Carnival Tales

By: Brian Holliday
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
Editor: Rockhunter

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Part 4
Friends

"Frank? What’s the matter with Frank?" I yelled over the sound of rushing water. The outdoor shower was cold, and I was just trying to get clean and get it over with, but Karl always sprung things on me when I was somewhere that I couldn’t easily leave. He liked a captive audience for his more questionable (in my opinion) ideas. I spit and spluttered out the soap that had flowed down from my hair when I’d turned my closed eyes (and open mouth) toward him.

"I said – Frank needs cheering up." Karl raised his voice a little more.

Jesus, I thought dourly, who elected him morale officer? Besides, Frank always looked a little down, to me. I had decided it was just his ‘way’. Frank was currently double-billed as the "World’s Thinnest Man" and "Gerry the Geek". Being both skinny as a rail and eating live bugs and whole chicken eggs two shows a day ought to be enough to depress anyone.

We were wintering in Florida again this year, February of 1923 it was, and were only open on weekends, so there was time for needed repairs and maintenance to vehicles, tents, and rides, as well as some rest and relaxation for the performers. But Karl had never liked lying around – it gave him ideas. Some, I had to admit, were good, but some….

I turned off the single faucet, wrapped a towel around my middle and pushed open the wooden door to confront Karl face to face. He grinned in his usual good-natured fashion and all my objections melted away. I grinned too, turning to walk with him back to our trailer. "OK, Frank is depressed, what are we supposed to do about it?"

"Oh, I dunno," he grinned again, letting me know that he thought he’d talked me into something – again. "I thought maybe we could take him out on the town, introduce him to some guys, you know – and then bring him home and fuck him."

I squinted and shook my head; I couldn’t have heard this right. "Excuse me," I stopped walking, "you want to fuck Frank? Our Frank?" Karl laughed aloud this time. Hattie, the fortune-teller, stuck her kerchief-wrapped head out of her nearby trailer’s window and waved. We both knew better than to let Hattie hear anything private, so Karl took my arm and we waved back and quickly walked on. If Hattie heard something interesting, it wouldn’t be long before everyone in the camp knew all about it.

When we were safely in the comparative privacy of the trailer we shared, Karl sat down at the table across from me. "OK," I said slowly and evenly – trying to treat him like the imbecile I thought he sounded like. "What is all this about again?"

"Frank." he said, being equally slow and maddening. "He’s our friend, isn’t he?" I had to think for a minute. As a rule, Karl made friends faster and easier than I did. No matter how often I lectured him about being my business partner he refused to worry, as I had to, about the responsibilities of being ‘the boss’.

"Sure," I said at last, "he’s a friend. Does that mean we have to cheer him up, and that the only way to do that is to have sex with him? Frank!" Of all the men I knew or could think of, Frank was one of the least attractive.

Karl must have read my mind because the bright blue eyes under the shock of unruly orange-red hair twinkled. I was about to be teased. "What makes you think I haven’t already?"

I snorted. "Good, then he’s happy now. Leave me out of it." I stood up, shedding the towel, and turned to the closet to look for something clean to wear. I still had my nightly rounds of the camp to make. Damn – time to visit the laundry again. If there was anything I hated, it was washing my own clothes. Maybe I could con someone into doing it for me.

I hadn’t even known Frank was a fellow fag until I heard (from Hattie, of course) that he had made ‘brazen overtures’ to André, our resident strong man. André was taller than I am and weighed over 250 pounds, none of it fat, so I had problems picturing him with skinny, fussy little Frank. Well, apparently André had the same problems. I snickered to myself; too bad Frank hadn’t picked on someone his own size.

I was back to grumbling under my breath about the state of my wardrobe when I felt a pair of strong arms slide around my waist and a stubbled chin rest on my shoulder. "You don’t have to get dressed on my account."

I sighed, leaning back against him, all grouchy thoughts forgotten. It felt so good to be held in his arms, to know he was there to depend on. We might disagree - sometimes explosively - but we always ended up on the same side. I wished I didn’t have anything else to do that night - that I could just lose myself in Karl’s tenderness as he made love to me.

For just a minute, I pulled his arms tighter and held on. He smelled good, like sweat and sunshine. A smile curved my lips. Sometimes I could hardly believe that I hadn’t always loved Karl – that at one time he’d been the most irritating person in my universe. Now… now I couldn’t imagine life without him.

But – there were things that needed doing. I sighed again, standing straighter and pulling away from Karl. He didn’t resist except to give me one last quick squeeze, but he did reach around me into the closet and pull out one of his own clean shirts, a red plaid one that he always looked especially nice in, and hand it to me. "There," he said triumphantly. "That solves half your problem!"

I had to smile as I pulled on the shirt. We were near enough the same size that it wasn’t an issue. There was a fairly fresh pair of denims under the platform bed, so I was soon decent enough to make do. Running my fingers through my hair in lieu of a proper combing, I turned back to Karl. "What would I do without you?"

He grinned that shit-eating grin of his again. "Pal, you’d be in real trouble."

Half-hearted, I tried to punch him on my way out the door, but he ducked – laughing.                               

In less than an hour my evening’s work was over. There had been only the usual problems and gripes, nothing major. The camp was relatively quiet now; only a few individual fires added their heat to the night’s warmth and I could clearly hear Smokey’s mouth harp softly singing "My Old Kentucky Home". He wouldn’t play the harmonica if you asked him, but leave him alone at night and we could all enjoy his musical talent.

