Monthly Archives: March 2021

“A Rook Given” Ch 2, Sc 1

Edwin Grant flashed his badge from his lanyard to buzz himself into the main building of PharmCare, located in prime Hartford real estate downtown. He parked three blocks away at a company-sponsored lot with a shuttle that left the place every fifteen minutes.

Once buzzed through the main door, he was clocked in. Since he already had breakfast and his daily morning paper, he went right to his cubicle. He buzzed himself into the elevator, which would automatically send him to his floor. However, other people came in and pressed the buttons to different floors, even while hisn floor was hi lighted in blue light. He smiled, knowing that meant express.

One of the perks of being here over twenty years, he thought, as the elevator went directly to the fourth floor, skipping the other three, to the chagrin of the rest of the passengers. He and two others exited onto the floor. The two women separated, going north, while he went south to his office. He took the third left, opening the main door into the Creative Mailings section of PharmCare. 

Some people were already gathered at the coffee machine. He waved to them. Some waved back. Most of them did not. He didn’t take it personal; many of them were non-functioning until they had their cup of coffee, which is why he never scheduled meetings until after ten.

He went to his office that he got because of his tenure. The manager of the department was located in the bullpen, waiting for Edwin to leave so he could get the office. To spite him, Edwin hadn’t left yet, and had no plans of doing so.

Edwin opened the window because his familiars would come in with their information over the course of the day. Flies, bees, wasps, butterflies, birds. Already a bluebird sat on the ledge. He closed his door and the bluebird flew inside.

“Branca is almost finished with the letter to the client,” the bluebird tweeted. “She should be done with it today and will submit it for final approval from the client.”

Edwin opened up his laptop from his briefcase while the bird talked. “Which one is this?”

“Kmart.”

Edwin logged in, checked his calendar. He sorted by person, noting that the Kmart team’s next meeting was next Tuesday. “Good. She’s on track. Make sure the client returns the letter by the end of the week so we can have everything ready for that meeting.”

“Yes, Master,” replied the bluebird. He flittered away, on his way to New York City, where the client held its headquarters. Edwin already had the logo and letterhead officially created. The client was going out of business, and Edwin had to make sure this was as formal as possible. People would lose their jobs and insurance. That was his purpose here, to inform the client’s members in the most efficient and professional manner possible, without becoming junk mail. 

He unpacked the Monarch butterfly from his case. Still alive, still fluttering around as the jar moved. Edwin connected his laptop to the docking station and left his office, closing the door. The crowd at the coffee room had gotten larger, as the eight o’clock hour had already passed. 

He had already gotten the cubicle number of Lei Ghaing, the account manager for Myosun Construction. Carrying the jar, he brought it into the elevator. A couple of people looked at the jar in his hands. It looked like a diorama of a Monarch Butterfly on a Geranium. 

Edwin left the fourth floor and walked down the hallway, taking a couple of rights before arriving at the account management department. Lei’s cubicle was  decorated for Easter, with eggs and the Easter Bunny hanging on the wall.

“Hello, Lei.”

She turned around. Her hair was undone, past her shoulders, straight and raven black. She wore a white frilly shirt and black pants with heels that she had kicked off under the desk. 

Lei gave him a look of confusion. Processing, processing, Edwin thought with an inner chuckle.

“I’m Edwin Grant. I handle the mailings for Myosun. The newest project that was assigned to me yesterday?”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself to the team yet.”

“I took the liberty of looking you up.” Edwin smiled and presented her the jar. “I would like you to accept this gift as a token of our teamwork.”

“This is beautiful.” Her statement was flat, more confused than grateful. “Is it real?”

“No,” Edwin lied. The moment he released the jar from his hand to hers, the butterfly went ramrod still on the flower. “If you could give it back when you leave the company, or move on to something else…”

“Sure,” she replied, but he knew she wouldn’t. No one ever did. He would often find out from his bees in HR if someone he presented a familiar with left the company or their position. He would retrieve the familiar himself. By then, most of the time, the familiar would be useless to anyone and would be relegated to the workshop until he needed it again.

