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“The one who was here with her before?”
He stared at me and considered. One thing about Bunny, people always notice her. “No, a different one,” he said finally.
“Hey, let’s go,” said another bartender. “I got people waiting.”
The bartender named Jody turned back to the kegs.
“What did he look like?” I called out.
“Like I said, he was skinny,” Jody yelled over his shoulder. He drew some more beer, then added, “He didn’t have a shirt on.”
“Thanks,” I said softly, stepping back into the crowd of men. Eddie.
TWENTY-FIVE
An event in the arena let out, and a swarm of people, mostly farmers, came clamoring up a path between the tents. I slipped off down a smaller path to get away. On the side, a group of people was gathered, bending down. A woman w
as stretched out on the ground, her pocketbook for a pillow. Her eyes were open, but she was staring straight up. The people were trying to talk to her, but they seemed helpless. My heart raced, and I hurried on. Just get to the car, I thought. Bunny’s got to come for it sometime.
Here, in the center of the fairgrounds, noise came from all around: shouting, clanging, crying, bleating. Strings of bulbs hanging between utility poles cast a brown light over everything. I paused to get my bearings, and a man bumped into me, then moved silently on.
“Martha!” a voice called out suddenly. I caught a flash of yellow, a shiny-white grin. “Martha! Hey, look, it’s Martha Calhoun!”
Tammy Mirkov appeared in front of me. She seemed to step out of a brown fog.
“I haven’t seen you since the pool,” she said, smiling eagerly. “What are you doing here?”
“I came with Bunny,” I mumbled.
“Look, it’s Martha Calhoun,” she repeated, turning to two boys lurking behind her. One was Art Harrington, her boyfriend. I didn’t recognize the other. The boys nodded at her.
I started to walk away, but Tammy grabbed my arm. “No, wait,” she said. “Did you meet Muscle? He’s Art’s cousin from Emerson. Muscle’s not his real name, but that’s what everyone calls him. He’s on the wrestling team.”
Muscle was a shorter, stockier version of Art, with a bristly brown crew cut. He smiled quickly at me.
“How’s it going?” Tammy asked.
“Fine,” I said.
She looked at the boys, and her eyes sparked. “You’re kind of famous, in a way,” she said, turning back to me.
“What?”
“You know, famous.” She was smiling. I couldn’t look at her directly. My gaze kept floating up to the top of her head, where her blond hair was pulled back tight and shiny and sleek. “Hey,” she said, suddenly. “There’s a party. A big party. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? It’ll be fun. Right, guys?” She turned again to the two boys. Art seemed to be shaking his head, but she ignored him. “You can’t pass up a party,” she said. “Come on.” She brushed past and gave my arm a tug, but let go when I resisted. She walked forward a few feet, then stopped and turned back. I pivoted to watch her. The boys were behind me now.
“Well, are you coming?” she demanded. She was talking to all three of us. I should have left, but her taunting manner held me there. She was being so open about it—she was testing me, and I suddenly felt that to walk away now would be to admit that everything they’d said about me, everything they’d imagined was true. I had to prove myself.
In the middle of the path, we engaged in a kind of tug-of-war, Tammy against me and the boys. I got the feeling that as soon as one side gave in by just a step, it would go sprawling toward the other. I stared at Tammy. She looked past me to the boys. For a few seconds the rope was absolutely taut, and I thought I saw her waver. But then, behind me, Muscle gave a little snort. “Well, okay,” he said, and pushed past me. Art followed, shrugging his shoulders. With them in tow, Tammy turned and walked on, certain that I’d follow. And, of course, I did. I’d let myself get trapped, and now I had to see this through.
Tammy twisted and dodged through the crowds of people, leading us on a jagged course across the fairgrounds, without ever looking back. Where do you get that kind of confidence? Of course, she had it years ago, as a little girl with ironed dresses and flawless hair, the only child in the neighborhood who dared defy Tom. She once told him she “detested” him, using a word that none of us understood and that sounded adult and truly horrible. I expected Tom to slug her, but he just crept away. I think he secretly hoped she’d be his girlfriend.
After a while, we came to the animal tents and, beyond, to the fence that circles the fairgrounds. The lights in the tents were low, and the area was dark, but Tammy knew exactly where she was headed. She walked along the fence for a few yards and stopped. At a spot by her feet, the wire had been sliced and bent back, making a hole just big enough for one person to crawl through. On the other side, Banyon’s Woods was black and cool. Tammy crouched and slid through the hole, moving on her hands and toes, like a small, four-legged animal, so she wouldn’t dirty her white pants. Once through, she stood and brushed her hands against each other impatiently.
Art and Muscle and I looked from the hole to each other. Finally, Muscle scrambled through the opening. I didn’t want to be last, so I stepped forward. The hole looked so small and so awkwardly placed, near the ground. I crouched, but I loomed hopelessly over the opening. I’m bigger than these people, I thought. I imagined I’d have to get down on my stomach and slither through, like a snake. “What are you waiting for?” said Tammy. I knelt and poked my head under the jagged wire. Then I pushed my shoulders through. I lowered my back and crawled. The dampness of the crushed grass pressed against my legs. I was ruining my dress. The wire scraped against my back. But in a second, I was through, standing on the other side, feeling as if I’d crossed some terrible distance and the fairgrounds was miles away.