The job of opening the carnival gates on Friday was safely two days away and the future stretched ahead, fresh and seemingly endless. I enjoyed taking it easy like this, but some part of me felt like I was shirking, that I ought to be doing more.

Overhead, the first star winked on in the hazy dusk. I thought about heading back to the trailer and Karl but, as happened most every evening when we weren’t operating, my feet led me to the carousel.

It was dark there, away from all the trailers and living tops, where the familiar shape pressed its charcoal outline into the pink light still staining the western sky.

I stopped, inhaling faint traces of sawdust, paint and metal. I could smell fresh grease - Joe and Smokey had been working on the gears again.

Even in the harsh brightness of noon, the carousel was enchanting; its wild-eyed ponies ready to transport a childlike heart on the adventures of cowboys and Indians, or to race for the Triple Crown on the back of an untamed stallion. But at night - at night it was magic.

I didn’t need light as I stepped aboard the silent mechanism. It was quiet, yes, but not sleeping. I could almost hear the snorts of steam from dilated nostrils, wild whinnies from open mouths; feel from each perfectly formed body its quivering readiness to run.

Shuffling my feet along the worn boards of the platform, I made my way to the side of my favorite. As I passed the almost-breathing lines of carved flesh, I affectionately patted this neck and that rump. The carousel horses had been with me for three years and with the carnival for much longer. Carved by a master, they were simultaneously entertainment and art.

I loved them all, the paint and the bay, the dapple-gray with his jaunty coat of spots, but the black drew me like iron filings dancing in the mysterious unseen force of a magnet. Frozen in the act of plunging forward, his delicate head to one side, graceful neck arched, muscular flanks bunched for the next leap and then the next, he was beautiful. I knew that the gloss of his side was merely the fresh coat of paint he had received but, with eyes closed, my hand stroked and felt smooth hair over hot skin.

As though mesmerized, I placed a foot in the metal stirrup and swung my body into the saddle. On his back I could go anywhere, to the snows of Alaska, to the mysterious Far East, or off among the stars in search of distant planets. Where would I ask him to take me tonight?

Very near at hand, someone cleared his throat noisily. I started, grabbing at the brass pole in front of me for balance. Damn, he’d done it to me again. "Karl…!" He sat up like a jack in the box from the seat of the swan boat in front of me.

"Hi Lucas." He grinned. "What took you so long?"

Chagrinned at my predictability, I stepped off the black horse and advanced on Karl, determined that this time he would pay dearly for his effrontery.

I changed my mind when I smelled the food he’d brought and realized how hungry I was. A whole spit roasted chicken, potatoes baked in the coals, some fresh-picked wild greens and a bowl of sweet berries for dessert. Karl was a good rough cook when he wanted to be, and we shared the bounty until the last plate was licked clean.

Replete at last, I relaxed against the backrest of the swan boat, wiping my greasy fingers on my pant leg. A couple of the camp dogs had come begging for the bones and there wasn’t much left to clean up, which was fine by me.

Karl’s arm went around my shoulders, gathering me in, and I let my head fall back against the firm softness of his chest. There were worries in my life, things I wanted and things I didn’t understand but, right then, everything was good. He bent his head and kissed me, lips moist and warm, and I turned and pulled him closer.

Long dexterous fingers unbuttoned the red plaid shirt and slipped inside. Karl’s work-roughened hand played over my body. Smiling, I slipped to my knees on the age-smoothed planks and Karl spread his legs until I fit between them.

He looked down at me, face serious for once, eyes glowing. I felt something wordless pass between us and I knew he was mine, to do with as I wished. That was as it should be because I belonged to him as well.

The bench creaked as Karl’s hands clenched tight on the old dry wood. His voice was quiet but rough. "You’ve got to stop, babe. I can’t take much more."

I was breathing fast, feeling the empty ache inside me. I stood up, letting him unfasten my denims to fall loose around my ankles. The night air was cool, but Karl’s hands were warm. My body tingled with anticipation.

I stopped to kiss Karl softly before leaning my arms on the seat of the bench. He moved behind me, hands caressing my thighs and back, lightly pinching my nipples. I moaned, feeling the heat from his body close around me.

Joined with my lover, I felt complete at last. Sometimes I felt I must melt into him, the two of us merging, becoming one being. It was like that now, moving together in perfect harmony, knowing without speech what would please the other most and granting it, joyfully and without reservation.

A lifetime later Karl collapsed back on the bench, pulling me with him. We kissed for a long while.

When we’d recovered enough to move, we pulled on trousers for decency’s sake. The camp was silent now, as we walked arm-in-arm to our trailer. I yawned, not bothering to light a lamp before falling into bed next to my lover, my best friend.                                                                                      

The subject of Frank Wilson came back to me first thing next morning. The man in question met me as I walked down the midway. He was dressed, as usual, in a spotless shirt and trousers specially tailored to fit his scrawny body. At maybe 5’ 9”, Frank couldn’t have weighed more than 100 pounds.

“Mr. Stone,” came Frank’s light voice “May I speak to you for a few minutes?”

He’d worked for me for almost a year now, but never called me ‘boss’ as most of the others did, even those I thought of as friends. This touch of formality might have been what kept Frank on the perimeter of my thoughts, and now I felt badly about my neglect. No matter how he looked or what his manner, Frank deserved the same consideration I gave the rest of the company. That would start today, especially since I now knew that he was a member of the same elite group Karl and I belonged to.

“Sure, Frank. Let’s get a cup of coffee.” Coffee was available most any time of day from a large enamel pot over a small fire maintained by the roustabouts. Frank and I each took a cup and filled it. I followed as he led me away from the camp proper. Whatever he wanted to say, I was guessing he didn’t want all to hear it.

