"I finished my show a little late over at the main carnival stage. I met Lisa immediately backstage."
"It was at three-thirty," Lisa said, nodding. "I was backstage for the whole show, helping out with the dog." She gestured to Bruiser.
"We're due at a party," Fabian continued, "so I wanted to shower. My show can be a little strenuous -- especially in the heat."
"Those are lies!" Marlene protested. "He ...."
"You'll get your turn," the Chief told her sternly. "Go on, Fabian. I know the Kendall party is tonight. Tell everyone I said hello, Lisa." She nodded.
"The gypsy wagon I live in doesn't have a shower," Fabian went on. "Some of the other carnies and I use the facilities at the pool. I came down here to clean up after my show this afternoon. Lisa was going to go walk the dog. The Boy Scouts were just in from the pool and were going into the large shower room, so I chose one of the private shower stalls. Next thing I know, the boys were screaming. I looked out of the shower stall and saw Marlene leaving."
"I was just coming up the walkway," Lisa said. "I saw her come out of there. She saw me, too, and came over here and started yelling at me. It didn't make much sense, but it was something about how it was my fault they had to sneak around."
"So that's two different stories," the Chief said to Marlene. "Which is it? Either you'd arranged to meet her boyfriend or she told you to go in there."
"Frankly, Chief, I don't think anyone can really prove I was in there at all," Marlene said.
The other scout leader came out of the locker room with the now-dressed boys.
"Hey!" one of them said, pointing at Marlene. "It's the naked lady!"
"Guess that clears that right up," Lisa smirked. Fabian turned his head and tried to disguise a laugh as a cough.
"You're under arrest," the Chief told Marlene, reaching for his cuffs.
"May we go, Rick?" Lisa wanted to know.
"We're available if needed," Fabian added.
"Sure," the Chief said. "Go on -- have fun. I'll be in touch."
"But ... she ...." Marlene struggled, livid.
"Listen. Even if she told you to go in there, which I don't for a minute believe, nobody made you do it. You could have said no. You could have paid more attention to the very clear paint that very clearly says "Men" on the wall. Unless you can't read, I don't buy that you thought it was the ladies' locker room. You also could have said no if her boyfriend had asked you to join him. None of this adds up, and it doesn't matter anyway. It doesn't matter why you were in there naked. It matters that you were. Also, the attempted assault was not a good idea."
Living in a camper for the summer I can understand but those Gypsy wagons are just ... weird.
They walked back to the vardo to take Bruiser home and to drop off Fabian's gym bag before heading to the party.
"Would you like to come in?" he asked. "I think a tour would take all of five minutes." Lisa nodded, curious. She remembered the mysterious atmosphere inside of his mother's vardo when she'd had her fortune told. Fabian's was very different. It had an elegance that reminded her somewhat of pictures of Victorian railway carriages she had seen. The interior was dark wood with lots of gold accent painting -- a contrast from the riot of color in his mother's vardo. The seats and curtains were dark red. Although the accents were mostly flowers, plants, and flying birds, the effect wasn't feminine at all. There were several mirrors on the wall in gilded frames. On the floor was what looked like an oriental rug in reds and golds.
"You're not the only one who can do boring tour guide. Here goes. The woodwork is all mahogany," he told her, "and the paint is gold leaf. This style of vardo was made in England originally and is called "Reading" after the manufacturer." He gestured up towards the ceiling, which was rounded and then slightly raised, reminding her of a railroad caboose. In the raised portion were several skylights of etched and stained glass. "Usually, carnival people chose a style called the "Burton Showman Wagon", which is similar, but tend to be more opulent. Real Gypsies tended to look down on those, for some reason."
"This is beautiful!" Lisa said in awe. Equally impressive was how he'd managed to fit in some modern conveniences but disguise them as part of the original vardo. The refrigerator had a false front that matched the cabinetry. He showed her his stove, which was surrounded by gorgeous tile work -- a tree in blue and white that reminded her of blue patterned dishes. Over the tile work and the stove like a small roof was a mantle with what looked like a brass railing.
"The mantle is traditional," he told her. "It's the custom to display dishes there. My mother does. I prefer to leave it just the way it is."
"Why do you have a stove on top of your stove?" she asked.
"That's the original stove," he told her, "and it's an Aga wood-burning stove. That's a little toasty in the summer, so I use a camping stove instead. I borrowed a toaster oven from my sister to warm up your chicken pie -- which was outstanding, by the way. In the winter, the Aga's really nice. I can cook on it and it heats the place. It also has a small oven."
The bed was a loft across the front of the vardo, opposite the door, equivalent to a bed in a trailer being opposite the hitch. There were ornate wooden panels that she assumed could slide for more or less air or privacy. He had a bureau along the wall at what she guessed was the head of the bed, and she was impressed by the stack of library books from Bibliomania sitting there waiting for him. From the titles on the spines, she noted that Fabian enjoyed biography and history books.
There was a window in the front directly across from the paneled opening. It had red curtains that matched the seats and looked appropriately masculine. She could only see a portion of the bed itself, but what she could see was neatly made.
"You might notice there are a lot of mirrors on the walls," Fabian said. "There are a lot in my mother's vardo, too. We're really not that vain -- the mirrors are traditional. I suspect that they're intended to give the vardo an illusion of space. Not a lot of original vardos survive. Not just because of the Nazis, but because it was a Gypsy tradition to cremate someone in his vardo."
"Like a Viking and his ship."
"Pretty much, yes," Fabian nodded.
Bruiser went over to one of the cabinets below the bed, butted it with his head, and a small door popped open. Inside was a dog bed, and he turned three times before flopping down. Lisa laughed.
"That is really clever," she said.