Chapter 2 #2
Chicot shouldn’t be thinking about romance anyway. She had too many other problems to worry about.
Shaped like a medieval fortress with a blacktop parking lot mimicking a moat, The Curd Castle stood above them as they parked.
The stone walls with tall turrets at each end stood as a reminder of just how strange the Midwest could be.
Chicot waited patiently to get out of the car, and once she was out, she lost herself to the smell of fried food.
Her stomach growling audibly, eliciting a laugh from Elvis, who was holding the door for her.
“I guess we’d better order right away.” He closed the door behind Chicot. She rounded her shoulders, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked up at him.
“That might be necessary,” Chicot agreed. Elvis tipped his head back and let out a single bark of laughter, following her and Elijah as they walked around the car. Monty was already halfway to the large double doors of The Curd Castle, while Lyza lingered in between, waiting for them to catch up.
Inside the restaurant, it was a typical Wisconsin dive bar with several levels of tables for diners, a large stage for live music, and a bar nearly as long as a camper trailer.
Banquet chairs and folding tables were on floors covered in a thin, sickly green carpet.
Ripped booths repaired with duct tape were the final touch.
It was the sort of place Chicot’s parents would have brought her to for a birthday dinner, and as they walked past a stuffed deer head on the wall, Chicot’s whole body visibly relaxed.
Elvis, Lyza, and Monty slid into one side of a booth, and Elijah and Chicot took the other.
Chicot was sitting directly across from Monty, her eyes drawn to a freckle on Monty’s neck, just underneath her jaw.
Chicot hadn’t noticed it before, and as Monty slipped her fingers through her hair, tucking some behind her ear, Chicot couldn’t help wondering about how she would react if it were kissed.
She tore her eyes away, staring down at the table as she refocused her thoughts.
To his credit, Elvis immediately asked the server to put in two orders of fried cheese curds. A man of his word, which Chicot could appreciate. Lyza straightened up, folding her hands on the table as she launched into her speech.
“As you know, our acts will share the stage, which means we also share the storage areas behind them. We were hoping we could discuss organization of those areas before opening next weekend.” Lyza nodded resolutely once she finished. Monty looked at her and pressed her lips together, brow furrowed.
“Why are you acting like you should be wearing a blazer and calling yourself a girl boss?” Monty asked. Elvis broke, cracking into a fit of giddy laughter that didn’t stop even as Lyza turned to pout at him.
“Because this is important!” Lyza laid her palms flat, leaning toward Chicot and Elijah as she looked down at the musty bar. “I’m not doing another eight weeks of climbing over a cauldron to get our shit!”
“We don’t use a cauldron in our act.” Chicot blinked rapidly, trying to understand what was even happening. To her surprise, Monty snorted, a small smirk on her lips.
“All right, all right, calm down, Lyza.” Monty looked between Chicot and Elijah. “Brewhilda was not fun to share with. We’re hoping you won’t mind splitting the storage area with tape and we each get a side.”
“Oh.” Chicot looked at Elijah, finding an equally surprised look on his face. They needed to talk about this later. Chicot had thought that everyone at the faire loved Brewhilda.
“Yes.” Lyza sat bolt upright. “We just want to avoid any issues from the start.”
“I think splitting it evenly is fair.” Elijah shrugged, his palm pressed to his jaw. “Honestly, y’all could even take a slightly larger area since you have more equipment to store. Right, Chicot?”
Chicot looked between Elijah and Lyza. “Yeah, I think that would make sense.”
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be that big of an issue.” Elvis brushed a disorganized cluster of his thick, coiled hair from his forehead. “And thanks, you two, but we think even is a good idea. Since you might need to change in there too, you’ll need the space for that.”
“I hadn’t even considered that.” Elijah pressed his knuckles to his lips as he gazed at the table. “Actually, I was kind of hoping we could ask you all for some advice and for any notes you may have on our show. We are really new.”
“Wait.” Monty shifted in her seat, setting one elbow down on the table and leaning toward them. “Is this your first faire ever?”
Chicot nodded, looking at Elijah as she picked up the wrapper from her straw and twisted it between her fingers.
“We’re from Northern Wisconsin,” Chicot explained. “We didn’t really know where to start, so we just auditioned for a bunch of faires.”
“Well, shit.” Elvis twitched when he let out a clipped laugh, the broad grin on his face making the edges of his handlebar mustache hit his round cheeks. “Good for you two. This is a premium faire. We’ll help you.”
