Chapter Ten
After double-checking the locks on her moving truck, Carly breathed deeply to try to clear herself of any attachment to the streams of thoughts that washed over her from inside the bar. It was tough.
It had always been difficult for her to be around large numbers of drunk and drinking people, whose natural inhibitions, even inside their minds, were diminished. In a small party, she could usually remain detached, or focus solely on their external performances. One of Dr. Crump's two undergraduate students on the dig would get rip-roaring drunk at the end of particularly productive days and start reciting poetry backwards, or re-enacting battles from the English Civil War all by himself. She enjoyed watching the show so much-everyone around her was so gleeful, so their thoughts were in perfect unison with her own.
But once Carly found herself around more than a dozen people, the symmetry between herself and others disappeared, leaving only alienation, only the feeling of being trapped at the back of an electronics store in front of a television display where every TV was on a different channel, each one blasting a sound-track at exactly the same volume as every other set. And if she tried to decode any group of signals, to home in on one particular rivulet of thoughts and emotions, her anxiety debilitated her. Carly's experience in places where people were sober-in schools, or labs, or museums-was always easier, because thoughts were more consistently on a group of topics, so it was easier for her to remain detached, to follow her breath alone, and go through her activities as if she were meditating.
When Carly thought about her education and her life, she was so grateful to her mother for so many things, both material and intangible. Edna's social position insulated Carly from unpleasant situations and allowed her to encounter things like crowds, or family gatherings, gradually. And it seemed always, as far back as Carly could remember, that her mother knew what was happening to her, and knew that Carly was telling the truth. Edna never dismissed her knowledge of what other people were thinking, never made her feel guilty for revealing an inconvenient truth, even something that she would have preferred to hide from Carly, like the way her father died and what happened after his death.
Edna had kept Carly home for the early part of her schooling, hiring a tutor who slept under an aluminum pyramid frame, read tarot cards, and gazed into crystals. Carly knew that a few of the other mothers in Edna's "set"-a set determined by her birth, not her affinity for these women—were horrified that she'd hired a "dirty hippy" to help her daughter learn to read, write, and do elementary mathematics. Edna moved away from Manhattan onto a comparatively isolated New Jersey farm where Carly could raise chickens and ducks and near-swarms of dogs and cats. In a move that betrayed an astonishing wisdom and bottomless empathy, Edna became a major donor for an autism treatment center that worked with non- or low-verbal children the same age as Carly. The psychologists, social workers, and parents admired Carly's "intuition" for the children with autism and the way that they played and laughed together. Many of these kids—now young adults like herself—were still her closest friends, and they never seemed to mind that Carly knew what they were thinking about and never wanted an explanation of how she did it.
These early experiences all prepared Carly for academic and professional success, and she was always grateful for them. In most circumstances, she'd been content and independent, except for her one experience in boarding school. A few of the other young women, who were all overmedicated—they were, after all, the adolescents of the Prozac generation—talked Carly into taking some of their anti-anxiety drugs to make sleeping easier, since their noisy brains kept Carly awake. The results had been disastrous. She'd needed a week alone in the barn to recover from it—from the helplessness the tranquilizers created, from the chest crushing panic from feeling everything her peers' did and thought. Carly had been trapped in a spinning door of their teen angst and genuine trauma for twenty-four hours until she told her roommate she couldn't bear it any more. She was going to drown herself in the lake and make it all stop. The girl held her down and screamed for help.
Acknowledging the privileges her mother's circumstances had offered her, she wondered what life would have been like in a place like Bon Temps. How would someone like her have done in a town pinned down by the Bible Belt, smothered in poverty and joblessness? What kinds of opportunities would they have had? Could they have even managed to work, even as a waitress in a place like this bar?
Letting the last of her own thoughts slide away with the hot August breeze, Carly walked into the bar. The bartender, a tousle-haired man in a plaid work shirt and blue jeans, was replacing emptied liquor bottles, and three waitresses circulated busily around the restaurant. Carly was impressed that, despite its dark exterior, the restaurant was very clean and bright, much more like a family restaurant than a bar-fly bar. There were folks in the mood to party in one corner by the pool table, but she paid no attention as their thoughts and emotions passed through her mind. Almost all the tables and booths were full—the only empty table in the place was a six-seat round table, so she went straight to a bar stool she knew would be in the barman's peripheral vision and sat down.