Lei put the jar down far away from her computer, as if she didn’t want to see it. It would possibly be buried beneath papers and plastic within a few months, but by then he’d have what he needed.

“I’m glad to meet you…”

“Edwin.” He forced a smile. “We’ll have our first meeting next Tuesday. I’ll have some prototypes ready for you by then.”

“Uh, good. Excellent.” A ping went off, meaning she got an instant message from someone. “Excuse me?”

“Certainly. I’ll see you next week.” He walked through the account management department, stopping by one cubicle. No one was in it anymore, but a fern wilted in the corner. He picked it up, knowing it was a present to the UPS account management person for his mailings over a year ago. 

The bees aren’t working anymore, he thought. He’d have to introduce spiders or mice.

New Novel: A Rook Given (Scene 2)

Edwin Grant sipped the light chamomile tea as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. This old dusty house needed his daughter back, but she wanted to be independent and out on her own. He allowed her to live her life out there, beyond the ancestral home, into the world that he lived in.

Often, his daughter would ask why, if he used his magic so often, didn’t he become the president of Pharmcare. Magic was not meant to be so obvious, he kept trying to explain. Magic is tiny ripples in the pond of fate, that slowly ebbs away at the shoreline, taking a grain of sand at a time until the shore itself has changed.

He used his ability to create to cause these small ripples. He made himself indispensable. This is why, in his 60’s, he was both being passed over for promotion and sought after for his talents. 

Edwin opened the large mahogany door into the master suite. No familiars were allowed to cross this threshold without their Master’s permission, the only room in the house off limits to everyone except himself.

Here, he kept his more precious objects, objects d’familiar to remind him what he put out there. The workshop held the potential; the bedroom suite held the productions. 

Of course, he never had the heart to destroy his creations. They existed until they starved for attention or power and faded away, then used again another time, like the Monarch.

He dressed in his pajamas, a harbinger of an older time with his wife and daughter. They looked like they came from a different time, at least the 50’s. Dark plaid button-down top and bottoms, barefoot. He climbed into his bed that he made every morning upon waking. It was something his wife instilled in him when they married.

He stared at the ceiling (BEGIN INFO DUMP). Tomorrow was Wednesday, and he would provide the Monarch butterfly to Lei Zheng, who was the account manager for the Myosun Project. He had been assigned to come up with the graphics for the mailings from PharmCare. 

Myosun Construction employed mostly people from the West coast, and also, their employees were mostly of Eastern descent. Chinese, Indian, Korean, Cambodian, a few Philipinos thrown in for diversity. Based outside of Silicon Valley, the construction company built high-rise buildings in San Francisco and Los Angeles. The Monarch Butterfly gave him some ideas, but he wanted to know what was necessary.

One thing about corporate culture was its lack of communication. Although they would have meetings, either virtually or in person in the office, no important information was ever passed down—no official information, that is. The Monarch Butterfly was a recorder of information that would eventually be returned to Edwin, who would be able to tailor-make the mailings to the group of people the project aimed at. 

This was his indispensability. Only he could come up with the right mailings. He was the go-to graphic designer that everyone wanted to have on their team. No one knew how he did it. But at the beginning of every project he would present the account manager or project manager with a plant or fish, saying that they didn’t even have to take care of it, but would they please return it if they left the company? Most people didn’t follow that simple direction, which is why he often found his gifts in the trash. Dottie, the HR director, still had his spider plant which would tell him about people who left, were leaving, or had moved on in the company and no longer needed his services. He would go search out those people’s desk, and discover his presents there, either on the desk or in the trash.

He has been passed over for director too many times to count, but he was fine with that. He didn’t want to leave his position as a gear in the machinery. No one expected too much from him and he always over-delivered.

Viva Las Vegas

Seagn found herself knocking on the back of a truck that Moose was staying in. The Sidewinders had not stopped, and were in the process of singing “Viva Las Vegas” for the seventh time.

Moose opened the door. “They’re your friends.”

“They’re not my friends.”

“You brought them here.”

“They came here on their own! Stop blaming me!”

“Webby’s going to blame you if they break out and cause any shit to the rides.”

“What do I do? Call the police?”

