Curse of the Apple Pie
by Will Riley
There is only one highway from Los Angeles to Las Vegas and I was on it, putting distance between me and another soured love affair. I was still in hurt, but soon enough the distractions of Vegas would put an end to it. I was driving fast, and I was through with love.
My mistake that day was to stop for lunch in a hot and dusty little Mojave Desert town called Baker. I entered a weathered cafe and took a seat at a booth next to a window. When the waitress brought me a menu, I asked her to bring me a bottle of cold beer. No sooner had she gone to fetch it when a guy slid into the seat opposite me. I resented the intrusion, but before I could say anything he offered to pay for my lunch.
"I value my private time," I told him.
"Name's Jack," he said, thrusting out a hand over the table. I shook it out of habit.
"Some other time, Jack. I'm eating alone today."
"Car gave out on me," he explained. "I'm stranded in this godforsaken place. I'd sure appreciate a ride to Vegas."
"I'm going in the other direction," I said, lying to get rid of him.
"I've got a gift for knowing what's what, son. No need for telling me fibs."
Just then the waitress brought my beer, then stood, pad in hand, waiting. I ordered a burger with onion rings, and Jack ordered toast and coffee. Fuck it. At that point I resigned myself to eating lunch with him. He didn't look like a kook but one never knows. He was an older guy, distinguished looking like a faded movie star. But it was his eyes that got me. Those damn eyes got me good.
"Okay, Jack. Buy the lunch and you can ride to Vegas with me."
"Appreciate it," he said, pulling a card from his shirt pocket and sliding it across the table toward me. The printing on it was in ornate script. It simply said: Jack Trapps, Conjurer.
"Ah, you're a magician," I said.
"A conjurer, son. The best. I got a gig at a place off the Strip. Dreamland. Ever hear of it?"
"Nope. I'm not much for magic acts," I told him. "It's like professional wrestling. Some entertainment ain't meant to be taken seriously."
He shook his head and frowned. "You're too young to be so particular about your entertainment."
"Maybe so, but magic is just sleight of hand. Bores me after a while."
"Don't be foolish. There's magic all around us. White magic. Black magic. All kinds of magic."
"Right," I replied. "There's charlatans everywhere."
"I take that personal, son," he said, wagging a finger at me. "What about love?"
"Love? Get serious. Love is just pretty flowers with thorns. No magic about it."
"Then you've never been in love, son."
I began to regret having to drive him to Vegas. There was another eighty miles to go and I sure didn't want to spend them with an argumentative old man. "You're full of shit, Jack," I said. I thought I saw him flinch.
He was silent while the waitress placed our orders on the table. When she was gone I reached for the ketchup bottle and tried to coax some of it onto the bun. Jack seemed to be in deep thought. Then he spoke.
"You want to see some magic? I can change that hamburger into a slice of hot apple pie."
I was a little startled by his offer to do what was certainly impossible. "Don't embarrass yourself," I told him.
"You making sport of me, son?"
I certainly didn't want to derail his trolley. "Not at all. Go ahead and work your magic. I love apple pie," I said with a smirk.
I waited for the perfunctory abracadabra, but Jack simply picked up the pepper shaker from the table and sprinkled some of the spice over the hamburger patty. He then returned the shaker to its place on the table. Nothing happened. I looked up at him and he shrugged. "Sometimes it takes a few minutes for genuine magic to work," he said quietly.
"Right," I said. I placed the lid on the sandwich then took a big bite. It was tasty but I'd had better. I ate some more as Jack munched on his toast and sipped coffee. I should have been grateful that he was quiet, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to gloat. "Damn good apple pie," I said. He just looked at me with what seemed like a great sadness in his eyes. I had to look away.
Maybe I was being too hard on him. "Been in the magic business a long time?" I asked.
"I was born into it. My parents were with a troupe of gypsies in Hungary. They were entertainers, magicians, as you call it. When I was old enough they put me in their act."
"You're a long way from home. You ever visit them?"
"They were shot by the Russians during the revolt. I was sixteen."
I'd never lost anyone close to me, so I couldn't relate. "Must have been awful. What did you do then?"
"Nothing. Not until I was eighteen and fell in love. I married the girl and we went to New York."
"Ah, you've got a wife."
"She died giving birth to my daughter."
Damn conversation was turning into a bummer. I should have changed the subject. "You raised her by yourself?"
"I did the best I could. When she was five I built an act around her. We traveled around the midwest, playing to big crowds. Her abilities exceeded mine. She was amazing."
He was talking about her in the past tense. I really should have changed the subject. "You two still do the act?" I asked.
"Nah. She grew up and got bored with it. She left me. Pissed me off. We didn't talk after that."
"Pissed you off? She's your daughter. You should have been happy for her striking out on her own."
"No matter. We had a great act for years. She left me high and dry. Ain't never been the same for me. I've become a lonely old dog. I put a curse on her."
"You've got to be joking. You put a curse on your own daughter? That's cold, Jack."
"She forsook her family. That's not the way of our ancestors. She had to be punished."
"You're too much, Jack. Where is she now?"
