CHAPTER THREE
That brings us back to why I’m here in Wimberley, staying at the ghost hotel. There’s some kind of barbeque down at the river tonight. Some of the other contestants told me it’s one of the “sorcials”. That’s a play on the word sorcery. I’m a little bit bothered by that because I’m no closer to finding out why these people call themselves witches.
There’s this meet-and-greet thing tonight and then the Witches’ Ball, the big to-do, tomorrow night. I’m going through the motions, but not committing to anything. What keeps going through my head is, could I even get it up for a woman who has to go to these lengths to get laid?
One thing at a time.
That thing Blackwell said, about true love… if that’s the goal, then I’m sore out of luck. I don’t believe in love, much less ‘true love’. I’m here because I wouldn’t mind spending a year on an all-expense-paid luxury vacay with nothing to do but be lazy. Well, that, and possibly service a woman I couldn’t look at. Even that didn’t discourage me though. That’s what light switches are for. Right?
I’m still curious about the whole ‘witch’ thing. Why would people want to self-identify as witches, especially in the part of Texas where everybody has wrought iron longhorns and a welded Texas star decorating their property?
I stepped out on the decking that forms a wooden sidewalk in front of the hotel thinking I’d take a walk around town, maybe see some of those galleries that were in the presentation.
Two old guys with beards were sitting in rockers to the side. It was so nineteenth century that I wondered if they were paid to be props. Turning east, I saw a little girl, about eight years old, rollerblading toward me. She stopped in the street in front of me and looked up.
“Are you lost?” I asked. She shook her head. “Should you be out here all by yourself?” She laughed at that and the sound made me think of tinkling wind chimes.
“You must not be from around here,” said one of the old guys just before he turned and spat chew into a brass spittoon.
“No. I’m not,” I said, trying not to look disgusted by the spittle.
The guy pointed two fingers at the little girl and smiled. “She’s one of ‘em.”
The child looked back up at me. “I’m Destiny. Some people leave off the Des and call me Tiny, but I don’t like that. I may be tiny, but it’s temporary.”
“Temporary is a big word for someone your age.”
She shrugged. “I’m smart.”
“Well, I can tell.”
“What’s your name?”
For some reason that I couldn’t name in a hundred years, I opened my mouth to say ‘Will’, but what came out was, “Willem.”
She grinned with teeth spread wide apart for growing into. “I like that. My sister is coming out. I’ll tell her to look for you. Maybe you’ll be in my family.”
“Maybe I’ll just wait for you,” I teased. “Maybe you’re my destiny.”
Her giggles were bar none the most charming thing I’d ever seen on a female person of any age. Her curls bounced a little as she shook her head. “You’re not for me, Willem. But I wish you were. Bye.” She waved goodbye. For a second I thought she would skate away, but something stopped her.
Looking back in the direction she’d come from I saw that there was an enormous black bear loping down the middle of the street.
As it happened the hotel was built at the intersection of a crossroads that in modern times had taken the form of a ninety degree turn. A car came careening around the curve going way too fast for a little touristy town. I watched in horror as the bear reared up on his hind legs and roared at the car, which was one second away from crashing into him.
“Nooooooo,” said Destiny. She held her little palms up toward the impending horror and pushed as if she was pushing against something heavy in the air.
I don’t expect you to believe what happened next. Why would you? I barely believe it and I was there.
The bear vanished from the road where he was about to roar his last roar. As soon as that transpired a beagle appeared at Destiny’s feet, looking shame-faced.
“Izobath! You’ve been a very, very, very bad beagle.” She shook her finger at the dog, who was looking like the living definition of a hang-dog expression. “Go home right now and don’t you dare think about stepping into the street again.”
The dog slunk away with his tail between his legs.
When he was gone, she smiled at me. “Izzy has a bear fantasy.”
I was too stunned for my mind to be functioning properly so, rather than ask what I really wanted to know, I said, “Izobath is a really unusual name for a dog.”
She giggled. “Raider found him wandering around when he was a puppy and brought him home. Ruby, she’s a friend of my sister’s, can hear what animals say. Izzy told her his name was Izobath.”
“How did he do that? It seems like a mouthful for a dog.”
She giggled again. “Well he didn’t say it out loud, silly. He said it in his mind.”
I nodded. “So Ruby who can read animals’ minds.”
She shook her head. “Not just animals.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Okay,” she said. “See ya.”
She skated away.
I looked at the two old guys who had witnessed the entire event. They might have been statues except for the rocking of the chairs and the twinkle in their eyes. And the fact that I’d heard one of them speak in a semi-appropriate manner.
“Did you see a bear?” I asked.