The AAA rep had told her that she should only order the gumbo if the "regular cook whose name sounds like a general's" was cooking. Otherwise, Carly should get a hamburger. The bartender turned, and said "Hi, there. What can I get ya?"
Carly smiled and made the effort to look in his eyes instead of being self-protective, but potentially rude. He was scruffy, but handsome, and different. It was as if he had two minds, not one. The recognition flustered her: "Um...Sure...I'm here for dinner."
He was eager to accommodate. "Need a menu? It's pretty typical bar-fare, but Lafayette can make you just about anything."
Thank goodness. "That's good to hear. I was sent here so I could get a bowl of his gumbo. Does he have it tonight?"
Just as she finished speaking, a flamboyant, but strongly-built, man sauntered over to the end of the bar.
"Sam, who this New York beauty that wants a bowl of La-la's gumbo?" Carly only had time to smile, before he continued the "Lafayette Floor-show." He put his hand on his hip and straightened, "You scouting for Top Chef," then he bent over the bar, threw his head back, and fluttered his false eye-lashes, "or my baby Tyra's Next Top Model?"
Lafayette's sheer guts in putting on such a performance in front of the rednecks playing pool, by itself, was more courageous than anything she'd seen recently. She suspected that his courage came from the knowledge that, if necessary, he could kick every single one's ass. But, more than anything, Lafayette had properly identified her as a New York girl and that made her day. Every New York girl loves a great drag queen, even in trousers. Her Uncle Benjamin took Carly as his "date" to the GLAAD gala every year if he could, and it was the only social event she actually looked forward to. She knew when a drag queen said you looked good, you really did. And Carly loved to play their verbal games.
"Oh, honey, if I could, I'd get Tyra right down here before someone else claimed you for himself!"
Lafayette grinned and then said, "Where you driving in from, baby?"
"From Memphis to Shreveport."
"Oh, I see." He tapped Sam on the chest meaningfully. "My sweet thing, Phyllis, send you down for my gumbo?"
"She works at triple-A in Memphis?" Carly asked.
"Yes, she does." Lafayette looked flirtatiously over his shoulder at Sam and reached down for a glass. "I told you there big returns in telling a sweet old lady she look good." Lafayette sashayed over to the ice machine and filled his glass. "You'll love my gumbo, baby-cakes. You'll see."
"Oh, I'm sure, Lafayette." Carly knew the show wasn't quite over; he was still waiting for her to pitch him the right question so he could make an exit. "You'll have to tell me your secret ingredient before I head out to Shreveport, Lafayette. I might not be able to come back to have it again."
Lafayette gave her his best runway turn, "You will so, honey. 'Cause La-la put the 'ass' in sassafras!" He winked, and headed back to the kitchen.
Carly clapped her hands like a little girl at the circus. "Can you put him in a to-go box, so I can take him with me?"
"Don't make promises you can't keep." Sam smiled. "I don't think I can. If he's drawing pretty girls into town, I can't afford to lose him."
She blushed a little, startled to be flirting with a straight man for the second time in twenty-four hours.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Sam offered.
"Sweet tea, please. Sugar and caffeine to finish the drive." Carly tried to keep relaxed and detached, but Sam's double mind kept drawing her attention. On one hand, he was thinking, in fragments, about deliveries from vendors, about whether Lafayette would be safe after closing time, and strangely, how much Carly reminded him of another woman—someone named Sookie. Carly could only remember encountering that name once, in either an interview or a memoir by Truman Capote.
On the other hand, he was thinking about the woods, about running in moonlight, and tasting the rain. He wasn't thinking, though, in the same way. It was non-linear, non-linguistic, a combination of his senses. It reminded her, a little bit, about the feelings she'd get around her dogs sometimes.
Oh, no.
The conclusion she reached, that this man in front of her might be something other than just a man, shook her out of her quasi-meditative state and the glare and eyestrain from the road exploded into a headache, a fiery spike transecting her skull from ear to ear. The force of all the minds, so many on the continuum of drunkenness, sickened her.
"Umm...Sam...where's your bathroom?"
"You okay, cher?"
"Just a headache." Carly squinted in pain from the volume and vibration in her head.
"Round there and then back," he pointed.
Carly nearly ran to the bathroom, bombarded every step by painful shots through her consciousness- psychic screams, invectives, curses, and the howling pain that only results from a lifetime of meaningless small-town slights and insults.