Moose sighed.  “Tell them, nicely, that you want them gone.”

“But they’re all drunk. They’re in no condition to drive!”

“Then tell them, nicely, to keep it down. Some people are trying to sleep.”

“Viva! Viva! Las Vegas!”

“You’re no help.”

“I’m not going to put my head in the lion’s den of a bunch of drunken bikers. They may be women, but you don’t fuck with drunken bikers.” Moose looked around. “Come inside here. You can stay with me.”

“No han—“

He kissed her. She was surprised, but not angry. He deepened the kiss slowly, gently like he did beside the water.

Seagn blushed. “Maybe a little.”

The Sidewinders Visit

Someone banging on the truck woke Seagn up. “What?” she yelled, pulling the sheet over her head.

“Someone out here to see you,” called Moose.

She checked her phone. Six thirty, for God’s sake. “It better not be Webby,” she muttered. “Or I’ll be very disappointed.”

She pulled on clothes and opened the door. Moose stood at the base of the truck, and beyond him…

“Gray!” She jumped down and the older woman hugged Seagn, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Most of the group waved with a smile at her. Others looked like they needed a cup of coffee before becoming human.

“Morning, sweetheart.” She thumbed at Moose. “Nice fella you got here. Appreciates good bikes.”

“I have a Fat Boy back at the Ranch,” he said. “2021.”

“Black or green?”

“Black. Couldn’t find the green.”

“They didn’t make enough of them. Anyway!” Gray turned to Seagn. “We’re here to take you for breakfast.”

“Sounds like a great idea. We don’t open until ten.”

Sheila came forward. “Where’s the animals?”

“In the trailer. I have to feed them first.”

“We can help!”

Some of the women groaned. Gray waved a hand. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Why don’t you scope out a place that can take us all.”

“Mind if Moose comes?” Seagn asked.

“If he doesn’t mind being the girl.”

Moose shook his head. “I’m all right. There’s a Denny’s twenty minutes down Route 6 heading east.”

“Denny’s it is. The mom and pops won’t be able to take us all at once. Shaun, you can ride with me.”

Seagn stared at the bike. She gulped. “Do I have to?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Moose said, “Then I’ll tell you. I’ve been trying to get her on the back of my bike for months.”

Gray laughed. “I’ll put a sissy bar on it. Katie? Can I borrow yours?”

“Sure, boss,” said a young woman with long blond hair and a squat body. She took out an electric screwdriver she had in her saddle bags and unscrewed the metal bar at the rear of her bike.

“So you mean to tell me that the only thing that’s going to be holding me on is a pair of screws?”

“And someone who’s been riding Softails longer than you’ve been alive.”

“What about the animals?”

“I’ll feed them,” Moose said. “We can all talk shop when you get back.”

“Don’t feed them too much. I don’t have a lot left and we’re going to be selling bags of feed. Check the water and bring out the troughs, and—”

Moose gave her a look. She felt that aura come up again.

“Yeah, just feed them.”

“Okay,” he said, and headed to the trailer doors. The animals, hearing the commotion outside, were now awake and demanding. 

“A cow!” cried Sheila, after hearing Bella moo. “You have a cow!”

“Later, girls, later,” said Gray. “Taurus is ready to tear off heads because we left without her coffee.”

Someone provided Seagn with a helmet. She looked confused until someone showed her how to put it on and switched on the microphone for her. They were on CB channel 22. Nobody used CB radio except truckers and enthusiasts, so the channel was clear. Seagn got a jacket and then climbed on the back of Gray’s bike, glad that it had a bar in the back she could lean against. 

The gang of bikers all started up at roughly the same time, creating a roar that would have woken up anyone else in the area. They pulled out onto Route 6, heading east.

“So what’s this festival for?” asked Gray.

Seagn replied, “Different restaurants showcasing their famous scallop dishes.”

“Scallop au gratin,” said someone into her speaker.

“Scallop marinara.”

“Eww.”

“It’s just scallops in a red sauce over linguine.”

“Sounds too gross to me.”

“We’re going to stick around,” said Gray. “I love scallops.”