“Did you?” The one on the right leaned over and spit.
“So you’re gonna play it like that.”
“I saw a beagle that’d run away from home. Had no business bein’ in the street.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
I spent a few hours wandering through the galleries. Some of them were eclectic. There’d be a matte black and white photo of Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top right next to a twenty-five-thousand-dollar oil painting of a cattle drive.
If I’d had the money I would have bought a portrait of a woman with long black hair, pale green eyes, and red lips to match the dress she was wearing. I was debating whether I wanted to ask the gallery owner if I could work off the cost of the painting. I turned to look for him, but he was talking with someone about a modern iron sculpture. When I looked back to the painting, it was of an old guy in a sailor suit.
After blinking a couple of times, it was still an old guy in a sailor suit. The plaque read Captain King with a subtitle King Ranch. Just to see what would happen I looked away and then back a few times, but the old codger held firm and refused to give up the haunting vision of the green-eyed woman.
“What’s the matter?”
I jumped when the owner sneaked up behind me.
“Nothing,” I said. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve been standing here so long, I thought perhaps you’d seen the portrait of Pleasant Wimberley.” He must have caught something passing over my face that gave me away. “Ah, you have then. I, myself, have never been fortunate enough to see her occupy someone else’s visage, but I’ve been told you never forget it.”
Looking from him to the portrait and back again, I said, “Are you suggesting that I witnessed a paranormal event?”
He chuckled. “That’s a fancy modern way of describing it, but sure.”
“Tell me what you know about this.”
The bell that hung from the door jingled as three new customers came in. “Be right with you,” he said to them.
Lowering his voice, he said to me, “You saw the founder of the town, Pleasant Wimberley. She likes to prank the tourists by showing up in other people’s portraits. I’ve heard she’s really something to look at. I’ve also noticed she only does it to people who can handle experiencing a supernatural occurrence without going nuts about it.”
I nodded. “I wanted the painting so bad, I was going to ask you if I could work off whatever it cost.”
He laughed. “That’s a new one. I’ll bet she loved hearing that. Have a nice stay in Wimberley.”
With that he walked toward the new arrivals.
After looking at the portrait one more time, just couldn’t help myself, I walked two blocks up to the tavern. The calling card was the smell of charcoal-broiled hamburger and French fries, which carries for about a block around, and made me instantly ravenous.
It was early afternoon, but the place was still busy. I saw an open seat at the counter and headed in that direction. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the other guys sitting at the bar were also contestants. I noticed Ivan and gave him a chin lift.
I ordered the burger basket with cheese, hickory sauce, a mix of plain and sweet potato fries and a Lonestar beer.
The guy next to me said, “You’re not going to have that physique for long eating like that.”
Looking him up and down, I went out of my way to be dismissive. Honestly, I’d never had a stranger comment openly about my ‘physique’ except in auditions.
“May the best man win,” I said.
I held up my longneck Lonestar beer. He held up his longneck IBC rootbeer. When we clinked bottles, he said, “Yeah. The best man. I’m Roger.”
“Willem,” I replied, having apparently lost the ability to make my tongue form the name ‘Will’.
“You going to the barbeque?”
“Came all the way from L.A. So, yeah. I’m gonna see where this leads.”
“L.A.?” he said. “I took you for a southerner.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t know. Just thought I heard it in your speech.”
After all the time, money and energy I’d spent getting rid of my accent, this wasn’t something I wanted to hear from Roger. Less than a day in Texas shouldn’t undo ten years of diction lessons.
“Where’re you from, Roger?”
“Minnesota.”
I laughed out loud. “That would be quite an adjustment, if you won. I mean I think it gets down to fifty degrees once or twice a year here.”
We chatted more or less amiably until my food came. I cut the burger in half. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there wasn’t a half pound of meat, done to perfection. I scarfed an Idaho fry, then a sweet potato fry, then bit into hickory cheeseburger heaven on Earth.
“Oh, man,” I said with my mouth half full. “I could eat here every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of this.”
Roger smirked. “So what’s your special talent?”
“Special talent?” I repeated stupidly.
“Yes. You weren’t just picked from the phone book at random. You know that, right?”
“Well,” I hesitated with burger heaven suspended just an inch from my mouth, “I hadn’t really thought about it. Maybe on some level?”
“Some level. Wow. What are you even doing here?”
“Heard the gig is a prize beyond compare.”
“Yeah,” he said, studying me. “That it is. So what do you do? For a living, I mean.”
“Out of work actor.”
“Really. Surprising. You’re good-looking enough to be in the movies.”
“That’s what I’ve been told by people who aren’t offering paying acting jobs.”
“Hmmm. Bummer.”
