use an audience volunteer to spice things up. It could be a good filler while you and Tay prepare for the sawing act."
A sarcastic smirk took over Zac's lips. "Ah, yes. The sawing act. Because nothing says family entertainment like watching other family members cut each other up."
"Yeah?" Taylor challenged from across the room, looking up from a colorful pile of silk cloths he'd been rigorously searching through. "What are you doing to help keep our act fresh and new?"
Zac's head lolled to the other side as his eyes bore holes into his fair-haired brother's blue ones. "Taking off my fucking shirt," he deadpanned. "Because according to some asshole, my arms make the ladies cream themselves at the sight of them."
"Hey," Taylor offered. "I never said you had to take off your shirt, just show a little arm. Seems to be doing the trick."
"You know what I could do with these arms, instead of sawing your ass in half?" Zac spat. "I could throw fucking tomahawks at you and watch your ass sweat and pray that I miss. That'll flex a bicep or two, that's for sure. I could just as easy borrow a few from the Native American show several tents down. Or you know what? Why don't I just become a fucking full-time lumberjack? I could just invite women to watch me cut down trees and charge admission. Because that's ultimately what we've become, right? Right? We're a fucking girlie show."
During Zac's drunken rant, Taylor had grown silent. He'd completely ignored the silk cloths and, instead, looked at Zac, wide-eyed and in a daze. He had completely gone off into his own world, staring at nothing, his mouth hanging half open. Zac could practically hear his wheels turning. "Oh, shit, what?" Zac lamented.
"We could..." Taylor said in thought. "We could--we could do a throwing act. It could be--it could be knives or tomahawks or..."
"Tay," Isaac said. "I'm not sure that's a very good idea..."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zac blurted in disbelief. "I'm fucking drunk! We're not throwing shit at anything. We can't afford to throw things at our marks, that's where are money comes from--"
Finally, Taylor snapped out of it and glared at Zac. "I'm not talking about throwing anything at the marks, you idiot. I'm talking about...you know...a circular board...painted in bright colors..."
"Oh, shit," Zac muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Taylor was known for this. He got bright (and some not-so-bright) ideas all the time. And if he was passionate enough about them, there was no stopping him. Taylor had an uncanny determination for going after something and making it happen. Zac wondered if Taylor could be a millionaire right now if he'd actually set his mind to it. Then he sat there and fumed at the thought of it.
Suddenly, Taylor jumped to his feet. "Zac. Sober up. We're going shopping."
"Shop--are you serious? Right now? What the hell--?"
"Well, maybe not exactly shopping. More like scrapping, bartering, and begging. Maybe some digging, who knows? Either way, we don't have any time to lose, this rain could let up in two minutes. We need to make the most of our time."
And they were off. As Zac begrudgingly stood from his comfortable location, he sighed as he watched Taylor run around and make a list. He had to admit that maybe getting drunk hadn't been the wisest idea. And maybe the idea he knew Taylor was forming in his head was even worse. But the benefit was, it was distracting enough to keep his mind off of Bessie. What was left of the alcohol numbed the pain in his heart. But what would happen when the alcohol wore off?
*****************
No new acts were performed that night. Due to the rain, Taylor wasn't able to gather very much at all for his new idea and the fair ended up opening in the very late afternoon once the rain had let up. For all the acts involved in the ten-in-one, it left just enough time to get the acts in at least twice before the fair wrapped it up and called it a night.
The brothers were disappointed in losing out on nearly an entire day's worth of pay, so they made up for it as best they could, improvising as much shock, awe, and comedy as they could muster up to keep the late crowds interested. After all, once it got late enough, they knew they were merely the warm-up act before what would be going on down at the end of the midway: the girlie show would open up and most of the marks only hit the ten-in-one on their way down.
The alcohol in Zac had worn off long before their first show started. They didn't have much choice but to keep up with their same old routine, not feeling rehearsed enough to try anything new. And while Zac concentrated as hard as he possibly could just to get through the act, he hadn't heard from Bessie at all for the rest of the day and it weighed heavy on his heart for the rest of the night.
After tearing down what they needed to store in the trailer from their set, they hauled it all in and Zac stood there and watched his brothers get comfortable. Desperate for a distraction, any distraction at all, he decided to see what he could see of the fair before they turned out all the lights.
Shoving a little money into his pocket, Isaac caught him as he was starting out the door. "Hey. Where are you off to?"
"Uh, around," Zac said, straightening his vest that he had buttoned around his chest. "I don't know. Wherever."
Isaac furrowed a brow at him in a way that appeared like a mix of confusion and concern. "This have anything to do with the way you allegedly spent all day at the telegram office then came home drunk?"
Zac sighed, his face falling. "I've just--I've had a really bad day."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Missing Bessie?"
Zac's heart burned with pain at the sound of her name. "I think--I did something stupid today. I sent her a telegram and expected a reply. When I didn't get one, I sent another. And...I may have insinuated that she left me for Billy Connors."
"Zac..."
"I'm ashamed of myself. I am. It was wrong. And--and I know Bessie, I know better, but I got angry and I let that take over. Damn it, if she wasn't driven into his arms before, she sure is now."
Isaac straightened up in his seat. "Why are you so convinced all of a sudden that she's running around with Billy?"
"Because he's out to get me--"
"And you assume Bessie is that easily swayed?"
"She went for me, didn't she? And I'm nothing, I'm a fucking lowlife carny. What the hell could I possibly do for her?"
"Love her. Just like you've been doing. Sure, money and jewelry and fancy dinners are attractive and all, but really, all women want is to be loved and taken care of. And being taken care of doesn't always mean with material items. Think about it. Don't sell yourself short." Relaxing again, Isaac lay back and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Besides, Billy Connors is a snot-nosed punk. Bessie's got too much class for that. That's why she's in love with an Incredible Hanson." Then he smirked. "Girl's got taste."
At that, Zac couldn't help but crack a shy smile as he glanced down at the floor. Then his smile faded and he replied quietly, "I just hope she doesn't hate me."
"She's got a little fire in her, that one," Isaac admitted. "She probably won't be thrilled. But I don't think one, single little hot-headed telegram is going to make her completely fall out of love with you. If that's the case then you weren't meant to be to begin with. But I think we both know that's not true. I think we're all being tested, Zac. All three of us. Tay's getting married, you're in love for the first time, and me? Well...I'm actually missing someone this time. Just one someone. I'm not looking at anyone else. And it's a feeling that's strange and fulfilling all at the same time." A smile spread across his face. "And I don't hate it."
"Times are changing," Zac said with a smile.
"For the better," Isaac smiled back.
Then Zac scowled. "Why do women have to be so much damn trouble?"
"That's their job," Isaac laughed. "We'd be lost without our women making trouble for us, don't you know that by now?"
Zac managed to crack a smile as he turned the knob on the trailer's door. "Well. I guess I'm off to see what I can see for a few minutes. You, uh, you want to come along?"
"Nah. I think Tay's finally choosing to sleep tonight so I'm going to take advantage of it and get some shut-eye. Sleep's been difficult these past few nights with him milling around, doing what he's doing for the show. You, uh, don't go getting into too much trouble. And don't go spending all your hard-earned money on booze, either. I'm starting to get concerned, if I may be honest."