The group started talking scallops, then seafood, then fish. None of it was of any interest to Seagn as holding on for dear life was her only interest for the moment.

They pulled into the Denny’s parking lot, engines roaring, making people look in their direction. Seagn wasn’t sure if she was happy or concerned that she was being stared at. Gray had ridden at the speed limit, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

She got off the bike, shaking, struggling with the helmet, feeling claustrophobic and sealed in tight in the helmet. A woman undid it and she gasped. 

“Takes some getting used to,” said Gray. “Helmets give us blind spots, but there laws in a lot of states, so we wear them by default. Plus you can’t hear anything once these monsters are let loose.”

Seagn nodded after getting her footing and her courage back. She was thinking about the ride back. There would be more traffic. It would be a lot busier. 

Gray put her arm around her shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

“I’ve been brought up that these are death machines.”

“Not if you know what you’re doing and aren’t cocky. You have to have respect for them. Those rice-burners, I have no respect for people who ride those speed bikes. Your friend, there, I have a lot of respect for him.”

“He’d be happy to hear you say that,” said Seagn, as they walked up to the front doors.

Twenty-two women in leathers, tanks, jeans, and jackboots all stepped into the empty Denny’s restaurant. Seagn was underdressed in a windbreaker and a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. Gray stopped at the podium and waited.

“Don’t be giving us a hard time,” she said loud enough for people in the back to hear. “Or you’ll be losing some good tips.”

A brown-colored waitress came out. “How many?”

“Twenty-three.”

She looked around the corner in the empty section of the restaurant. “Give me a sec.” She went there, rearranged a couple of tables of eight, and one for seven.

Gray smiled at her as she guided the women to their seats. “Your name, sweetheart?”

“Joy,” the woman responded. 

“A very pretty name.”

Joy smiled. “Thanks. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

Gray took a seat that oversaw all the other women. Seagn sat to her left and another woman sat to her right. “Anything on the menu,” Gray said.

“Coffee,” muttered Taurus.

“Of course, coffee. Carafes even.” Gray turned to Seagn.

“I drink tea,” Seagn said.

“Yo!” A woman held up her hand in a virtual high-five. “Me too!”

Seagn laughed and held up her hand, too. 

Sheila said, “You both like getting the little teapots. Makes y’all feel special.” 

Seagn placed her order and the women chattered about the weather, the ride from P-Town (Seagn wasn’t sure what that was), and eventually assholes of the road. Seagn kept quiet throughout, thinking about getting back on that machine. Would she throw up after getting off the bike?

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?” Gray put her fork down.

“The bike. I’m afraid of the bike.”

“I’ll take it even slower.”

“I want to get back as soon as I can.”

Gray patted her hand. “You need to get over your fear, or it’ll get the best of you. Sheila here, she was worried about getting her own bike, but now that she rides on her own, she’d never go back. Right?”

Sheila looked up from her food. She was called, but she didn’t know the question, Seagn could tell. Sheila smiled and gave them a thumbs-up. 

A dictator does that, Seagn thought. Gray had these women wrapped around her gloved hand. That scared her more than the ride back.

What did I get myself involved with?

Seagn did not close her eyes on the way back, but held onto Gray’s waist with a death grip.  Her stomach settled when she got within sight of the carnival.

Moose had done more than just feed the animals. He groomed them as well. “I would have put them out but I don’t know how you have this set up,” he said when Seagn dismounted. Seagn’s heart swelled suddenly. She blinked at the feeling.

“Mind if we park behind your trailer?” Gray asked.

“Don’t see why not.”

“Parking’s a premium at these things.” Gray motioned everyone to the area behind the trailer. All twenty of them fit there, parked like dominos, so close they looked like a stiff wind would topple them all over. 

Seagn led out the animals, and some of the Sidewinders guided them to their pens. They loved the goats, just like everyone did, and hand-fed some of them while Seagn made up the feed bags for the kids. Some of the other women looked bored while the younger ones played with the animals before the opening.

As soon as the music started for the carousel, it meant the carnival was open. A few minutes after ten, people started streaming in. The Sidewinders headed out into the carnival to check out the rides and wares. 