“How about you?”
“Roofer.”
“Roofer in Minnesota? You must have a lot of free time.”
“Really busy in the summer. Snow does a lot of damage to roofs. But I do have time for ice fishing.”
“So what brings you to this, ah, competition?”
“Roofing is rough. The work is so awful you can’t get anybody to do it except ex-cons and the only reason why they take the work is because nobody else will hire them. And let me tell you. There’s a reason why nobody else will hire them. If they had a work ethic, they wouldn’t have sought out a life of crime.”
“I can see that. So if you won, what would you do with your time?” I more or less repeated Blackwell’s question to me. He shook his head and looked embarrassed. “Come on. I won’t judge you.”
“I like orchids.”
“What?” I did my best to keep a straight face.
“You said no judging.”
“I’m not judging. I just, never mind.”
“I want to develop a new species that blooms longer.”
“Where did you go to Orientation?”
“Chicago.”
“Did they mention ‘heart’s desire’?”
“Something like that.”
“So that’s your heart’s desire. If you had free time and money wasn’t an issue, you’d fool around with flowers?”
He grinned and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well then, Roger. I hope you get the other spot.”
“If I don’t, I’m gonna be glad they wiped my memory ‘cause I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking that I might have been coaxing new orchids in a greenhouse instead of babysitting criminals on roofs.”
“I heard something about the memory wipe thing, but I didn’t think they meant that literally. I mean that can’t really be done, can it?”
He squinted his eyes and gave me a little smile like he questioned my sanity.
“You do know we’re talking about witches, right?”
“I know there are a lot of people who call themselves witches, but what it means is they like burning candles and herbs, dancing naked in some cases, I guess. Are you saying you think there are women here who really are touched by the supernatural?”
He laughed. “Man. I don’t know how you’re sitting on that stool next to me. How did you manage to get this far without knowing anything about what you’re doing here?” He shook his head. “Yes. I mean there are women here who really are touched by the supernatural.”
I had to admit that I felt a thrill start in my nipples and run all the way through my body, producing goosebumps, a cock twitch, and a half hard. What if it was true? I’d spent my whole life secretly hoping that I’d be lucky enough to have an actual encounter with the other side of reality, while not really believing that such a thing might be possible.
That’s when I realized that I’d been on the wrong path. For the first time I recognized and confronted the fact that I didn’t really want to be an actor. I hadn’t wanted to be a college student taking a foreign language I would never use or studying geology, which I would never use. But I hadn’t really wanted to be an actor either. It was just Plan B more or less suggested by other people. My heart wasn’t in it at all.
Acting as my heart’s desire? Don’t make me laugh. Actually there’s not much laughable about wasting ten years pursuing something I didn’t even want.
That revelation made me feel like the dumbest guy sitting on a counter stool anywhere. Why hadn’t I clued in before? And what if I couldn’t get jobs acting because I wasn’t supposed to be acting?
That follow-up insight almost blew me right off the stool.
“If that’s true, it would be beyond incredible.”
“You scared?”
It hadn’t occurred to me to be scared before and maybe that just meant I was revealing an infinite capacity for stupidity.
“Should I be?” He shrugged. “Do you believe there’s a ghost at the hotel, too?”
Roger laughed again. He had a nice laugh. I wondered if that’s what they were looking for. All of a sudden I found myself seriously caring about what they were looking for.
I wasn’t interested in contemplating a lifetime contract of marriage, but I could do a year with anybody if it meant doing actual hands-on research. Maybe I should say on-site research.
He lifted a well-toned shoulder. “Who knows? I can’t say I’ve seen anything like that, but ley lines intersect at the crossroads.”
I jerked my gaze back to his. “Ley lines? You know about ley lines?”
“I know enough.”
Deciding to let that go, I said, “So we’re going to meet the witches at the barbeque tonight?”
He shook his head while still taking a pull on his IBC. When he’d swallowed he said, “I think it’s just contestants and former winners. Our chance to talk to them about life in Wimberley or whatever. They’ll be at the big event tomorrow night though. The Witches’ Ball.”
The first time I’d heard that phrase it hadn’t made an impression on me, but this time it registered that balls usually mean formal dress. I was kind of alarmed by that.
While signing the credit card slip for my burger and beer, I said, “Hey, for the, ah, Witches’ Ball, has a suggestion been made about how to dress?”
“I think they’re pretty casual, big on letting people do their own thing.”
If Roger wasn’t competing for one of two places, I would have felt secure with that answer, but as it stood, I wasn’t sure I could trust it. And I didn’t want to be the only guy in jeans while everybody else was in ball gowns and monkey suits. On the other hand, maybe individuality was what they were looking for?
