Chapter 6: Master of the Funhouse

The Beech Nut is exactly as I left it: a filthy trough of noise and scandal masquerading as the classiest bar in town. It is theatre of the cheapest kind, for its patrons are just as transparently vulgar as the building itself. Each gentleman clothed in golden threads, each lady in her silken gown are broken human souls, sloppily pasted back together to loosely resemble the upper-crust of society. I suppose they look convincing to any spectator on the street. The louder their attire, the nearer they are seated to the window where their glistening jewels and ghostly complexions shine beneath the spotlight of candle and moon.

We are whisked through the lavish halls, across countless ornate carpets that will someday prove to be atrociously stained when at last their print fades. My father has his own private room here. Rather, it is private until about his forth drink when he throws the door open and allows the inebriated masses to trickle in. I enjoy the peace while I can. My first mug of ale goes down smoothly. It coats my tongue with a flavor rich and deep and so unlike any drink I ever encountered in Waterford. I watch the clock and wonder where she is. It is a nine hour flight from Charleston to Liverpool. Or rather, it would be under normal circumstances.

"She should arrive mid-day," I ponder, aloud, "at least I am fairly certain that is how time zones work. Even then, we still have time working against us. Always working against us, mocking us in its own malicious way."

Father ignores me, lost in a miserable world of his own. "They will begin emptying the estate next week. I hoped it would not come to this. I know how dearly Harriet loves that drab little house."

"Mother is happy anywhere there is a garden. You know that."

"She is a simple one. Of heart and of mind. It must be refreshing to be so utterly stupid!"

I glare at him from across the table, readying my fist. Had I been just a button more buzzed, I probably would have taken a swing. "You resent her."

"Indeed."

"May I ask what Mother has done to deserve your resentment?"

"You most certainly may not!" He growls, just as stubborn as ever.

"Can I wager a guess, at least?" I wait for him to finish downing his drink. He bobs his head. It is impossible to decipher if it was a nod or a shake, but I proceed regardless. "You love her and for that, you resent her. Thus is the curse of all men who bear the name Tavington! We have no idea how to process love and so we taint it. With either resentment or defiance. Or in my case, acute selfishness."

"You have more important matters to concern yourself with. Focus your efforts on serving in the King's Army and you will go far. Forget this woman. It sounds as though she'll be dead within the year, anyway. Your problem shall take care of itself! Consider yourself lucky!"

"How can you say that? You know nothing, nothing at all!" My voice remains low and calm, but there is so much venom in my words that I can almost taste their bitterness.

"I know enough," he gestures to his empty glass after catching the gaze of a servant on the other side of the partition. "Two bottles of your finest. Oh and tell me, has Miss Rose arrived?"

"Moments ago, Sir. The play ran longer than usual tonight."

"Do tell her to join us and that I brought her a little treat!" Father winks at me as the young man departs. "Don't scoff, William! Lolly is a fine woman! Certainly not marrying material like this Magnolia bird!"

"Marigold."

"Same difference! A flower is a flower no matter how you pluck it. Just be sure to toss it before it begins to wither. No man who is sound of mind would ever wish to have such a grotesque display upon his mantle! Ah, Miss Rose!" On his signal, the statuesque woman who held my heart for many years parades into the room. Her cheeks are darkened to nearly the same shade of crimson as her fiery ringlets. She is brandishing a parasol high above her head. Without so much as a greeting, she strikes me clean across the face and I fall backwards onto the floor, taking my chair with me. Through the ringing in my ears, I can hear Father's hysterical laughter and the clink of their glasses as Lolly sits beside him. "So nice of you to join us! William and I were just discussing flowers!"

"Flowers?" She snickers. "How trite! Or do you mean the one that I took from him when he was a lad of... how old were you, Will, when I snatched away your virginity? 18? A late bloomer if there ever was one! Bless him! Why did you ignore me in the harbor? And the other nine times before that?"

"Because, Lolly Rose, within the five seconds of being in your presence tonight, you damned near break my jaw and humiliate me with the lowest insult that you can grasp! I simply do not enjoy your company, that is all."

Lolly shrugs her shoulder, rolling it back into the straight line that keeps her head held high and her pointed nose higher. "Lies and hearsay! You enjoy my company very much, you just don't find the necessary business leading up to my company to be palatable! Now, are you going to ask how my play was tonight or not?" Silence. "I said- are you going to ask how my play was tonight or not?!"