"I won't," Zac assured him. "And, uh, thanks, Ike. Thanks a lot. You're a great brother, you know that?"
"Just get out of here," Isaac smirked, turning over in his bed, his back facing Zac.
As Zac closed the door behind him and stepped outside into the night air, he felt a little better with Isaac's words. Maybe he had overreacted to Bessie's lack of contact with him. He had jumped to conclusions, he knew. And now it pained him more than ever knowing that she was probably upset over that second telegram and the last thing he wanted was to upset her when he missed her so much. He was wrong. And he only wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her and tell her he was sorry and plead for her forgiveness. He worshipped the ground that young woman walked on and he knew he would for the rest of his life.
Taking a deep breath and shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked until he reached the fair's main midway and stopped when he'd stepped out from between a couple of tents. The lights lit up the night from both sides. On his left were the booths and the tents that housed the shows and the games. On his right were the food carts, also adorned with lights, and emitting a heavenly mixture of mouth-watering aromas, reminding Zac that he actually had an appetite despite the forlorn mood he'd been in all day.
As he sauntered down the midway, he witnessed groups of stragglers getting in their last hour or so of fun for the day. Blinking lights and mysterious, colorful banners enticed the carnival-goers to have their fortunes read, toss rings around milk bottles, and eat hot dogs and candy apples until they became sick.
Zac took solace in the night air, the temperature not near as brutal as it had been the evening after the rain, and his hair rested comfortably on his shoulders without the need to fight it from sticking to his neck. When the light breeze blew it was almost paradise and his heart warmed at how enjoyable the weather was that night after the rain was so brutal earlier in the day. Then his heart sank as he fantasized about this perfect weather and how beautiful Bessie's hair would look as the breeze blew it off her shoulders and how her eyes would sparkle under the fair's lights. They would stroll hand-in-hand and she would gleefully drag him around to watch animals do tricks or ride the water boats or...or eat her weight in popcorn...
He smelled it the moment he thought of it. He couldn't help but smile when he found himself stopping in front of one of the food stands. In large, red letters on a yellow backdrop, the stand advertised popcorn, candy floss, and boiled peanuts. He owed it to Bessie to buy a bag of popcorn. Why, if she knew that he bypassed a popcorn stand on his journey and didn't write home about the aroma and the buttery flavors of it, it would downright hurt her feelings--and he knew he'd already done enough of that for one day. So he stood in the small line taken up by teenagers and patiently waited his turn to order his treat. Once at the window, he wasted no time purchasing a bag of popcorn and sliding the nickel across the small counter to the vendor.
Strolling away from the stand, he popped a couple of kernels in his mouth and chewed them slowly, fondly reminiscing about his last bag of popcorn. That night he swore he would never chew another kernel of popcorn ever again. That and besides the fact that he strongly disliked talking pictures meant nothing when Bessie was around. What he wouldn't give in that moment for it to be Thursday night in Tulsa, with Bessie wrapped up in his arms, feeding him a stomachache's worth of popcorn while he watched a talking picture full of fluff and bad dialogue. Only to be with her again...God, why did these days only seem to be growing longer and longer?
As he slowly made his way down the midway, treating the popcorn delicately, as if it was a direct connection to his true love, he found himself nearing the end of it and vowed to turn around and start back up the way he came, when an interesting form of music caught his ear. There wasn't much to it--Zac detected a guitar, a drum, and a trumpet. But the combo produced a form of music just unique enough to lure him in the direction it came from and, before he knew it, he ended up standing outside of Eva From Eden--the girlie show. Of course the music had to be coming from this tent.
Except that he couldn't stop listening. So he dug out two quarters, shoved them in the ticket seller's hand, and helped himself inside the structure.
The tent was packed full of men and it appeared that Zac had arrived in the middle of the show. Stepping a few feet inside, he stepped aside and stood inconspicuously at the very back of the testosterone-filled crowd, who had seated themselves on rows of wooden benches. On a wooden platform stage, that stood roughly five and a half feet high, three women with platinum blonde finger curls shimmied and stepped to the upbeat sounds of the tiny, three-piece band as the sequins of their barely-there costumes glittered against the rigged-up stage lights. As smiles lit up their faces behind layers of ruby red lipstick, Zac shoved popcorn into his mouth, several kernels at a time, his eyes shamelessly bypassing the nearly-nude women, and amused himself by admiring the brightly-painted backdrop behind them.
He had to guffaw to himself just a little bit as the amused smile seemed to be glued to his face. They sure didn't call the show Eva From Eden for nothing. And the show was so clearly made for men and only men that it couldn't have been more obvious. Zac had seen more than enough girlie shows in his day, even going so far as trying his hand at the merchandise back in the days when he sowed his wild oats. The shows hadn't been quite as blatant and near blasphemous as this one was, however, with what was evidently supposed to serve as the biblical Garden of Eden painted on the backdrop. Blue skies, green grass, vines, and apple trees prevailed as a blonde Eve and a brunette Adam engaged in a sexual act, their private parts strategically covered. From above them, the serpent hung from the tree, appearing to offer up the forbidden fruit--a poorly depicted apple--above the pair. Zac noticed immediately that the painting was severely historically inaccurate, but he chose to ignore this fact and to rather entertain the way he could have painted a better scene with his right hand.
Shaking his head and shoving more popcorn into his mouth, he turned his attention to the small band at the edge of the stage. Three whole pieces summed up the act as they attempted to strike a type of jungle sound out of the way the middle-aged man plucked out the strings of the guitar. The decrepit old man with the white hair and thick bifocals kept up the rhythm and the young blonde kid, no older than nineteen at least, blew his young, fresh air into an old trumpet. He presumed the trio of ragtag musicians had never heard a beat of any type of jungle music in their lives and it showed, horribly, but to their credit, they really weren't half bad.
He found himself unusually drawn to the old man and his drum when an uproar from the audience caused Zac to snap his attention back to the temptresses that danced along with it. They had removed the bottom halves of their outfits, revealing alarmingly small G-string undergarments and they had shimmied around to show off the porcelain color of their perfectly-round backsides. He ventured to guess that they'd barely seen the light of day, none of them even close to the sun-kissed beauty that was Bessie's young skin, and then he immediately felt ashamed of himself for looking. In his defense, however, it was the music that had drawn him into the tent to begin with--not the promise of female nudity.
Evident that that was all there was to see in that particular portion of the show, the ladies exited the stage behind the backdrop as the music died down and the show's talker bellowed his voice over the cheers and the chants of the men who had now seemingly lost their religion in favor of their sexual arousal. The silver-tongued talker spoke of the next act generously, promising beauty, entertainment, and, most importantly, "what they came for." He spoke of Glorious Greta's many talents, tempting body, and mesmerizing dance moves. He spoke of Glorious Greta so fondly that even Zac was now curious to see how great that woman actually was. And then, without further ado, the talker exited the stage as a spotlight shone in the middle and within seconds, Glorious Greta took her place amidst it.