It wasn’t hard to see that I could go crazy with circular arguments. So I decided to ask around at the barbeque. If I needed a tux, I’d manage to get to either Austin or San Antonio and score black tie before tomorrow night.
There was one crispy fry left at the bottom of the basket. It looked too good to go to waste. So I popped it in my mouth to join the party going on in my happy tummy and slid off the stool.
“See you tonight,” Roger said.
“Yep,” I replied and headed for the door.
Wimberley couldn’t possibly be more different from L.A. It moved as slow as molasses. A lot of people would say that like it was a bad thing, but you know what moves even slower than molasses? L.A. freeways. Big city life isn’t all that.
I strolled back to the hotel, grabbed a newspaper from the stack at the front desk, and sat down in the lobby. Seemed like a good way to get a jump on checking out the competition.
It wasn’t hard to recognize my opponents. They were all guys in their twenties and, while I knew from the video that outstanding looks weren’t necessarily a requirement, all the suitors I’d seen in person would definitely be called “hot” by the women I know.
As they came and went from the hotel, their eyes would invariably fall on me sitting there looking over the top of a newspaper. Seemed we were all doing the same thing, trying to check out the competition, look for weaknesses, some way to eke out an edge over the next guy.
After an hour of that I found myself thinking, “What’s vacation for if not naps?”
So I left the paper on the heavy wood and wrought iron coffee table and went upstairs. Before calling the number on the card I was pretty sure I hadn’t had a nap since the time when naps came with milk and cookies. Now I was about to rack up my second in a week. I stretched out on the bed and waited to see what would happen.
I must have fallen asleep pretty soon after that. When I woke, it was five o’clock, which coincidentally was the same time as the barbeque. Shit. I was making a habit of almost missing important events because of over-napping.
After throwing water in my face and running my hands through my hair a couple of times, I raced down the steps and out the front door. Fortunately it was a two minute jog. I knew where to go because I’d seen them setting up for it earlier in the day. There was a quaint-looking café that had access to the grassy river bank below, access that could be denied if you weren’t expected.
The entrance was being guarded by a djin. At least that was my first thought when I saw the enormous black guy with his shiny bald head and single gold earring. As I approached he gave me a big smile, said, “Good evening, Mr. Draiocht,” and opened the picket gate for me to pass through. “Glad you could make it. Just go down the steps. Everybody’s down by the river.”
I could hear that. A crowd of all men using conversational tones produces a distinct low rumble.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing it was an appropriate response but thinking it sounded lame anyway.
Following the sound of voices, I rushed through the café courtyard and down the steps. Several tents were set up in case of rain, but it was a nice night. In fact, it was a perfect night. Seventy degrees that would become sixty-eight when the sun went down. No wind. No insects. Just enough humidity to soften the air and keep my eyes from trying to wither away in my own head as they sometimes did in L.A’s dry air.
As I took the last three steps I was thinking that maybe Wimberley was heaven.
A few people looked over and visibly noted my tardiness. I supposed I was the only one who was late, but I’ve got to tell you, that nap was good.
I spotted Ivan. When I caught his eye, he gave me a friendly chin lift so I began moving in his direction to say hello. Before I reached him I was intercepted by a waiter.
“What can I get you to drink, Mr. Draiocht?”
“Margarita.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like frozen or on the rocks?”
“Rocks.”
“Salt or no salt?”
“No salt.”
“Would you like that with 1800, Hornitos, or we stock four kinds of Jose Cuervo: Gold, Silver Especial, Tradicional Reposado, and Extra Anejo.”
“Reposado.”
He smiled, gave a tiny head nod and disappeared.
Ivan smiled. He’d watched the whole exchange. “What is it with you and complicated drinks?”
“Seems they take their margaritas as seriously as I do.”
“Will,” he said, “this is Kellan.”
“Kellan,” I repeated as I shook his hand. Looking around I said, “So this is the competition.”
“Well, no. About fifteen of these guys are winners.”
“Other than the ones from the video, how do you know who’s who?”
Ivan shrugged.
Kellan said, “The older ones are probably winners.”
“Yeah,” said Ivan, “but just to be on the safe side I’m going to ask before I start talking.”
“Makes sense. If they tell the truth.” Turning back to Kellan, I said, “Winner or wannabe?”
He laughed, clearly surprised. “Good one.”
I smiled. “Thanks. But you didn’t answer the question.”
His grin resolved into a smile as he studied me with sparkling eyes. “Okay. You got me. I’m a winner. Been here for six years.”
Truthfully? I wasn’t expecting that. Partly because I wasn’t expecting the winners to be pretending to be contestants. I guess they were bound to tell the truth when asked point blank though. Good to know.
