Butterfly (71 page)

It was the way intellectual argument turned her on. Trudie loved challenging, mental

stimulation with a sexy man. It was a kind of foreplay; clashing wits and a test of brain

power eventually turned into sexual energy that was more intense and exciting than any

kind of ordinary physical foreplay. And she had had her answer to the mystery of Thomas

long before she had tried to puzzle it out: she had told the director of Butterfly that she

wanted to be with a man who was bright, educated, and would engage her in serious,

intellectual debate.

Trudie shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other, suddenly feeling self-con-

scious. “So,” she said, craving a cigarette but fighting it, “Oriental philosophy, huh? You

had me fooled.”

“It’s mutual.”

She reached into her purse, pulled out her lighter and hastily lit up. Her newfound

knowledge inexplicably made her ill at ease. It had taken her by surprise; she needed to

think about it, to sort it all out and find out from herself where to go from here.

Bill! she thought in amazement. Butt-head Bill!

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he said.

“I suppose now you have a degree in medicine?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’d just hate to see you die young.”

Trudie studied the palm trees that bordered Greene’s estate. They swayed beautifully

in the May breeze. Finally she said offhandedly, “I still owe you.”

His eyebrows rose. “For what?”

“In my office, last month. Remember? You lost an hour’s work because I called you on

the carpet and you said I owe you for it. So lunch is on me today. Maury’s, on Roxbury?”

He slowly rubbed his hands and looked around. “I don’t want to leave these guys. Got

some problems to iron out. Besides, I brought my lunch.”

She tossed down her cigarette, ground it out with her foot, and said, “Okay! See ya!”

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311

She quickly got into her car and was just starting the engine when Bill came up and

said, “What are you doing Sunday? How about going sailing with me?”

She looked up at him as he stood silhouetted against the noon sun, and she suddenly

wanted very much to be out on the open sea with him, alone, arguing, matching wits,

making fantastic love.

But then she remembered the disastrous night with a certain masonry subcontrac-

tor—“Some of the guys have a bet going that you’re a lesbian”—and she thought of the

endless string of Saturday-night disappointments and the guys who were after her money,

or who only wanted to get into her pants, and she suddenly didn’t trust these new feelings

for Bill.

“Sorry,” she said, throwing the car into gear and backing away. “Let’s just consider the

debt canceled.”

Bill, perplexed, watched the Corvette disappear in a rain of dust and gravel.

45

The black knight galloped across the jousting field, the hooves of his charger thunder-

ing and sending dirt flying. He held his lance level and sure; when he came abreast of the

Red Knight, his aim was true and the lance knocked his opponent to the ground. The

spectators cheered as the Black Knight rode up to the stands where his lady was sitting,

dismounted, and returned to her her veil, which he had carried into the fight.

The crowd went wild. Jessica clapped and waved to the Knight, who she thought had

played the part so perfectly. The illusion had been complete. The Renaissance Fair—she

loved it.

She and John and their two friends turned away and continued their stroll through the

fairgrounds. It was an event that was held once a year, in the hills behind Calabasas, and

Jessica never missed it. This time John had invited Ray and Bonnie to join them. But

none of them had come in costume, as so many other fairgoers did. Jessica had wanted to,

but John had dismissed the idea as undignified. And so now, as they walked among the

crowds, Jessica envied the women in their elaborate Elizabethan gowns and simple wench

dresses. They were so
into
the spirit of the fair.

The rules were strict: everything had to fit within the years of the Renaissance—cloth-

ing, speech, even the food sold in the stands could not predate or postdate that era.

Which was why the fair closed as dusk: it could not be lit up with electricity. A few con-

cessions to the modern age had to be made, by the order of the Health Department. Food

stands had refrigerators and ice; milk, beer, and wine were pasteurized. But otherwise all

was authentic, and to such a degree and in such detail that it was possible, for a while at

least, to lose oneself in an age long past.

Which was what Jessica did every time she came here. She and John would prowl the

lanes and gullies of the vast pleasure fair and inspect handmade goods sold in the hun-

dreds of booths: pewter, felt hats, masks, quilts, a variety of arts and crafts limited only by

the human imagination. Street brawls broke out here and there—staged affairs between

costumed men with “wenches” looking on and cheering. A juggler might suddenly stop

and set up a little show, earning coins in his upturned hat. A man dressed as Copernicus

could be overheard arguing with another scholar whether or not the earth revolved

around the sun. The fair was a place to come and shuck off the present and plunge whole-

heartedly into the past, and to indulge in the romance of fantasy.

It was like Butterfly, Jessica thought when they stopped to purchase four steaks-on-a-

stake. This was all fantasy and illusion. You left reality at the main entrance and bought

yourself a flagon of sweet wine and watched the pageant of Queen Elizabeth and her

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313

court. And it was a beautiful day to enjoy it all: the sun was hot, it was Memorial Day

weekend, and Southern California baked in a presummer haze.

“Look, honey,” John said to Jessica when they came upon a pottery booth. “Here are

those wine goblets you admired last time. Why don’t we get them now?”

She remembered the goblets; last year she had thought they were hideous and had

been secretly pleased when she and John had returned to the booth at the end of the day

to find them gone. As John now signaled to the proprietor of the booth, a man in velvet

doublet and tights, Jessica picked up one of the cups and examined it. The stem was sup-

posed to be the figure of a wizard. It didn’t quite work.

