GOING TO THE FESTIVAL was one thing.
Getting inside was another.
Ellie stood on the beach, the afternoon sun hot on her skin, her sweaty hand in Bill’s, staring down the imposing-looking man blocking the festival side entrance. His size put him in the sumo wrestler league, and that patch over his eye gave him a Captain Barbossa in Pirates of the Caribbean look. If that combo wasn’t bad enough, the words “You Lookin’ at Me?” emblazoned on his tank top indicated either he had a rampant paranoia streak, or she would any moment.
“Go on in,” murmured Bill, giving her hand a tug.
Digging her wedgies into the sand, she rasped, “Yeah, right, I’ve always wanted to die in Malibu.”
“C’mon, Ellie. Thought you were hungry.”
She averted her gaze in case Captain Sumo thought she was lookin’ at him. “Can’t we go in the main entrance?”
His eyebrows pressed together. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Like you need to ask.”
With a low, throaty chuckle, he leaned his face close to hers. “I refuse to believe,” he murmured, “that anyone who wears a Queen of Evil tattoo is afraid of walking past one itty-bitty security guard.”
“Itty-bitty?” She blinked. “You’ve obviously been out in the sun too long.”
He squeezed her hand. “Trust me on this, Ellie.”
When they reached the guard, Bill paused, nodded a greeting. “How’s it going, Sam?”
“It’s cool, Bill.”
“Mind if we go in?”
“You’re the man.” Sam stepped aside, motioned for them to enter.
They stepped inside a small tented area, the air cooled with the help of several rotating fans. Ellie stopped, brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead. “So you two know each other.”
“He’s one of the security guys on the Sin on the Beach set.”
“And you couldn’t have shared that while I was freaking out?”
A rakish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I wanted to look big and bad in your eyes.”
“Aren’t you the macho one,” she said with dry sarcasm.
“And you love it.”
God help her, she did, even if she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. She looked around the area, set up with folding chairs, coolers packed with ice and drinks, tables on which sat several monitors projecting black-and-white images of the festival. A buffed guy in shorts and a tank top with the word Security on its back sat viewing one of the monitors. He nodded hello to Bill, went back to his work.
“I feel like I’m with the in crowd,” Ellie said, watching a group of people playing volleyball on one of the monitors. Maybe it was her imagination, but that brunette woman spiking the ball looked a lot like Candy.
“I know these guys from the Sin on the Beach set, where they work our security. I didn’t know that was their special entrance, though.” He looked over at the cooler. “Want a soda?”
“Should we—” But he was already heading over. Just like Bill to do what he wanted, screw the rules.
Watching him walk away made her forget any rules, too, as she admired the view. Broad, muscled back that narrowed to a fit waist. Great buns that shifted and moved under those khaki shorts. He had a bit of a bowlegged walk, like a cowboy, which made her smile. Unlike a cowboy, his legs were bare so she could see how compact and muscled they were.
She imagined gliding her palms down that muscled back, over that hard behind, around to his front where she’d dawdle…tease…explore….
He turned and she jerked her gaze up to his.
A slow, knowing grin danced across his face.
Caught. Well, so what? He’d probably seen plenty of women doing the same thing.
“Here you go,” he said a moment later as he handed her a cold can of pop. “And dig this. Meat loaf sandwiches. I helped us to one.” He handed a half to her. “Have a seat, relax.” He leaned against a table and started munching.
She looked over her shoulder. “Should we—”
He motioned for her to sit, giving her a knowing nod as he ate.
She did, realizing she was doing that good-girl, what-are-the-rules thing again, which would never go over with a guy like Bill, who claimed his territory on the fly. Reminded her of the boys back in the hood and their power plays over turf—be it a porch, a street corner, a park. She wondered if Bill realized how, despite his so-called new life, he was still a boy in the hood.
For the next few minutes, they ate and drank in silence.
“This is delicious,” she said, finishing a bite.
“You make meat loaf?”
She rolled her eyes. “Too busy. The only thing I make is coffee. You?”
“I make the best sandwiches this side of New York.”
“Humble, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “I prefer to call it truthful.”
The guy watching the monitors had flipped on a portable radio to an oldies but goodies station. The upbeat, sexy song, “Walk on the Wild Side,” started playing. Same tune she’d downloaded for her ringtone. Perfect background music for sneaking glances at Bill’s mouth as he nibbled and chewed, at his tongue as it flicked against his drink. She had no doubt he could do incredible things with that mouth in bed, too….