“So, Kellan. What’s your heart’s desire?”
He laughed again. “You’re a fast learner, Willem.”
I cocked my head to the side. “How did you know my birth name is Willem?”
“You’re a fast learner, but if you win, you’ll find you’ve got a lot to learn. Later.” He walked away, smiling like somebody who had the best secret in the universe.
“Wow,” Ivan said, looking a little stunned.
“You didn’t say anything incriminating, did you?”
Ivan looked worried. He seemed to be sifting back through their conversation. “I don’t think so. I just thought he was an amiable sort.”
“He probably is. Winners don’t have to be assholes. At least I don’t think so. The guys on the video seemed genuine enough.”
“Yeah. They did. Especially the musician.”
“Simon?”
“That’s the one.”
“Wonder if he’s here. I think he’d be most likely to give up juicy info.”
Ivan nodded. “Let’s hunt him down.”
Something about the way he said that brought out the predator in me. So I responded with what I thought was a manly nod and let my eyes wander over the gathering.
A tray appeared in front of my line of sight. “One margarita, Mr. Draiocht. On the rocks, no salt, Jose Reposado.”
The margarita was presented in a heavy Mexican blown glass goblet that could have come from one of the local galleries, and probably did. I took a sip and let my eyes go closed. Damn. I couldn’t make myself a margarita that good.
“Anything else, sir?”
“This is perfection, …?”
I let the question hang in the air making it clear that I was asking for his name.
“Roque. Quintanilla.” He added his surname as an afterthought.
“Thank you for the best margarita I’ve ever had, Mister Quintanilla.”
He nodded and disappeared into the crowd with a grin on his face.
We began skirting around the edges of the crowd for signs of Simon, but I suspected that everyone there was taller than our target. In the end it turned out that he was even shorter than the space in the air where I’d been looking, because he was sitting down at a long raised table in the big tent. Alone. With something that looked like a Tequila Sunrise, a little too colorful for guys’ night out if you ask me.
The table had chairs on only one side, like the Last Supper, so we went around the ends, each of us approaching him from opposite ends.
“Hey, Simon,” I said as we approached.
As I pulled out the chair next to him, he said, “This table isn’t for contestants. Contestants sit out there.” He gestured to the rest of the room.
“Okay. Well, we’ll leave when the party moves in here.”
I looked over at Ivan meaningfully. He said, “Yes. Soon as they start this way, we’re ghosts.”
Simon barked out a laugh that made him seem a little looney. He pushed his glasses up his nose.
“So,” I said. “We saw you in the video.”
His eyes slanted toward me with suspicion. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So I don’t have to ask about your heart’s desire. You didn’t tell us what kind of music you write.”
He snorted. “You don’t care about music.”
“The hell you say!” I exclaimed, hearing that Alabama was creeping back into my speech with or without permission. I supposed that twenty-four hours of hearing Texas drawl was involuntarily extending my vowels and softening my consonants. “I know enough to know that was a five figure Gibson Les Paul you were fondling.”
His eyes widened just a little. He pushed his glasses up his nose, gave me a small smile, and glanced at Ivan, perhaps to see what he was up to.
“Not everybody would know that.”
“Damn straight.”
He looked curious. “You from around here?”
“No. Why?”
“Just your, uh, terminology. And your cadence. It’s more harmonic in the South. And in Texas. Although Texas is technically the Southwest.”
“Alabama,” I said. It had been a while since I’d felt pride in saying that and, by God, it felt good.
He grinned. “Sweet Home.”
“Amen.”
He chuckled. I had him.
“You gonna tell me what kind of music you’re writin’?”
“Here’s the thing, when times change music gets relabeled. I’m doing something that’s not rock and not country, but a little bit of both.”
“Like Rockabilly.”
“No. No. No,” he said. “Not like that at all.” He slanted his eyes toward me. “Do you really know what Rockabilly is?”
I shrugged. “Of course. Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins. And, don’t hate me for this, but Stray Cats.”
That got me a huge grin. He banged the table with the palm of his hand. “Hah! Stray Cats. They did fifties better than anybody in the fifties did fifties!”
I held my palm up for a high five and said, “My man!”
As Simon slapped my hand I allowed a quick glance at Ivan who was sitting back, enjoying the exchange and grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Okay, so you know Rockabilly,” Simon began. “I like songs that tell a story. Like The Eagles. You know at one time they were considered rock. A couple of decades went by and then they were reclassified as soft rock. Another decade went by and they were being covered by every country singer who had a say in what went on albums.” I nodded encouragingly. “I think what they were doing is timeless.”
“So you’re reviving the sound.”
