Joyland

"He can be a pain in the banana, but he's old-time showbiz, seen it all, most of it twice, and he's not wrong. I think you'll do okay. You've got a carny look about you, kid." He waved a hand at the park with its landmarks rising against the blameless blue sky: the Thunderball, the Delirium Shaker, the convoluted twists and turns of Captain Nemo's water slide, and-of course-the Carolina Spin. "Who knows, this place might be your future."

"Maybe," I said, although I already knew what my future was going to be: writing novels and the kind of short stories they publish in The New Yorker. I had it all planned out. Of course, I also had marriage to Wendy Keegan all planned out, and how we'd wait until we were in our thirties to have a couple of kids. When you're twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It's only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect you've been looking at the map upside down, and not until you're forty are you entirely sure. By the time you're sixty, take it from me, you're fucking lost.

"Did Rozzie Gold give you her usual bundle of Fortuna horseshit?"

"Urn… "

Lane chuckled. "Why do I even ask? Just remember, kid, that ninety percent of everything she says really is horseshit.

The other ten… let's just say she's told folks some stuff that rocked them back on their heels."

Joyland "What about you?" I asked. "Any revelations that rocked you back on your heels?"

He grinned. "The day I let Rozzie read my palm is the day I go back on the road, ride-jacking the tornado-and-chittlins circuit. Mrs. Hardy's boy doesn't mess with Ouija boards and crystal balls."

Do you see a beautiful woman with dark hair in my future?

I'd asked.

No. She is in your past.

He was looking at me closely. "What's up? You swallow a fly?"

"It's nothing," I said.

"Come on, son. Did she feed you truth or horseshit? Live or Memorex? Tell your daddy."

"Definitely horseshit." I looked at my watch. I've got a bus to catch at five, if I'm going to make the train to Boston at seven. I better get moving."

"Ah, you got plenty of time. Where you staying this summer?"

"I hadn't even thought about it."

"You might want to stop at Mrs. Shoplaw's on your way to the bus station. Plenty of people in Heaven's Bay rent to summer help, but she's the best. She's housed a lot of Happy Helpers over the years. Her place is easy to find; it's where Main Street ends at the beach. Great big rambler painted gray. You'll see the sign hanging from the porch. Can't miss it, because it's made out of shells and some're always falling off. MRS. SHOPLAW's BEACHSIDE ACCOMMODATIONS. Tell her I sent you."

"Okay, I will. Thanks."

"If you rent there, you can walk down here on the beach if you want to save your gas money for something more important, like stepping out on your day off. That beach walk makes a pretty way to start the morning. Good luck, kid. Look forward to working with you." He held out his hand. I shook it and thanked him again.

Since he'd put the idea in my head, I decided to take the beach walk back to town. It would save me twenty minutes waiting for a taxi I couldn't really afford. I had almost reached the wooden stairs going down to the sand when he called after me.

"Hey, Jonesy! Want to know something Rozzie won't tell you?"

"Sure," I said.

"We've got a spook palace called Horror House. The old Rozola won't go within fifty yards of it. She hates the pop-ups and the torture chamber and the recorded voices, but the real reason is that she's afraid it really might be haunted."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And she ain't the only one. Half a dozen folks who work here claim to have seen her."

"Are you serious?" But this was just one of the questions you ask when you're flabbergasted. I could see he was.

"''d tell you the story, but break-time's over for me. I've got some power-poles to replace on the Devil Wagons, and the safety inspection guys are coming to look at the Thunderball around three. What a pain in the ass those guys are. Ask Shoplaw.

When it comes to Joyland, Emmalina Shoplaw knows more than I do. You could say she's a student of the place. Compared to her,

I'm a newbie."

"This isn't a joke? A little rubber chicken you toss at all the new hires?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

He didn't, but he did look like he was having a good time.

He even dropped me a wink. "What's a self-respecting amusement park without a ghost? Maybe you'll see her yourself. The rubes never do, that's for sure. Now hurry along, kiddo. Nail down a room before you catch the bus back to Wilmington.

You'll thank me later."

* * *

With a name like Emmalina Shoplaw, it was hard not to picture a rosy-cheeked landlady out of a Charles Dickens novel, one who went everywhere at a bosomy bustle and said things like Lor' save us. She'd serve tea and scones while a supporting cast of kind-hearted eccentrics looked on approvingly; she might even pinch my cheek as we sat roasting chestnuts over a crackling fire.