Seagn watched as men of all types gathered near the bikes to look them over. “Harleys do that,” said Taurus to Seagn.

“You’re not with everyone else?”

“Seen one carnival, seen ‘em all. I don’t like to leave the bikes alone.” She yelled at someone, “Hey, don’t touch.”

The three men gathered around jumped back as if whipped. Taurus only chuckled as the men walked away. “See how easy it is?”

“Easy what is?”

“Train men. All you need is a loud commanding voice and they fall right into line.”

Seagn didn’t think Moose would obey that easily.  Maybe after some time had gone by, she wouldn’t necessarily “train” him, but they would respect each other. In her opinion, that’s what it came down to: respect.

She realized what she was thinking. About Moose. About staying with him.

But what about the animals? And Moose’s attitude when Beau left the company—she knew she wouldn’t be able to get him to leave now. Maybe when the season was done. She’d approach him. Later. Sometime…

“Hey, lady,” a man in an apron called to her. “You own these things?”

“These ‘things’ are farm animals.”

“How much for the goat there?” He pointed at Bob.

“It’s a ram, and he’s not for sale. None of them are.”

“You sure?”

She looked him up and down, assessing that he was a cook from one of the restaurants who had entered the competition. Maybe he was planning on adding Bob to his scallop dish. 

“Definitely sure.” She’d have to lock the animals in the trailer at night. She didn’t trust the guy as he walked away. 

She talked to Taurus during the day. In the conversation, she found out Taurus was called that instead of “Bull” which was too male for her. She didn’t hate men, she just didn’t find a need for them, even as sexual partners. That was all that Taurus would disclose about herself—not where she was from, who she was with, or why she joined the Sidewinders in the first place. She wouldn’t espouse about Gray and her iron control over the group; she said nothing bad about the gang.

It bothered Seagn, that nothing bad was with the gang. She had already made her decision not to join them, to be nomadic all the time. Where did they get the money to drive around? Did they have real jobs during the winter and just did this during the summer?

Escape

An hour later, everything closed down except the bars along the the beach. Moose and Joe came over. Maggie was no where to be seen. “Where’s Maggie?”
“She got her period,” said Joe. “She’s back at the Ranch.”
Seagn rolled her eyes. “It’s not like having your period is a sickness.”
“With her it is.” Joe bristled.
Moose said, “I told you she just uses it as an excuse.”
Seagn nodded. “She is.”
“You don’t live with her. Anyway, we’re not talking about Maggie. I got a draw so we can go to the bar.”
Seagn knew that a “draw” meant an advance from his paycheck. “You paying?”
“One round.”
“Okay. I’ll have a Guinness on you.”
Joe slapped her on the back. “On me.”
They walked to the nearest bar, which was two blocks away. The parking lot was full and the place was crowded. They found their way to the bar. Seagn ordered a Guinness on tap, Moose and Joe both ordered Corona without limes. They ambled to an empty table with no chairs.
“What’s this about the SPCA?” asked Joe over the ambient noise.
“Did you tell everyone?” Seagn glared at Moose.
“Only the ones who cared.”
“Does Fatsy know?”
“Probably now, yeah.”
“Great. Like I need him to stick his nose into my business.”
Moose drank half the bottle at once. “He won’t say nothing to you.” Seagn frowned. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” She sipped her beer, enjoying the deep taste of it.
They stayed at the bar until last call. Seagn had nursed that one beer for the three hours they stayed. Moose and Joe drank a few, so were feeling no pain.
“We’re gonna go to the trailers,” said Moose.
“I have to go back to the animals.”
“C’mon,” said Joe, with a wide grin. “Sleep with him.”
Moose punched Joe in the upper arm. “Ow, man.” Joe rubbed the area. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”
Moose said nothing as he walked up the hill to the parking area where the trailers were set up. Seagn split up from them, heading to the animals.
That’s when she saw Shet standing under a lamp post.
“Shet?”
The small pony didn’t move from the area as she approached slowly. She took him by the bridle and stared into his deep brown eyes. “What are you doing out here?”
She turned to the area where the animals were. All the gates were wide open.
“Oh, shit!” She pulled Shet back to his pen. Bella was safely in her pen, asleep. The goats, sheep, and ram were gone. The pigs were found in the pen next to Bella. The feed bags and water jugs had been slit open by a knife, food and water mixing together onto the ground.
She walked around the Midway, finding Bob the ram, Mohauk and Beau the goats. No sign of the sheep or the other three goats.
Seagn stood in the middle of her area, turning around in a panic. Who did this? Where were the animals? Were they stolen? It was after two in the morning. Who could she call for help?
She saw a patrol car drive slowly by the carnival. An idea sparked.
She called 911.