“Maybe,” he said with a new coyness. “That’s the goal.”
“Thing about The Eagles sound… the songs and the musicianship were flawless, but it was all about the harmonies. They used to say the Beach Boys were pioneers of harmony and they were settlers.”
He was nodding excitedly. “True, but I’m not a copycat. I’m creating something original. I’m just saying that Eagles were a big influence.”
“Gotcha. Well, if one of us wins, we’re gonna be banging on your studio door and demanding a private performance.”
He gave us both a small smile. “Maybe.”
“So, Simon, we keep hearing that there’s nothing we can do to prepare, no way to get an edge on the competition. That true?”
He nodded. “That’s true. You’re either it or you’re not.” As soon as he said it, he blanched, eyes going wide like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to say. He stammered a little, trying to recover. “Look, there’s really nothing to tell. No way to game the outcome if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Just tell me one thing. What are we supposed to wear to the thing tomorrow night?”
He chuckled. “I’ll bet somebody’s already told you it doesn’t matter and I’ll bet you didn’t believe them.”
Nodding, I said, “Maybe.”
“Believe it. Wear whatever you want. It won’t matter one way or the other. Winners aren’t chosen because of style. If they were, I certainly wouldn’t be sitting at this table.”
I held out my hand to shake his. “Thanks, man. Enjoyed the chat.”
Simon shook my hand. Ivan and I stood up just as people were filing in to be seated for dinner. “Later.”
As I rounded the end of the table to find a seat, he called after me. “I hope you win!”
I grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
“Since we’re already right in front of the head table, let’s snag two chairs.”
I nodded. “Back of the class never wins.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Lucky you knew that music stuff.”
“Why? It didn’t get us any new info.”
“Disagree. I, for one, will feel okay about whatever I wear tomorrow night knowing clothes have nothing to do with winning.” He pulled out a chair. “How’d you know all that stuff anyway?”
“My dad is an aficionado. He converted the garage into a room that might as well be a guitar museum. He plays, but never got the chance to try to do it professionally. Family came along when he was young. Luckily for us he was more serious about responsibility than heart’s desire.”
As soon as I’d said that out loud the phrase heart’s desire resonated through my mind like a bone-deep vibration. I’d never thought much about heart’s desire before, but now that it was part of my consciousness, seemed like I couldn’t think of anything else. My dad would have loved to play music for work. Maybe he would have liked to be Simon. I don’t know.
We were sitting in the two premier seats front and center, like eager geeks in calculus, waiting to see what would happen next. We watched the winners file in, greet each other, and take their seats. Good old Kellan stood at the centermost chair and gave the appearance of someone in charge.
When everyone was seated, he tapped his glass with a spoon. The noise didn’t die down gradually. Silence was abrupt.
“Dinner is about to be served, gentlemen. Don’t expect tailor-made menus like what you enjoyed at Orientation. This is local fare, but I expect you’ll like it. Don’t be shy. Eat as much as you want. The witches have made this a calorie-free zone for tonight. No amount of fat, salt, or sugar will have any effect on your girlish figures.”
Immediately I heard murmurs behind me, guys turning to each other and asking, “Do you think he’s serious? Is it really a calorie-free zone? Can they do that?”
I turned back toward the dais. Kellan looked down at me sitting right in front of him and winked, which of course left me agonizing over whether that was a good wink or a bad wink and trying to dissect whether or not there was any such thing as a ‘bad wink’. Then I started thinking the wink might have been indicating that the calorie-free thing was a joke. God. I wished he hadn’t winked.
Kellan continued. “While the food is being passed around, I’m going to kick things off by officially welcoming you to Win a Witch Weekend. I hope you’ve had a chance to look around Wimberley. It’s not New York and we like it that way.” The guys on the dais all clapped and nodded in agreement so, naturally, the contestants followed suit.
I had to admit the guys on the platform all seemed relaxed and pleased to be winners. I guessed from the Win a Witch Weekend reference that meant that each of them had won his own witch. And since none of them seemed to be blind, that meant it had turned out okay. I guess it would have turned out okay if they were blind, but you know what I mean.
“Wimberley is a special place for special people,” Kellan went on. “That’s why artists are pulled here like there’s a creative vortex at work. We even have a few winners who are into the arts.” He looked down the table. “Like Simon over there, whom you saw in the Orientation video.”
Simon didn’t smile or wave or stand up and take a bow, but he did push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Winners are as diverse as the people you’d find on any street corner.”
I looked around and thought, Yeah. On the street corner where the convention for models and rugby players just broke for lunch.
