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“A fair?” Joey said incredulously. “A fair. And who are we supposed to be, the freak show?”
“Oh, don’t be a sourpuss, Josephine,” Maybelle answered, snatching the advertisement out of Joey’s hands. “We can’t all be from big cities. The fair’s a big deal.”
Greta leaned an elbow on Joey’s shoulder and watched the girls exclaim over the flyer that Maybelle was now waving above her head. Most of the team, drawn by the commotion, had trickled into the living room. Greta stood up straighter when Carson came down the stairs and stepped quietly into the room. She was wearing her blue-green check dress, but her hair was still in a wavy tangle after practice. She caught Greta’s eye and smiled brilliantly at her, as if there were no rules at all, and Greta’s heart stuttered. She knew that smile of Carson’s, knew it was only for her, because as soon as Maybelle nudged Carson’s elbow and showed her the flyer, Carson’s smile softened into something quieter, if still fond.
“I always loved it when the fair came to town,” she said, a little wistfully, as she took the flyer from Maybelle. “My dad won the milk bottle toss for me every year.”
Greta pressed her lips together, imagining Carson, as a dirty-kneed child, skipping along the fairgrounds with her hand held trustingly in her father’s. The fair didn’t matter to Greta one way or the other—the League was always coming up with new ways to make the players earn their salaries, from movies to autograph sessions, and this was simply one more. But Greta would give a lot to see Carson at a fair, buoyant and carefree.
“Oh, a jam competition,” Terri said, taking her turn with the flyer. “With all these games I haven’t had the time! Erwin always said my plum jam was amazing.”
“Aww, honey, you’d win a blue ribbon for sure,” Maybelle said. “But just think—hot dogs!”
“Better hope there’s no pie competition, or farm girl is gonna go nuts,” Joey muttered to Greta, who didn’t bother holding back a smile.
“Hey, I heard that,” Carson said from across the room, with good-natured exasperation. “But why are we invited?”
“Ugh, look at this,” Lupe said, snatching the flyer out of Terri’s hands. “Your gorgeous diamond gals, the Rockford Peaches, will be signing autographs and giving a demonstration of their skills.”
“That means dresses,” Jess said sourly, crossing her arms.
“And no hot dogs,” Maybelle said with a pout. “The mustard always spills.”
*
Sarge confirmed it. “Ladies, you are expected to attend and to be decorous,” she said, when she had them all gathered around. “You have been invited as representatives of the League, which means absolutely no smoking, no drinking, and no cursing.”
“Ah, fuck,” Lupe said, then, to Sarge’s glare, “Just getting it out of my system.”
“You will be demonstrating your skills, but not showing off,” Sarge continued, to a chorus of groans.
“Then what’s the point?” Joey asked, throwing her arms out. “If we’re gonna be the freak show we might as well show them what we’ve really got.”
“And,” Sarge finished, after quelling Joey with a stern look, “you will all be home by curfew, and no dalliances.”
Greta tried to hold back a smile, glancing around and noticing who among the team looked disappointed. Several of the girls had been invited on chaperoned dates; others had been seeing men in a much less chaperoned capacity. Greta saw disappointment on more than a few faces that this wouldn’t be their chance to meet their sweethearts. Carson, standing beside Sarge in her role as team captain, nodded seriously at Sarge’s words, her mouth firm, “being the Boot,” as she liked to put it. Greta caught Carson’s eye and gave a quick raise of her eyebrows, letting her tongue dart out to wet the corner of her mouth. With all the girls watching Sarge, it was safe enough. And gratifying: Carson immediately ducked her head and blushed.
Once Sarge had waved them all off to start getting ready, Carson crossed the room to Greta’s side, holding on to her elbows and rocking back and forth a bit on her toes. “So, uh, a fair,” she said, glancing at Greta before watching the rest of the team trickle out of the room. Joey was the last to leave, rolling her eyes at Greta over her shoulder as she saw the two of them standing together—with a careful, if inadequate, foot of space between them.
“Uh-huh,” Greta said. She couldn’t help enjoying these moments when Carson approached her, so clearly caught between wanting to be close to Greta and trying to cling to the rules that Greta insisted on. Greta knew she should say something, tell Carson how hopelessly obvious she was being, but she knew that she was being sadly obvious herself. It was too easy to watch the pink flush rising in Carson’s cheek, and to lean towards her, feeling warmed through by Carson’s awkward sweetness.
“Would you, um, like to go with me?” Carson said, smiling shyly up at her.