The talker wasn't kidding. Glorious Greta was indeed glorious. The brunette beauty's hair fell to the nape of her neck with tight curls, pinned back away from her face. Both her face and her body were gloriously feminine and delicate, her legs long and slender and the plain of her stomach vast and smooth. The teardrop shape of her belly button just above the wine-colored wrap she wore around her waist was something that Zac had been attracted to once upon a time and her perfectly shaped breasts that were barely covered by matching material was something that used to send him over the edge. As she held tight to the shawl that lay across her shoulders, the music started and a few bars in, she opened her mouth. And, all of a sudden, Zac forgot the woman even had a body.
Glorious Greta had immense talent, far beyond the intoxicating way her hips sashayed as she walked around the stage, putting herself on display. As she sang, her voice a low alto, she knew all the tricks and moves it took to drive her audience mad. With winks of her eye and flicks of her finger tips, her voice carried surprisingly well as she purred her lyrics into the ears of helpless men all over the tent.
It was mid-song when she started shedding the material from her body. The shawl was the first thing to go and, shamelessly, Zac found himself watching her routine. She was extremely well-rehearsed, every turn, move, dip, and smile as calculated and choreographed as they could be with the audience being none the wiser. The woman exuded natural confidence and this was what he presumed drove the crowds into this tent every night, whether they realized it or not.
Before it was all said and done, Glorious Greta had shed the long wrap she wore, revealing a smaller one underneath that barely covered her rear and she had also lost the top, the eyes of every man on her perky breasts as she shimmied and shook them with purposeful rhythm as she sang the last lines of her song. She ended the number with a final pose, throwing her arms into the air and plastering a smile on her face as she received a gracious, appreciative, and nearly disrespectful standing ovation as he men whooped and hollered and cheered and cat-called at her. When she had made her exit and the talker wrapped up the show, the men slowly made their exits but, surprisingly, Zac found himself in no hurry to go anywhere. Glorious Greta was definitely everything that talker had promised, and more. The men now exiting the tent likely had enough to go on and would likely go home and nail the ever-loving hell out of their wives with visions of Glorious Greta dancing in their heads. But not Zac, unfortunately. He had no woman to go home to. And even if he did, he knew that she would turn him on much more than this random dancer would.
With the tent nearly empty and his empty popcorn bag tossed into a nearby garbage can, Zac tucked his hands into his pockets and made his way toward the stage. Bypassing it and peeking his head around the back behind it, he saw what was obviously the temporary living quarters of the small staff that worked the show. Nobody seemed to be milling around as much as he expected and the ones that were barely batted an eyelash at his presence. Swallowing nervously, he found himself strolling slowly and carefully past a series of curtains, each one obviously blocking off what was apparently each person's own private "room" or dressing area. At the end of the small walkway, he found one curtain open and couldn't help himself as he peeked around it to his left.
There stood Glorious Greta, her back turned as she pulled a black, silk robe up over her shoulders and tied it around her waist. He watched her slip a pair of white, high-heeled slippers on her feet with feathers on the front and he cleared his throat so as not to startle her.
Trying not to startle her proved futile, however, because she gasped anyway and turned around and looked at him, her face calming upon sight of him. He half expected her to throw him out, but was surprised when she winked at him and calmly went about her business, retrieving a cigarette from a pack that lay on a small table beside her. "Hey, you," her smooth voice flirted with him. "What brings you all the way back here? Stage show wasn't enough for you?"
He stood there for a moment before the blood rose to his cheeks and he closed his hand around a couple of bills in his pocket, pulling them out to reveal them. "Uh, yeah, it--it was, I just--I wanted to make sure you got this instead of it going in the general pool, you know?"
Greta arched an eyebrow as she lit her cigarette, taking a drag and blowing it into the air as she crossed the tent and stood dangerously close to him. Taking the money from his hand, she examined it. "Wow. Two whole dollars. You must have liked what you saw."
"Well, I mean it's...I really respect the work you put into your act, that's all."
She looked him over for a moment before she turned her back and crossed the tent again settling herself in a chair by the table, exposing much of a bare leg from underneath her robe as she crossed them together. "Ah," she smiled. "The proverbial carny respect offering. I see." Then she paused and slid her robe suggestively further up her thigh. "Did you, uh, care to have a seat and maybe...make that two dollars worth it?"
"No," he replied quietly, smiling shyly, flattered by the invitation. "I just wanted to commend you on your act. That's all."
Visibly, Greta huffed in disappointment and took another drag of her cigarette. "Hm. Shame. I've seen your act. You boys are good. But you..." she shook her head with a smile. "I just can't seem to keep my eyes off of you."
The heat returned to his cheeks, a mix of nerves and discomfort. "Well that's, uh, I'm flattered, thank you."
"Zachary--Zac--can I call you Zac?"
"Please."
"Zac. I'm sitting here, nearly naked, practically giving myself to you right here, right now. And men never tell me no. And, yet, here you stand...sexy as you are...and all you wanted to do was tip me?"
"I, uh, I have a girl. Waiting on me back home."
Abruptly, as if she had a switch in her, her demeanor changed and she put her leg down, closing her robe over it and covering herself up once again. "Oh. So there it is. I see what's going on here. You're faithful, but you still have your manly needs that need to be met. So you come and get yourself a little peek so that you can get what you want without actually cheating. I get it."
Zac cleared his throat nervously, knowing that she was wrong, praying that he wouldn't convince himself that she was right. It was the music, damn it. The music drew him in. "That's not--I mean--"
"I bet she's one of those good girls, ain't she?"
"Yeah," he agreed, relieved that the talk seemed to shift to his relationship that he had no interest in jeopardizing. "Yeah. She's, uh, she's real good, yeah."
"She treats you right, gives you everything you need?"
"Yeah," he replied, tucking his hand under his hair and rubbing it across the back of his neck. "She's, uh, she's too good to me, really--"
"How's your sex life?" She asked, blowing out a puff of smoke as if this were everyday, normal conversation for her.
His eyes widened in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"Your sex life," she repeated. "Got yourself a good, wholesome Christian girl who's a snooze in the sack?"
Suddenly, he blinked at her and he furrowed his brow, offended by her assumption. "No. Well, I mean she's a Christian, yes, but--well, as a matter of fact, she's the best I ever had, she's not a snooze at all. And I've had a lot."
"I'd imagine as much."
"In fact," he continued defensively, "sometimes she wears me slap out. Why are you asking me all these questions?"
Taking one last drag, she bounced her leg, letting her ankle dangle underneath her. "I'm just trying to figure out why you're standing in my doorway."
"I told you. Professional respect. Nothing more."
Finally, she finished her cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray on the table next to her and crossed her arms over her chest. Looking up at him in his eyes, she said to him frankly, "Hm. Well. Do yourself a favor, okay? Don't come back here again. The girlie tents ain't the place for you. Don't you go fucking around on your girl. If she's as good as you say she is--and especially if she's willing to put up with all this carny shit--you keep her. It takes special people to love people like us. And they're far and few between, believe you me. So, shoo! Go on, get out of here. Don't let me see your face here again."
