A/N: I'm so excited and honored to be writing this fic with starry19, one of the most talented writers on this site. We tend to think alike, yet she is more introspective in her prose, while I'm more focused on dialogue. I think we'll mesh well, but I'll leave it up to you fine readers to judge.

This is an origin story, of how Jane and Angela met and fell (eventually) in love. There is no Lisbon to be found, but I hope that doesn't dissuade you from enjoying this. The Jane we know and love today wouldn't be who he is if it weren't for Angela, and I personally would love a flashback episode one day to know what kind of woman could have tamed the savage Jane. Until that happens, we have fanfiction. Remember, Jane is very young here, and has not honed his talents to the level we see on the show. This is before the pain of Red John, before true love changes him and vengeance consumes him. I hope you enjoy what we do here. This first chapter is mine…

Boy Wonder

Chapter 1

California, 1990

He could hear the distant sounds of the carnival—the music from the rides, the cheerful clinks and bells from the games, the laughing, screaming, and general hubbub of the crowd. But Patrick Jane was glad to be away from it, wished in fact he couldn't hear anything at all except for the pounding of his own heart and Julie's panting breaths as she lay beneath him on the blanket. He couldn't afford a car, and Julie had come with friends, so their only option for a romantic liaison was a brief hike into the darkness and a frantic tumble beneath a eucalyptus tree. This was fine with Jane, and, from Julie's soft mews of delight, it was more than fine with her.

This was the last night of the carnie company's three-night stint at the Solano County Fairgrounds, and he'd first seen Julie on night one. He'd been hanging out at the petting zoo with Pete, helping him feed the animals, when the cute brunette with the nice ass had wandered over with her friends. She'd taken one look at Patrick, and liked what she saw. While he'd watered the elephants, he'd discovered she was a senior in high school, up for anything, and she loved curly haired blondes with devilish smiles. His kind of girl.

So he'd flirted, and he'd winked, and had old Daisy "accidentally" spray her and her giggly friends. It had worked like a charm. Julie had come back to the carnival every night and watched his Boy Wonder show three times. The first night he'd bought her a snow cone, cotton candy, and "won" her a teddy bear at the shooting gallery (he owed Jimmy big time for rigging that one for him). Night two, he'd slipped away with her after his last show and kissed her senseless behind the House of Mirrors. Night three, he'd grabbed her hand, turned on a flashlight in the other, and pulled her far from the madding crowd to the strategically placed blanket he'd left for them. He had exactly a half-hour before his next show, after which he had private readings, then his father was expecting him to help the other carnie folk begin tearing down the Midway rides. Thirty minutes was all he was going to have with Julie, and he was going to make the most of it.

If there was something Patrick could do better than pretending to know all and see all, it was sex. He had it down to a science. Take care of the girl first—five to ten minutes. Then, five minutes was all for him, ending with both of them happy. He'd mix it up sometimes to entertain himself—start from the bottom and move to the top. Slow down his rhythm. Speed it up. Thrust his hips differently; maybe throw in a little swivel action. And, on the rare occasions he had more time (and a bed) well, the poor girl wouldn't be able to walk straight for a week.

"Oh, Patrick," Julie was saying, as he rolled off of her and dispensed with the hastily applied condom. "That was…" She was at a loss for words, but with Julie, that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Yeah, baby, I know just what you mean."

He held up his wrist and pressed the small button on the side of his digital watch to illuminate the time. Ten minutes to spare. He grinned and enjoyed the aftermath of a job well and efficiently done, closing his eyes and listening as Julie's breathing began to calm. Then, from a distance, came the plaintive call of one of Julie's friends.

"Julie! Come back! Your dad showed up looking for you!"

"What? Holy shit!"

Julie got to her feet as if spring-loaded. She pulled down her mini skirt (she hadn't been wearing panties, God love her), and fumbled with reclosing the front clasp of her bra. The moment she pulled down her tight pink t-shirt, she slipped on one matching pink Ked, but couldn't find the other. There ensued a frantic search around the rumpled blanket and its perimeter, while Jane watched her in amusement.

"Julie!" came her friend's voice again.

"Dammit!" Julie muttered, then: "I'm coming!"

What? Again? Jane said to himself in supreme satisfaction. He realized suddenly that the lump beneath the edge of his side of the blanket wasn't a clump of grass. With a wide grin, he tossed Julie her shoe.

"Looking for this?"

"Oh, God, thanks!"

