Apparently, there aren’t any services for the next forty miles.”

“This place really is in the middle of nowhere.”

Tara started toward the one stop town in search of a gas station. “I hope it’s not going to be too hot. It’s enough to have to sleep next to strangers, but sweaty smelly strangers? Yuck!”

“The picture shows the fair set in the woods by a stream. It looks very shady.”

The pictures could have been taken after a rare California rain. They were probably headed into a dust bowl. Tara grabbed her purse and fumbled around in the bottom to find the aspirin she knew was there.

They drove away from the gas station with a couple of ice-cold sodas and a bag of barbequed potato chips. The whole non-twenty-first century food thing was a drawback for both of them. And as tempting as it was to stock up with snacks and chips, they thought it would be best to make the most of the authentic experience. Besides, Tara had already stashed an emergency supply of chocolate in her purse.

“So, do you think the Gypsy will peg you?” Cassy asked.

“Peg me for what?”

“A virgin?”

Tara let out a manic laugh and almost choked on the soda. “Twenty-five year old virgins are hard to come by. No pun intended. So no, I don’t think she’ll peg me.”

“What if she does? Will you let her read your palm?”

“She won’t. I’m not the poster child for virginity.

I’m not Amish-looking. I’m in no way shy, or fat, and I don’t think I’m ugly.”

The only physical flaw Tara saw when she looked in the mirror were her br**sts. By California standards, they were considered too small.

“...and besides,” Tara continued, “I’ve seen my share of naked men...more than most...for a virgin, anyway.”

“That’s true. But if the Gypsy singles you out as a virgin, you need to promise me you’ll let her read your palm and...no more cynicism for the rest of the weekend!”

It was a sucker’s bet. There’s no way some self-proclaimed Gypsy Queen would suspect she was a virgin. “You got yourself a deal.”

It couldn’t get any worse, it just couldn’t! The parking lot was two miles from the actual encampment where the fair was taking place. Cassy and Tara were told to leave the car, secured and guarded by what looked like executioners, then walk the final couple of miles. If they were lucky, they could catch a ride on a passing cart or carriage. They, of course, were not lucky.

The information packet failed to tell them they would be ostracized by everyone if they arrived out of costume. They were looked down upon like lepers, as if they sported oozing wounds and all. People stopped, put their noses in the air, and rode along their merry friggin’ way.

The bitchy blonde at the reception tent took one look at their modern shorts and t-shirts and blurted out, “Well, I see the two of you are unable to read the Queen’s English. Your welcome pamphlet specifically said to arrive in costume.” She tossed Tara a map. “Here, return when you are properly attired and not a moment sooner. I’ll give you the schedule of events at that time.”

Tara bit her lip to keep from telling the witch to bite her.

The tent was tall enough to stand in, but that was the only good thing Tara could say about it. The straw mats on the floor contained two blankets tossed on them. A water basin with a tin bowl sat in the corner rounding out their luxurious amenities.

Once the flap of the tent came down to give them some privacy, the interior became stifling.

Cassy, anxious to join in the chaos outside, started stripping the minute the flap dropped. “They weren’t kidding when they said primitive. Isn’t this cool?”

“Hmmmm... Cool,” Tara muttered, biting back the insult off her tongue.

“Did you see those guys on the horses? I wonder if there’ll be a joust, or whatever it’s called.”

“I’m sure.” Not that I care.

“The brochure said at tonight’s feast, the Gypsy Queen will assign the court. Some un-suspecting guests will be given upgraded accommodations and regal costumes to wear for the duration of the fair.”

“I wouldn’t count on that being us, after the reception we just got. It feels like we crashed a party and got caught putting soap in the fountain. I’ll bet most of these people come to these things all the time. Kind of like a cult.”

Tara slipped a cotton camisole over her head then followed it with one of the two gowns she had.

The laces up the back did a marvelous job of acting as a corset. The cut of the dress was low enough to give her minimal bosom the image of cle**age, something Tara secretly longed for.

Cassy had found a second hand store in Hollywood where old costumes were sold after plays struck their sets. Tara had to admit the dresses were perfect. The bimbo at the reception desk might have a problem with the colors and style they chose, Tara mused. Tara’s gown was a beautiful maroon with an empire waist and long flowing sleeves. Cassy’s dress was black with red fringe and pushed her br**sts so far up, they damn near flowed over. There was nothing drab about either of them. Tara smiled and made a mental note to walk by the bimbo and strut.

“It’s not a cult! But I’ll bet you’re right about these people doing this all the time. What’s wrong with that?” Cassy turned around when her dress was secure, and she laced up Tara’s.

“Nothing I guess.” If you like being a freak.

“People need to escape from reality sometimes. I wonder how many lawyers are out there, or policemen.”

“I’ll bet most of these people are art students or drama majors. Not much chance of meeting Mr.

Right in this venue.”

“‘Mr. Right-now’ would do for me.” Cassy patted Tara’s hip indicating the lacing-up was complete.

“Oh here.” Cassy reached for a small linen bag held together by a long rope.

“What’s this?” Tara asked.

“It’s a purse. You tie it around the waist and hide it in the folds of your dress, like this.” Cassy demonstrated its use. “That way we don’t leave anything of value behind. It’s not like there’s a lock on the canvas.”

Tara had to hand it to the fair patrons, or whatever you called them. Stepping outside the tent in full costume was like walking onto a stage and into character. Everyone was dressed for his or her part. Their roles didn’t stop with their costumes, but continued with their accents and gestures. Lady this and Lord that. It was hard not to get caught up in the spirit of the event. After all, what woman didn’t like dressing in a full-length gown? Tara enjoyed the feel of material brushing against her thighs and the wisp of air that sometimes touched her skin. Every woman walked differently in a dress. These costumes really played a part in the whole Renaissance fair experience.