“I think the rain is finished for the next day or two,” Frost said, “and if I can get it painted, the sun’s hot enough it’ll dry out all right before this weekend’s show.”
“What makes you think the rain is over with?” Conrad said.
“It’s stopped.”
“Oh, good. You’re a regular weatherman.”
“What makes you think it’ll continue? Huh?”
“Hey, you win. Just as long as I don’t paint it.” Conrad peeled back his ugly lips, showed his teeth, tipped his hat, and went off on all fours.
“What do you think, Bill?”
“Mr. Frost, I ain’t got a clue.”
“Would you help me paint it?”
It wasn’t something Bill looked forward to, but he felt he was in no position to quarrel.
“Sure.”
Frost went into town and came back with lots of green paint and a sackful of brushes. By midday the dampness had burned off and the whirligig was dry and receptive to paint.
Frost enlisted the help of a couple of others but as the day progressed, like vapor, they disappeared, leaving brushes and cans in whirligig buckets. Complaints of old ailments kept popping up. One of the workers, whose only handicap was his lack of hygiene, was not missed. There had been just enough wind up there to blow his armpit aroma about, and by the time the man climbed down with some minor excuse, Bill and Frost were glad to see him go. Bill felt as if he had been wrestling a stink demon all day, and was about worn out from it.
Even though a certain amount of climbing was to be expected, mostly they rode about on the rails and in the cars by having one of the pinheads pull the switch. The problem was making the pinhead not pull the switch, and after half a day the pinhead wandered off and was last seen rubbing his ass out by the river.
Bill climbed down and tried to work the switch, but nothing happened. He had to go get Conrad to take a look. Conrad sniffed about and worked this and worked that. He got a little box of tools and tore off the gearbox lid and eyeballed the situation. The gearbox was packed with dirt. It was surprising it had worked as long as it had. Phil had left one last little surprise for Frost.
“It’s screwed,” Conrad yelled up. “Phil packed the gearbox with dirt.”
Bill glanced up. He could make out Frost looking over the edge of the stranded bucket he was in. Frost let out a sigh audible all over the camp.
“It won’t run at all?” he yelled down.
“Nope,” Conrad said.
“Can it be fixed?”
“It can be replaced.”
Another sigh from Frost. “I guess the only thing is to climb around and finish what we can reach. We’ve gone this far. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and see if I can find someone who can fix or jury-rig a new gearbox. Phil had some problems, but I wouldn’t have expected this of him.”
“Hell, I would have expected worse,” Conrad said. “He was hoping it would jam up carnival night, kill some major revenue.”
“Bill,” Frost yelled down. “Do you think you could climb up here and help me finish this top railing, and the last few buckets?”
Bill didn’t much like the idea, but he nodded.
“If you fall,” Conrad said with a smile, “tuck your chin and think rubber.”
“Yeah, right.”
Conrad slapped Bill on the thigh and four-pawed it back to U.S. Grant’s trailer.
Bill took off his paint-splattered shirt and started up. It took him about fifteen minutes to get up to the bucket next to Frost.
“Thanks, Billy Boy. It’s good to see you’re true-blue.”
“Sure,” Bill said, picked up a brush and began to paint the railing that held the buckets. The sun was hot. It felt good for a while, but after a time he began to burn and his wrists ached from working the brush. He had paint all over him and no shirt to put on to keep out the sun.
Once he looked down, and there, with her hands over her eyes, wearing a soft cotton dress with pink and blue flowers on it, was Gidget. The dress was gathered around her and fit like a condom. You could see every outline of her there was to see. A pinhead came up behind her and lifted her dress from behind.
Like it was nothing new, Gidget whipped out her right hand and beaned the pinhead across the nose. The pinhead wandered off holding his snout.
Frost smiled and waved at her. She waved back.
As it grew dark, about suppertime, the sun fell through the metal of the whirligig and filled the bucket where Bill stood with melted caramel light. Frost turned and smiled. In that moment, to Bill, he seemed of another world. The dissolving sunlight had made him golden.
“I’m pooped,” Frost said.
“Yeah.”
“I think we should seal up the paint, have some supper. Finish up in the morning. Tomorrow, we can do the last bits as we climb down. It’ll be a little tricky, but we’re careful, tie the buckets to our belts, we can do it. But we’ll do it tomorrow. I’ve had it with the smell of paint.”
“Might be easier to just get the gearbox fixed first, don’t you think?”
“It might be, but I like to finish what I start. We can be through in an hour or two if we start early, and I’ll go into town then and see about a mechanic of some kind. You got much paint left?”
“No. Practically out.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
They climbed down.
About a half hour later, Bill was fresh out of the shower, having gotten all the paint off himself, and the stench of it out of his nostrils. There was a knock on the door. Bill wrapped a towel around his waist and answered it. It was Frost.
“Look here, son. I need a favor.”
“Come in.”
“No. I’ll make it quick. I’m tuckered out and to be honest there’s something I want to see on the television. But I’ll give you some money for paint, and a little extra for yourself. I want you to run into town. They got a Wal- Mart there, which is about all that’s open this time a night. Fact it stays open twenty-four hours. That’s where I got the paint. I want you to get some more. I got the name of the paint written down.”
Frost produced a strip of paper with the name and paint number on it. “This is what you want. And get the number of gallons written on here.”
“All right.”
“Oh, I’m sending Gidget with you. She knows where the Wal-Mart is.”
“Sure.”
“She wants it, stop by and buy her a little something to eat afterwards.”
“Sure.”
Frost gave Bill some money. After he left, Bill dressed and put the slip of paper in his pocket. He worked his hair in the bathroom a while, trying to comb it more like the picture of James Dean. He went outside. Gidget, still dressed in the white dress with flowers on it, was leaning beside Frost’s car smoking a cigarette. She didn’t show any happiness in seeing him.
She produced the car keys and Bill took the driver’s side and she sat in her place with the window down, flicking ashes out. She looked as if she’d rather be taking a car aerial enema than going to town with him.
When they were about three miles down the road, Bill glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She smiled, slid over next to him and kissed his neck.
“I had to play it that way, baby. I couldn’t look too excited.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Man, you look good all browned from the sun.”
“It’s more like burned.”
