What have I let myself in for? she thought with dismay.
Like it or not, she had committed to playing a fortune-teller.
Chapter
THREE
THE CARNIVAL OFFICIALLY STARTED at seven P.M. The gym doors opened to a flood of miniature clowns, pumpkin heads, and fairy princesses accompanied by their parents. The high-school crowd, most of whom considered themselves too cool to wear costumes, arrived slightly later in groups or as couples, plunking down their one-dollar admission fee at the door and glancing about admiringly at a room that could no longer be recognized as a gymnasium.
Sarah had been startled herself when she arrived a little after six to find that the members of the Carnival Committee had been able to alter the atmosphere of the room so completely. Streamers of orange and black crepe paper crisscrossed the ceiling; maliciously grinning jack-o’-lanterns lined the window ledges; and a bubbling cauldron filled with dry ice projected a churning cloud of steam. The bleachers had been disassembled and moved out to make room for a variety of booths ranging from games of chance to those selling homemade candy and bake-sale items. An area at one side of the room had been roped off for a cakewalk, and on the other side a stuffed dummy dangling from a gallows marked the entrance to a plywood spook house.
The fortune-telling tent was positioned against the back wall, flanked on one side by a Pop a Balloon and Win a Prize game and on the other by a Kiss the Spider Lady booth. The tent was made of sheets, dyed black for the occasion, with a large, hand-lettered sign that challenged the faint-hearted, DARE TO ENTER AND LEARN YOUR FUTURE FROM THE INCREDIBLE MADAM ZOLTANNE!
When she stood at the entrance to the tent, Sarah could see Kyra on the far side of the gym, seated next to the Bite an Apple on a String booth. She was dressed as a ghost. The costume totally concealed her identity, and in her hands there was an unlit jack-o’-lantern.
Eric, outfitted as a circus ringmaster, seemed to be everywhere at once, checking on details and troubleshooting last-minute problems. He paused to speak briefly to the ghost and then crossed the gym to Sarah.
“You look great!” he said in a low voice, glancing around quickly to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “I can’t see the earphones at all.”
“Is Kyra miked yet?” Sarah asked him.
“The microphone’s in the jack-o’-lantern.” He reached over to make an adjustment in the angle of the sign. “You haven’t told anybody about our gimmick, have you?”
“Who would I tell?”
“I thought maybe your mom or Mr. Thompson.”
“I promised you I wouldn’t,” Sarah said stiffly.
“I like a girl who can keep a secret,” Eric said approvingly. “You’re going to be the hit of the evening.”
Sarah was not nearly so optimistic. When the gym doors opened to admit the first rush of early arrivals, she stepped back into the tent and took her seat in a chair behind the small circular table that held her crystal ball. She adjusted her scarf and waited. Time went by, and nobody entered. The room beyond the tent flap was filled with voices and laughter, and she could hear loud popping sounds as people broke the balloons in the booth next door.
Finally, when she had just about accepted the fact that the evening was over for her before it had even started, the curtain parted and a girl with long blond hair stepped into the tent.
“Hey! You really do look like a Gypsy!” she exclaimed in surprise.
“I am Madam Zoltanne,” Sarah told her, experiencing a rush of unexpected stage fright. She had seen the girl around campus, running with the jock crowd, and she knew she was one of the cheerleaders, but she didn’t know her name.
The girl handed over her ticket and paused uncertainly.
“What do I do now?” she asked.
Sarah motioned her into the chair across from her. The girl sat down gingerly, as if expecting the bottom to fall through, while Sarah gazed down into the ball, trying to act as if she saw something fascinating in its depths. The earphones beneath her headgear remained stubbornly silent, and she was struck by a wave of panic. What if the radio wasn’t working?
Then, to her relief, the earphones crackled into life, and Kyra’s voice burst upon her eardrums.
“That’s Cindy Morris. Her dad’s the minister at Pine Crest Community Church. She’s adopted, but nobody’s supposed to know it. She bleaches her hair, and she used to wear braces. When she was little, she had a grubby old baby doll named Dorcas that she dragged around with her everywhere.”