Once in the toilet stall, Carly vomited, heaving up the last remains of her breakfast. She caught her breath, wiped her face, and rested her head against the cool tiled wall. Being sick distracted her long enough that she was able to disengage from the maelstrom. Although nervous that she couldn't manage the anticipated gumbo, she gathered herself up and went back to the bar.
Carly's gumbo and tea were waiting for her back at her seat; the gumbo smelled delicious, better than any she'd had, but she wasn't quite ready. She sipped at her tea instead.
Sam walked back to her and asked "Anything else you need? Can I get you some aspirin or something?"
He was so kind to her; she felt guilty for being afraid of him. Maybe he's just a really dedicated runner.
"No, I'm good." Carly still wasn't thinking entirely clearly. "So, do you always run at night?"
She didn't realize what she'd done until Sam's expression changed, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. Shit, she is like Sookie.
Carly closed her eyes tightly and thought about the ways that she could undo the damage she'd done in this little nowhere town. She hadn't talked to anyone in the bathroom, and Sam probably had been able to see her the whole way back and forth to the bathroom.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Carly thought carefully, and decided that she needed to do something other than apologize. "I'm not feeling very well."
"That's okay. What's your name, anyway? I like to know who's poking around in there." Sam smiled faintly and tapped his temple.
"Carly Michael. It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too." He looked over his shoulder and asked, "Do you know Sookie Stackhouse?"
"I gather there's a resemblance."
His smile broadened, "You're a little taller."
"I'd like to meet her, but I think it would probably screw up your dinner service if you introduced us."
A perky blond waitress set her tray two-thirds of the way on the bar, "There somebody you want me to meet, Sam?"
It was too good an opportunity to miss. Carly focused her mind on a single word: Me.
Sookie Stackhouse knocked the tray to the floor and gaped at Carly. "Did you really...?"
Carly smiled and put her forefinger to her lips. Yes. Can you speak to me this way?
Yes. I think so. Do you hear me?
Carly gave her a thumbs-up and thought, Yes, I can. Nice to meet you, Sookie Stackhouse, my name's Carly Michael. I guess we have something in common.
Sookie practically leapt over the bar and embraced her. You don't know what this means to me...
I think I do...
Of course...
People are staring, Sookie. We better come up with an explanation.
You're my cousin. People will believe that.
Bon Temps is tiny.
Other side of the blanket—that's what they call bastards.
Thanks a lot. You haven't even gotten to know me...
No, no. I mean...
Just kidding. I've never gotten to joke telepathically.
Sookie let go of Carly just as suddenly as she'd hugged her and started laughing.
Carly laid the groundwork for whatever explanation Sookie would come up with about their being cousins. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Sookie. I should have called first, but I wound up driving through earlier than I expected." I'm moving from Memphis to Shreveport.
"Thanks so much for stopping anyway. It's such a great surprise to see you after all our letters!" I have so many questions for you.
Me too, Sookie, but it might be really hard for me right now. An image of Eric popped into her head without warning.
Sookie clearly liked to tease people when she got an opening, Who's Eric? He seems like something else.
Vampire, viking. He's everything else. Everything right now. God, I'm sorry, Sookie. I can't focus. Carly's eyes teared up, so she closed them and breathed deeply.
"It's okay, Carly. I don't mind. Shreveport's just down the road."
"Yes, it is. It will be nice to get to know you." Carly looked toward Sam to see if their make-believe family reunion was interfering with Sookie's job. Sam was trying to follow what was going on.
God in heaven help me-two of them. God must be a man-hater to toss two sexy telepaths into my bar.
Sookie turned suddenly to look directly at Sam with a scandalized look on her face.
"Don't worry, Sam," Carly tried to assuage his anxiety at finding two telepathic women attractive. "Do you have a piece of paper or two?"
Natives are getting restless, Carly. I gotta get back to my tables.
You hear them now, Sookie?
Yeah, they're all real interested in the two of us. You were right, they're all trying to figure out who you are. Can't you hear them?
Carly scanned the room and could hear them individually if she attached to their thoughts and held onto them...Crazy Sookie got a friend... hot as she is, like one of them movies...Maybe Jason can sneak in a camera if they have a sleepover...Where the hell is my beer?
You can't shut them out?
Not really well. Mostly, but not completely.
I can teach you a few ways.
I'd like that a lot.
It will be good for me too. It'll be nice to have a friend in Louisiana.
A human one, right?
Funny, Sookie. Carly grinned at this woman only a couple years younger than herself, but so different in life experiences, this gift. Someone else like her. I'm going to ask you for the phone number here at Merlotte's. Give me your home address and number instead.