Frank stopped, looking down to stir the dust with the toe of one narrow boot. When he spoke, his voice was quiet enough that I had to strain to make it out.

“Mr. Stone, I’ve been thinking about leaving the show.” That surprised me, though I suppose it shouldn’t have since I’d been told that he was unhappy.

“Why do you want to leave us, Frank?” I thought back to Karl’s idea of the day before, which I hadn’t taken seriously. “Is there something we could do to make you happier here, more comfortable?”

But Frank didn’t look up. I studied the nape of his thin neck visible between his stiff collar and short brown hair. “No sir, I expect not. I just thought maybe I’d head for New York or one of those big cities. Some place I’d maybe be better at fitting in.”

“Why Frank, you fit in here just fine.” It irritated me a bit that he called me ‘sir’. I figured us to be around the same age. I had a thought. “Have you tired of what you’re doing? Is there some other act you’d like to try?”

“Oh no, sir,” he spoke up. “I don’t mind the people staring at me. I’m thinner than most, might as well make use of it. And the eggs and bugs I eat in the show, well… they’re not that bad. Fact is, I like this job, sir. The best part is that it doesn’t take much of my time and I can do what I want for the rest of the day.”

I looked at him close. “And what is it you want to do, Frank?”

“Well…” His pale face reddened a little. “I…I…, well, I like to paint, sir.”

My mind jumped first to houses and barns. I shook my head at the image of Frank in overalls with a brush and a can of whitewash. “You mean like an artist, painting pictures?” I said in disbelief.

Frank looked down again. “I know it’s no fit pastime for a grown man, sir, but I like to do it and it doesn’t hurt anyone.” He lifted his chin and looked me square in the eye for the first time. “So, why shouldn’t I?”

I sure couldn’t think of a reason.

“Frank,” I said, turning to dump out the rest of my coffee. “I’d be pleased to see some of these pictures of yours.”

The little man looked as flustered as if I’d asked to see him naked, and perhaps, in a way, I had. “Well, I don’t usually show them to anyone but, if you’d really like to see them, then I suppose…” He walked hesitantly to his little trailer, opened the door and invited me in. I sat down in the only chair, smelling oils and turpentine, while Frank pulled back a curtain that closed off half the small space. There, beside a jar full of small brushes, stood a wooden triangle easel and on it was a not quite finished painting. The subject was our strong man, Andre, drawn from about the waist up. It was done almost as fine as an image captured by a camera, but with colors. The effect was somehow better than a photograph. I smiled.

Frank was rummaging around on a shelf behind the picture. All at once he saw where I was looking. “Oh, no, I never meant for you to see that one!” He moved as though to throw a cloth over it, but I held up a hand.

“Frank, that’s wonderful! He looks better than real, almost alive!” Frank ducked his head and then peered up at me.

“You really like it? You don’t think it’s…indecent?” Well, I had noticed that the picture of Andre wasn’t wearing even the abbreviated shirt he wore on stage but to my mind it was all the more interesting for that. I suppose there were some church-going folks that might be a little shocked but, even with all the carefully detailed bulging muscles on display, it was far from indecent. It did, however, bring up other questions.

“Frank, when did Andre pose for this?” If he and Frank were as close as this picture implied then Hattie and Karl might be wrong in thinking that Andre had rebuffed Frank’s advances.

Frank seemed surprised. “Do you mean as a model? Oh, he didn’t.” He looked fondly at the picture. “I did this one from memory.” A slight blush rose up his neck. He turned to me, eyes wide. “I should never have showed it to you!”

I sat back and crossed my legs, seeming all relaxed; in the hopes Frank would relax too. “Show me another one.”

He took a breath, then selected a small cloth wrapped rectangle from a shelf and brought it over to me. This one was a portrait of Hattie, dressed for a show in a blue spangled costume with paint on her face and a big gold earring in each ear. Her crystal ball was held out in front of her and her expression was one of mingled mystery and pride. I’d never seen Hattie look so good. “Has Hattie seen this?” I asked him.

He reclaimed the painted canvas from my hands and held it protectively. “Why no, Mr. Stone, this is all just a fancy of mine. I’ve never shown these pictures to anyone – until now.”

My mind was working. “Frank, how’d you like another job? How about if you paint us some pictures of all the performers - maybe the camels and elephant too? The paintings don’t have to be as fine as these, but they’d need to be lots bigger.” I smiled at the bright idea. “Just think how nice they’d look hung outside the big tent. Why, the marks would just have to go inside and see the real thing!”

“Because of my pictures? Oh, that would be wonderful!” Frank’s eyes had brightened and he was holding his hands clutched together in front of him, looking up as though seeing a vision of the Promised Land. Then he looked back over at the painting of Andre, his face fell, and he sat down on the narrow bed. “No, Mr. Stone, I’m sorry. It will be better for everyone if I just go.”

Well, I didn’t think that would suit me, now that I knew about Frank’s talents, and I thought it might be time to put Karl’s idea into play. “Frank, before you decide that for certain, let Karl and I take you out on the town tonight, get to know each other a little better.  We’re nowhere near a big place like New York City, but there’s some entertainment to be had hereabouts and we’d like to share it with you.”

Frank looked at me, questioning. “Entertainment? With you and Karl?”

“That’s right. Sort of a ‘gentlemen’s club’, you might say.” I nodded my head as I saw the light dawn in Frank’s brown eyes. He was looking at me as though seeing me for the first time.