Swallowing, both surprised and a little relieved at the turn of events, he turned to leave her domain. He only stopped short when she blurted out, "Zachary."
"Yeah?" He replied, turning to face her.
"Thanks for the tip," she nodded at him. "I appreciate it. And, uh, I'll put a bug in some ears, send them down your way to see your act. That's some good shit you boys got going on up there."
Smiling appreciatively, Zac thanked her before he made his exit.
With his hands shoved in his pockets once more, he made his way back up the midway in thought. He picked up his speed as he saw the lights turning off, one-by-one for the night, but he couldn't stop thinking about Greta and how she was nothing like Zac expected behind the scenes. She was a lot more gruff and rough around the edges, not quite as graceful and dignified as her stage persona suggested. She was every bit as beautiful, but he supposed that she possessed the qualities of a true actor, knowing exactly when to turn it on at all the right times. He appreciated the fact that she was raw and real. After all, when you worked in a traveling carnival, who had time to be untouchable? Your hands got just as dirty as everyone else's did--even Glorious Greta's.
He would heed her advice, though, that was for sure. He would never set foot in another girlie show again. It was unnecessary. It was somewhere where he knew he didn't need to be. He already had everything he ever wanted in a woman--why did he need to go to Eden to look at others?
Oh, Eden. Good old Eden. Eden wasn't just a garden or the proverbial symbol of delicious sin or even a backdrop in a cheap all-girl nude revue. To Zac, Eden was Bessie Harlow. Eden was paradise and paradise was every ounce of that young woman's being and the innocent and heartbreakingly unconditional way that she loved him. Eden was belonging to her, the simple knowledge of the fact that his life and his heart was hers and that she was out there, in this world, waiting for him, longing for him--and the fact that when it was all said and done, he would go straight home to her, straight into her arms, and right into his very own paradise. His very own Eden. Those ladies who danced didn't know Eden. The men who paid to see them didn't know Eden. But Zac knew Eden. Eden was back home in Tulsa, Oklahoma...right inside the heart of an eighteen-year-old young woman.
When Zac entered the dark trailer, quiet as not to wake his brothers, he wasted no time going straight for his stationary and his pen and he retreated into the kitchen area, sitting at the small table and lighting an oil lamp for light. The moment he could see, his pen flew swiftly across the paper:
Bessie, My Love,
I need you. I've never needed a person so much in my life than the way I need you right now. When I fall asleep tonight, come to me in my dreams, I beg of you, please. I love you so much...
DEAR ZAC
I GOT YOUR TELEGRAMS STOP I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY STOP I DIDN'T GET THEM IN TIME BECAUSE I WASN'T HOME STOP WE CHANGED THE PLANS FOR MY BIRTHDAY PARTY AND WE'VE BEEN ALL OVER TOWN TRYING TO MAKE ADJUSTMENTS ON SHORT NOTICE STOP I'M VERY DISAPPOINTED IN HOW UNFAIR YOUR LAST TELEGRAM WAS STOP I MISS YOU AND YOU HURT MY FEELINGS STOP I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON'T TRUST ME STOP I ATE WITH BILLY ONLY ONE TIME BECAUSE HE WANTED TO APOLOGIZE AND I HAVEN'T BEEN ANYWHERE WITH HIM SINCE STOP I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS BUT I COULDN'T GET OUT OF BED FOR TWO DAYS AFTER YOU LEFT STOP I STILL CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP EVERY SINGLE NIGHT BECAUSE I MISS YOU AND THE PHOTOGRAPH I RECEIVED FROM YOU IN THE MAIL MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE AND I CARRY IT EVERYWHERE I GO STOP AND YET THIS IS WHAT I GET IN RETURN QUERY YOUR DISTRUST FOR ME QUERY I'VE NEVER BEEN SO HURT ZAC STOP I LOVE YOU WHETHER YOU BELIEVE IT OR NOT STOP BUT DON'T YOU EVER TRY TO CONTACT ME AGAIN UNLESS YOU'RE IN A BETTER MOOD STOP THIS WAS RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL AND I DON'T DESERVE IT STOP I HOPE YOU HAVE A BETTER DAY STOP
LOVE
BESSIE
"Miss Harlow, I'm not confident that this will all fit on one telegram," the operator regretfully said to Bessie.
"They'll have to try," Bessie argued. "They'll just have to. It's costing me a fortune already, but it's extremely important that it gets delivered! They just have to try!"
Bessie refused to leave the Western Union office until she was assured that the message had been printed and sent out. Then she drove herself home and silently prepared herself for what her father would say once he received the telephone bill.
The telegram she had sent to Zac was in response to the two she received from him the previous night. These past couple of days had consisted of nothing but shopping and party planning and Bessie had hardly been home. While handwritten letters from him flowed in day-after-day, it was the real-time telegrams that were having the affect on her, and not in the positive way that they should have been.
Walking into the house the previous evening, she and her mother, along with Millie and Judith, were greeted by her father, who was all smiles and was insistent upon taking them all out for dinner. In spite of herself, Bessie found herself having a lovely time, eating and talking with her family. Her father had been an absolute delight these past few days and Bessie couldn't have been more grateful.
Coming home for the second time that evening, it was settled that Millie and Judith would sleep over and the trio had been discussing night clothes when they entered Bessie's bedroom and discovered the two envelopes that lay on her bed. "Oh, what are those?" Millie sang out. "More letters from Zac?"
Bessie's face lit up as she raced for her bed. "No. They're telegrams! That must mean they've made it to Philadelphia! He promised to telegram me at every stop they made."
Eager to share in Bessie's excitement, the three girls crowded on the bed as Bessie anxiously tore the first telegram out of its paper prison and drunk in the words with an insatiable thirst. In an instant, her heart sank and she went over the words repeatedly in silence in an effort to make sense of them.
"I don't understand," she muttered breathlessly as the two others peered over her shoulders. "I don't understand what he means by this."
Millie took it upon herself to get into the second telegram, retrieving it from Bessie's lap and opening it up. "I bet you opened them backward. I bet this one comes first."
"But, still," Bessie objected, shaking her head as she took the page from Millie's hand. "There's no sense in anything he said."
Looking over the second telegram, it was obvious that the one she held in her hand now was the first one that she'd received. He'd sent her the schedule for their Philadelphia run, told her he loved her and he missed her, and requested an immediate response.
Then she went back and read the second one and found herself trembling as she fought to understand it. With tears brimming her eyes, she looked up and glanced at both Millie and Judith. "Did he just break up with me? Why does he think--? Why is he talking about Billy?"
"No," Judith said gently. "Zac would never break up with you like that. It looks like he's just upset. It looks like maybe you didn't respond when he wanted you to and that made him upset--"
"So he starts jumping to conclusions?" Bessie squeaked. "And making assumptions and blaming me for things that aren't even happening?"
"He's only a man, sweetie," Judith said. "Men are notorious for acting first and thinking later. Why, I'm willing to bet he's already forgotten about it by now."
"That's bullshit," Bessie snapped.
"Bessie!" Millie gasped. "I've never heard such language come out of you!"