“As you know, the ball is tomorrow night. By the time the clock strikes twelve, you’ll know if you’re one of the very lucky few to be welcomed into this brotherhood.” I heard the murmur of voices behind me, but they were silenced as soon as Kellan began speaking again. “Regardless of the outcome, we want you to have a good time while you’re here. So after dinner you’re invited to sign up for one of the activities we’re sponsoring tomorrow during the day.”
The room filled with wait staff and heavenly aromas as platters of Texas barbeque and sides filled the room. Each person carried something different, stopped in front of us with a serving spoon, ladle, or meat fork depending on what they presented, and allowed us to serve ourselves. In order of appearance, if I remember correctly, was beef brisket, turkey breast, fresh pork, barbeque sauce, potato salad, green salad, macaroni in white cheese, pinto beans, corn on the cob, jalapeno cornbread and/or warm butter rolls.
Since there was no longer any danger of my abs ever being scrutinized by a camera close-up, I took some of everything. That was a feat even considering that they gave us platters instead of plates. I looked behind me. There were a whole lot of happy, happy guys. Maybe that whole thing about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach has merit.
Right behind the food came people with iced hourglass carafes of sweet tea. Each one of us got our own. Call me selfish, but I was pleased about that. I grabbed the neck of the carafe and poured into the empty glass by my platter. There was no way most of the guys in that room could appreciate the quality of that sweet tea. I knew immediately that it’d been made in the sun with real sugar because that’s exactly the way my mama does it.
Yes. I know that one glass of tea exceeded recommended sugar doses for a month, but what can I say? I agree with recent science. It is an addictive drug. Every southerner knows that. But it’s still legal.
Looking at the meal in front of me, I had my doubts that it wasn’t planned with me in mind. ‘Cause damn. Ambrosia couldn’t be better.
With the wait staff in retreat and everybody chowing down, Kellan got to his feet again. “I was saying that we have a few activity options available during the day tomorrow. First is canoeing on the Blanco River. If you’re signed up, a van will pick you up tomorrow morning around nine. The spot where we’ll put in is about five and a half miles west. You don’t have to be experienced and everything you need will be provided. The entire trip including a stop for lunch and the ride back to your hotel is about six hours, which means you’ll have time for what they call a ‘toes up’ around here. I highly recommend taking advantage of the sunscreen offered if you want to be comfortable and look like yourself at the big event tomorrow night.
“You’ll be floating downstream so not much paddling will be required, but if you’re not used to it, you may hear from your arm muscles when it’s over. It’s fun though and seeing things from the river is a whole different perspective.
“Second, if we have tennis players, Stefan will organize a match. Transportation, lunch and anything else you need, including shoes and racquets, will be provided. If we have a small group, we’ll play at the high school here. If there are more, we’ll run down to New Braunfels and play at the John Newcombe Tennis Ranch.
“Third, we have a tour going to San Antonio to see the Alamo and the Riverwalk. It’s about an hour’s drive each way. A bus has been reserved, but it’s more likely the trip will be by minivan.”
The winners, most of them, laughed and exchanged looks so there was no doubt that was an inside joke.
“Fourth, horseback riding in the hill country. Again, you do not need experience. You could put your grandmothers on these horses. They’re as safe as rocking chairs. However, a word of caution; if you’re not accustomed to riding, you will be sore where your ass meets the saddle.
“Fifth, if you’re into geology, we can get you a VIP pass to the Canyon Lake Gorge. It’s a new geological find that opened up suddenly in 2002 when the lake overflowed. Has dinosaur prints and some pretty incredible rock formations. Anyway the policy is researchers only, but we can get you past the guards if you want to go.
“Last, if you’d rather just lounge around and socialize with other contestants, this area has been reserved for you through the day tomorrow. You can come here for food, drinks, free wifi, and just hang out. It’s not necessary to sign up for lounging.
“Be sure to save room for dessert because they’re serving fried fruit pies. Yes. You can eat them with your hands.” Kellan picked up a piece of paper and read. “Also Texas chocolate pecan pie, rum pound cake, and blueberry cobbler.”
Save room? Did he see the size of the platters they brought us?
I had just shoved a spoonful of Southern potato salad into my mouth and was wondering if I could get dessert to go when Ivan said, “So what are you going to do tomorrow?”
Truthfully, I’d been so caught up in the food, I hadn’t given it much thought.
“Don’t know,” I said. “Either just hang out here or do the canoe thing.”
Ivan looked aghast. “Well you can’t just hang out here!”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d be missing out on an experience! That’s why not. You only get so many chances in life to do real things. When you’re old, what are you going to say? I hung out in a tent with free wifi?”
“By real things you mean things that aren’t electronic?”