Maisey

It was dark when Seagn finally got to Maine, so she had to pick her way to the road leading to the Ranch. Landmarks weren’t clear in the headlights of the truck, and she found herself going down a couple of dirt tracks that ended in a house or a decrepit barn.
She went down one of the dirt roads and finally came upon the canopy of forest that preceded the Ranch. She saw the cooking fire in the distance and let out a sigh of relief. The truck bounced its way out of the forest and turned left to park at the trailer.
The goats were beside themselves, running over to the fence and bleating at her to feed them.
They weren’t the only ones. Moose showed up with a flashlight just as she parked the truck. “Where have you been?”
“Salem. With a side stop at Laconia.”
“How’d that happen?”
She smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Need help feeding them?”
“Could you hold the flashlight?” She didn’t want to waste fuel on the generator and string up lights.
After feeding the animals Seagn told Moose what had happened. Moose smoked another cigarette and pondered the adventure. “Lesbian biker gang, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call them that.”
“Sounds like a porno flick in the making.”
Seagn hit him playfully. “They were very respectful. Not what you think.”
Moose rubbed his arm. “I’m just kidding. Though if it were me, I would have stayed.”
“I have responsibilities. Tomorrow they’re all getting their shots.”
“Rabies?”
“And distemper. And a few others. Shet is the most expensive.” She looked around the trailer. “Have you seen Maisey?”
“Which one’s that?”
“The cat.”
“I haven’t seen it around here.”
“I haven’t seen her since Warwick.”
“Think she ran off?”
“God, I hope not. She’s chipped, though, so whoever brings her to the vet will find out she’s mine.”
“That is, if someone brings her to the vet.”
Seagn frowned deeply. “Yeah. There is that. I’ll look for her tomorrow morning.”
“After shooting up the goats?”
She chuckled. “After that.”
The next morning, she lined up the vials on the trailer’s edge and filled syringes with the required amount as shown on a special veterinarian’s Internet page she had access to. She went down the line, giving each animal a shot behind its neck. No one complained.
It took her about an hour, and then she had breakfast: Pop Tarts and Sunny D. In the back of her mind was Maisey. What if she did run off in Warwick? How was she going to find her?
She started making calls, to the Rhode Island SPCA, to the Warwick animal shelter. Maybe someone would show up with her and give her up to the shelter. Or, God forbid, she went feral and joined a colony.
For funsies, she looked through the trailer. With the exception of animal crap, no Maisey. No traces of mice, either. She’d done her job and moved on, Seagn thought, though that didn’t make her feel any better.

***

Although it was a highway, it was strange to see old historic farms along the side of the roads on the way to Narragansett. According to Seagn’s GPS, Narragansett was on the water. When they pulled into the spot, which was a field, it was just across the street from a beach. A pair of stone towers that seemed to have no meaning bridged the main road.
Webby pulled out all the stops here, bringing every single ride and all the members of the crew. Everything from the carousel to the ferris wheel was brought in. The trucks had to park down the road, so Seagn found herself loading feed for the weekend into a small section of the tent. She was also far away from the beach and the Midway, the section where the rides were showcased. She’d learned the term from Moose on the way in.
They were packed in tight, with barely enough room to move around. If the SPCA was going to inspect her this weekend, she was going to be in big trouble.
She set up the animals with the maximum space she could fit. She got dirty looks from the guys setting up the Swinger, because her tent barely cleared the arc of the swing. Webby let it stand because it was more unnerving to the people on the swings.
After setting up, Seagn made the decision to go sleep in the trailer. Although the trailers were at least a good long walk away, they weren’t as far as they had been in Warwick. She called the shelters again. No tuxedo cat had been recently found.