He lowered his soda. “Who’s singing this song?”
“Lou Reed.”
“That glam rock, punk guy?”
She heard the disdain in his voice, which put her off a bit. Not that Bill should like the things she liked, it was that he sounded so judgmental.
“That’s old news,” she said, not meaning to say it so sharply, or maybe she did. “These days, he’s respected for his songwriting, electronic music, even his style of rock and roll.”
He tapped his finger against the side of his drink. “I offended you.”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “You sounded critical.”
He stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. After finishing, he said, “You’re honest. I like that. I’m honest, too, sometimes to a fault, but I like to be a man of my word, you know?”
Great. He revered honesty, and before him sat a woman whose very appearance was a lie. She took a sip of her drink, avoiding his eyes.
“I’m also a music dunce,” he continued. “I’ll listen to tunes when I want to quiet my mind or relax, but—” he shook his head “—it irritates me otherwise. Probably because I heard rap day and night back in the hood. It was like crackling static that never went away. Songs about violence and sex and killing cops. I hated it. Ruined my appreciation for other kinds of music, I guess.”
She remembered hearing rap when she was outside, but her world inside her bedroom was a sanctuary of what she liked—be it books or listening to Lou Reed or painting lyrics on her ceiling to her mother’s annoyance. “Shame that happened. Music has often been my greatest solace.”
“Lucky you.”
For a moment they stared at each other, the sounds of the festival receding into the background, leaving the two of them suspended in a time capsule that encompassed the past and the present. She still saw the boy she’d been so crazy about, dark and handsome with a head full of dreams. But she also saw the man he’d become. Tougher, more cynical. A man who’d lost an appreciation of something as sweet and healing as music because he couldn’t get past the grating static of his past.
She’d never imagined being with him again wouldn’t be perfect. Of course, she was pitting her girlhood fantasies—which were always perfect—against the woman’s newfound reality. And what she was learning was that for all the glowing feelings she experienced around Bill, there were also the darker ones.
Were they so dark she didn’t want to stay? Because it’d be easy to make a lame excuse, walk away, dust her hands of the childhood fantasy.
She watched as he picked up their trash and tossed it in a receptacle, called out a thanks to Sam, patted the back of the guy who was still watching the monitors. Funny. For all his toughness, he was a caretaker. Just like her.
“Ready?” he said.
“For what?”
“For whatever’s out there, of course.” He gestured toward the tent opening that led to the festival.
Whoever said life had no guarantees should have added it would always have its fair share of confusion, too. Sometimes all that mattered was making a choice and hoping you made the right one. Okay, so he wasn’t the boy of her childhood dreams; she wasn’t the girl who’d dreamed them, either.
She took his hand, ready for whatever happened next.
A FEW MOMENTS LATER, they were walking down the midway. It was midafternoon, but the sun was still broiling as though it were high noon. Girls in bikinis and guys in shorts roamed the midway. Coconut-scented suntan lotion competed with the tangy salt air. Barkers and carnies pitched rides and games against a background of calliopes.
Bill interlaced his fingers with hers as he steered her through the crowd. Maybe because she typically dated more artistic types, or because she was accustomed to running her own business, she wasn’t used to a guy taking the lead. She had to admit, though, that she liked his take-control attitude as he wove through the crowd, sometimes sheltering her past groups of partiers, other times hugging her close for no apparent reason.
Like she needed one.
“Hey you! Ms. Smoke and Fire! Black fishnet over the red bikini!”
“Is somebody talking to me?” asked Ellie, slowing down.
“That’s right, I’m talking to you and that guy with the gravy stain on his shirt.”
Bill laughed. “Talking to both of us, it appears.”
They looked over at a small stage, on which stood the fellow in lime-green turban and loud Hawaiian shirt she’d seen earlier backstage at the audition.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He eagerly waved them over. “Step this way.”
Bill looked at Ellie. “You game?”
She looked at the sign over the stage. Magellan the All-Knowing. Although she’d always wanted to have a real supernatural experience, she’d never envisioned that might happen with a loudmouthed carnie at a beach festival.
“I don’t know,” she murmured.
“Maybe we’ll win something.”
“Don’t be afraid,” the man, who had to be Magellan, called out. “All that stands between fear and outcome is courage, my friends, courage!” He looked at the audience. “Right?”
The crowd started whistling and yelling.
“Courage, dudes, courage!”
“Don’t be afraid!”
“Show your game!”