"I don't care. This is unacceptable."
The more Bessie thought about it, the angrier she grew. She was hurt at first, afraid that Zac had decided he was finished with her. Now she realized how unreasonable and unfair he was being, trying to pick fights and control her from fifteen hundred miles away when he should be focusing on his act and on coming back home. Well, Bessie was through. She would be turning nineteen in a week and it was high time she grew up and became her own woman. Judith could make excuses for him all she wanted to, but Bessie wanted to be a woman that could be respected--and that included being respected by her own beau. Tomorrow would be a new day.
Bessie felt the red in her own cheeks as Millie said to her gently, "Bessie. I've known Zac for quiet awhile now. And sometimes he just gets...angry. For no reason, it just comes out."
Bessie whipped her head to the right, appalled at her raven-haired cousin, surprised that she appeared to be taking his side, as well. "Well, this is beyond...unfair. And absurd..."
"I know. I just--when I first met Zac, their parents had been gone about a year. And all he did was brood. All the time. There were times when I thought smiling might physically hurt him. But he stayed angry all the time--at everyone and everything...he was extremely unpleasant to be around. And he hasn't seemed to have much to live for since then, since...well, until you came along. Bessie, honestly, I don't think he means any of this. I think he misses you and he hurts--and getting angry is his way of coping."
"But he can't--he can't take it out on me like that. I wouldn't take it when we first met and I won't take it now. And either he can learn to control his temper on paper or he can just not contact me at all. I am a grown woman now. And I won't take such nonsense lying down."
"Bessie!" Judith gasped. "Surely you don't mean that about contacting you!"
"I do mean it. And I mean to march right up to the Western Union office first thing in the morning and tell him so, too."
Which was exactly what she did. The next morning, she wasted no time at all leaving Millie and Judith sleeping in her bed while she drove the spare automobile into town with a clutch purse full of change. She ignored the operator's wide eyes as she kept dictating her telegram to her, aware of how long it must have been. But Bessie didn't care. She hated that even while Zac was away they seemed to fight, but in the end, in a situation like this, there was nobody to stand up for Bessie but herself. And, by God, from here on out, nobody was going to treat her like a child or walk all over her ever again.
"Miss Harlow," the operator said once she was finished receiving the message. "It appears that the money you have on the counter there won't quite be enough to cover this."
Dejectedly, Bessie sighed. "Charge it to our telephone bill, please."
______________________________________________________
Zac walked into the trailer, knowing that Taylor and Isaac would be upset at him for his prolonged absence and he'd been right. He was drenched from the rain, from head to toe, and he was feeling warm on the inside and loose on the outside from the bottle of liquor he'd managed to sneak and pour down his throat on his way from the Western Union office.
While the rain had put a halt on the opening of the Philadelphia Fair for the day, Taylor and Isaac opted to use their time wisely and rehearse. Zac stumbled around the small space, barely able to get out of his wet clothes and into dry ones, before collapsing down onto the bench that belonged to him, choosing to criticize his brothers rather than rehearse with them. His head swam and his lips were loose and numb as a sarcastic smile took permanent residence across his face.
"Ike. Seriously? Tearing up newspapers? That's what you're practicing today? Hell, anybody can tear paper. Give it to me and I'll tear, fucking...make fucking confetti out of it or something. Jesus."
In the thick haze of his drunkenness, Zac watched Isaac hold out the newspaper and tear it into strips, and then all the way down into tiny bits, balling the remnants up into his fist. Then he scowled at Zac, lifting his fist and showing him the wadded up mess. "For your information, I'm going to restore this paper."
"No dice," Zac shot from his slouched position. "I watched you tear it up and I don't see any backups laying around."
"Au contraire, my sloppy drunk baby brother. Watch and be amazed."
Rolling his eyes, Zac watched Isaac's stupid act. Then he found himself blinking to focus on the fully restored paper that Isaac pulled out of his fist. Attempting to shake the focus into his eyes, he concentrated on the newspaper that hung from Isaac's fingertips. "Okay," Zac nodded, sitting up. "How'd you do it?"
"A good magician never reveals his secrets."
"Unless his brother is in his act," Zac shot back.
"Maybe I'll let you in on it when you're sober. Meanwhile, you smell like a fucking illegal distillery, you're gonna get us all arrested."
"Right. Because you're not constantly packing," Zac mumbled with a huff. Then he slouched back down in his seat and looked his eldest brother over, with his perfectly coiffed, short, dark blonde hair and his perfectly tailored vest with the pocket watch hanging out of his pants pocket. "You gonna try that parlor trick tonight?" He slurred.
"This is no parlor trick, believe me," Isaac corrected his brother. "But probably, yes. I might use an audience volunteer to spice things up. It could be a good filler while you and Tay prepare for the sawing act."
A sarcastic smirk took over Zac's lips. "Ah, yes. The sawing act. Because nothing says family entertainment like watching other family members cut each other up."
"Yeah?" Taylor challenged from across the room, looking up from a colorful pile of silk cloths he'd been rigorously searching through. "What are you doing to help keep our act fresh and new?"
Zac's head lolled to the other side as his eyes bore holes into his fair-haired brother's blue ones. "Taking off my fucking shirt," he deadpanned. "Because according to some asshole, my arms make the ladies cream themselves at the sight of them."
"Hey," Taylor offered. "I never said you had to take off your shirt, just show a little arm. Seems to be doing the trick."
"You know what I could do with these arms, instead of sawing your ass in half?" Zac spat. "I could throw fucking tomahawks at you and watch your ass sweat and pray that I miss. That'll flex a bicep or two, that's for sure. I could just as easy borrow a few from the Native American show several tents down. Or you know what? Why don't I just become a fucking full-time lumberjack? I could just invite women to watch me cut down trees and charge admission. Because that's ultimately what we've become, right? Right? We're a fucking girlie show."
During Zac's drunken rant, Taylor had grown silent. He'd completely ignored the silk cloths and, instead, looked at Zac, wide-eyed and in a daze. He had completely gone off into his own world, staring at nothing, his mouth hanging half open. Zac could practically hear his wheels turning. "Oh, shit, what?" Zac lamented.
"We could..." Taylor said in thought. "We could--we could do a throwing act. It could be--it could be knives or tomahawks or..."
"Tay," Isaac said. "I'm not sure that's a very good idea..."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zac blurted in disbelief. "I'm fucking drunk! We're not throwing shit at anything. We can't afford to throw things at our marks, that's where are money comes from--"
Finally, Taylor snapped out of it and glared at Zac. "I'm not talking about throwing anything at the marks, you idiot. I'm talking about...you know...a circular board...painted in bright colors..."
"Oh, shit," Zac muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Taylor was known for this. He got bright (and some not-so-bright) ideas all the time. And if he was passionate enough about them, there was no stopping him. Taylor had an uncanny determination for going after something and making it happen. Zac wondered if Taylor could be a millionaire right now if he'd actually set his mind to it. Then he sat there and fumed at the thought of it.
Suddenly, Taylor jumped to his feet. "Zac. Sober up. We're going shopping."
"Shop--are you serious? Right now? What the hell--?"