harley

Laconia

Like Salem was a mecca for witches of all sorts, Laconia was the same for bikers. Seagn could tell as they pulled into the city limits. Motorcycle shops, repair shops, gift stores were everywhere.
“A themed tourist trap, like Salem,” said Seagn, as she followed the line of bikers slowly down the street. Gray broke from the pack and waited for Seagn to catch up.
In the middle of the street, she called to her, “Follow me!”
Seagn followed Gray down the street a couple of blocks down from where the women had stopped their bikes. She found herself pulling up in front of a garage door.
Gray parked her bike just outside the main door. She went inside.
“We always come here,” said Sheila. “The only woman-owned repair shop in town.” She bopped her head to “My Sharona” playing in the truck.
The garage door in front of here opened, and a man came out carrying a ramp. Seagn shut off the truck and got out.
“Afternoon,” said the man with a nod. Seagn took down the tailgate and the man set up the ramp. He undid the knots on the ropes, then guided the bike down the ramp.
Gray stepped out with a woman wearing a bike week t-shirt from 2022. “I’ll get working on her right away,” she said. “Put it on your tab?”
“If you could,” said Gray, watching the man roll the bike into the shop. “Thanks a lot.”
“Anytime Gray. Staying for the weekend?”
“Yeah.” Gray turned to Seagn. “Want to give Sheila a ride back to the hotel?”
“Sure thing.”
The few blocks didn’t last long, and as soon as she turned the truck off, Sheila was out of the cab. “Thanks for the ride!”
“Yep!” Seagn waved her away.
Gray came up to Seagn’s driver’s side. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
“This might sound crazy, but can I take a shower?”
Gray smirked. “Alone, or with someone?”
“Alone, please.”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll let you use mine.”
The bed and breakfast was taken up by everyone in the group. Gray had the entire top floor, with slanted ceilings and her own bathroom.
“This is the Mistress Suite. Or Master Suite during bike week.”
The decorations were Victorian, daguerreotypes of mysterious men and women in fancy gilded frames. An ancient wardrobe stood in the only section where the ceiling was high enough to fit it. The bed was at the end of the room, set off with Chinese room dividers. The bathroom looked out at the back of the house, with a full-sized frosted window in the shower.
“Take your time. I’ll be downstairs.”
Seagn did take her time. She was happy that these clothes were clean from this morning. She could wear them for a couple of days before she felt uncomfortable. Some of the carnies wore their clothes for an entire week, sleeping in them as well. She tried not to go that far.
She walked downstairs, her hair wet and she felt refreshed and clean. The group of women were smoking or just sitting around the lobby. The TV was on, but too low for her to hear. When she came downstairs, Sheila got up and started to applaud.
The rest of the group applauded, and Seagn felt her face get hot. She bowed her head and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Want to stick around?” asked Gray. “We’re going to have dinner.”
“I’d love to but I have to get back to my animals.”
“Yeah, Sheila said something about a carnival. Where are you going to be this weekend?”
“Narragansett. It’s in Rhode Island.”
“That’s a long ways away. Maybe we’ll catch up with you sometime.”
“I don’t have the schedule with me—”
“Want to exchange digits?” Gray pulled out her phone.
Seagn pulled out hers, and tapped the two together, like toasting someone. A pleasant little “beep” notified them that they had transferred their phone numbers to each other.
Gray looked at her phone. “That’s a weird spelling of your name.”
“It’s Gaelic.” Seagn looked at hers. Gray Miller, Company: Sidewinders, AZ.
“Call and let us know where you’ll be. We’ll be in the area for a couple of months.”
“Laconia?”
She laughed. “New England. Compared to Arizona, it’s an area.”
“My schedule is ever-changing. I usually don’t know where I’ll be until a couple of days before.”
“That’s okay. This is New England. Anything is an hour away.”
“Heh, true. Well, thanks for the shower. I hope to see you again.”
Gray kissed Seagn on the cheek. “Be careful, huh?”
“I will. Thanks.”