Sarah stared into the ball, trying to assimilate the shotgun torrent of splattered information. She decided to start with the basics.
“Your name,” she said softly. “I see a round letter. It must be an O—no, it’s half an O—the letter is C. Cindy is the name, isn’t it? I can’t quite see the last name, but it does seem to be a bit longer than the first name, and it seems to me that the two middle letters are the same.”
“Morris,” the blond girl said. “I’m not surprised you know that. Everybody knows the cheerleaders.”
The statement was offered as a challenge, but Sarah ignored it.
“Morris,” she repeated. “Yes, that’s what it is—Morris. But there’s something wrong with the letters. They keep shifting around. It’s like they’re not sure they belong there—as if there was a time when your name was something else.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the girl said nervously.
“Maybe I’m wrong. Things aren’t always what they seem. If you did have another name, it was at a time when your smile looked different and your hair was darker.”
“What do you mean, ‘darker’?” Cindy demanded in a defensive voice. “I’m a natural blonde.”
“Like I said, things aren’t always what they seem,” Sarah said. Her eyes remained glued to the crystal sphere. “The person I see in the glass is not the same as the person who is sitting across from me. In the glass I see past the outer shell into the soul. What I see is an insecure child in need of a friend. No, wait—she has a friend—someone—something …” She leaned closer to the glass. “She is hugging someone and gaining comfort, but it’s not a flesh-and-blood person. It’s too soft and cuddly to be a person. It’s a … doll!”
“So what else is new?” Cindy said. “All girls have dolls when they’re little.”
“Not like this one,” said Sarah. “This doll has a distinct personality. She has an old-fashioned name. Her name …” She paused for effect and then said softly, “Her name is Dorcas.”
There was a long pause.
Then Cindy exclaimed, “How did you know that?”
“I am Madam Zoltanne,” Sarah said as if that explained everything. “Now the glass grows dim and the pictures fade. Peace be with you, and may the stars in the heavens watch over you.”
The girl left the tent, and Sarah drew a deep breath. She couldn’t believe it had gone so well! For once her mother had been right; all her experience in high-school theater was paying off.
Cindy’s place was taken by a little girl in a Minnie Mouse costume.
“That’s Amy Albritton.” Kyra’s voice spoke into Sarah’s headphones. “I sometimes baby-sit her. She’s in second grade and has an older sister named Jennifer. She’s a Sesame Street freak and watches it every afternoon. She’s afraid of the dark, so her folks gave her a Big Bird night-light.”
Talking to Amy was easy, because the child had been so conditioned by television that nothing struck her as fantastic. Although Sarah mentioned her sister, Jennifer, by name and made a subtle reference to the night-light—“A big yellow bird watches over you every night”—Amy didn’t seem too impressed. What she did respond to was Sarah’s improvised description of what her life would be like as an adult when she appeared on screens throughout the country as “a glamorous movie star.”
Amy went rushing out of the tent, eager to share the news of her thrilling future with her mother. No sooner was she gone than a teenage girl took her place.
?
??This is cool!” she said. “Cindy’s right, you do look like a Gypsy. What can you read about me in that magic ball?”
Even as the girl spoke, Kyra was filling Sarah in on her.
“Leanne Bush is Cindy Morris’s best friend. She dates Bucky Greeves, the captain of the football team, but he’s got a crush on one of the other cheerleaders.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but Sarah did her best.
“I see you with a boy—very strong physically—he’s looking at you and smiling, and you’re smiling back at him. But his eyes are gazing beyond you.”
“That’s my boyfriend, Bucky,” Leanne said. “You say he’s looking past me? What’s he looking at?”
“I can’t quite see,” Sarah said. “She’s standing in the shadows.”
“It’s Debbie!” Leanne exclaimed. “I just bet it’s Debbie Rice! What does she look like? Does she have thirty-eight-D boobs?” She didn’t pause long enough to get an answer. “It is Debbie, I know it is. I’ve suspected it all along, but Bucky keeps saying I’m being ridiculous. That two-timing slime ball! He’s no better than any of those other jerks! How long has this been going on?”