"Well, maybe not exactly shopping. More like scrapping, bartering, and begging. Maybe some digging, who knows? Either way, we don't have any time to lose, this rain could let up in two minutes. We need to make the most of our time."
And they were off. As Zac begrudgingly stood from his comfortable location, he sighed as he watched Taylor run around and make a list. He had to admit that maybe getting drunk hadn't been the wisest idea. And maybe the idea he knew Taylor was forming in his head was even worse. But the benefit was, it was distracting enough to keep his mind off of Bessie. What was left of the alcohol numbed the pain in his heart. But what would happen when the alcohol wore off?
*****************
No new acts were performed that night. Due to the rain, Taylor wasn't able to gather very much at all for his new idea and the fair ended up opening in the very late afternoon once the rain had let up. For all the acts involved in the ten-in-one, it left just enough time to get the acts in at least twice before the fair wrapped it up and called it a night.
The brothers were disappointed in losing out on nearly an entire day's worth of pay, so they made up for it as best they could, improvising as much shock, awe, and comedy as they could muster up to keep the late crowds interested. After all, once it got late enough, they knew they were merely the warm-up act before what would be going on down at the end of the midway: the girlie show would open up and most of the marks only hit the ten-in-one on their way down.
The alcohol in Zac had worn off long before their first show started. They didn't have much choice but to keep up with their same old routine, not feeling rehearsed enough to try anything new. And while Zac concentrated as hard as he possibly could just to get through the act, he hadn't heard from Bessie at all for the rest of the day and it weighed heavy on his heart for the rest of the night.
After tearing down what they needed to store in the trailer from their set, they hauled it all in and Zac stood there and watched his brothers get comfortable. Desperate for a distraction, any distraction at all, he decided to see what he could see of the fair before they turned out all the lights.
Shoving a little money into his pocket, Isaac caught him as he was starting out the door. "Hey. Where are you off to?"
"Uh, around," Zac said, straightening his vest that he had buttoned around his chest. "I don't know. Wherever."
Isaac furrowed a brow at him in a way that appeared like a mix of confusion and concern. "This have anything to do with the way you allegedly spent all day at the telegram office then came home drunk?"
Zac sighed, his face falling. "I've just--I've had a really bad day."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Missing Bessie?"
Zac's heart burned with pain at the sound of her name. "I think--I did something stupid today. I sent her a telegram and expected a reply. When I didn't get one, I sent another. And...I may have insinuated that she left me for Billy Connors."
"Zac..."
"I'm ashamed of myself. I am. It was wrong. And--and I know Bessie, I know better, but I got angry and I let that take over. Damn it, if she wasn't driven into his arms before, she sure is now."
Isaac straightened up in his seat. "Why are you so convinced all of a sudden that she's running around with Billy?"
"Because he's out to get me--"
"And you assume Bessie is that easily swayed?"
"She went for me, didn't she? And I'm nothing, I'm a fucking lowlife carny. What the hell could I possibly do for her?"
"Love her. Just like you've been doing. Sure, money and jewelry and fancy dinners are attractive and all, but really, all women want is to be loved and taken care of. And being taken care of doesn't always mean with material items. Think about it. Don't sell yourself short." Relaxing again, Isaac lay back and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Besides, Billy Connors is a snot-nosed punk. Bessie's got too much class for that. That's why she's in love with an Incredible Hanson." Then he smirked. "Girl's got taste."
At that, Zac couldn't help but crack a shy smile as he glanced down at the floor. Then his smile faded and he replied quietly, "I just hope she doesn't hate me."
"She's got a little fire in her, that one," Isaac admitted. "She probably won't be thrilled. But I don't think one, single little hot-headed telegram is going to make her completely fall out of love with you. If that's the case then you weren't meant to be to begin with. But I think we both know that's not true. I think we're all being tested, Zac. All three of us. Tay's getting married, you're in love for the first time, and me? Well...I'm actually missing someone this time. Just one someone. I'm not looking at anyone else. And it's a feeling that's strange and fulfilling all at the same time." A smile spread across his face. "And I don't hate it."
"Times are changing," Zac said with a smile.
"For the better," Isaac smiled back.
Then Zac scowled. "Why do women have to be so much damn trouble?"
"That's their job," Isaac laughed. "We'd be lost without our women making trouble for us, don't you know that by now?"
Zac managed to crack a smile as he turned the knob on the trailer's door. "Well. I guess I'm off to see what I can see for a few minutes. You, uh, you want to come along?"
"Nah. I think Tay's finally choosing to sleep tonight so I'm going to take advantage of it and get some shut-eye. Sleep's been difficult these past few nights with him milling around, doing what he's doing for the show. You, uh, don't go getting into too much trouble. And don't go spending all your hard-earned money on booze, either. I'm starting to get concerned, if I may be honest."
"I won't," Zac assured him. "And, uh, thanks, Ike. Thanks a lot. You're a great brother, you know that?"
"Just get out of here," Isaac smirked, turning over in his bed, his back facing Zac.
As Zac closed the door behind him and stepped outside into the night air, he felt a little better with Isaac's words. Maybe he had overreacted to Bessie's lack of contact with him. He had jumped to conclusions, he knew. And now it pained him more than ever knowing that she was probably upset over that second telegram and the last thing he wanted was to upset her when he missed her so much. He was wrong. And he only wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her and tell her he was sorry and plead for her forgiveness. He worshipped the ground that young woman walked on and he knew he would for the rest of his life.
Taking a deep breath and shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked until he reached the fair's main midway and stopped when he'd stepped out from between a couple of tents. The lights lit up the night from both sides. On his left were the booths and the tents that housed the shows and the games. On his right were the food carts, also adorned with lights, and emitting a heavenly mixture of mouth-watering aromas, reminding Zac that he actually had an appetite despite the forlorn mood he'd been in all day.
As he sauntered down the midway, he witnessed groups of stragglers getting in their last hour or so of fun for the day. Blinking lights and mysterious, colorful banners enticed the carnival-goers to have their fortunes read, toss rings around milk bottles, and eat hot dogs and candy apples until they became sick.
Zac took solace in the night air, the temperature not near as brutal as it had been the evening after the rain, and his hair rested comfortably on his shoulders without the need to fight it from sticking to his neck. When the light breeze blew it was almost paradise and his heart warmed at how enjoyable the weather was that night after the rain was so brutal earlier in the day. Then his heart sank as he fantasized about this perfect weather and how beautiful Bessie's hair would look as the breeze blew it off her shoulders and how her eyes would sparkle under the fair's lights. They would stroll hand-in-hand and she would gleefully drag him around to watch animals do tricks or ride the water boats or...or eat her weight in popcorn...
He smelled it the moment he thought of it. He couldn't help but smile when he found himself stopping in front of one of the food stands. In large, red letters on a yellow backdrop, the stand advertised popcorn, candy floss, and boiled peanuts. He owed it to Bessie to buy a bag of popcorn. Why, if she knew that he bypassed a popcorn stand on his journey and didn't write home about the aroma and the buttery flavors of it, it would downright hurt her feelings--and he knew he'd already done enough of that for one day. So he stood in the small line taken up by teenagers and patiently waited his turn to order his treat. Once at the window, he wasted no time purchasing a bag of popcorn and sliding the nickel across the small counter to the vendor.