“Oh,” he said, in his high voice. “Oh!”                                                                                      

Now, André Lamarque was another story altogether. It was obvious from Frank’s reactions about his picture of André that there was for sure some interest there, on his part at least. If things could work out between Frank and André, I kind of felt that Frank might want to stay with the show, and then I wouldn’t lose his talents.

But I needed to know how Andre felt about the whole thing, and if Frank had really approached him. That seemed way out of character to me. Maybe I was judging his particular book by its cover, but I had Frank pegged as the passive sort.

Like most of our performers, André had a wheeled trailer to live in. Unlike most of us, wherever we made camp he set up a tent as well. He was in the tent when I walked over. The canvas sides were rolled up to let in the breeze, so I didn’t really feel like I could be intruding on him any. I could clearly see André, dressed in a white singlet and shorts that stood out against his tan skin; he was surrounded by enough metal in one shape or another to stock a modest blacksmith shop. Polished and painted bars, discs, and pyramids of all sizes were arranged neatly on stands around the whole outside edge of the space. As I watched, he picked up an iron bar with two large discs on either end from off its stand, lifted it suddenly high over his head with both hands, arms extended, and then brought it down to rest on his shoulders. It sat there for a moment, reminding me of Atlas’ burden, and then, with an easy movement, the bar rested safely back on its stand. It was extra warm today and Andre was breathing hard. He took a long drink from a water jug before grabbing a rag and wiping sweat off his clean-shaven head and hairless, muscled chest. I found that I was breathing a little harder myself.

“Afternoon, André. That was mighty impressive.” I pointed at the bar he’d just lifted. “How much weight is that?”

He glanced over casually. “Two hundred pounds, not counting the bar,” He smiled through his walrus mustache, “I’m just warming up.”

I shook my head, reading the weights printed on the black painted pyramid shapes: fifty, seventy-five, all the way up to three hundred pounds. I’d seen André lift two of the largest ones at the same time, on stage. I walked over to the stand, curious. I dusted my hands with chalk and placed them as I’d seen Andre do, then braced myself and pushed up. The bar moved, just a little, and then I felt Andre’s arms around me from behind and his hands took hold next to mine. “Bend your knees a little, then lift with your legs at first,” he advised, his breath right in my ear. “Find a balance and then slowly straighten your arms.”

I tried to do what he said, distracted by those massive chest muscles rubbing against my back. I concentrated and paid more attention to the task and the bar came off its stand. It felt awfully heavy and I didn’t know how much of the weight André was taking. Determined, I pushed the loaded bar up as smooth as I could, ‘til my arms were straight over my head. It felt good, holding it balanced there - not as hard as the lifting part. It wasn’t long before my muscles protested but, when I started to lower it, the bar began to slip and I was glad André was there to steady me until it was back where it belonged.

He stepped away from me and when I turned I thought there might be a little more warmth in his eyes than there had been a moment before. “Not bad, Boss. Let me know when you want to start serious training.”

I rubbed at my shoulder where a muscle was doing its best to knot up on me. “I think I’ll leave the strong-man act to you, André. It doesn’t seem to agree with me.” André came closer and put one large warm hand on my shoulder, gently kneading with thumb and fingertips until the tightness went away.

“There you are.” He smiled. “Good as new.”

I found I was looking at André in a whole different light. I’d never seen a sign before that he was like Karl and me but, if he was, then the only thing left to wonder about was how he felt about Frank. Coming right out and asking him, when I wasn’t truly sure about his inclinations seemed like a bad idea. I had no desire at all to anger him, big as he was, and maybe there was a better way.

“Well, André,” I said. “The real reason I came over was I wanted to invite you to go with Karl and Frank and me into town tonight.” His bushy eyebrows went up and he hesitated what was maybe just a moment too long before he replied.

“Uh, I’m sorry Boss, I’d really like that, but… I can’t. I… uh… have taken on an extra job… a night job, on the days the carnival isn’t running.” He looked at me anxiously. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

I nodded. “Sure Andre, you can do whatever you want on your time off, you know that. Maybe we can all get together another time?” He nodded vigorously and smiled.

“Yeah, Boss, sure.”

Walking away as Andre went back to his routine I decided it was probably for the best. If he knew about my relationship with Karl, or if Frank had truly made advances to him and André was not like us, then he might be uncomfortable with the idea of being seen in our company in a social situation.

Like Frank, maybe I was letting André’s outsides tell me too much about his insides and of course that is never a good idea. I knew how some folks treated my friend Joe Neill and, in spite of his skin condition and the other differences that make him popular as the “Alligator Man”, Joe is one of the smartest and nicest people you could meet. But, whether right or wrong, I just couldn’t seem to picture big, muscular André, the very picture of maleness, as a man lover. When he performed on stage he had two pretty female assistants, and part of his act was to lift them onto his shoulders, separately and both together, while they exclaimed over him and his muscles. Those girls just hung on him most of the time and I thought for sure that André always enjoyed it. Still, he wasn’t married, and had no steady girlfriend that I knew of but, up till now, I hadn’t thought that any of my business. I’d hoped that putting André and Frank together might shed some light on the matter, but it seemed that wasn’t to be for this evening. I supposed we’d just have to go back to Karl’s plan to ‘entertain’ Frank.

I was on my way to find Karl when I had another thought. Hattie was the one who’d told the tale of Frank’s unrequited love in the first place and I had barely listened at the time, being busy and not especially interested in her constant gossip. It just might be that she had more details of the encounter – something that would prove what she said without me having to ask either Frank or André right out. Hattie was bad to gossip, but I didn’t think she was an out and out liar. Would she keep her mouth shut about my interest if I asked her to? There was only one way to find out.