Then, shoe in place, she took a moment to lean down and slip her tongue between his lips in gratitude, her hands delving into his close-cropped curls. She still tasted of cotton candy.

"Hmm," he said against her mouth. "Look me up when we're back this way next year, sweetheart."

"It's a date," she said on a sigh.

"Julie Marie Tillman!" It was a decidedly masculine voice this time. "Get your ass back to this parking lot!" With a small eek, Julie Tillman ran out of his life for good.

Sighing heavily, Jane sat up, re-buttoning his shirt and adjusting the black vest he wore. He pulled up his faded Levi's, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. He was about to slip on his penny loafers, when the sudden click and flash of a lighter drew his attention to a nearby tree. He saw the flare of a cigarette tip igniting and heard a feminine sigh of satisfaction as she took a long drag.

"You like to watch or something?" he called to his visitor.

He heard her exhale the smoke she'd held in her lungs, then reply in a throaty voice that skated along his spine: "I sort of missed the first act, but that ending was pretty entertaining. Better than a sitcom without the laugh track."

Now, normally this was a situation where Patrick might be highly amused, but something about this girl grated on him. Though he didn't actually hear it, he knew she was laughing at him, and that wasn't a reaction he was used to getting from a girl. He put on his shoes and stood up, shaking out the blanket. He could barely make out the outline of a slender frame in the moonlight, and a bob of indecipherably colored hair.

"You ever heard of respecting people's privacy?" he asked.

She blew smoke his way and chuckled dryly. "Hey, I was just taking a walk, minding my own business, when I stumbled upon this interesting little scene. I had no idea this was the local lover's lane; I just needed a smoke."

"It can be pretty dangerous for a girl out here, alone in the dark," he said menacingly. "All kinds of weirdos hang out at the carnival." He didn't know why, but he wanted to scare her, put her in her place somehow. She only laughed and blew out more smoke. He hated girls who smoked.

"Julie didn't seem too scared. As a matter of fact, she seemed to enjoy your uh…company."

He wadded up the blanket and shoved it beneath his arm, then switched on his flashlight. He couldn't resist shining it in the girl's direction. She didn't act surprised or annoyed by his action, just stood casually, puffing away at her cigarette. Jane, however felt like he was the deer in the headlights. The girl was gorgeous. Light brown, sun streaked hair in a sleek bob, her long legs encased in dark jeans. Her upper body's shape was disappointingly hidden by an oversized t-shirt, though it hung tantalizingly off one bare shoulder. Amused brown eyes squinted at him in the bright beam of light, as her full lips sensually encircled her cigarette, leaving a rose colored circle of lip gloss. He swallowed.

"Now who likes to watch?" she said, flicking her ash into the sandy loam beneath her sandaled feet.

He lowered the flashlight at once. A loud beeping broke the spell, and Jane automatically hit a button on his watch. It was almost time for his next show.

"Shit," he said. "I'm late."

"Your next conquest waiting in the wings?" she asked.

"No. I've got a show to do."

"Oh, you're a carnie. I should have known."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, unaccountably offended at her tone.

"I admit you're not the usual grungy looking guy you see working at a carnival, but you're still like all the other men who do—a floozy in every port, or maybe a lot lizard who follows the carnival from town to town."

He couldn't deny it, so he didn't bother trying.

"So what is it you do?" she persisted curiously. "You're not built enough to be the strong man, and I see no visible tattoos or weird deformities. Magician, maybe?"

"Not exactly. Psychic," he said, and he didn't know why that admission embarrassed him all of a sudden. It was a good living, though perhaps not exactly an honest one.

"Ah," she said knowingly. "You're Wonder Boy."

"Boy Wonder," he corrected her, but that seemed to sound even worse to his ears.

"So, you any good, Wonder Boy?" she asked, ignoring his correction. "Can you tell what's in a woman's purse at fifty feet? Communicate with someone's dead grandmother whose crossed over?"

He took a step toward her. "Oh, I'm good, all right. At all kinds of things."

He couldn't see her smirk, but he could somehow sense it. Maybe he was psychic.

"Yeah, I'll bet, if Julie's screams were any indication. Maybe I'll check out your show. I mean, your other show." She chuckled softly at her own joke. Patrick wasn't laughing, but she didn't seem to care.

"Yeah, you do that. Well, it's been real, but I gotta go," he said, feeling decidedly lame. What was it with this girl?

"I'm not stopping you, am I?"

