Paullina Simons - The Tiger Catcher

“No, just curious.” She didn’t blink.

Ashton, stop it.

“We get the larger items for free,” Ashton said, “because that’s first to be hauled to the dumpster. Basically we sell other people’s trash.”

Julian wanted to knock his friend on the head. “Josephine, we have to go.”

“A teacher, a writer, and a small business owner?” Josephine said to Julian. “You sure wear a lot of hats, Jules.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Ashton said, mouthing Jules? to Julian.

“I’m not a teacher,” Julian muttered. “Not really.”

“And people pay you guys money even for the big stuff?” she asked.

“Yes, in our business, trash is a collector’s item,” Ashton replied. “We have an entire room next to the Haunted House of sofas and tables from the sets of I Dream of Jeannie , Bewitched, Mork and Mindy , that sort of thing.”

“How fantastic! Can I see? After the Haunted House, of course. That’s first.”

“Another time,” Julian said, trying to shepherd her out. “Or you’ll be late.” It was like shepherding out water. Josephine was studying the props as if she couldn’t care less about the callback.

“Excuse me,” Ashton said to her, “but have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere. I never forget a face …” He tapped the counter. “New York! A few weeks ago. The Invention of Love . Weren’t you the understudy?” He peered at her.

“Yes! Oh wow! You were there, too?”

“Yes,” Ashton replied. “I was there, too. ” Even his small smile vanished.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes. Not as much as Julian—obviously—but I enjoyed it. It was out of the ordinary.”

“But not extraordinary?” Josephine grinned amiably as if she couldn’t care less whether Ashton liked the play or not.

Mutely Ashton stared at Julian, who was signing out the wig and wouldn’t return his friend’s pointed gaze.

“Ready to go, Josephine?” Julian said.

She didn’t reply, her eye spying something hanging on the wall behind Julian. “What’s that?” she exclaimed. It was a lambskin dark red beret. She pried it off the hook, turned it over once or twice, and put it on her head, stepping into the center of the store and smiling at both men. “What do you think, guys?”

One man suppressed a smile, the other had no hint of it on his somber face. Julian didn’t understand why Ashton was being so unfriendly. He elbowed Ashton, who did not elbow back.

“This thing’s fresh to death,” Josephine said, gazing in the mirror with approval at her own reflection. “Is it expensive?”

“No, it’s not expensive,” Ashton said. “It’s priceless. It’s vintage Gucci. From the forties. But it’s not for sale. It’s Julian’s. It’s his lucky hat.”

“It is?” Josephine stared in the beveled mirror. “Jules, where did you get this marvelous thing?”

“Yes, Jules ,” Ashton said, “where’d you get it? Tell the girl.”

“I don’t remember,” Julian said.

“There you go,” Ashton said. “He doesn’t remember. So what do you say? Can she have the red beret you found somewhere and haven’t parted with in a decade?”

Like it was even a question.

Josephine nearly skipped in place. With a grateful smile, her adorned head tilted, her fingers splayed, she did a two-step, a shim-sham, twirled around, swiveled her hips, and sang a few lines of the chorus of “Who’s Got the Pain” from Damn Yankees.

Ashton, his light blue eyes dipped in indigo, gave Julian a long anxious stare soaked with question, unease, and, for some reason, despair.

“Let’s go,” Julian said, grabbing his keys.

Josephine looked Julian over as they got ready to walk out, at his starched gray-check shirt, gray khakis, black suede Mephistos, tailored greige sports jacket. “Julian, we’re going into the mountains after my callback.”

“Yes, so?”

“Well, you’ve put on your teacher uniform again, not your mountain climbing gear.”

“Oh, you’re adorable, Josephine, to think that’s a uniform,” Ashton said, stepping between her and Julian. Forcefully he shook his head to underscore his words. “That’s not a uniform, dear girl. It’s a costume.”

“ARE YOUR SHOES AT LEAST COMFORTABLE?” JOSEPHINE asked him in the Greek parking lot after the callback. Her outcries of woe killed it, she said—because of the lucky beret.

Julian didn’t know how to answer her. All his shoes were comfortable. Comfort was his MO. “Why, is it a long way where you’re taking me?”

“It’s up a mountain.” She poked him. “You want to back out?”

“Who said? No, I’m in. Maybe you should’ve asked Ashton. He loves to do that stuff.”

Josephine fell quiet as the sun played footsies with the sparkles on the rattlesnake weed. “I don’t think he would’ve said yes. He didn’t seem too friendly. I don’t think he likes me.”

“Of course he does.” Julian deflected since he wasn’t sure what had been up with Ashton. “He was off his game. He’s not a morning person.”

They began their uphill climb through the loamy sand in which juniper and spruce grew and eucalyptus was profuse. Josephine was in front of him. Flame trees turned everything to fire. The jacaranda and the pink silk trees looked and smelled like cotton candy and made Julian feel he was in a sweet blooming garden full of redbuds and desert willows and lemon-scented gums. He wanted to point out to her their bright and gaudy surroundings, but what if her response was, yes, sure a garden , but what kind of garden is it, Julian, Eden or Gethsemane?

What was wrong with him? Gethsemane!

As he was thinking of something less idiotic to say (frankly, anything would be less idiotic to say), there was a rock in his way, and he tripped over it. She was too fast for him. He could barely keep up, while she was practically sprinting through the peppergrass. It was hard to flirt walking up a steep hill on uneven terrain in a single file. He tried (not very hard) to keep his eyes off the smooth white backs of her slender thighs. His gaze kept traveling to her lower back, bared above the waist of her shorts. He wanted to dazzle her with his knowledge of blessed thistle and golden fleece, of Indian milkweed and fragrant everlasting, of the perennial live-forevers, but he couldn’t breathe and dazzle at the same time.

She returned to him, fanning herself with the red beret. “Julian Cruz,” Josephine said, one hand on her hip, “come on, a little more hell for leather. We have less than fifteen minutes.”

Hell for leather? “I didn’t know there was a deadline.”

“There’s always a deadline. You should know that, Professor Daily Newsletter. I know you’re a novice at walking …”

“I’m not a novice at walking.”

“We have until noon,” she said. “And then it will be gone.”

“What will? The sun? The mountains?”

“You think you’re clever, but you’ll see. If we miss it, that’s it. Tomorrow you’ll have a million things to do, and I have my Mountain Dew shoot. Yeah, they called while I was at the Greek. If I get this Dante gig, that’ll be two for two. I don’t know what’s happening,” she said. “I haven’t gotten two jobs in a row in like never.” The beret went back on her head.

“Maybe I’m your good luck charm,” he said. “Lucky hat, lucky Julian.”

“No time for chit-chat, Mr. Talisman—spit-spot.” In her combat boots, she disappeared up ahead, around a cottonwood.