I throw my hands up in defeat. The rest of my body still lies, flat as a board on the floor. "How was your blasted play?"

"Divine, love! Simply divine! Oh! If only you had been there! If ever there was a role that I was born to play, it is Titania, Queen of the Faeries!"

Father tries to clap his hands. They meet only once, then twice. That is how drunk the man is, already. "I bet you could not say that about Marigold, son! Did she ever play Titania, Queen of the Faeries?!"

"She played Mustardseed in high school. The perfect role for her, my little yellow flower!"

"Oh, Julius! Tell me it isn't true!" Lolly pretends to sniffle. "Has your son truly gone and replaced a queen with a lowly handmaiden!? I care not, William. It is your loss, not mine. Do let me know the next time that you are in search of a thrill and I shall give you preference! Speaking of which, Angelique could not make an appearance this evening, but she will be expecting you once your nightly gallivant here has ended."

"Angelique?" I pick up my chair, seating myself at the opposite end of the table. "I've never heard that name before in all my life."

"Indeed" shrieks Lolly. "She belongs to your father. On nights and weekends, that is!"

I can feel Father's eyes burning into the side of my face as I gaze into my drink. Surely, it had been a suspicion of mine for a while now that he had taken a lover. That said I still held on to the hope that he had not. Now, that hope had been swept out from under my feet as if by some cheap parlor trick.

"I know what it is that you are thinking, boy. It is written all across your face! Allow me to spare you the sting of betrayal and tell you that your mother already knows. You know what she did when she found out?"

"Oh! Let me guess! Let me guess! She continued singing to her plants?"

"A fine stab, Miss Rose! Indeed, she did so later that night! No, it was the oddest, most pathetic thing, really. She reduced the number of sugar cubes in her tea from three to one. At dinner, she slices her food into tiny little rectangles so it takes over an hour to eat them all. Of course, it chills before that time runs out and she grows disinterested in it. Her arms, once plump and unsightly have turned to twigs. It is as if she is trying to become lovelier and more youthful for me. Tragically, she has become even uglier in the process!"

I grab hold of a half-empty bottle at the center of the table and that is where it begins, my descent into despair. I should escape. God knows, I should run through the door and down the street, never to be seen again. Somehow, I am anchored here in this tragic place. The cards appear and with them, the chortling, gambling crowd. I dare not cry in front of them and so, I drink. Lolly finds her way onto my lap, planting kisses all across my brow and cheeks. The green lace and bows of her gown sway with her like leaves and Spanish moss. I fear that she might kiss my mouth should the mug depart from my lips long enough. I see my father throw whatever bits of coinage he has to his name into the sea of gold between us. As the hours pass, it falls away like sinking sand, taking our wealth along with it. I continue to chug the poison, chug until it scorches my lungs and airways.

It is barely dawn when she and I depart, hand in hand, swimming through the broad shadows of a blue morning. We stagger into a tiny room filed with mirrors and the stench of greasepaint. Her fingers move across me. I expect at any moment for desire to spike and boil my blood. But even now I find a sense of paralysis, working against my physical form. She is beautiful. In each reflection and from every angle, I see not a single defect. Her only imperfection is that she is not the woman I love. I breathe in the trifecta of musk and orange and rose that she had spritzed across her bosom before heading to the bar. It is an aroma that I fondly remember from my college days, when I did love her. All that I crave in its stead is the sweet fragrance of lavender and rose worn by my wife.

"I'm married," I slur. "I'm married."

"That's never stopped me from having my way with a man before. Besides, you gave me your word that we would be together again. And I've waited for you for many years."

I shut my eyes, trying to process the moment that I have found myself within. I long to tell her how furious I am at Father and how deeply I wish to never be like him. Instead, I repeat the only words that I can presently articulate. "I'm married."

"I don't believe you. Show her to me. If you're really married, then show me."

As I open my mouth to speak, the reflection from across the room undergoes a miraculous change. No more can I see the back of Lolly's emerald gown, but a tiny mirror which hangs in the cramped bathroom of an airplane. Marigold stands before it, her eyes are red and glassy. Her hands shake as she unwraps a ginger chew and places it on her tongue. She sucks on it for several seconds before her body convulses and she drops to the toilet, returning moments later with a fresh batch of tears in her eyes.