Hattie was busy with laundry when I got there. A little ways from her trailer sat a metal washtub brimming with suds and soggy unidentifiable garments. Another tub of cloudy rinse water stood nearby. Hattie was hanging clean sheets on a line that sagged between two trees and didn’t object to my grabbing the tail end of one sheet and clipping it over with a couple of wooden pins.

“Are you feeling alright, Boss?” she asked with a sly smile. “I’ve never known you to willingly do laundry – especially not for someone else.”

“I just thought we could talk for a bit and I might as well help you out,” I said, innocently.

“It’s alright, Boss, you don’t have to ask. I’ll wash your clothes for you - same arrangement as last time?”

I shook my head. Hattie had done my laundry a month ago and it had cost me $2 in hard cash and the loan of a truck which she’d brought back three days later, empty of gasoline and covered in mud. I still hadn’t decided if it was a good deal or not.

“I didn’t come about laundry, Hattie, just to talk – honest.”

She looked me over critically. “Isn’t that one of Karl’s shirts you’re wearing?”

I sighed. She had me there. “OK, Hattie. I’d be pleased for you to wash my clothes, with the same arrangement as last time. But I do want to ask you about something else as well.”

She nodded, her big white teeth grinning around the row of wooden pins in her mouth, and grabbed another sheet from the basket. I caught the end and we hung it together, moisture from the fabric cooling the air around us in the light breeze.

“Do you remember a while ago when you told me about Frank and André?” She nodded again, hanging up a pair of bright red stockings. “Well, how did you come to know what happened between them?”

Due to the efforts of the two of us, the big wicker basket was empty. Hattie moved over and sat down on a stool beside the washtub. She lit a lumpy, hand-rolled cigarette that she found tucked behind her ear, before sticking her reddened hands into the water and sloshing the clothes around. I sat on my heels nearby.

“I saw them talking, late one night,” she said, each word accompanied by a puff of smoke. “After a while Frank put his hand on André’s arm and the big man pulled away sudden-like and went into his trailer.” I waited while she worked at the cigarette until it was half gone, ashes speckling her bright peasant blouse. Her eyes lost focus. “I felt sorry for little Frank. He was crying when he walked away.”

I nodded. It didn’t surprise me that Frank was a crier, but the tears must have meant that something had gone wrong between André and him. Still, they could have been talking about anything. “You didn’t hear what was said?”

“I was on my way to the creek for some water,” she bristled. “It’s not like I went out of my way to listen to private talk!”

I held up a palm. “’Course not, Hattie. I never meant to suggest you did.” I knew Hattie loved gossip, but I wasn’t about to accuse her of it to her face.

She frowned, looking pointedly over at the kettle steaming on the fire. I got the hint and added some hot water to the washtub, being careful not to pour it anywhere near her hands. She grabbed the washboard, ready to go back to work, spit the last of the burned-out cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with a bare foot.

I stood slowly. I didn’t know anything more than I had before.

It was a shame that there was nothing that could be done to help little Frank get his man.

I didn’t realize I’d been talking out loud until Hattie spoke up.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. There’s always things as could be done…”

I perked up. “What sort of things, Hattie?”

“Well…” She sat back from the tub, rubbing her hands dry on her long, colorful skirt, and plunged a hand down the bosom of her loose blouse to come up with a pouch of tobacco. I fidgeted a bit and looked away. It was a long way down.

“My grandmother,” Hattie said, busily rolling brown shreds up in a thin paper tube. “She used to do a lot of things. Gypsy things,” she said, looking up to fix me with a challenging stare. I nodded.

“She taught me some of her potions and charms – real magic, not like that hokum the Professor peddles to the marks.” She licked the paper, spat out a thread of tobacco and lit the twisted end of the cigarette. I was skeptical, but nevertheless intrigued. Personal experience had taught me not to pooh-pooh something, just because it was beyond common accepted belief. I had learned the hard way that there were many strange things in the world.

“Do you mean like a love potion, Hattie? Could you really make a love potion?” Such a thing would certainly solve Frank’s problem - and mine too. I was sure that Frank would want to stay with the carnival if he was together with André.

Hattie pursed her lips around the cigarette. “It ain’t as easy as all that, Boss. Granny said you got to be real careful of using such powerful magic.”

“Hattie.” I moved closer, looming over her and shifting from foot to foot. “We wouldn’t be using it lightly. We’d be helping Frank, and André too – they’d both be happy!” I neglected to mention my own personal interest in the matter of Frank’s love life – or the lack of it.

Hattie looked up at me, her wrinkled face more serious than I’d ever seen it. “Boss, sometimes the fates decree that something will be so – like you and Karl.” I blushed a little, remembering her prediction. How had she known?

“But it’s different when you ask for something. Your wish may be granted but, Boss, there’s always a price for the favor of the spirits.” She was watching me carefully but, between my embarrassment and my desire to quickly settle the matter of Frank and André to my satisfaction, I waved a hand to stop further talk.

“Hattie, you just tend to whipping up the love potion and I’ll take care of whatever price is to be paid.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But, Boss…”

“I said I’d be the one to pay for it. It’s my idea isn’t it?” No doubt it was all just some of Hattie’s ‘gypsy’ superstition, or perhaps she was planning to charge me more than another $2 for the favor. But trying such a thing, silly as it might sound, couldn’t hurt.