“How many shall we get?” John asked as he drew out his wallet. “Six or eight?”

Jessica turned the cup around and around in her hands, staring at it.

The goblets were expensive at forty dollars apiece, and she couldn’t imagine ever using

them.

“Jess? The man is waiting. How many shall we get?”

She looked at her husband. “Well,” she said, putting the cup down. “I…don’t really

care for them, John. I mean, they’re not really our style, are they?”

John arched his eyebrows. “You were crazy about them last year.”

No,
You
were crazy about them. I never said anything.

He turned to the seller and said, “We’ll take six.”

As the shelf was cleared of the ugly maroon-and-gray goblets, which Jessica knew

would go into a cupboard at home never to appear again, and John wrote a check for

nearly three hundred dollars, she turned away and pretended to be interested in a ceramic

soup tureen with a dragon on the lid.

They stopped next for beers, at a crowded intersection of two lanes where hundreds of

hot and tired fairgoers sat on bales of hay, quenching their thirst. “Well?” said John to

Bonnie and Ray. “Where to next?”

“What else is there to see?” asked Bonnie, this being her first visit to the fair.

“We haven’t seen half of it yet. There’s archery and games of skill over that way.” He

pointed down the lane. “And back there, a stage where performances are going on all day

long.”

“There’s the fortune-tellers’ gulch,” Jessica ventured to say. “They have a whole string

of palm readers, Tarot readers, crystal balls—”

“Archery it is, then!” said John, tossing his plastic cup into a trash can. “Let’s see who

can hit the first bull’s-eye.”

They followed him down the congested lane to the archery field, where a line of peo-

ple stood in the hot sun awaiting their turns. Jessica and Bonnie watched while John and

Ray competed for the most points, then the four continued on their way along the row of

games of skill.

When they came upon the ringtoss, Jessica stopped and said, “Let’s give this one a

try!”

John looked at the booth and laughed. “Why?”

“Look at the prizes. Medieval puppets. I’d love to have one.”

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Kathryn Harvey

“Okay, honey,” he said, walking up to the counter where wooden rings were stacked,

ready to be tossed onto a board with posts at the back of the booth.

“Now, here be a fine gentleman,” said the woman who ran the game. She was dressed

like a dairymaid, the neckline of her blouse cut daringly low. “Spend a penny and win

your lady a prize!”

It cost more than a penny. It was a dollar for six rings, and John paid her. As he picked

up the first ring Jessica said, “Please let me try.”

He smiled at her. “You know you’re not very good at things like this, honey. Leave it

to me.”

But that was why I stopped here
—
so I could play!

He threw the first one and missed. He threw the second, and missed with that one,

too.

Ray laughed and slapped his business partner on the back. “Face it, John,” he said.

“You’re over the hill! The eyesight is always the first to go.”

John shifted his stance, steadied himself, took aim, and missed.

“I guess it’s not as easy as it looks,” said Bonnie.

“Please let me try, John,” Jessica said again.

“You want that puppet, don’t you, honey?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then leave it up to me.”

Bonnie was looking them over—the puppets were handmade out of various kinds of

fabric and were hanging on one wall of the booth. “They sure are nice,” she said. “I

wouldn’t mind having one in my classroom.”

John missed again.

“The game’s fixed,” he said good-naturedly, tossing the fifth and missing by a wide

margin. “I’d swear those posts are moving!”

The last he threw over his shoulder, Annie Oakley style, and he and Bonnie and Ray

laughed.

But Jessica, who thought one puppet in particular would look good on the wall in her

office, was reaching into her purse. “Wait a minute,” she said as her companions started

to walk away. “I’m going to give it a try.”

“Don’t waste your money, Jess,” said John. “It’s not worth a dollar.”

Neither are your damn goblets.

He and their two friends walked away while Jessica stayed at the booth and bought six

rings.

Between tosses she kept looking through the crowd, trying to keep track of her com-

panions’ whereabouts. It was easy to get separated and lost in this vast fair. Finally, she

couldn’t concentrate enough to take good aim. She hurried and lost all six tosses.

A few minutes later, after searching for them, Jessica found John and Bonnie and Ray

sitting under a giant oak tree, eating strawberries and cream out of cantaloupe shells.

“Did you win?” John asked when she came up, hot and tired.

She sank down next to him, thankful for the shade. “No.”

“Told you so.”

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315

Jessica looked at the three outrageous desserts. The strawberries were as big as plums

and the cream was the old-fashioned clotted kind. You could practically spread it with a

knife.

“Want some?” said John.

“You know I do!”

He scooped a strawberry and some cream onto his spoon and lifted it to her mouth.

Jessica ate it, and wasn’t offered anymore.

“What next?” said Ray when their cantaloupes were scraped clean and thrown away.

“Why don’t we get our fortunes told?” said Jessica. “The Gulch of the Seers is only

down that way—”

“The Queen’s Pageant is going to be soon, honey,” said John. “We don’t want to miss

that.”

But Bonnie said, “I think it would be fun to have our fortunes told.”

John shook his head. “Don’t tell me
you
go in for that nonsense, too? I thought Jess

was the only gullible one among us!”

“No one takes it seriously, for God’s sake!” Bonnie said. “It’s just for fun.”