"Nope," and as far as last words went, that was about as lame as it got. He kicked himself all the way back to the carnival lights, thinking in hindsight of all the clever things he might have said to her, but she'd somehow taken him off balance, annoyed the hell out of him, and turned him on, all at the same time. In his mind's eye he could still see her where he'd left her in the moonlight with her cigarette, and he kicked himself once more for not asking her name. What the hell was wrong with him?

His father was waiting impatiently for him at the rear of the Boy Wonder tent.

"You're late, Paddy."

"I know, I know," Patrick said in annoyance, brushing past him before he could open his mouth to lambast him further. He went into his small dressing area, buttoned his vest, and put on his long, red brocade suit coat with the velvet collar. He wouldn't have time to change out of his jeans, but he pulled on his knee-high black boots, and tied the black cravat at his neck. He took one look at the silly gold and red turban on his mirrored vanity and rebuffed it in disgust, telling himself it had nothing to do with the notion that the girl with the cigarette might actually show up to watch him. It was time to streamline his act, to make himself seem more sophisticated and mysterious, like David Copperfield, for example. David Copperfield never wore a stupid turban.

He was moving toward the opening of the stage, when his father's hand grabbed his forearm.

"Put on your turban, Paddy," Alex Jane all but growled.

"I'm tired of that damn thing. It's hot and sweaty and makes me look ridiculous. I'm twenty years old, Dad, don't you think it's time I updated my image?"

"Shit, Paddy. Again with that? Look, I let you change your image three years ago, and this is what you came up with yourself."

It was definitely better than the Boy Scout inspired outfit he used to wear, complete with short pants and bandana around his neck.

"Well, the turban was your idea," Patrick added petulantly.

His father gave a sigh of supreme impatience.

"Look, I just had word an hour ago that the new owners of the carnival showed up unexpectedly to look over the place, see what works and what they can get away with cutting. I don't plan on our act being the one that gets the ax, so if it ain't broke, don't even try to fix it, especially not tonight. Now put that goddamn turban on and give 'em what they paid for, understand?"

Patrick shrugged off the older man's grip and grabbed the offending hat. He looked quickly in the mirror to make sure it was on straight, took a deep breath, and waited for his father to go out and introduce him.

His act went very much as usual, starting simply with guessing the contents of a few purses, then a few cold readings that had the crowd oohhing and awwwing at his "powers," but then he ended with his most popular talent: connecting with the Great Beyond. The other stuff was mainly guesswork, using mentalist skills he'd learned from reading and watching other mentalists. But this psychic medium act was what elicited the greatest emotional responses, had people filling the hat Alex passed around after each successful communication with a lost loved one. But it was also the most difficult part of his act to appear convincing. He had to force himself to believe his own crap, at least for appearances' sake.

At first, Patrick had looked for Cigarette Girl to arrive, but when he didn't see her, he settled easily into the groove of his work and managed to push the image of her moist lips wrapped around her cigarette to the back of his mind. He was about to end the show, when the flap of the tent opened once more, and in stepped…her.

"I, uh, have time for one more foray into the other side, ladies and gentleman," he said, his heart picking up speed at the sight of her. She was even more beautiful in the fully lit tent. Several hands went up, but Patrick only had eyes for the girl with the rose-lipped pout and the raised eyebrows.

"How about you, little lady?" he asked Cigarette Girl. "I'm sensing you've experienced a recent loss in your life." He closed his eyes and grasped the microphone dramatically. "I'm sensing it was…a woman. Yes. She's waiting to hear from you…she misses you. It's your…grandmother…no, your great grandmother. You called her…Granny." He opened his eyes to see the girl standing in the back of the tent, still as stone.

"Yes," she said softly, but her voice carried to the stage like a loudspeaker. A few in the audience gasped.

"And Granny, she called you…her little…angel. Am I right?"

Cigarette Girl paled slightly, but nodded her agreement.

Patrick felt a sudden, unfathomable connection with her that went far beyond his intuitive guesses. He surprised the hell out of his dad as well as himself when he took the microphone off its stand and hopped down from the stage to walk closer to his mark. He strolled to the very back of the tent where Cigarette Girl leaned casually against a tent pole.

Her brown eyes widened at his approach, and when Patrick tentatively reached out to take her hand, a jolt of pure electricity coursed through his body. He struggled to gather his wits, and then he caught the brief flash of amusement in her gaze. It suddenly hit him that he was being played, but good. But despite his sudden, intense anger, for the sake of his job, the show must go on.