He pursed his lips and frowned. “I guess that is what I mean.”
“Ivan. You get those chances every day. You may not be offered a canoe trip on a river, but you can look up from your phone or walk out on the street whenever you have the desire, or willpower, as the case may be.”
“That’s not the same thing.” He almost pouted. Oddly, it was appalling and appealing at the same time.
I smiled after taking a big bite of cornbread. “Okay.”
“Well, it’s not.”
“I’m not arguing.”
“You have that look.”
“Ivan, you don’t know me well enough to know my ‘looks’.” I turned in my chair and looked at him straight on. “Are you gay? Because the competition…”
“No! I’m just saying that hanging back in a tent is a chickenshit approach to life. “
Finally. He managed to say something that made sense.
“Yeah. You know what? You’re right. I guess I’m going canoeing for the first time tomorrow.”
“Really?” He brightened. “’Cause that’s what I’m doing.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Well, it’s a small world.”
The ringing of a spoon against a glass brought my attention back to the dais. “I hope you all enjoyed dinner. If we don’t see you again until tomorrow night, good luck. Maybe next year you’ll be occupying one of these chairs. Signups for activities at the tables they’ve just set up outside.”
When that seemed to be the end, everybody clapped. A few people bolted up from their seats like they were afraid their activity would be full if they didn’t stampede the exit.
Ivan stood up. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Hell, no,” I said. “I’m waiting for dessert.”
“Dessert! You couldn’t possibly eat anything else without delivering the grand puke of all time.”
“I’m getting it to go.”
“Okay. I’ll sign you up for canoe.”
“Thanks, Ivan. That’d be great.”
Looking around the room I saw that about ten of us had lingered due to the tantalizing promise of fried pies, chocolate, pecans, and cobbler.
When the waiter, who happened to be a trim fortyish woman, stopped in front of me with a tray of desserts, I said, “Wow. It looks as good as it sounded. Can I get it to go?”
She smiled. “Of course, sir. What would you like?”
“What kinds of fried pies do you have?”
“Apple, peach, and cherry.”
“I’ll have one peach pie, a slice of chocolate pecan, and just a dab of cobbler just to sample the experience.”
Her smile told me that she was having fun with my order. I guessed that not many contestants asked for some of everything to go after eating for three. Or four.
“Five minutes, sir.”
“Take your time.”
The past winners were lingering around the dais chatting as amiably as if they were fraternity brothers. There was probably nothing remarkable about that. Not only did they live in a small town, but they had witches in common. What was remarkable was that I felt a twinge of envy.
I’ve never been a grouper. No. I don’t mean the fish. I mean the sort of person who joins groups, needs groups, and feels happiest when they’re in the middle of a group. In fact it was the first time I ever recall thinking that there might be something for me in the easy camaraderie I was witnessing.
A body appeared in front of me, blocking my view, but offering a white paper sack with handles. When I looked inside, I was stunned to see that they’d included a cloth napkin and stainless flatware.
“Will that do, sir?”
I looked up and smiled. “This has to be the only to-go service in the world that doesn’t send you home with paper napkins and plastic sporks.”
She nodded and walked away at a things-to-do pace.
I ambled outside to see how the activity signup was progressing.
“Willem.”
I stopped when I heard a voice call my name from a few feet behind me. It was Kellan.
“I hope you forgive me for pretending to be a contestant earlier. Just like you guys come to get information from us, we get to take a look at the new crop of hopefuls.”
Shaking my head, I said, “Nothing to forgive. Now if I’d said something that had disqualified me, that would be different.”
He smiled in his congenial way. “It’s tough to read actors. You seem like an okay guy, but you could be acting.”
I laughed at that. “Just to ease your mind, I never landed a single acting job. Not in ten years. If I was any good at it, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh?” His chin angled to the side. “How did you end up here?”
“I was standing in line for the last audition I was ever going to try for. The guy next to me in line handed me a card, said try the witches, and the rest is history.”
Holding out his hand, he said, “That’s a new one. I’m a collector of stories. Yours is unique.”
I shook his hand. “Happy to oblige.”
A look of curiosity crossed his face. “You from Texas?”
I shook my head. “Alabama.”
He grinned. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Canoe.”
“Good choice. Popular choice. Raider’s in charge.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Watch out for him. He thinks turning other people’s canoes over is hysterical.”
“Wow. Thanks for the tip.”
Kellan gave me a manly slap on the shoulder and walked off.
I didn’t see Roger or Ivan or any of the others I’d met at the bar or Orientation. There was still a line at one of the tables. I stopped one guy leaving.
“Which activity is that for?”
“The canoe thing. It’s the most popular.” He looked back at the line. “By far.”