.
“Yes, my lovely napkin-folding friend. You .”
“But what in the world could he want with me?” Mable whispered, trying not to tie her hands in knots at her waist.
“He wanted to know when your shift ends.”
“But I’m here all day. I have to close tonight.”
Sally reached out and hooked a wavy lock of Mable’s dark hair behind her ear.
“You did have to close tonight, Mable. You’re off when Mr. Linen Suit finishes his lunch. He told the manager that your shift would end the moment you agreed to take a walk with him across the canal bridge.”
M ABLE HAD AGREED TO THE WALK, THOUGH SHE DIDN ’ T KNOW exactly why.
Everything had happened so fast. One moment she’d learned the gentleman wanted to step out with her, and seemingly in the next instant Sally was tilting a navy plumed hat on her head, fiddling with the coiffed curls at her brow, and pouring advice on her as she shoved Mable out the door.
“What would you like to see?” Mable asked, hoping to draw John into conversation.
They’d walked all the way from the café, past the lagoon, to the bright sights and sounds of the game booths and foreign attractions lining the Midway. He hadn’t said much, just walked along at a steady pace, allowing her to lead them.
“What would you suggest?”
“The Turkish Village isn’t very far and the admission is free. The Ferris wheel is another favorite with visitors. And there are some camels on Cairo Street right over there. They’re one of the most popular attractions at the fair.” She pointed to a multistory replica of an Egyptian temple just beyond the gates before them. “If you’ve never seen an exotic animal, they’re quite a treat.”
“But you don’t seem very impressed,” John noted, a half grin evident on his face.
Mable smiled too, noting his ability to read her thoughts. It felt as if her secret was out—she’d seen the camels a hundred times, and they seemed more like big, ill-tempered cows than anything truly exotic to her.
“I might have been impressed the first time I saw them. But I’ve been here on the grounds for months and, well, you get used to such things. Except for the wedding procession, of course. That’s always beautiful. I try to time my breaks so I can step out and watch it.”
“Hmm. I’ve heard about it. And you watch the same show time and again?”
“Of course.”
“But what keeps you coming back, if it’s not the mystique of the camels?”
“There’s some razzmatazz about the show out front. The visitors like the music and the scandal of belly dancing. And those horrible spitting camels. But I like to see behind the scenes.” Mable leaned in, whispering low. “You know, if you peek behind the street, just there—” She pointed down the alley behind the grand temple. “See? It’s all bowler hats instead of turbans. That’s where the real activity is. They’ve got a small army keeping everything running behind the stage, and nobody even knows it.”
He smiled wide. “Is that right?”
“Of course. They also have ‘The Arrival from Mecca.’ They really make a show of it. The tourists just love it.” She paused, thinking that she knew very little about him, except that he was smiling as they watched the hidden alleyway behind Cairo Street. Was he a tourist? What if she was telling him all about the fair and he lived in Chicago too?
“Are you a tourist, by chance?” she asked.
“I am, of sorts.”
“And where do you live?”
“Here and there. I’m in Chicago part of the year.”
And he left it at that.
John wasn’t easy to figure out. He was quiet. Almost serious. And while she droned on about the German village they passed, the exquisite rose garden she loved, and the music lilting up from the Viennese exhibit, he said little. Just nodded or looked on as they walked farther down the Midway.
“May I ask—what did you say to him?” she asked.
Caught up in the sights around them, he asked, “Who?”
He paused as
“Yes, my lovely napkin-folding friend. You .”
“But what in the world could he want with me?” Mable whispered, trying not to tie her hands in knots at her waist.
“He wanted to know when your shift ends.”
“But I’m here all day. I have to close tonight.”
Sally reached out and hooked a wavy lock of Mable’s dark hair behind her ear.
“You did have to close tonight, Mable. You’re off when Mr. Linen Suit finishes his lunch. He told the manager that your shift would end the moment you agreed to take a walk with him across the canal bridge.”
M ABLE HAD AGREED TO THE WALK, THOUGH SHE DIDN ’ T KNOW exactly why.
Everything had happened so fast. One moment she’d learned the gentleman wanted to step out with her, and seemingly in the next instant Sally was tilting a navy plumed hat on her head, fiddling with the coiffed curls at her brow, and pouring advice on her as she shoved Mable out the door.
“What would you like to see?” Mable asked, hoping to draw John into conversation.
They’d walked all the way from the café, past the lagoon, to the bright sights and sounds of the game booths and foreign attractions lining the Midway. He hadn’t said much, just walked along at a steady pace, allowing her to lead them.
“What would you suggest?”
“The Turkish Village isn’t very far and the admission is free. The Ferris wheel is another favorite with visitors. And there are some camels on Cairo Street right over there. They’re one of the most popular attractions at the fair.” She pointed to a multistory replica of an Egyptian temple just beyond the gates before them. “If you’ve never seen an exotic animal, they’re quite a treat.”
“But you don’t seem very impressed,” John noted, a half grin evident on his face.
Mable smiled too, noting his ability to read her thoughts. It felt as if her secret was out—she’d seen the camels a hundred times, and they seemed more like big, ill-tempered cows than anything truly exotic to her.
“I might have been impressed the first time I saw them. But I’ve been here on the grounds for months and, well, you get used to such things. Except for the wedding procession, of course. That’s always beautiful. I try to time my breaks so I can step out and watch it.”
“Hmm. I’ve heard about it. And you watch the same show time and again?”
“Of course.”
“But what keeps you coming back, if it’s not the mystique of the camels?”
“There’s some razzmatazz about the show out front. The visitors like the music and the scandal of belly dancing. And those horrible spitting camels. But I like to see behind the scenes.” Mable leaned in, whispering low. “You know, if you peek behind the street, just there—” She pointed down the alley behind the grand temple. “See? It’s all bowler hats instead of turbans. That’s where the real activity is. They’ve got a small army keeping everything running behind the stage, and nobody even knows it.”
He smiled wide. “Is that right?”
“Of course. They also have ‘The Arrival from Mecca.’ They really make a show of it. The tourists just love it.” She paused, thinking that she knew very little about him, except that he was smiling as they watched the hidden alleyway behind Cairo Street. Was he a tourist? What if she was telling him all about the fair and he lived in Chicago too?
“Are you a tourist, by chance?” she asked.
“I am, of sorts.”
“And where do you live?”
“Here and there. I’m in Chicago part of the year.”
And he left it at that.
John wasn’t easy to figure out. He was quiet. Almost serious. And while she droned on about the German village they passed, the exquisite rose garden she loved, and the music lilting up from the Viennese exhibit, he said little. Just nodded or looked on as they walked farther down the Midway.
“May I ask—what did you say to him?” she asked.
Caught up in the sights around them, he asked, “Who?”
He paused as
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