“I can’t see anything now,” Sarah told her, a bit startled by the outburst. “The ball has been emptied of visions. Peace be with you, and may the stars in the heavens watch over you.”
Leanne left the tent, visibly shaken, and from then on people arrived in a steady stream. No sooner did one leave the tent than another stepped in, and when the flap was pulled back, Sarah could see that there was a long line of prospective clients waiting their turns.
It was evident that people were busily spreading the word about the amazing Madam Zoltanne, because each client seemed to generate others. Bucky Greeves arrived with a chip on his shoulder, announcing that Leanne had sent him.
“She’s pissed off at me,” he said irritably. “What kind of bull did you feed her?”
“I tell each person what I see in the glass,” Sarah informed him. “Nothing more or less.” She realized to her amazement that she was actually enjoying herself. With only a few exceptions when she had to wing it because the costume concealed a wearer’s identity, she received feed-in from Kyra about everyone who entered the tent. Although she was glad for the information, Sarah couldn’t help wondering about someone who knew so much gossip, especially family secrets, such as the fact that Cindy Morris was adopted.
She took Bucky by surprise by revealing her knowledge that when he’d had chicken pox at age five, his mother had sent him to kindergarten anyway and he had infected the whole class; that he would have flunked first-year algebra if the coach hadn’t pulled some strings to keep him on the football team; and that he was a heavy-duty pot smoker. She also let drop the name Debbie and watched his face turn crimson. He was immediately on his feet and out of the tent.
As Bucky exited, Kyra’s voice said, “The one who’s coming in now is our paperboy. His name’s Charlie Gorman, but behind his back everybody calls him Lard Ass. He’s sort of like the class clown. His mom is a bookkeeper or something, and his dad’s a cripple. The guys on the football team found out the combination to his locker and last week they put a dead fish in it.”
By this time the boy was in the tent, easing himself into the chair across from Sarah. He was definitely overweight, and his extra chins were nestled one on top of the other like towels in a linen closet. Still, there was something likable about his face, and Sarah immediately decided not to mention the fish.
“I hear you tell great fortunes,” the boy said good-naturedly. “So, what do you see for me?”
Sarah lowered her eyes and stared into the ball.
“Your name starts with an O,” she began, in repetition of the beginning of her fortune for Cindy Morris. “No—wait—it’s only half an O.”
“I’ll save you the trouble,” the boy said. “The name’s Charlie. You may not have noticed, but I’m in your history class, two rows over and three seats back. What I’m interested in is what do you see in my future?”
Kyra’s voice fed in through the earphones. “Tell him he’ll be manager of a fish store.”
What a horrid girl, Sarah thought, feeling a surge of sympathy for the boy across from her. This poor guy had enough problems without having people continue to make fun of him after the joke was over.
She decided to give him a good fortune, something pleasant to look forward to, even if they both knew it was only a game.
“I see you on a cruise ship headed for Hawaii,” she said. “You’re dressed in a tux, and you’re with a beautiful woman. It’s obvious that you’re very rich and successful. The orchestra’s playing, and you and this lady are getting up to dance. You’re—”
Something was wrong.
The globe on the table was no longer clear, it seemed to be filling with smoke that was twisting and turning within it, creating shadows that were superimposed upon shadows. In the midst of the smoke she saw the stocky figure of Charlie Gorman poised at the top of a flight of steps. A foot came out from behind him and snagged his ankle, and with a shout of surprise he pitched forward.
Chapter
FOUR
SARAH STARED INTO THE ball in silence, unable to believe what she was seeing. The figure in the glass waved his arms wildly in a desperate attempt to regain balance, clutching frantically at the air. Then he plunged down the steps with his arms thrust straight out in front of him and disappeared into the thick coils of smoke at the bottom of the globe.
“What is it?” Charlie asked. “Is all that good stuff too exciting for you to handle?”