"She fell crazy in love with a young man much like you, and one day he just stopped coming around. She died of a broken heart. Served her right."
I saw it in his eyes, then. The hurt and anger he felt flared in them and I, once again, had to turn my own eyes away. I looked out the window, and a startling thing happened.
Outside, the cafe parking lot faded away. So did the town's main road. And the gas station across the street was gone. What I saw was an empty desert stretching out for miles until the horizon was broken by a low range of purple-hued hills. A skinny black dog loped across a rutted trail that led to the beat-up old house trailer I suddenly found myself sitting in. Instead of being alarmed I felt oddly comfortable in the new surroundings. It was all so weird and yet so very familiar. Within moments I felt more at home in that trailer than I ever did in my L.A. apartment. I was remarkably content, almost bursting with happiness. And the place smelled like fresh-baked apple pie.
"Be patient, my love," a woman's voice said, "It'll be cool enough in a minute or so. I'll cut you a big slice."
She was beautiful. From out of nowhere a great fondness for her blossomed within me and then a wonderful realization that we were a couple, that she was mine, took root in my mind. She cut a slice out of the apple pie and brought it to me. Then she sat across from me at the tiny table and watched me eat. The pie was even more delicious than my mother used to make. She watched me the whole time I was eating, as if my pleasure was the most important thing on her mind. Then everything simply faded away.
"Where'd you go, son?" Jack asked. "You seemed lost in thought."
I looked down at my half-eaten hamburger, still in a daze. "What the hell happened?" I mumbled.
"Something happened?"
I rubbed my forehead, confused for a moment. Then it all made sense. "You drugged me!" I said, too loudly. My hands were trembling.
"I don't condone drug use, son," he said quietly. "I just say no."
"Don't fuck with me, old man. I just had an hallucination."
"Not uncommon in this desert. Any Indian around here will tell you that. Dreams are an integral part of the desert's magic. Did you have a pleasant daydream?"
I was fired up. "Daydream? You're a piece of work, Jack. Thanks for the apple pie."
He nodded as if bowing to an audience. I wanted to punch the grin off his face but felt too exhausted to make the effort. "Let's get out of here. I need some fresh air," I finally said.
"Sure, son. Finish your beer while I go pay the check."
When he left the booth I stood up unsteadily for a moment. On an impulse I picked up the pepper shaker and put it in my pocket, then slipped a few dollars from my wallet and left them on the table. On the way to the door I passed Jack, who was standing in line at the cash register. Outside I lit a cigarette and tried to calm down. The desert heat was oppressive. Without giving it much thought I walked to my car, started it up, and drove out onto the highway, heading back to Los Angeles. There would be no relief waiting for me in Las Vegas. Not anymore.
As the miles sped by I kept seeing her sitting across from me at the little table. Her eyes were hypnotic, exactly like Jack's. Maybe even bluer. They sucked me in completely. I was helpless. And for the first time in my life I knew what love was, and it was sublime. I was obsessed with her. My only hope was a crazy one. The pepper shaker was in my pocket, pressed against my leg. If I was going insane, I didn't care. The only thing I wanted was to be with her again.
When I arrived back in L.A. I took a frozen steak from the freezer and defrosted it in the microwave. I paced the apartment, my heart pounding, while moderrn technology did its work. The pepper shaker was on the kitchen table, ready. I melted some butter in a skillet and when it sizzled, I dropped in the meat. Two long minutes on one side, two on the other. Medium rare? I didn't give a shit. I plopped it onto a plate, and seasoned it with the pepper. Then I ate. I ate and I was blessed.
We were sitting on comfortable patio chairs outside the old trailer, in the shade of a tattered canvas awning. There was nothing around us except desert, but I wasn't at all curious about that. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. On my lap was a plate containing the crumbs of the apple pie I had finished eating. Her chair was next to mine, and she rested a hand on my arm.
"I love you so much. Please don't ever leave me," she said. "I will surely die if you do."
She was the only thing I cared about. My love for her was almost overwhelming. "Why would I leave you?" I asked. "Everything I cherish is here with you. I am the luckiest man in the world."
The skinny black dog appeared again. It loped lazily across the rutted road in front of us, and when she spotted it, her hand gripped my arm tightly.
"Don't be alarmed," I said, watching the dog disappear into the distance. "It's just a harmless mutt."
"It's my father," I thought I heard her say as the desert faded away and I was back in Los Angeles.
Needless to say, I was overjoyed that the pepper shaker was indeed magical. Jack had made me a believer, and in believing, I had found my heaven. I seasoned every evening meal with that pepper, returning to the desert as if my time spent there had not been interrupted by my life in Los Angeles. Sometimes I would be there for only a few minutes, other times much longer. Hours. Days. The boredom of the desert surroundings was of no concern to us. Just being together was the point of our happiness. It was the only thing that mattered. Yes, I was truly blessed.
We've been on the road for years now. Me and the empty pepper shaker. Just lookin' for Jack.
Copyright © 2006 Will Riley
Will Riley is an old retired guy who lives at a lake in the mountains of Southern California. He writes to pass the time. Some of his stories have appeared online in various ezines.