Strolling away from the stand, he popped a couple of kernels in his mouth and chewed them slowly, fondly reminiscing about his last bag of popcorn. That night he swore he would never chew another kernel of popcorn ever again. That and besides the fact that he strongly disliked talking pictures meant nothing when Bessie was around. What he wouldn't give in that moment for it to be Thursday night in Tulsa, with Bessie wrapped up in his arms, feeding him a stomachache's worth of popcorn while he watched a talking picture full of fluff and bad dialogue. Only to be with her again...God, why did these days only seem to be growing longer and longer?
As he slowly made his way down the midway, treating the popcorn delicately, as if it was a direct connection to his true love, he found himself nearing the end of it and vowed to turn around and start back up the way he came, when an interesting form of music caught his ear. There wasn't much to it--Zac detected a guitar, a drum, and a trumpet. But the combo produced a form of music just unique enough to lure him in the direction it came from and, before he knew it, he ended up standing outside of Eva From Eden--the girlie show. Of course the music had to be coming from this tent.
Except that he couldn't stop listening. So he dug out two quarters, shoved them in the ticket seller's hand, and helped himself inside the structure.
The tent was packed full of men and it appeared that Zac had arrived in the middle of the show. Stepping a few feet inside, he stepped aside and stood inconspicuously at the very back of the testosterone-filled crowd, who had seated themselves on rows of wooden benches. On a wooden platform stage, that stood roughly five and a half feet high, three women with platinum blonde finger curls shimmied and stepped to the upbeat sounds of the tiny, three-piece band as the sequins of their barely-there costumes glittered against the rigged-up stage lights. As smiles lit up their faces behind layers of ruby red lipstick, Zac shoved popcorn into his mouth, several kernels at a time, his eyes shamelessly bypassing the nearly-nude women, and amused himself by admiring the brightly-painted backdrop behind them.
He had to guffaw to himself just a little bit as the amused smile seemed to be glued to his face. They sure didn't call the show Eva From Eden for nothing. And the show was so clearly made for men and only men that it couldn't have been more obvious. Zac had seen more than enough girlie shows in his day, even going so far as trying his hand at the merchandise back in the days when he sowed his wild oats. The shows hadn't been quite as blatant and near blasphemous as this one was, however, with what was evidently supposed to serve as the biblical Garden of Eden painted on the backdrop. Blue skies, green grass, vines, and apple trees prevailed as a blonde Eve and a brunette Adam engaged in a sexual act, their private parts strategically covered. From above them, the serpent hung from the tree, appearing to offer up the forbidden fruit--a poorly depicted apple--above the pair. Zac noticed immediately that the painting was severely historically inaccurate, but he chose to ignore this fact and to rather entertain the way he could have painted a better scene with his right hand.
Shaking his head and shoving more popcorn into his mouth, he turned his attention to the small band at the edge of the stage. Three whole pieces summed up the act as they attempted to strike a type of jungle sound out of the way the middle-aged man plucked out the strings of the guitar. The decrepit old man with the white hair and thick bifocals kept up the rhythm and the young blonde kid, no older than nineteen at least, blew his young, fresh air into an old trumpet. He presumed the trio of ragtag musicians had never heard a beat of any type of jungle music in their lives and it showed, horribly, but to their credit, they really weren't half bad.
He found himself unusually drawn to the old man and his drum when an uproar from the audience caused Zac to snap his attention back to the temptresses that danced along with it. They had removed the bottom halves of their outfits, revealing alarmingly small G-string undergarments and they had shimmied around to show off the porcelain color of their perfectly-round backsides. He ventured to guess that they'd barely seen the light of day, none of them even close to the sun-kissed beauty that was Bessie's young skin, and then he immediately felt ashamed of himself for looking. In his defense, however, it was the music that had drawn him into the tent to begin with--not the promise of female nudity.
Evident that that was all there was to see in that particular portion of the show, the ladies exited the stage behind the backdrop as the music died down and the show's talker bellowed his voice over the cheers and the chants of the men who had now seemingly lost their religion in favor of their sexual arousal. The silver-tongued talker spoke of the next act generously, promising beauty, entertainment, and, most importantly, "what they came for." He spoke of Glorious Greta's many talents, tempting body, and mesmerizing dance moves. He spoke of Glorious Greta so fondly that even Zac was now curious to see how great that woman actually was. And then, without further ado, the talker exited the stage as a spotlight shone in the middle and within seconds, Glorious Greta took her place amidst it.
The talker wasn't kidding. Glorious Greta was indeed glorious. The brunette beauty's hair fell to the nape of her neck with tight curls, pinned back away from her face. Both her face and her body were gloriously feminine and delicate, her legs long and slender and the plain of her stomach vast and smooth. The teardrop shape of her belly button just above the wine-colored wrap she wore around her waist was something that Zac had been attracted to once upon a time and her perfectly shaped breasts that were barely covered by matching material was something that used to send him over the edge. As she held tight to the shawl that lay across her shoulders, the music started and a few bars in, she opened her mouth. And, all of a sudden, Zac forgot the woman even had a body.
Glorious Greta had immense talent, far beyond the intoxicating way her hips sashayed as she walked around the stage, putting herself on display. As she sang, her voice a low alto, she knew all the tricks and moves it took to drive her audience mad. With winks of her eye and flicks of her finger tips, her voice carried surprisingly well as she purred her lyrics into the ears of helpless men all over the tent.
It was mid-song when she started shedding the material from her body. The shawl was the first thing to go and, shamelessly, Zac found himself watching her routine. She was extremely well-rehearsed, every turn, move, dip, and smile as calculated and choreographed as they could be with the audience being none the wiser. The woman exuded natural confidence and this was what he presumed drove the crowds into this tent every night, whether they realized it or not.
Before it was all said and done, Glorious Greta had shed the long wrap she wore, revealing a smaller one underneath that barely covered her rear and she had also lost the top, the eyes of every man on her perky breasts as she shimmied and shook them with purposeful rhythm as she sang the last lines of her song. She ended the number with a final pose, throwing her arms into the air and plastering a smile on her face as she received a gracious, appreciative, and nearly disrespectful standing ovation as he men whooped and hollered and cheered and cat-called at her. When she had made her exit and the talker wrapped up the show, the men slowly made their exits but, surprisingly, Zac found himself in no hurry to go anywhere. Glorious Greta was definitely everything that talker had promised, and more. The men now exiting the tent likely had enough to go on and would likely go home and nail the ever-loving hell out of their wives with visions of Glorious Greta dancing in their heads. But not Zac, unfortunately. He had no woman to go home to. And even if he did, he knew that she would turn him on much more than this random dancer would.