"I can feel Granny in the room with us," Patrick said, squeezing the girl's hand a little more tightly than he should. His actions only made her lips quirk so quickly he thought he'd imagined it.

"She says…"-and he closed his eyes for effect-"'Angel, you must stop smoking behind your father's back. Stop hiding your nasty habit beneath the cover of darkness. You don't want to die of cancer, like I did…'"

She tried to release his hand, but he wouldn't let her, and now, when he opened his eyes, they held the spark of amused satisfaction, while she wrestled with her extreme annoyance.

"'I'm here to save you from a horrible death,'" he said, continuing to channel Granny. "'Put away the cigarettes; if not for yourself, then for me…will you please, my sweet, sweet Angel?"

"Yes," said the girl tightly.

The audience applauded, and he brought the girl's hand up to his lips before releasing her with a flourish. Her freed hand tightened into a fist at her side. Patrick smiled at her and then to the crowd.

"Thank you, ladies and gentleman," his father was saying from the stage. "But this kind of connection always tires poor Patrick. Please, give him a little something extra for his efforts. And remember, he does give private readings for an hour after the show."

There'd be hell to pay later for his unorthodox reading, but at that moment, Patrick couldn't care less. He'd gotten the better of Cigarette Girl; that was all that mattered.

"Good night, everyone," Patrick added, turning back to the crowd. "And I'd like to end my show with a bit of advice: always keep an open mind."

There was more applause, and the passed hat was quickly filled to the brim with cash from the highly entertained customers. Patrick walked back to the stage door, but couldn't resist glancing back to where he'd left the angry girl. He shouldn't have been surprised that she was gone, but he tried to suppress his disappointment.

Back stage, he took off the turban and collapsed tiredly into his dressing room chair. He stared at himself in the vanity mirror. Many women had called him beautiful, and he used to hate that description. He'd wanted to look tough, but he'd been cursed with pretty boy looks that were a constant source of ribbing from the other carnie kids. When older women started paying attention to him, and when he discovered that his charm made them give him more money, he began to see the positive side of his "curse." That's why it rankled that Cigarette Girl seemed immune.

"What have I told you about smoking, young lady?" came a man's low, gruff voice from outside the rear entrance of his tent.

"Dad, I'm eighteen, old enough to decide what I want to do with my lungs."

"You're still under my roof, girl, and your mother and I don't want you smelling up the trailer with that dirty habit of yours."

Patrick grinned. Cigarette Girl was in trouble with Daddy. Serves her right.

Then, to his surprise, the door flap was lifted, and she and a giant walked in like they owned the place. Patrick got quickly to his feet.

"Uh, excuse me, but if you're looking for private readings, my father handles those in the main stage area."

"Sit down, son," said the man, who looked like he'd just walked off a bottle of Mr. Clean, down to the impossibly large muscles, thick neck, and bald head. "We're not here to arrange any private anythings; this is strictly business."

Patrick lowered himself slowly back into his chair. "Business? My father handles the business."

"Oh, come on, psychic boy; I thought you would be better than that," he said with an amused grin, vaguely reminiscent of his daughter's. Jane looked from the father to the girl and back again, and the truth hit him like a punch in the nose.

"You're the Ruskins," he said in awe. The new owner of the carnival company was Ruskin Attractions, and he'd been played by none other than the boss's daughter. A slow smile spread across her beautiful face at his pole-axed expression.

"Hi again, Wonder Boy," said the new bane of his existence.

"It's Boy—"he began angrily, but her father intervened.

"I'm Teddy Ruskin, by the way. I was listening just outside the tent door. You were pretty good, kid."

"He didn't really talk to Granny though," said the girl. "Half of what he said was pure bullshit."

Ruskin directed an annoyed glare at his daughter. "Language, missy. He got enough right, I'd say."

"Ha. Granny's alive and well in San Diego. I'd say that's a pretty big miss."

Patrick shrugged sheepishly. "It's not an exact science."

"It's not a science at all," she replied haughtily, "unless swindling naïve women is a science."

"Got your name right, though, didn't he? Granny does call you Angel, Angela."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. Angela. Well, she might look like an angel…

"And he wasn't wrong about your smoking either. You fairly reek of it."

"Well, there was nothing psychic about that guess. He saw me smoking after he screwed a groupie out by the parking lot."