“It’s—it’s—” Sarah raised her eyes and focused upon the round, pleasant face across from her. In the dimly lit tent it was hard to see Charlie in detail, but she felt certain that he was the same person as the figure in the smoke.
Or had she seen anything at all? Perhaps her eyes had been playing tricks on her, as they had when she’d seen that flash of yellow in her mother’s bedroom mirror. After all, she had been staring into the globe all night, straining to appear as if she were focusing on something.
She glanced back down at the ball. It was as clear as window glass. No smoke, no visions. Obviously her imagination had been working overtime, but the experience had been scary.
“I’m sorry,” she told Charlie shakily. “I don’t see anything.”
“You mean I don’t have a future?”
“Of course you have a future. I just don’t see it, that’s all. You know it’s all just a game, and I’m getting tired. It’s been a long evening.”
“The carnival folds at eleven,” Charlie said sympathetically. “It’s almost that now, but you’ve still got a long line waiting. Do you want me to tell them you’re closing up shop?”
“Would you, please?” Sarah said gratefully. “I don’t think I can handle any more of this. I’m sorry, and I’ll see that you get your money back.”
“Don’t worry about that. It was worth it to hear about the cruise ship. Maybe next time we do this you can get me onto the dance floor.”
The heavyset boy got up from the chair and shoved the tent flap aside, and Sarah leaned back in her chair and let her eyes fall closed. She was exhausted, and she suddenly realized she was getting a headache. She could hear a chorus of voices reacting with disappointment to Charlie’s announcement that the booth was shutting down.
“That’s not fair!” a girl’s voice complained. “I’ve been waiting in line fifteen minutes! Everybody says that Gypsy girl’s amazing!”
“I want her to tell me if Jennifer’s going to let me get lucky tonight,” a male voice bellowed with a macho laugh, and a girl with no laughter in her voice said, “You are so crude, Danny.”
“What’s going on?” Kyra’s voice came crackling through the earphones. “Why is the crowd breaking up? It isn’t time to close down yet.”
“Don’t you try to tell me what to do,” Sarah said out loud, although of course there was no way Kyra could hear her.
She pulled o
ff the earphones so that she would no longer have to be subjected to Kyra’s voice, although she had been hearing it for so long now that it still echoed in her head. Then she took off the Gypsy outfit and dumped everything into a tote bag that she had stashed beneath the table. Under the costume she had been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and when she lifted the back flap of the tent and stepped out into the gym, nobody gave her a second glance.
Charlie had been right, the crowds were definitely thinning out. The elementary-school children had pretty much disappeared, but a number of high-school students were still horsing around, shoving each other’s heads into the Dunk for Apples tank and tossing battered-looking pumpkins at the dummy on the gallows. She caught a glimpse of her mother and Ted standing by the door with Ted’s nine-year-old son, Brian.
Sarah hoped this didn’t mean that Ted’s kids were coming home with them. The last thing she wanted to do was join the group, but there was no way to avoid it, since they were obviously waiting for her.
Her mother saw her approaching and gave her a big smile.
“From the comments I’ve heard, the fortune-telling booth was a huge success! I kept hearing people raving about the fabulous Madam Zoltanne!”
“Great job, Gypsy lady!” Eric called to her, striding toward them across the gym, with Kyra, as usual, bobbing along beside him as though attached by an unseen thread.
“Boy, what a night!” he exclaimed enthusiastically as he came up to her. “We haven’t had a chance to tally up yet, but from the looks of the cashbox, we’re going to have one great prom.”
“We had good promotion,” Kyra said.
“And some red-hot drawing cards. Like I predicted, your booth was the hit of the evening, Sarah. I wanted to get my own fortune told, but the line was too long. How would you feel about giving me a private reading?”
“You know it was a hoax,” Sarah said.
“But a fun sort of hoax. Everybody loved it.”
“Can we go to your house and eat brownies?” Brian asked Rosemary, who now directed her smile at him and said, “We certainly can, honey.”