With the tent nearly empty and his empty popcorn bag tossed into a nearby garbage can, Zac tucked his hands into his pockets and made his way toward the stage. Bypassing it and peeking his head around the back behind it, he saw what was obviously the temporary living quarters of the small staff that worked the show. Nobody seemed to be milling around as much as he expected and the ones that were barely batted an eyelash at his presence. Swallowing nervously, he found himself strolling slowly and carefully past a series of curtains, each one obviously blocking off what was apparently each person's own private "room" or dressing area. At the end of the small walkway, he found one curtain open and couldn't help himself as he peeked around it to his left.
There stood Glorious Greta, her back turned as she pulled a black, silk robe up over her shoulders and tied it around her waist. He watched her slip a pair of white, high-heeled slippers on her feet with feathers on the front and he cleared his throat so as not to startle her.
Trying not to startle her proved futile, however, because she gasped anyway and turned around and looked at him, her face calming upon sight of him. He half expected her to throw him out, but was surprised when she winked at him and calmly went about her business, retrieving a cigarette from a pack that lay on a small table beside her. "Hey, you," her smooth voice flirted with him. "What brings you all the way back here? Stage show wasn't enough for you?"
He stood there for a moment before the blood rose to his cheeks and he closed his hand around a couple of bills in his pocket, pulling them out to reveal them. "Uh, yeah, it--it was, I just--I wanted to make sure you got this instead of it going in the general pool, you know?"
Greta arched an eyebrow as she lit her cigarette, taking a drag and blowing it into the air as she crossed the tent and stood dangerously close to him. Taking the money from his hand, she examined it. "Wow. Two whole dollars. You must have liked what you saw."
"Well, I mean it's...I really respect the work you put into your act, that's all."
She looked him over for a moment before she turned her back and crossed the tent again settling herself in a chair by the table, exposing much of a bare leg from underneath her robe as she crossed them together. "Ah," she smiled. "The proverbial carny respect offering. I see." Then she paused and slid her robe suggestively further up her thigh. "Did you, uh, care to have a seat and maybe...make that two dollars worth it?"
"No," he replied quietly, smiling shyly, flattered by the invitation. "I just wanted to commend you on your act. That's all."
Visibly, Greta huffed in disappointment and took another drag of her cigarette. "Hm. Shame. I've seen your act. You boys are good. But you..." she shook her head with a smile. "I just can't seem to keep my eyes off of you."
The heat returned to his cheeks, a mix of nerves and discomfort. "Well that's, uh, I'm flattered, thank you."
"Zachary--Zac--can I call you Zac?"
"Please."
"Zac. I'm sitting here, nearly naked, practically giving myself to you right here, right now. And men never tell me no. And, yet, here you stand...sexy as you are...and all you wanted to do was tip me?"
"I, uh, I have a girl. Waiting on me back home."
Abruptly, as if she had a switch in her, her demeanor changed and she put her leg down, closing her robe over it and covering herself up once again. "Oh. So there it is. I see what's going on here. You're faithful, but you still have your manly needs that need to be met. So you come and get yourself a little peek so that you can get what you want without actually cheating. I get it."
Zac cleared his throat nervously, knowing that she was wrong, praying that he wouldn't convince himself that she was right. It was the music, damn it. The music drew him in. "That's not--I mean--"
"I bet she's one of those good girls, ain't she?"
"Yeah," he agreed, relieved that the talk seemed to shift to his relationship that he had no interest in jeopardizing. "Yeah. She's, uh, she's real good, yeah."
"She treats you right, gives you everything you need?"
"Yeah," he replied, tucking his hand under his hair and rubbing it across the back of his neck. "She's, uh, she's too good to me, really--"
"How's your sex life?" She asked, blowing out a puff of smoke as if this were everyday, normal conversation for her.
His eyes widened in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"Your sex life," she repeated. "Got yourself a good, wholesome Christian girl who's a snooze in the sack?"
Suddenly, he blinked at her and he furrowed his brow, offended by her assumption. "No. Well, I mean she's a Christian, yes, but--well, as a matter of fact, she's the best I ever had, she's not a snooze at all. And I've had a lot."
"I'd imagine as much."
"In fact," he continued defensively, "sometimes she wears me slap out. Why are you asking me all these questions?"
Taking one last drag, she bounced her leg, letting her ankle dangle underneath her. "I'm just trying to figure out why you're standing in my doorway."
"I told you. Professional respect. Nothing more."
Finally, she finished her cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray on the table next to her and crossed her arms over her chest. Looking up at him in his eyes, she said to him frankly, "Hm. Well. Do yourself a favor, okay? Don't come back here again. The girlie tents ain't the place for you. Don't you go fucking around on your girl. If she's as good as you say she is--and especially if she's willing to put up with all this carny shit--you keep her. It takes special people to love people like us. And they're far and few between, believe you me. So, shoo! Go on, get out of here. Don't let me see your face here again."
Swallowing, both surprised and a little relieved at the turn of events, he turned to leave her domain. He only stopped short when she blurted out, "Zachary."
"Yeah?" He replied, turning to face her.
"Thanks for the tip," she nodded at him. "I appreciate it. And, uh, I'll put a bug in some ears, send them down your way to see your act. That's some good shit you boys got going on up there."
Smiling appreciatively, Zac thanked her before he made his exit.
With his hands shoved in his pockets once more, he made his way back up the midway in thought. He picked up his speed as he saw the lights turning off, one-by-one for the night, but he couldn't stop thinking about Greta and how she was nothing like Zac expected behind the scenes. She was a lot more gruff and rough around the edges, not quite as graceful and dignified as her stage persona suggested. She was every bit as beautiful, but he supposed that she possessed the qualities of a true actor, knowing exactly when to turn it on at all the right times. He appreciated the fact that she was raw and real. After all, when you worked in a traveling carnival, who had time to be untouchable? Your hands got just as dirty as everyone else's did--even Glorious Greta's.
He would heed her advice, though, that was for sure. He would never set foot in another girlie show again. It was unnecessary. It was somewhere where he knew he didn't need to be. He already had everything he ever wanted in a woman--why did he need to go to Eden to look at others?
Oh, Eden. Good old Eden. Eden wasn't just a garden or the proverbial symbol of delicious sin or even a backdrop in a cheap all-girl nude revue. To Zac, Eden was Bessie Harlow. Eden was paradise and paradise was every ounce of that young woman's being and the innocent and heartbreakingly unconditional way that she loved him. Eden was belonging to her, the simple knowledge of the fact that his life and his heart was hers and that she was out there, in this world, waiting for him, longing for him--and the fact that when it was all said and done, he would go straight home to her, straight into her arms, and right into his very own paradise. His very own Eden. Those ladies who danced didn't know Eden. The men who paid to see them didn't know Eden. But Zac knew Eden. Eden was back home in Tulsa, Oklahoma...right inside the heart of an eighteen-year-old young woman.
When Zac entered the dark trailer, quiet as not to wake his brothers, he wasted no time going straight for his stationary and his pen and he retreated into the kitchen area, sitting at the small table and lighting an oil lamp for light. The moment he could see, his pen flew swiftly across the paper:
Bessie, My Love,
I need you. I've never needed a person so much in my life than the way I need you right now. When I fall asleep tonight, come to me in my dreams, I beg of you, please. I love you so much...