“With you…and the whole team?” Greta teased. Her stomach fluttered with a ridiculous thrill.
Carson’s smile widened, dimples flashing. It was more than a little self-deprecating, but she didn’t let Greta slow her down. “The whole team is going,” she agreed, “but maybe you’d be going with me.”
Greta smiled despite herself. Surrounded by the team, they’d hardly get any time to themselves, but she knew that wasn’t the point. Carson wanted to spend time with her, in public. As public as they could manage. It was dangerous, pretending they were allowed; but there’d never been another woman who’d wanted to be seen with Greta. No one ever wanted to spend time with her without any promise of something more at the end of the night. Greta wondered if Carson knew that. She had the strange thought that Carson hadn’t even thought about the other women in Greta’s life, and if she did, all Carson would imagine was that they wanted Greta like Carson did: always, everywhere. “All right,” Greta said, knowing she was breaking her rules, and finding it perfectly impossible to care.
Carson ducked her head again, and nodded to herself, smiling at her shoes. Greta knew, by the grip Carson had on her own elbows, that she was doing her best not to reach out and touch, so Greta did it for her. She brushed a finger over Carson’s hand—only for a second—and murmured, “I’d love to go with you, Carson.”
Carson looked up at her again, her eyes shining, and Greta couldn’t tear her eyes away from Carson’s face. Risks never seemed like risks, when they earned her Carson’s smile. That should have scared her; but all Greta could think was, I have a date to the fair.
*
The fair was everything Greta expected—small, gaudy, and dusty—but somehow that didn’t stop the team from exclaiming in excitement as they approached.
The rides and games had been set up in an empty farmer’s field on the edge of town. The ground underfoot was rough with yellow grass stubble and chunks of rock and dirt, making it almost impossible to walk in heels. A few beat-up Fords and Chevys marked the parking area, but most of Rockford was crowding in on foot. Huge banks of floodlights poured their glare over the fairgrounds, leaving harsh shadows in the aisles between the booths. Everything smelled amazing: popped corn and roasted ears, cinnamon and deep-fried dough, hot dogs and spun sugar and soda drinks with bubbles. A brass quintet played a reel near the entrance, where tickets were being sold for a quarter.
The front half of the field was reserved for food booths and carnival games, while at the farther end the carnies had set up their rides, in creaking wood and bright paint: a merry-go-round with fantastical carven horses rising and falling in time with the calliope music; the Whip, with its eight cars whirling around and pressing the riders together with each surge around the corners of its oval track; the canvas-covered Caterpillar rushing in a dizzying circle; and the Ferris wheel, tall enough to look over all the lights of downtown Rockford. And, at the very edge of the field, where the floodlights petered out, the dark mass of a cornfield. After a narrow wicket, an arch had been created out of the growing corn, the stalks tied together with bright ribbons, leading into the shadowed avenues of a maze.
Pure wonder shone on Carson’s face. It was like taking her to the movies, except better. At the movies, they’d had Joey and Nancy between them, and Greta had been barely able to see around them to watch the marvel on Carson’s face as Dorothy stepped out into the brilliant colours of Munchkin land. Here, Carson was practically skipping, and she kept glancing sideways at Greta, checking to see if Greta was as eager as she was. Greta laughed at her, bumped against Carson’s shoulder, and said, “The carnies are going to see you coming a mile away.”
“I don’t care,” Carson said. “I’m going to win.” She grabbed Greta’s hand and headed straight for the milk toss. With a quick glance, Greta saw that they weren’t the only ones on the team trying to pull each other along the aisles. Half the team was yanking towards the rides and the other half towards the carny games, everyone laughing and pointing. Greta let herself squeeze Carson’s hand and be dragged along.
Carson stopped short of the booth itself. For a moment, she watched the few men standing at the milk toss counter, her face set in such a look of determination that Greta found herself watching Carson far more than the carnies barking for new victims, or the grown men stomping their feet like toddlers over the clearly rigged game.
Crossing her arms, Greta leaned close enough to whisper in Carson’s ear, “You know they make the balls bigger than the jugs.”
Carson shook her head, so focused that she didn’t even shiver at Greta’s breath in her ear. “Sometimes. This one’s okay, though.”
“No one’s winning,” Greta pointed out. But, she supposed, if anyone knew how to judge how to throw a ball, it would be Carson.