“We could have a mob scene if we don’t do this,” muttered Bill, taking Ellie’s hand. “You down for this?”
“No tricks, nothing up my sleeve,” continued Magellan, lifting the short sleeve of his shirt. He gestured to his turban. “Just the insights of my mind into your lives, and the mysteries I will foretell.”
She squeezed Bill’s hand. “What the hell? Let’s go.”
As they approached, people started whistling, slapping high-fives into the air. One guy, who looked as though he’d spent the better part of the day imbibing, gave a loud whoop.
“Wonderful, wonderful!” called out Magellan, welcoming them with open arms. “Come up here and stand next to me so I can read your vibes. Everyone, give these brave people a hand.”
As the audience applauded, Magellan fumbled with the clip on the microphone, finally releasing it from his shirt. He held it toward Ellie. “Your name?”
“Ellie.”
“Here on vacation?” This close, she noticed his handlebar mustache jiggled as he spoke.
“Yes.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what I was going to say!” People laughed. “Here with your husband?”
She felt heat crawl up her neck. “No.”
Magellan gave the crowd a sly look. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.” He looked back at Ellie, stared intently into her eyes. “With friends?”
“Yes.”
“One of them is sweet like candy on—” he closed his eyes, then reopened them “—your cousin?”
Not cousin, her brother…but close enough to make her wonder if this guy might be the real thing. Maybe he really could tap into another dimension, understand secrets hidden from the ordinary eye….
Or Candy had already been up here today and blabbed about Ellie or Matt.
So much for other dimensions and hidden secrets.
“Something like that,” Ellie said.
Magellan turned to Bill. “Your name?”
“Bill.”
“Exactly what I was going to say!” The crowd laughed again, obviously enjoying the pretense of Magellan knowing all.
“So, tell us, Ellie and Bill, are you enjoying the festival?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer and peered into her face, as though reading her. Feeling a tad uncomfortable, she averted her gaze to his hands and a sparkling blue ring on his pinkie. Sapphire, she guessed.
“Yes,” he whispered, “it’s the stone of destiny.”
Had he heard her thoughts?
She looked up, but Magellan was busy talking to the audience again, the blue stone sparkling with his gestures. He’d probably seen her looking at it, passed on the tidbit that it was the stone of destiny. Hardly a supernatural experience.
“So, Bill,” Magellan said, “are you ready to play our game?”
“Depends.”
“Ah!” Magellan made a swirling motion with his fingers again, reminiscent of an actor in a melodrama. “You’re not one to believe in life’s mysteries, and yet, deep down, you’re curious if what is mystical and unseen might in fact be real.”
“Not really.”
The crowd laughed again.
“We’ll see about that,” said Magellan, taking a few steps away in his flip-flops. The guy was a mix of Jimmy Buffett and the Wizard of Oz. Too much.
“Time to play Truth or…Bare!” he announced to the crowd. “Which is a variation of Truth or Dare in honor of this very sexy Sin on the Beach festival.”
Bill squeezed Ellie’s hand. “Fasten your seat belt,” he murmured, “’cause we’re on the ride now.”
“Ready?” Magellan asked them.
“Ready,” they answered in unison.
“Wonderful.” He closed his eyes, although she swore he was peeking out of one of them, and raised a forefinger to his turban as though summoning his powers. “I’m now calling on my spirit guides to reveal a secret about each of you. If I’m wrong—I mean, if my guides have erred—”
The crowd laughed.
“As I was saying, if my guides have erred, you earn fifty festival points as well as free tickets for rides.” He reached into the air and—presto!—a string of tickets appeared.
Gasps from the crowd.
“However, if my spirit guides are right, which they usually are—” he looked over at Ellie and Bill “—that person must remove an item of clothing. Not a necklace, earring, ring, hat, belt, shoestring, sock or contact lens, but something major. We’re talking the bare part of Truth or Bare, my brave friends.”
Whoops and clapping.
She glanced at Bill, imagining what she’d like him to take off, first. Considering they were in public, his shirt would do.
But if they were alone…
“Ahem,” Magellan said loudly into his microphone.
She looked over at him.
“The spirit guides say ‘naughty, naughty’!”
Even she had to laugh. Psychic insight? Nah. He’d caught her checking out Bill, every wanton little thought written all over her face.
Magellan turned dramatically solemn. “It’s time for the spirits to speak.”
As he put his palms together at his heart level, a flutter of flutes and harps swelled. She figured he’d touched some wireless remote hidden in his breast pocket that triggered the music. She wondered what other buttons he had hidden on his body, and what those might do.