“Yeah, honestly.” Lyza’s eyes glowed even in the low light of the bar as she spoke. “We were at this for about three years before we got into major faires like Albion.”
“I think we just got lucky.” Elijah bowed his head gracefully, always able to humbly take a compliment. “But thank you, we’re really excited to be here.”
“We are.” Chicot’s fingers still restlessly pulled at the straw wrapper. “So, anything you all can teach us, we would appreciate it a lot.”
Monty slowly sat back in the booth, staring Chicot down. Chicot tried not to squirm as Monty opened and closed her mouth like she might say something. Not knowing what else to do, Chicot just smiled awkwardly, but that seemed to force Monty’s decision to speak.
“Do you—” She paused as the server came over with two baskets of fried cheese curds, setting them in the center of the table.
“Oh, yay! Food.” Lyza quickly started handing out plates. Monty dropped her head, and she didn’t continue her question.
“What were you saying?” Chicot asked Monty softly as Lyza nudged a basket of cheese curds between them. Lyza looked over at Monty briefly but didn’t seem to register that Monty had tried to ask a question. Monty just shook her head at Chicot.
“It wasn’t important.” Monty took the sauce cup from the basket, pouring some ranch onto her plate.
Chicot just nodded. She knew she shouldn’t press it.
If she wanted to have a good eight weeks at the Albion Renaissance Faire, she probably shouldn’t pry.
Even if Chicot sort of wanted to. After all, Monty maybe didn’t hate her over the Brewhilda situation, but that left Chicot wondering why she acted so standoffish.
But Elijah and Elvis had started a very boisterous conversation about local beer, arguing over whether Spotted Cow or another New Glarus was the best. As Chicot listened to them, she shivered in the AC and thought about all the interactions she’d had with Monty so far.
Trying to spot something that she’d done wrong in hopes of finding anything she could apologize for.
Chicot came up short, and she didn’t want to apologize unnecessarily since that had always made her mother angry.
Although Chicot couldn’t determine if Monty would react the same, it felt risky.
“Ay, Chicot, you listening to us?” Elijah snapped his fingers in front of her face. Chicot perked up.
“Shit, sorry, no.” She shook her head, putting a cheese curd in her mouth on instinct. “What did you say?”
“I was asking how you did the balloon in the mask trick? Like, how’d you rig that up?” Lyza’s elbows were on the table, her hands around her beer as she played with the foam on the rim rather than drank it. Chicot, remembering hers, reached out and pulled the pint closer.
“Oh!” Chicot always sat taller when she talked about it, zeroing in on Lyza and Elvis, who looked invested.
“So, there’s a hole in the mask’s front with a mouthpiece behind it.
The balloon is blue, but when it’s not inflated, it’s dark enough that you can’t see it through the hole.
It sits between the mask and the mouthpiece with a rubber band around the neck to create a seal, but it’s weak enough that I can just pull the balloon off the mouthpiece. ”
“How’d you come up with that?” Lyza’s eyes, wide with wonder, fixed on Chicot, her face alight with wonder. Chicot shrugged.
She rubbed the back of her head, trying to think of the days they’d spent writing the show to see if she remembered exactly how she had come up with it.
“It was sort of based on some puppeteering tricks that the Jim Henson company uses,” Chicot said, “and it evolved from there.”
“That’s so cool.” Elvis brushed a coil from his face. “I wouldn’t have thought to look into puppet stuff for that.”
Chicot’s cheeks tingled as she popped another cheese curd in her mouth. “Thank you. I’m pretty proud of it.”
“You should be,” Monty said as she brought a beer glass to her lips.
Chicot’s head snapped in her direction, her stomach flipping as she looked at Monty.
Her eyes, wide and glowing, met Monty’s as a jolt of excitement ran down Chicot’s back.
Monty turned slightly to the side, facing Lyza, but her eyes didn’t leave Chicot.
Elvis caught Chicot’s attention, asking her about their props.
Apparently, he handled all the props for The Pirates Three: Big, Middle, and Wee.
It meant they had a good deal to talk about because outside of Elijah’s lute, she handled all the blades and balls and balloons they used in the show.
Though, they had fewer props since Chicot was still nervous to do certain acrobatics on stage.
It was one thing to juggle some knives or torches; it was another to do it while riding a unicycle.