Hattie tilted her head to one side, staring at me with hard beady eyes like some ancient bird, wisps of feathery white hair escaping her blue cotton bandana. She spoke in tones so soft I could scarcely hear her. “All right Boss, I’ll make the charm for you. It will be ready late this afternoon.”

“Good! Oh, and, Hattie – I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this. Keep it just between us, OK?” She eyed me, lips drawn up tight.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Boss – some things are better not talked about.”

I reached out to pat her thin shoulder. “Thanks, Hattie. I’m glad I thought to talk to you. Who knew we had a real witch, right here at the carnival?” I laughed, but Hattie didn’t join in.

Leaving the laundry to soak, she climbed her trailer steps and closed the door.  

~~~~~ 

That evening found Karl and me in a finer state of dress than was usual. I made use of one of the less gaudy of the coats I sometimes wore on stage, while Karl donned a jacket of brown leather I’d bought him for his birthday. He looked very fine, his bright curls combed and tamed with sweet smelling pomade. We each sported a white shirt with a collar and tie.

But little Frank, who hardly came up to Karl’s chin, outshone both of us in a navy blue suit coat and matching trousers, a starched white shirt and a pale blue silk tie, with a handkerchief that matched it peeking out his breast pocket. He reminded me of a peacock, albeit a scrawny one.

The love charm had turned out to be a white flannel pouch, no bigger than my thumb, tied closed with a bit of red thread. It crackled when I fingered it and had a bitter dusty smell. With practiced sleight of hand, I tucked it into Frank’s coat pocket while pretending to brush away a speck of dust.

I could tell Frank was nervous as a cat about the evening. He blinked a lot and kept rubbing one bony hand over the other. Karl patted Frank’s shoulder reassuringly as we climbed into the little gray Ford coupe. We hardly ever used the car, relying more on heavy trucks or horseback, and it spent most of its time under a tarp. I’d had one of the fellows wash the dust off and it looked just right for tonight. I fired it up and we were off to town.

Karl kept looking over at me with a grin, and I knew he was assuming that I’d go along with his whole plan for the evening with Frank. I smiled back, but I’d seen Frank on stage in his tight fitting costume and you could count each and every one of his ribs. I wasn’t sure I was a good enough actor to pretend he made me rise up hard. ‘Maybe’ was as close to that idea as I got in my mind.

Now that we were away from the carnival, Karl relaxed and began to treat me almost as affectionately as he did when we were alone, smoothing my hair once and placing a hand on my thigh as I drove. In the rear-view mirror I noticed Frank’s eyes on us and thought that the depth of our relationship must be sinking in for the first time. He had to have known that Karl and I shared a trailer, but maybe he hadn’t considered all that might truly mean.

Traveling with Thomas Caldwell, the original owner of our carnival, who had been aged twice my 17 years when we met, had opened my eyes to a lot of things. Having spent my boyhood on a farm, I’d never have imagined that most towns of any size would have meeting places for our sort of men, if you knew where to look.

I had frequented many of those friendly social clubs after Thomas died, in an effort to maintain my equanimity. They were places you could trust and relax in, where you might meet other like minded gentlemen when the need and desire for solace became too great to bear alone.

These days, Karl and I were most often content with our own company. Still, it was good to know of a place where one might celebrate a special occasion with a tasty dinner and an illicit drink, and pleasant companionship in a relaxed atmosphere. The King James Hotel was one such location.

We pulled up in front of the fine three storey brick building just after dark. A well-dressed attendant bowed us up the lamp-lit stone steps while another drove our car to a more convenient parking spot. When the door was opened before us, I felt of two minds. I looked forward to a pleasant evening, but I hadn’t thought much about the expense of such doings when Thomas paid the bills. Tonight’s revels would come out of my own pocket.

Frank walked ahead and I linked my arm with Karl’s, gratefully conscious that in this place there was no need to hide our physical affection for one another. I watched Frank’s eyes widen as he took in the richly decorated room, all the way from the cut glass chandelier and the gilded ceiling to the fine Persian carpets laid over polished hardwood floors. He walked away from us to stand raptly studying a painting hung on one wall. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Frank smile before. I nodded, pointing him out to Karl. My heart was not as hard as I pretended. Some things were worth paying for.

The three of us were soon seated at a round table near the string quartet where the slim young waiter offered us our choice of various coffee drinks, all with certain extra added flavors. You couldn’t legally offer whiskey, but you could sell coffee – which was fine unless the law decided to have a cup. I understood that the owner/manager, Earl Tremblay, had made certain financial arrangements that kept such unpleasant things from happening.

I wasn’t much for strong drink but, since we were treating Frank tonight and hopefully about to convince him to stay with the show, I decided the occasion called for champagne. The best of that bubbly beverage available in these times of government enforced sobriety came across the ocean from France, via the Canadian border. Our waiter brought us a cold bottle in a little bucket of chipped ice and three fine crystal flutes, each one balanced on a thin stem. Frank’s was the only hand that looked right holding the delicate glass. I was no strong-man, but I was careful not to grip the thing too tightly, lest it shatter.

Karl smiled, “Lucas, don’t they have any decent cups in this place?” I raised my eyebrows at him and he laughed, holding the stem of his glass between one large finger and thumb, but managing to drink from it nonetheless.

I saw several gentlemen I knew slightly, but not in the Biblical sense, and I introduced them to Karl and Frank. Frank seemed to be feeling more at ease now, shaking hands politely and smiling shyly.

We drank most of the good champagne while fiddling with little bits of fancy food they called appetizers. When we noticed that several couples were waltzing, Karl asked me if I wanted to try and the drink made me brave enough to dare it. Thanks to the champagne, my head spun more than the dance might have explained. After a few minutes in Karl’s arms I was glad to return to our table lest my enjoyment of his close company be obvious to everyone.

Across the bright room I spied Frank, deep in conversation near a framed depiction of several nude male figures engaged in various amorous activities. His companion was a well set up older man in a red velvet jacket. I remembered to wonder if Hattie’s charm could be at work on this gentleman, or if she’d made it especially with only André in mind.

After a bit, Frank returned to our table with the gentleman in tow. With proper courtesy, he introduced himself as Julian Littman from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It seemed he shared Frank’s interest in art, was in fact an artist himself. He seemed quite taken with Frank, rubbing his back and even briefly holding his hand. Little Frank responded to the attention with evident pleasure, fairly glowing in the candlelight.

Against my better financial judgment, I made to invite the man to dine with us. Mr. Littman surprised me by saying that if we would allow him to join our party he would gladly pay the check. I protested, of course, but ended up accepting his kind offer. Karl grinned and nudged me under the table.

The owner, Mr. Tremblay, came to the table personally for our dinner orders. I was reminded that he and I had spent some intimate time together in the past when he bent to give me a kiss on the mouth. I know I blushed at that and Karl grinned again, but Frank and Mr. Littman didn’t notice, being occupied with a drawing Frank was doing on his menu with a piece of charcoal. I was grateful when Mr. Tremblay went back to being a waiter.

