Regions Of Passion novel Chapter 4

Rolling did not reply immediately. Ingrid's first stint at Cedar Point amusement park last summer had not gone well. She'd treated her job as a caricature artist in much the same fashion as she'd treated her schoolwork this year--which was to say, carelessly and without inspiration. In August she'd left the park, without giving notice of any kind. It was no wonder hearing her voice again gave him pause.

"And what do you want?" he asked flatly.

Ingrid saw no reason to beat about the bush. "I want to come back to Frontier Town and work for you, Mister Rolling," she said. "I realize that must sound a little strange after what I did last year, but--"

"A little strange?" He paused again, then huffed into the receiver. "Girly, you must think you're part of a pretty rare breed, to be calling me like this. I've got artists knocking on my door every day of the week looking for a job. Artists who will show up on days that they're scheduled to work. Artists who will stay with my team for a full season."

"I understand that, Mister Rolling, truly I do. I was...having some difficulties last summer. I'm past them now."

"Bullshit. You sound just the same as you did during our first interview, Ingrid. A little out of focus, a little left of center, whatever you want to call it. I didn't mind it then, because that's pretty much the way all artists are. On top of that you were damned good."

"I'm still good."

But Ingrid's brow was furled with confusion. Were her apathy and lack of spirit so obvious that Rolling could with pinpoint accuracy detect the sweep of their numb erasion just by hearing her voice on the phone? It seemed so. And if that was the case, she was much farther gone than she'd feared.

"If you'll accept my apology, Mister Rolling, I would be happy to come back and prove it to you," she pressed on. "I know you can always use an extra girl to work in front of the upside-down house. People come off of that ride with the funniest pictures in their heads, am I right?"

"You're right. You're also right about my needing an extra girl. But goddammit, Ingrid, you are not the one I have in mind. We've got thirty-thousand people trolling through this park every day, forking thirty bucks a ticket for some thrills and chills--and yes, the occasional talented caricaturist. I don't want to have to go to my boss's office on fucking July the 4th or Labor Day or whatever and tell him at least some of those people are walking away from Frontier Town with their hands free of souvenirs because one of my artists is too busy pouting over how shitty the universe has been treating her."

You're laying it on awful thick, fella, Ingrid thought. I draw pictures for crying out loud. I'm a side-show.

"You will not be telling him that," she said out loud.

Rolling said nothing for a few moments. His breath puffed into the receiver. "All right," he at last conceded. "One more chance, Ingrid."

"Thank you very much, Mister Rolling. Sincerely."

"But don't fuck with me. When I call you, you're on. Where I put you, you're at. If I tell you to paint pictures of Donald Duck on top of the Gemini at twelve midnight, then that's what you'll do. If I tell you to jump into the pool at the bottom of the Log Jam and sketch the Loch Ness Monster, then that's what I mean. I speak, you do. Understand?"

"No, no. I was just wondering if you know whether or not a woman named Lisa Felton is still working there?"

"Lisa Felton?" His voice trailed off in thought, then came back with sudden punctuation. "Oh yes! I believe she still runs the Ship-to-Shore diner near Soak City. End of the Oceana Midway."

Ingrid allowed herself to smile for the first time since leaving the school. "Thank you again, Mister Rolling. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I hope you mean that."

"I do."

The walk home from the flats was slow and pleasant. Part of this had to do with the approaching storm--as Ingrid passed by a cafe-restaurant a cool breeze swept the awnings, ruffling their scallops. Flower petals from a park swirled around benches; a little boy laughed, chasing his cap.

Another reason was the memory of Lisa. Ingrid hadn't been thinking about her at all when she'd first dialed up Rolling. The woman's name popped into her head right as the call was coming to a close, perhaps because spending time at the Ship-to-Shore diner had been her favorite thing about Cedar Point. Ingrid had gotten to know Lisa Felton after eating there a few times. She made for easy company, which was a rare commodity among Ingrid's circle. It was Lisa, in fact, who had invited Ingrid to her diner for the first time, after getting a portrait done. Her opinion of this portrait had been very high, to the point where Ingrid's cheeks had turned red (praise was another thing she wasn't used to). From here, their friendship had blossomed. Ingrid went back to the Ship-to-Shore almost every night during the months of June and July. She went there in certain parts of August as well, even as it was becoming clear her job with Tom Rolling's team was not going to provide the fulfillment she was so desperately searching for. And of course, in the midst of these final few visits, Lisa had sensed something wrong. She'd tried to get Ingrid to talk, to tell her something, anything, that would help her bring the issue into focus. Ingrid had failed to do this, evening after evening, until finally the sadness and frustration got the better of her. On a sunny day near the end of the month, she had walked out of the park gate with tears on her cheeks.