“They’re doing it wrong,” Carson said, with pure conviction. “Look.” She pointed at the next man up, who managed to sink a single ball into the narrow neck of the milk jug. He earned himself a cheap-looking cardboard badge glued to a straight pin. With a gallant bow, he presented the dinky little prize to the woman beside him, and said, “For my best girl.” The woman rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek.
Carson glanced at Greta, and a warm blush flooded her face, her grin turning bashful. Greta couldn’t help the curl of affection in her chest, the warm knowledge that if Carson could, she’d win a prize for Greta. That was almost as unimaginable as anyone wanting to take her on a date.
Carson squared her shoulders and stepped up to the counter. She slapped down her nickel and took three balls, a little larger than a baseball and clearly, from the way Carson hefted them, a different weight and feel. The carny, biting into his thin cigarillo and puffing out a cloud of sweet smoke, smirked at Carson. “The lady’s giving it a try, who else is brave enough?” he called to the crowd passing by. A few men walking passed frowned at Carson and stopped to watch. Carson took a deep breath and shoved two of her balls into Greta’s hands to hold. She stepped up, not right against the counter, but half a step back, and mimed her toss once or twice. Then she did the weirdest thing; a little underhand flip so unlike her usual cannon arm that Greta had to smile.
The ball kissed the rim of the jug and sank in with a hollow bong. Beyond a cocky smirk, Carson didn’t celebrate. Without looking, she took her second ball out of Greta’s hands and gave it the same little underhand flick. The ball fell into jug without even touching the edges. Carson bounced once on her toes, took the final ball, and threw again. This time she nearly overdid it, and the ball nearly glanced off the jug’s back rim, but bounced fair, circled around the opening, and fell after the other two. Only then did Carson spin around and start dancing on the spot. She might be a deft hand at carny games but she certainly could not dance.
The carny rolled his eyes, and brought out a square box from under his counter. Opening it, he showed Carson a tray of little rings. They were the cheapest kind of tacky five-and-dime junk. They were painted ‘gold’, but the paint was peeling, and a greenish copper showed underneath. Each ring had its own jewel, and Carson unerringly picked the one labelled “garnet”—although Greta was certain the little stone was no more than paste and paint. Carson ran her fingers around the edge of the ring, smiling at it before she tucked it away in her pocketbook.
She didn’t once look at Greta. They both knew the garnet was Greta’s birthstone.
*
The Peaches were called up to the front of the field after that, while an announcer blared into a microphone about their abilities on the field and in the kitchen. The team stood stiffly in the lights and smiled—or in Jess’s case, grimaced—while the cheers and wolf whistles washed over them. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they were being called up one by one to show off. Lupe knocked over three stacks of milk bottles in as many pitches; Joey faced a batting machine and slammed ball after ball past the lights. All the children ran out to search for the balls, as if it was some kind of church social Easter egg hunt, then raced back with the balls for the rest of the team to autograph. Carson, as the coach, was invited to say a few words, which she must have taken literally, because all she said was, “Uh, thank you. For having us. We’ll—we’d love to see you at our games.”
Once they were finally released from their League duties, the team crowded back towards the midway. Joey kissed her own arm and with an easy twirl, took a sledgehammer to the Test Of Strength, ringing the bell on her first hit. Maybelle looked longingly at the hot dog eating contest, and Terri, of all people, said, “May, if you don’t go for it you’re going to regret it! Why are you even in Rockford, to play professional baseball?”
Later, dabbing at the mustard on the front of her dress, Maybelle offered the rest of the team commentary on all the little girls driving fattened pigs across the bandstand, telling them in no uncertain terms that the judges were awful and the wrong girl won. After the contest, she went over to the girl who’d come in third, and talked earnestly with her until the girl’s barely held-back tears turned into a hero-worshiping smile.
“Come on, Bird,” Joey said, linking arms with Greta as they strolled down the midway, Carson beside them biting heartily into a candied apple. “You haven’t picked anything yet. What’s the lady’s pleasure?”
Greta smiled and shook her head. It was enough for her to watch the others, to see the wonder on their faces. She certainly wasn’t watching Carson licking caramel off her fingers, closing her eyes in bliss at the smooth sweet taste. They arrived at the base of the Ferris wheel, and Joey grinned at her meaningfully.
“Joey…” Greta said warningly. “No. No way.”
Carson’s ears perked up immediately. “What?” she asked, tossing her apple core into a nearby bin.
“Greta loves the Ferris wheel,” Joey sing-songed.
“I do not!” Greta said.
“We used to go all the time!” Joey crowed. “Like Coney Island, isn’t it?”