The coq au vin was declared the night’s best choice and we all decided to sample it. When the orders had been given, Mr. Tremblay returned to admire Frank’s work, a very nice sketch of Mr. Littman, and to offer him some proper art materials.

Frank seemed embarrassed at the praise at first but, as the evening progressed and other men came to our table, excited over Frank’s evident talents or perhaps even smitten with Frank himself, he began to relax and bloomed like a rosebud, talking animatedly about this and that artistic technique and medium and even flirting a bit, (if I am any judge) with his new entourage.

Between all the male admiration and the champagne and chardonnay wine with dinner, Frank’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were shining. It was the best I’d ever seen him look. By the time our dessert of Cherries Jubilee was served, it was difficult to decide which of them was more lit up.

For a small man, Frank ate a great deal.

The art talk was mostly over my head, but it was pleasant to see Frank enjoying himself and I had hopes that Mr. Littman might even invite Frank to stay the night at his lodgings in town. I believe I was more disappointed than either of them when Mr. Littman admitted to another obligation.

With a discreet sigh, I resigned myself to having Frank in bed with Karl and me.

Frank was even persuaded to dance with a gentleman or two and he looked good out there on the floor – happy – even though he had to crane his neck to see up farther than their vest buttons. I squeezed Karl’s hand. His kindness and generosity were two of the reasons I loved him. Whatever happened tonight, it wasn’t too much for me to help out someone Karl called friend. Not to mention that I also hadn’t had to pay for dinner.

Somewhere around midnight we took our leave, pausing at the door for promises to stay in touch, hand shakes, a few warm hugs from new acquaintances and for Julian Littman to give Frank a sincere farewell kiss which Frank seemed to return with enthusiasm.

As we made our exit, Karl hesitated and then went back to retrieve his forgotten hat.  I waited for him on the landing while Frank fairly floated down the steps. The liveried attendant had gone to fetch the car and the darkened street was almost deserted.

It was at that point that three toughs turned the far street corner and swaggered down the sidewalk. In the stillness I could hear their crude conversation all too well.

“See, I told ya this is the place where they hang out.” The speaker wore dirty dungarees and a flat cloth cap. He pointed at Frank, who was waiting patiently at the curb, his back turned to the oncoming group. The man’s two rough companions muttered unintelligibly, a growl of sound. They did not seem to be aware of me standing above in the shadow of the doorway.

A second man spoke up. “Yer right, there’s one of them now. Damn faggots. Who do they think they are, standing right out on the street like respectable people?” He bent to blow his nose into the street.

The first man turned to his friends. “What do you say we show him where he belongs?”

The others laughed and murmured agreement. All together, their bulk would have made ten of Frank.

Frank looked around, suddenly aware of the trio’s approach. Under the streetlight his expression seemed touched with terror but still defiant. Another of the fast approaching hoodlums spoke up, his cracked voice full of eagerness and malice, “Yeah, let’s fix that little one!”

His companions both giggled obscenely. “Yeah, I bet they’ll like him even better with all his teeth knocked out!”

My fists clenched at their raucous laughter.

I started down the stairs toward Frank, determined to do whatever I could to protect him and wishing devoutly for the pistol I often carried but had left at home on this special evening. I thought Frank might try to run, but he stood his ground and I reached him just as the gang arrived, doing my best to place myself a little in front of him.

Then a huge raging bull of a man was running toward us from the alleyway at the side of the hotel. In slow motion I watched as André bore the nearest tough to the ground, pushing Frank and me out of the way in opposite directions, but not before the razor in the hoodlum’s hand had scraped along my right side. A few well placed blows from André’s massive fists and our attacker was laid low.

Then I was left, sprawled on the cobblestones, while André gathered up little Frank in his arms, returning to sit on the unconscious man.

Karl came running down the stairs and, within minutes, the law had been summoned and André was relieved of his now wakeful and cursing, thrashing seat cushion. The man’s friends, who had wisely taken to their heels upon André’s arrival, were long gone and never to be located that night, even after a great deal of earnest searching.

Much fussing and bustling ensued, some of it over my person, as the local doctor arrived and Karl and Mr. Tremblay expressed a very similar outrage over the attack and my unfortunate condition. To my surprise, sharp words were exchanged between my present and former lovers and Karl, victorious, was the one to hold my head in his lap while Earl Tremblay left us to go and deal with the authorities. Discovering an unforeseen streak of jealousy in my man went a good way toward distracting me from my injury.

Thus, both Karl and I were close by and privy to the exchanges between Frank and André, who were standing together in a darkened corner near the stairs. In spite of a dawning sense of pain, I was amazed to hear André‘s protests of love and fear for Frank and even more surprised to hear Frank masterfully shush and comfort the bigger man, promising that they would indeed be together, come what may.

“Oh, God, Frank, I was afraid they would kill you!” André exclaimed, “It’s all my fault! I should have been out front, but when Earl told me you were leaving I just couldn’t let you see me. So I hid ‘round the side and spied on you!” The big man shuddered as Frank reached up from a tight hug to soothe the tears overflowing André’s blue eyes.

Those wide eyes found mine for the first time. “Mr. Stone, I never expected to see you here!”

It had certainly been a welcome surprise to see him there. I hesitated to think how it all might have gone without André’s intervention. It seemed that André had worried that I wouldn’t approve of his second job or his inclinations, never suspecting how much we had in common. It guessed that Karl and I had been more discreet than I thought.

“There now, everything will be alright, dear.” Frank assured him. “It was good that you were watching over us. Nothing is your fault. We will be together now and we will stay with the carnival just as you wished, with all our friends. There is no reason for me to leave, now that I understand that you and I will not be looked down upon, that we are in good company. That is, if Mr. Stone will still have me.” Frank looked over at Karl and me. “I do promise to paint the portraits you requested, sir.” Karl grinned and I managed a smile and a ‘thumbs up’ gesture. The little man nodded.

“There, you see dear?” He stroked André’s massive chest with a small palm. “The fates have taken a hand and things have resolved themselves equably.”

Fate again. I wondered. Should fate be credited for tonight’s events, or was it a product of my meddling in affairs I knew nothing of, trying to make things suit my own selfish plans? I looked over to see Hattie’s little white flannel charm, which must have fallen from Frank’s pocket during the fray. One of the local policemen stepped on it in his journey from street to sidewalk and then absently kicked it into the gutter. That was all right. Its work was finished and I supposed the price for it had already been paid.

The long slit over my ribs stung like the very devil, but the doctor proclaimed it a fine clean wound that would heal with no more than a bandage. The same could not be said for my coat and shirt, which were damaged beyond redemption. My trousers suffered only a small rip from their impact with the stone cobbled street and Joe’s kind wife Mavis was able to repair them almost as good as new.

When our attacker had been arrested and we were at last free to leave for home, André offered to carry me to the car. I declined, my dignity having suffered enough for one evening.

