Joyland(21)

"That's right."

"Well, go on over to his bang-shy and see what he's got for you. If you're lucky, he'll send you down to the boneyard for lunch."

'What's the boneyard?"

'Where the help goes when they've got time off. Most carnies, it's the parking lot or out behind the trucks, but Joyland's lux.

There's a nice break-room where the Boulevard and Hound Dog Under connect. Take the stairs between the balloon-pitch and the knife-show. You'll like it, but you only eat if Pop says it's 72

STEPHEN K I N G

okay. I ain't getting in dutch with that old bastard. His team is his team; I got my own. You got a dinner bucket?"

"Didn't know I was supposed to bring one."

He grinned. "You'll learn. For today, stop at Ernie's jointthe fried chicken place with the big plastic rooster on top.

Show him your Joyland ID card and he'll give you the company discount."

I did end up eating fried chicken at Ernie's, but not until two that afternoon. Pop had other plans for me. "Go by the costume shop-it's the trailer between Park Services and the carpentry shop. Tell Dottie Lassen I sent you. Damn woman's busting her girdle."

"Want me to help you reload first?" The Shootin' Gallery was also tipsed, the counter crowded with high school kids anxious to win those elusive plushies. More rubes (so I was already thinking of them) were lined up three deep behind the current shooters. Pop Allen's hands never stopped moving as he talked to me.

"What I want is for you to get on your pony and ride. I was doin this shit long before you were born. Which one are you, anyway, Jonesy or Kennedy? I know you're not the dingbat in the college-boy hat, but beyond that I can't remember."

''I'm Jonesy."

"Well, Jonesy, you're going to spend an edifying hour in the Wiggle-Waggle. It'll be edifying for the kiddies, anyhow. For you, maybe not so much." He bared his yellow fangs in a trademark Pop Allen grin, the one that made him look like an elderly shark. "Enjoy that fur suit."

?

Joyland

73

The costume shop was also a madhouse, filled with women running every whichway. Dottie Lassen, a skinny lady who needed a girdle like I needed elevator shoes, fell on me the second I walked through the door. She hooked her long-nailed fingers into my armpit and dragged me past clown costumes, cowboy costumes, a huge Uncle Sam suit (with stilts leaning beside it against the wall), a couple of princess outfits, a rack of Hollywood Girl dresses, and a rack of old-fashioned Gay Nineties bathing suits . . . which, I found out, we were condemned to wear when on lifeguard duty. At the very back of her crowded little empire were a dozen deflated dogs. Howies, in fact, complete with the Happy Hound's delighted stupid-and-loving-it grin, his big blue eyes, and his fuzzy cocked ears. Zippers ran down the backs of the suits from the neck to the base of the tail.

"Christ, you're a big one," Dottie said. "Thank God I got the extra-large mended last week. The last kid who wore it ripped it out under both arms. There was a hole under the tail, too. He must have been eating M exican food. " She snatched the XL

Howie off the rack and slammed it into my arms. The tail curled around my leg like a python. "You're going to the Wiggle-Waggle, and I mean chop-f*cking-chop. Butch Hadley was supposed to take care of that from Team Corgi-or so I thought-but he says his whole team's out with a key to the midway." I had no idea what that meant, and Dottie gave me no time to ask. She rolled her eyes in a way that indicated either good humor or the onset of madness, and continued. "You say 'What's the big deal?' I'll tell you what's the big deal, greenie: Mr. Easterbrook usually eats his lunch there, he always eats it there on the first day we're running full-out, and if there's no Howie, he'll be very disappointed."



74

STEPHEN KING

"Like as in someone will get fired?"

"No, as in very disappointed. Stick around awhile and you'll know that's plenty bad enough. No one wants to disappoint him, because he's a great man. Which is nice, I suppose, but what's more important is he's a good guy. In this business, good guys are scarcer than hen's teeth." She looked at me and made a sound like a small animal with its paw caught in a trap. "Dear Christ, you're a big one. And green as grass. But it can't be helped."

I had a billion questions, but my tongue was frozen. All I could do was stare at the deflated Howie. Who stared back at me. Do you know what I felt like just then? James Bond, in the movie where he's tied to some kind of crazy exercise gadget. Do you expect me to talk? he asks Goldfinger, and Goldfinger replies, with chilling good humor, No, Mr. Bond! I expect you to die! I was tied to a happiness machine instead of an exercise machine, but hey, same idea. No matter how hard I worked to keep up on that first day, the damn thing just kept going faster.

"Take it down to the boneyard, kid. Please tell me you know where that is."

"I do." Thank God Lane had told me.

"Well, that's one for the home team, anyway. When you get there, strip down to your undies. If you wear more than that while you're wearing the fur, you'll roast. And . . . anybody ever tell you the First Rule of Carny, kid?"

I thought so, but it seemed safer to keep my mouth shut.

"Always know where your wallet is. This park isn't anywhere near as sleazy as some of the places I worked in the flower of my youth-thank God-but that's still the First Rule. Give it to me, I'll keep it for you."