Greta said firmly, “It’s nothing like Coney Island,” because it wasn’t. This Ferris wheel was tiny and cheap in comparison. Half its blinking light bulbs were burnt out. Coney Island was huge, and loud, and bright, with endless boardwalks. Greta had kissed Dana there once, in the shadow of a pier. It wasn’t the same.
But Carson was grinning, and already heading for the back of the line.
Joey leaned close to Greta and said earnestly, “You can take her on a ride, Greta.”
Greta shook her head. In a cold instant, her fear was stronger than her excitement; every passing glance from the crowd felt like a hostile look. “You know I can’t.”
“Bird, no one’s watching. No one cares,” Joey said. “Look, I’ll go with you, they’ll say all three of us can’t fit in a car, then I’ll go after you.”
With a shout of “Ferris wheel!” and a wave of her arm, Joey managed to round up as many of the team as happened to be passing by—Ana and Lupe, Terri and Jess, Maybelle bringing up the rear with a fresh hot dog in her hands. When they reached the end of the line, Joey nudged Carson closer to Greta. Carson’s eyes widened, asking silently if it was all right; and Greta smiled tightly, but nodded. The line moved slowly, and Greta found herself holding her breath, watching the lights spin overhead, and the pale stars beyond. With each step forward, Carson’s shoulder brushed her arm. Greta swallowed down a tight need to cry.
When the ride slowed to a stop, Greta, Joey, and Carson stepped up to the wicket together. The carny running the ride wrinkled his nose at Joey and waved her back, which insult Joey took with good grace. Maybelle tucked her arm into Joey’s elbow and said, “Well I never! I’ll ride with you, Josephine.”
Carson looked like she didn’t know whether to thank Joey or try—try—to be circumspect, and nearly tripped over the step up to the swinging chair. Greta took off her hat and held it firmly in her hands as the carny steadied the chair for them. Carson sat down carefully in the far corner, but her ankle nudged Greta’s as the carny closed the metal bar across their waists. When he let go, Greta let out a laugh despite herself at the sway of the car. Then the flywheel motor whirred into life, the car swooped backwards, Greta screeched.
Carson turned to her with an absolutely delighted smile and said, “Oh my God, are you scared?”
Greta, breathlessly, said, “No!” and Carson grinned and said, “You are! You’re afraid of heights!”
There was such a perfect and adoring light in Carson’s eyes that it was Greta who closed the distance, inching carefully across to whisper, “What if it falls? What if it tips over?”
Carson grabbed for her hand and squeezed tight. “It won’t,” she murmured, close now and warm in the cooling air of the evening. “Everything’s going to be fine. Trust me?”
Greta closed her eyes, her stomach dipping with each new lurching turn of the wheel. She didn’t answer, but she clung to Carson’s hand, and pressed against her warm side as they climbed again, paused again, as the carny loaded the ride.
“I can see everything,” Carson whispered, with awe in her voice. Greta opened her eyes and saw the streets of Rockford curving away from them, the glare of the screw factory, the twinkle of yellow in house windows, spreading out and out and away.
Carson was pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh with her. Their fingers were laced tightly together, clasped between them where no one could see. Greta’s stomach jittered and swooped as the car rushed into its final climb.
And they stopped—oh, they stopped, right at the very top, where Greta could see a world of lights pouring out around her; as if she was the very center, the point that every light touched, moonlight and starlight and the bright dancing lights of the fair.
Carson whispered, “My mom always made a wish when we stopped at the top,” and Greta tipped her head back—the whole chair tipping and swaying with her—and closed her eyes, and wished.
And then the Ferris wheel was swooping, back and around, faster and faster until they were rushing through the base of the wheel where the rest of the team was waiting their turn in line, whooping at them as they swept up, and up, and up to the peak again, and then back and around; over and over, with Greta’s stomach turning with each circle until finally, they returned to the bottom, and Carson had to let go of her hand before the carny braked the wheel and opened the bar for them.
Greta climbed down from the car, trying to hide the shake in her knees. Carson walked beside her, her cheeks bright again, but her smile was quieter as she stepped away from Greta’s side.
*
The moon rose higher over the fairgrounds. Greta breathed in, smelling the green scent of plants and rain, and realized they’d wandered to the back of the field, where the lights didn’t quite reach. “We could try the corn maze?” she said, and was shocked to see Carson shiver. “What, you love the fair, but you don’t like the corn maze?”
“It’s dark in there, Greta.” Carson paused, digging her heels in to the soft earth.