~~~~~

So, it seemed that both Hattie and I had misunderstood the situation a bit, due to a mistaken judgment that André, as the bigger and stronger of the pair, would of course be the dominant partner in any prospective liaison. Still, I don’t suppose I would have behaved much differently if I had known that André was pursuing and being rejected by Frank and not the other way round - except perhaps to enjoy André’s weight lifting lesson a little bit more.

Frank, through his new contacts, quickly sold a few of his stock of paintings and he and André bought a large and luxurious trailer into which they ostentatiously moved all of their mutual belongings. Since they were so openly rejoicing, the rest of our carnival company was moved to throw them a party one fine afternoon. The women worked to make it as much like a wedding reception as possible, seating the rapturous André and the modestly beaming Frank under a tent canopy decorated with flowers. Hattie personally baked the happy couple what she said was a gypsy wedding cake, dark and delicious with raisins and spices.

For Frank and André she had smiles that day and even a few tears of joy but, whenever Hattie caught my eye she frowned and turned away. I knew she felt I had not taken her magic as seriously as I ought, and it was a long while before she would forgive me, in spite of my many apologies. The poultices and teas she made to hasten my recovery were never brought in personally, but left outside the trailer, announced only by an abrupt knock. She did, however, wash my dirty clothes – though she collected them and the $2 payment from Karl.

In only a few months, Frank’s paintings added their glamour to the walls of the big tent and, as I had predicted, attendance and revenues went up. Frank even received some commissions from the marks, impressed by his artistry, as well as through the contacts he had made and continued to make as we traveled, in the outside world. Frank still appeared on stage as the “World’s Thinnest Man”, but we found another fellow to act as “Gerry the Geek.” Frank’s talents were better put to use with paint and canvas and he claimed that swallowing chicken eggs, shell and all, had always given him indigestion.

Frank was a frequent visitor during my brief recovery and those visits continued even after I was back to normal. He opened up and let me see the fine intelligent man that dwelled inside his slight body. Frank quit referring to me as Mr. Stone, but he never has called me ‘boss’, preferring to use my Christian name, Lucas. I don’t mind. We have had many a pleasant discussion on art, books and music, and I am now proud to call him my friend.

One day, Frank surprised Karl and me with a large nude portrait of the two of us together. Due to the fact that we never did take Frank to bed, and judging from the painting’s meticulous detail, Frank must have second sight, a good imagination, or an informant in Karl. We hung his gift proudly on the wall of our trailer. Every time I see it I am freshly reminded of the important lesson - to keep my mind open and not to judge others by my narrow, preconceived notions.

Still, I have to smile when I see the two men strolling happily round the camp, arm in arm - so different - André an imposing tower of muscle and Frank a slender flower of a man, they are nonetheless the perfect couple.

Just like Karl and me.

End Part 4

Posted: 01/15/10