Magellan nodded as though listening to someone speaking. Finally, he opened his eyes and put a hand on each of their shoulders. The music rose, the notes twirling higher and higher…
Then abruptly stopped.
“They’ve spoken,” Magellan said dramatically. “To you, Bill.”
A woman in the crowd shrieked.
“She’s not my spirit guide, by the way,” Magellan said under his breath, the aside accidentally on purpose muttered directly into the microphone. The crowd ate it up, laughing and clapping.
“The spirits have a riddle for you, Bill. Listen carefully. What has roots nobody sees, is taller than trees, its virtues it sows and yet never grows?”
Bill’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “They said all that?”
Magellan shrugged. “They’re a little wordy sometimes. They say when you find the answer, you’ll also find your destiny. But so you can play Truth or Bare, they also told me a secret. Yes or no. Your friend, they say, based a character in a story on you?”
Bill blinked, nodded. “That’s right. No way you could have checked that on the Internet. Awesome trick, man.”
“No trick, my friend. I’m merely a vessel for the spirit guides. So, what item of clothing will it be, Bill?”
He tapped the stain on his shirt. “I’ve been meaning to take this off ever since I spilled coffee on it this morning, so…” He grabbed the end of the polo shirt and tugged it over his head.
A thrill zigzagged through Ellie as she stared at his chest. His muscled, brown and deliciously hairy chest.
But it was the tattoo that made her blood run molten.
The dragon’s mighty torso, a marvel of blues and greens, crested over Bill’s shoulder, its reptilian head lying seductively across the pec, flames of fire shooting across his breastbone.
Women in the audience went nuts. Ellie hadn’t heard that much screaming since her girlfriend’s bachelorette party, the night she lost fifty dollars tipping a male stripper named Robby Rawhide.
“Your turn,” said Magellan, facing her.
With some difficulty, she tore her gaze off Bill. “Shoot,” she rasped.
“The spirits say your age is twenty-nine.”
Pause. “That’s it? A number?”
Magellan nodded.
She felt slighted. Bill got the riddle, then the insight about being the model for a character. And the spirits only guessed her age?
Which was correct, but too easy. Oh, yeah, definitely the work of Candy, the marketing whiz. She’d probably left a few tidbits about Ellie and Sara with Magellan to boost Team Java Mamma’s chance of winning. Maybe someone on Sin on the Beach had done something similar—left a cheat sheet with Magellan, giving names, descriptions, a few planted facts about people who worked on the show. It made Magellan look good, boosted attendance at his performances, which in turn raked in money for Sin on the Beach. A win-win all the way around.
Darn. She’d so hoped for something really supernatural, but it appeared Magellan was just a carnie with connections.
“Yes, I’m twenty-nine.”
Applause.
Magellan made a grand flourish. “Choose a piece of clothing.”
A no-brainer. Her fishnet cover-up. She slipped it off to much clapping and whistles. She caught Bill’s approving look, which pleased her.
She glanced at his shorts, he glanced at her top. Those would be the next pieces to go. An idea she liked. A lot. Just not here.
“I’m getting another message from the guides,” announced Magellan.
“Uh,” said Ellie, not wanting to hang here any longer, “tell them thanks but no thanks?”
Bill chuckled. “C’mon, Ellie. We don’t want to hurt their feelings.”
Magellan, his forefinger pressed against his turban like some kind of divining rod, closed his eyes. “They’re speaking…. Okay, here’s the message. Cinderella doesn’t make it home before midnight, but that’s not the end of her story.”
The hairs tingled on the back of her neck. She’d thought of Cinderella and her prince an hour or so ago…one of those funny thoughts that flits in and out of one’s head…but how odd to hear Magellan reference Cinderella, too.
“Is that my riddle?” she asked quietly.
Magellan gave her such a focused look, she swore he could read every thought she’d ever had.
“No,” he finally said, “it’s more of an insight. But because it wasn’t a question that can be answered, you win the prize and the points.” A festival ride ticket materialized in his hand, which he handed to Ellie along with a voucher for points.
As they walked back into the crowd, Bill hugged her close against his side. “Way to go, Ellie. You’ve won points at the audition, and now Truth or Bare!”
“Yeah, it’s great.” But she didn’t feel as exuberant as she sounded because now she had Cinderella on the brain. Everybody knew it wasn’t until the very end of the story that Cinderella didn’t make it home by midnight….
Didn’t the story pretty much end there?