"Ma'am, we are about to hit some turbulence," a high voice trills from the outside. "The pilot asks that you please return to your seat."

Marigold blinks, looking closer, harder. The line of her sight is level with my own. "William?" Her eyes wander to Lolly. "Damn, girl! That is one cute dress! Who is that? Can she hear me? Can you?"

"Yes, my darling! I can hear you!"

"You're back there, aren't you?" A soft smile graces her lips. But that beautiful expression aside, something seems off. She seems weak. "You traveled through time! I'm going to do the same! I'm going to find you! I..."

"Ma'am! I am going to give you to the count of three. Open up or I will have to call upon the sky marshal."

With one hand steadfast on the glass between us, she pulls on the latch and opens the door. "Sorry, I got sick. I feel-"

The stewardess moves closer. "You're white as a ghost, poor girl!"

"I feel numb. And dizzy," she begins to fall forward, but catches herself.

"Too much to drink, perhaps?"

"I haven't been drinking," Marigold manages to laugh, "trust me. First trimester is kicking my butt, that's all."

"Let me help you to your seat," as she guides her through the door, the plane lurches violently, throwing both of them against the sink and shattering the mirror.

I brush Lolly aside and race towards her, screaming her name, watching helplessly as the flight attendants and several concerned passengers rush to their aid.

The commotion grows. The room and the deeply cracked mirror begin to darken. I look up at Lolly, terrified. "What should I do? What can I do?"

"Tell The Beech Nut to stop serving shite ale because it is clearly making you hallucinate!"

"You didn't see her?"

"See who?"

I pull my knees up against my chest, rocking, quivering. "I never should have left home."

"Hear! Hear!"

"I never should have questioned fate. I should have stayed in Waterford and lived out my days in peace. Instead I'm trapped in the past. Tormented by reflections, tormented by the future. What the hell am I doing here?"

"You should have been an actor," Lolly props open the door and points to the alleyway. "Auditions are running this week and next. You can sell your act to the cheap seats, they'll get a real kick out of you. I, on the other hand, have seen enough."

Aimlessly, I wander from one cobbled thoroughfare to the next. I once believed this city to be a hub, the center of the universe where nothing was impossible and all that I ever wished for was within my grasp. It seems small now- small and quaint, even in comparison to tiny Waterford. How strange it is that I felt so much like a ghost there. At least a ghost holds some semblance of an identity, a storied past and a future set in stone. I feel less like a ghost now and more like a passing breeze, brief and insignificant. Every window and puddle, every watering trough and fragment of stained glass does not go unnoticed as I walk. I am searching for her reflection everywhere, praying under my breath that she will be the one to fulfill my own promise.

I feel so foolish, like a child who raced into the woods against their parent's wishes who now sits sobbing and waiting in the mud to be found. I think on Mother and the cruel words that sent me into my drunken frenzy mere hours ago. I should have noticed how small she has gotten, how frail she has grown. There she was right in front of me, slowly drowning in the same stormy sea as dear Marigold and I didn't even notice. What if I am here to help her? What if I am simply not strong enough to do so? The sun breaks through the barrier of night, climbing past the thatched roofs and chimney stacks. Its light spills over the ocean like a bucket of pure starlight, a dazzling display. Every corner is drained of darkness and my aching heart, too undergoes a change. It is almost as if I can hear Marigold calling me from across the ages. A vow, distant and faint as the trilling of a bird in the harbor, enters my ears.

"I will find you," she says. "You must believe that I will find you."

"Where are you?" I call out across the empty street.

"Close. Very close. I must meet with a stranger. He knows what to do. Trust me."

A door slams behind me, followed by footsteps. I lower my voice so they cannot hear. "I'm frightened for you."

"If fear is the price that we must pay to be together again, we must allow ourselves to be afraid. Fear is cheap. For you, I choose the greater expense. For you, I shall hope."

I exhale a breath of relief and with it a trace of frustration, "I am sorry for the pain that I must have caused you these last few days. I was not running from you. You know that, right? Marigold?" I wait and call her name a second time, to no avail.

"Not again!" A gruff voice falls over my right shoulder, then a hand. "Here I was thinking Miss Rose had knocked some sense into you!"

"Hello, Father."

He looks me over with bloodshot eyes. Surprisingly, the rest of him is just as presentable as ever. Not a hair out of place nor a button unpolished. "Come with me, Boy. We have important business to attend to."