Home > The Contortionist (Harrow Faire, #1)(8)

The Contortionist (Harrow Faire, #1)(8)
Author: Kathryn Ann Kingsley

But, with lemonade and sugary-fried-slightly-deadly treats in hand, they made their way to the tent that advertised “The Strongman! Behold, the Eighth Wonder of the World!” She tried not to roll her eyes at the melodrama. The sign was wonderfully painted in a style she was impressed anyone could still emulate. She had figured everybody who could do old-style font by hand was long dead.

The sign looked incredibly familiar. She was certain either she or her father had taken a photo of it a long time ago, back when the paint was faded and flaked. It looked to be a painstaking restoration. She stopped to stare up at it curiously.

“What?” Trent stopped next to her.

“My dad took a photo of this, I think. I mean, the original. Not this one. But, man, I can’t tell the difference in the art. It’s like it was just done. It must’ve taken somebody days to do it.”

“They’re definitely all-in on this whole ‘vintage carnival from the 1920s’ thing, huh?” He looked around. “Not a cellphone charging station or an ATM anywhere. Can you believe we have to pay for everything in cash? Who does that? At least Emily got tipped well bartending tonight.”

“Just don’t forget you owe me,” Emily complained.

“I never do, because you never let me.” Trent shoved her shoulder playfully. “Now, come on! The show is gonna start.”

And with that, he dragged both Cora and Emily into the tent. They laughed and shoved off their over-excited friend. The tent was fairly full. It looked like the performances were on a rotation, with a new one starting every hour until closing. They found a seat on a long wooden bench about halfway to the front and took their spots.

A man took the center stage. He was wearing a beige and blue striped outfit and a matching straw hat. Every inch of him looked as though he had stepped out of a vintage poster. For a second, she almost didn’t recognize him because of the costume change. It was the sleazebag from the front counter.

With a grand flourish of his arms and a winning-if-entirely-false smile, he launched into a speech. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls—children of all ages! Tonight, I bring to you a performance rarely seen in your modern world, a show of insurmountable strength and prowess! This creature you are about to see has transcended the bonds of simple manliness—”

“I hope so,” Trent muttered. Cora elbowed him.

“—and into the realm of sheer godhood!”

Trent coughed into his hand with a grin. Cora elbowed him again.

The Barker was on a roll. “Hold on to your hats, and behold the magnificent magnitudinous muscle, the vigorously voluminous vitality—I give you, Ludwig the Lion!”

The crowd cheered as a huge—absolutely gigantic—man came from backstage. Cora blinked. She had never seen a pro-wrestler in real life, or a bodybuilder, but she was pretty sure that man had to be one or the other, or possibly both. The giant was covered in muscle and barely wearing any clothing. He was suitably jungle-themed for his moniker, complete with the single shoulder strap of what she assumed was supposed to be a lion pelt that looked tiny against his immense chest.

“Fuck,” Trent murmured. “Yes, please.”

Cora rolled her eyes.

The Strongman had short blond hair and a jaw like a chiseled block. She didn’t blame Trent for finding the man attractive. He was. Well, in a freight-truck-gone-human kind of way. As the Strongman walked to the center stage, he posed, and the crowd applauded.

“Measuring seven-foot-two, and weighing in at three-hundred and eighty-seven pounds, don’t worry ladies and gentlemen”—the Barker winked at the audience—“there is plenty of him to go around!”

“Hot. Damn.” Trent stuck his fingers in his lips and let out a loud whistle.

Cora slapped him in the chest. “Stop it. He can hear you.”

“I really don’t care.” He couldn’t peel his eyes off the stage.

“You are such a size queen.” She shook her head.

“Loud and proud.” He laughed.

The over-oiled Strongman did all the usual things she expected he would do. He ripped a phonebook in half and folded a frying pan into a tube. He bent rebar around his neck. She wasn’t sure if he was really seven-two and three hundred and eight-seven pounds, but he was certainly impressive.

When the Barker by the edge of the stage asked for volunteers for the man’s next trick, Trent was off like a rocket.

The Barker put his hands on his hips and shot her friend a look. “Eager beaver, aren’t you? Typically, one raises one’s hand to get picked. Although,” The man in the perfectly vintage outfit smirked wryly and gave Trent the once-over, “seems like you’ve raised something else instead.”

The crowd laughed. Trent shrugged and flashed his award-winning smile. “I know what I like, so sue me.”

“No judgement here, young man.” The announcer chuckled. “Well, we need five more people.” After the other volunteers were selected—the proper way that time—all six went up to the stage. They were told to stand on wood platforms that connected in the center with a metal bar, three on each side.

Cora didn’t miss Trent winking at the Strongman, nor did she miss the giant man’s slight smile in response. Oh, Trent. Something told her that he’d be sticking around after the show, and it’d be her and Emily hanging out by themselves.

Again.

Emily’s groan from next to her told her she wasn’t the only one who caught the exchange.

The strongman grabbed the metal bar once all the volunteers were in place, and with an impressive ripple of muscle, lifted all six people into the air and straight up over his head. And he did it without even looking like he was trying.

After the applause, the giant man put the platforms down gently and, once the volunteers had left the stage, he took a bow. Trent collapsed onto the bench next to Cora, comedically fanning his neck.

“Let me guess. You’re going to go get his autograph?” Cora shot him a look. Partly teasing, partly playful, and partly annoyed. She still hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning her in the middle of a football game a few years back.

“You better believe it.” Trent was still smiling ear-to-ear.

Poor Emily looked heartbroken like she always did when this happened. Cora was fairly certain the girl spent every day of her life heartbroken. But like Cora’s chronic pain, it was a gradient—a matter of degrees.

Trent shrugged. “You girls will get on fine without me.”

“Like we always do.” Cora stood and waved for Emily to follow her. “C’mon, Em, let’s go find the alcohol.”

“Yes, please.” Emily followed, already with her hands shoved in her pockets and her shoulders caved in, as if trying to fold into a dimensional hole and disappear.

“I’ll see you girls later.” He didn’t seem to even notice. Nor had he taken his eyes off the giant man on the stage, so they left him there.

They walked in silence through the park—Cora could actually walk again and not limp—for a few minutes before Emily finally spoke up. “I don’t know how he does it. I honestly don’t get it. I can’t get a guy to give me a second look, and they just fall all over him.”

“Guys check you out all the time, Em. You just don’t let yourself see it, and you know why.”

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