"Sookie, could you give me the number here? Then I can call and warn you if I'm driving through."
"Sure, Carly. Do you have your new address and number?"
Sookie, you catch on quick, don't you. "Address, no, but I can give you my work number."
What kind of work do you do?
Can we try something?
Sure.
Carly focused as carefully as she could on the procedural elements of what she did, the way she did for school tours-putting the flesh markers on the skull casts, building the faces back up until they looked human again. She cordoned off the rest of her experience, obscuring her dreams from Sookie's view.
So cool! Like a detective novel. I love mysteries so much. I read a lot.
Carly saw Sookie's favorite library shelves, and the books that she and her grandmother swapped with each other. "When is your next day off?"
"I'm off on Monday."
Carly didn't want to mess up this opportunity to make a friend who had similar abilities.
"Don't worry, Carly. I'm not going anywhere. Take your time to get settled in." Sookie gave her another quick but enthusiastic hug, and ran off to tend to her impatient and curious customers.
Carly knew she had a silly, wide smile on her face, but she didn't care.
"You want Lafayette to get you a hot bowl?"
"No, I'm good." Carly stirred the deep brown gumbo and mixed in the rice at the bottom—just smelling it transported her to the back streets of New Orleans and closely packed front porches of the old Creole district. In her first bite, she tasted the deep earthiness of the roux and the sassafras and caught a sweet hint of crayfish. The rest of the meal was like a guided tour through three hundred years of Louisiana history.
She never even stopped for a sip of tea, and licked the last bit of gravy off the edge of the bowl with her finger. She heard, "Wow."
Carly started and looked up. Sam was looking at her admiringly. "Did you say that out loud, Sam?"
"Yes, ma'am. Lafayette's gumbo usually requires a permit before you can eat it that fast." Sam crossed his arms and chuckled. "I didn't even see you breathe."
The heat was beginning to get to her finally, and she sucked down a few gulps of tea. "Could I get some more tea?"
"Sure thing."
Carly blocked herself off again from Sookie and asked Sam: "Could we play a word association game, Sam?"
"That's not something you hear every day." He set down the tea. "You want to ask me a question, privately?"
She nodded.
"Well, I'm up for anything once." Carly couldn't get over these flirty Southern men.
She started: "Moonlight."
"Cool."
Not the answer she expected. "Howling."
"Wolf."
She realized that had been a stupid association to make. "Happiness."
"Dog."
"Love."
"Puppy."
"Freedom."
"Falcon."
Could he...? But before she thought further she silenced her mind and tried a different tack.
"Death."
"Wolves."
"Destruction."
"Wolves."
"Joy."
"A dog by a warm fire." He smiled. "You get what you were looking for?"
"I think so." Carly pulled out thirty dollars to settle up her bill. "Keep the change for the tip jar."
"That's as much tip as bill. You don't have to do that." Sam tried to hand her back the ten, but she raised her hand in protest.
"Tips are best when they're what you want to give. It's not a lot, but it'll buy them all a drink on me."
"All righty, then."
Carly used the bathroom again and stopped by the service window in the kitchen to say goodbye to Lafayette. "Lafayette, you are a sorcerer. Your gumbo has transformed me, and I am forever in your thrall." She bowed her head, hand over her heart.
"Damn, girl. You know how to make a man feel good. You wanna give lessons to these motherfuckers?"
Carly laughed, "Not particularly. I'll be seeing you soon now, Lafayette. Take care of yourself."
"You know I do!"
Bye, Sookie.
Sookie turned around and smiled. You want to meet my brother? His name is Jason. He's the blond one over by the pool table.
Carly looked over to him. He was quite handsome. Not tall, but athletic, and thinking altogether too loudly about the two women watching his game. Carly met Sookie's eye again. Not tonight, Sookie...
Is he being a horn-dog again?
Carly didn't want to engage this conversation, even if it was just the two of them, mind to mind, so she waved happily, "Nice to finally meet you face-to-face, Sookie! Talk to you soon." Let me know what you tell them all. I'm happy with almost any story, but it has to involve some relative they've never met, preferably who's dead. I'll tell you more about me later.
"Sure, Carly! Maybe this weekend?"
"That would be perfect."
Carly Michael walked out of Merlotte's Bar and Grill in Bon Temps, Louisiana, feeling like she'd just met family she never knew she had.
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