“Says the coach who led night practices for three weeks?”
“Yeah, with flashlights,” Carson said. “I bet they don’t give you a flashlight in that maze.”
“Hm. Think we might get lost?” Greta twirled around. She could still feel the swoop of her stomach from the Ferris wheel, the nerves tingling in her skin. “Think there might be ghosts?”
“Oh, shut up. We’re going in.” And Carson led the way to the wicket. She handed over two nickels to the bored carny. Greta tried to ignore the pleased, low tingle, charmed against her will that Carson was paying her way, like a gentleman. She crossed her arms and followed Carson through the first archway, into the rustling darkness of the maze.
Carson stomped her way down the first aisle and around the first turn, before quickly spinning back around towards the entrance. Greta could see the shine of Carson’s wide eyes reflecting the floodlights from the field. “We’re going together, right?”
“And miss the chance to sneak up on you in the dark?” Greta smiled as Carson inched back to her side. The maze was surprisingly quiet after the blare of the rides and the tinkle of calliope music and the shrieks of children. There was an occasional shout and burst of laughter from deeper in the maze, but Greta could already sense that the fair was winding down for the evening. Most parents had started guiding their wide-eyed children towards the entrance of the field. The teenagers had already snuck away with a bottle and a snicker. The only people left in the maze were the few—like them—on a date or a dare; and Greta didn’t know which they were, but she liked both possibilities.
“Of course I’ll go with you,” she said, with a bit more care. She took Carson’s hand and tugged her deeper into the maze.
The corn rustled around them, dark and tall enough that even Greta couldn’t see over the top. She didn’t mind. Corn mazes weren’t intended to get anyone lost, only turned around, and there were the fairground lights to guide them when it was time to go back. She strode quickly into the maze, coaxing Carson behind her, and then it was darker still, and they’d left even the shouts behind. With another quick turn, Greta found a dead end. She took a deep breath, her heart racing as she turned around.
She pulled Carson close, and said, “Are you scared now?” She thought she could feel Carson tremble, and she tucked her hands around Carson’s waist. The sound of Carson’s breathing was perfectly familiar, from the woods, from the garage, from Greta’s moonlit bedroom when Jess was out. Leaning close, Greta kissed her. Carson smiled against her lips and said softly, “Is this what corn mazes are for?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“I never…I stopped going to the fair after I turned ten.”
Greta touched Carson’s cheeks, tracing the lines of her smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Carson said. She kissed Greta again. Her mouth was soft and wonderfully warm. “I’m glad I came with you.”
Greta breathed in, pressed her forehead against Carson’s. The two of them, standing still, alone, in the darkness. “Is this a date, Carson Shaw?” she asked, trying to dissemble.
Carson’s arms wrapped loosely around her neck, and she stepped closer, until they were swaying in each other’s arms. “Yeah. I want it to be. You know it’s not just…it’s not just, uh, all that, to me, don’t you?”
Damn Carson and her honesty, her tenderness. If Greta had ever believed it was only “all that” between them, Carson had proved her wrong, over and over again.
“I want to take you places,” Carson said, and kissed her, “and be with you, and…make everything as real as it can be.”
“I know,” Greta whispered, wondering what she was admitting. In the darkness it was too easy to agree, too easy to kiss Carson back. There was only breath and intention between them, no expression to judge by, only the husky rasp of Carson’s voice in her ear.
For a moment, Carson stepped back, and Greta heard the rustle of her fiddling with something. Then Carson groped for Greta’s hand, and held it up, clasped between hers. “You are my best girl, aren’t you?” Carson asked, and she was sliding the junky, carny-prize ring onto Greta’s finger.
Greta swallowed, feeling the tight painted plastic around her finger, the cheap stone setting scratching her knuckle. She wanted to believe it was only the darkness that made Carson choose her ring finger. The stupid little bauble didn’t even fit. She’d need to take it off, hide it away, before they left the maze. Her eyes hot with sudden tears, Greta whispered, “You know I am.”
“Think we can find our way out of this?” Carson asked, and the first thing Greta thought was I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I want to, and I don’t know if I can, but then she realized that Carson meant the maze. “It’s got to be close to curfew.”
“Yeah,” Greta said. “Yeah, of course.”
So they made their way slowly towards the entrance of the maze, stumbling, getting turned around. The whole way out, Carson’s hand was warm in hers, the plastic ring caught between their fingers. And Greta led the way, always turning, turning towards the light.