Tuesday, 26 August 2014

Judge, jury, executioner (on my way to Vegas but not for fun).

They've even got a special name for us when we work on the show. Maybe you can guess it, Bridgie. Part of the word 'carnival' is in the name. 

Lowlives. Caleb snorts to himself and opens another beer.

I frown at Caleb. I think I know what that means and it isn't nice. Lochlan touches my elbow. Think hard, Bridgie.

I am. So hard my eleven-year-old mind is ready to burst. Ummmm...carnivores? 

No less than three of them spit mouthfuls of beer into the bonfire. Christian rolls onto his side. That's the best answer I've ever heard, Bridget. He says.

I'm not sure if he's making fun of me or not. I look at Lochlan, waiting for the correct answer.

Carnies, Bridgie. Want to come be a carny with me? 

Yes, I do. 

Too bad you're too young, Caleb kills the conversation completely. I frown because he's right.


He had the plane stocked with Pellegrino, blueberries and lime (for him) and coconut water (for me). A glass was poured for me and I took a huge gulp and thought he had finally succeeded in poisoning me without bothering to make it taste good.

My face said it all.

What's the matter? I thought you loved the stuff. 

I don't even know what this is! Oh, it's plain. 

What do you mean?

I only like the Del Monte pineapple kind. 

I wasn't aware there were differences. 

Try it.

He takes a sip and makes a face.  I'll make a note of it.

I bet you will. 




What is that? 

My lucky bracelet. 

And where did you get it?

Loch made it for me. I beam with twenty-one-year-old pride.

Caleb frowns. Where did he make it? 

In the last campfire on the last show. (with a hammer and a piece of old copper wire, he engaged in a little portable blacksmithing, is what he did.)

I see. It's not something that you wear to a place like this, Bridget. 

My personal jewelry isn't up for debate, Cale.

Your attitude is. I can take you to Cartier after lunch. We'll get you a proper one. 

So I'm not good enough for Vegas suddenly? I thought it was the other way around.

He grabs my elbow and squeezes it so hard my knees go to liquid. No, I simply don't need any visual reminders that I brought a lowlife to such a high end spot. 

I yank my arm out of his hand. Should have brought someone else then.

I don't want anyone else. 

Then look at it because I'm not taking it off. 

(In the end he took it off me, pinning me down and making sure I couldn't breathe until I stopped fighting. Business as usual. I never got it back. Maybe I'll ask about it today. Maybe when he's pinning me down. Full circle and all that.)