Teddy Ruskin directed menacing eyes at Patrick. "No carousing with the customers, boy. I won't have this company sued for sexual harassment, you got me?"

Angela crossed her arms over her chest, smirking at Patrick with laughing brown eyes.

That interfering bitch, he thought.

Well now they were at an impasse. He could already tell he'd have to find out something else to hold over her or there'd be no stopping her. He'd met her less than an hour ago, and already she was well on her way to ruining his life.

"Yes, sir," he replied finally, his jaw set and tense.

"Good. See, Angela, another right answer. Your name really Patrick, like it says on the sign?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Patrick, I think it'll be a pleasure having you work for me. As a matter of fact, you could really help me out if you take my son, Danny, under your wing. Teach him the business."

"Daddy, no—"

"Hush, little girl. Daddy's doing business here. Danny's got some real potential, but he's a bit, shall we say, untamed. You help me straighten him out and put him on the road to success, I'll bring you along, Patrick."

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but my father—"

"Your father is happy to do anything for the Ruskins," said Alex Jane, as he came to the back of the tent via the stage entrance. He held out a hand to Teddy Ruskin, and Jane watched his father's hand disappear into the giant man's paw.

"Alex Jane, sir. Great to meet you."

"Likewise, Jane, likewise. I was just telling your boy here he'd be a great influence on my son."

"Yeah, I heard that part." Alex walked over to Patrick, clasping him firmly on the shoulder. "Patrick would love to help, wouldn't you Patrick?"

His eyes were both imploring and threatening, and Patrick knew if he refused his father, there would be hell to pay—he'd learned that long ago.

"Sure," he said tightly.

"Good, good. Great to hear it," said Ruskin, as if there had been any doubt of his acceptance. "Look, Jane, we're going to travel with the team for the next few gigs, get to know the people, possibly do some streamlining. We brought our own trailer and everything. It'll be like old times when you kids were little, eh, Angela?"

"Sure, Dad," she said coldly.

What's this? The Carnival Princess didn't like the family business? Interesting.

He could work with this.

"Well, we'll talk more later, Jane. Patrick, I'll send Danny round tomorrow. I know it'll be a busy day, what with the teardown and pack-up, but Danny needs to know the sweaty side of the business too, right?"

"That's what I've always said to Patrick, Mr. Ruskin."

"Teddy, please. Hey, great show, Patrick, sincerely. But we gotta do something about that costume. Turbans went out with Johnny Carson."

"Yeah, I was just telling Paddy the same thing," Alex lied.

Patrick kept his face obediently blank.

"Well, good night, Jane family."

"'Night, Teddy," said Alex. "Pleasure meeting you. And you, Miss Ruskin." He nodded to the girl. The two men shook hands again, and Angela and her father exited the tent from whence they'd come.

Patrick didn't wait for his father to excuse him, but trotted out the door after their new employer.

"Hey, Angela," he called. "Could I have a word with your lovely daughter, Mr. Ruskin?"

"Well, aren't you the charmer," said Ruskin. "Sure. Honey, you come right back to the trailer; the carnival's closing in an hour and I want you out of the way of the tear-down."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, but it was easy to see she would rather have escaped Patrick's company altogether. When Ruskin had disappeared into the noisy crush of the Midway, Patrick's kiss-ass smile faded.

"What do you want, Wonder Boy?"

"Look, sweetheart," he said, his tone dangerously soft, "I don't give a rat's ass who your daddy is, you stay out of my personal business."

He made a point of stepping uncomfortably close to her, invading her personal space. She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unafraid of him, but livid as a wet cat. He tried to ignore how stunning she looked by the flashing colored lights of the carnival, especially close up.

"Oh? You didn't seem to mind getting into mine when you ratted out my smoking. I was just getting even."

"Well, then we're even. Now stay the hell away from me."

"You're the one who chased me out of your tent, Paddy," she pointed out.

"Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, Angel."

"Don't call me that. Nobody calls me that but my Granny."

"Well, unless you're my father, I generally punch people in the face who call me Paddy."

They were nearly nose-to-nose now, and Jane felt an overwhelming desire to wipe that taunting smirk off her face with a hard, thorough kiss. She saw his intention in time to take a step back, and turned quickly on her heel, leaving him standing on the dusty path.

"See you around, Wonder Boy," she called, but as she walked away, Patrick saw her hand go to her heart, as if to keep it from pounding out of her chest. He got to her too, he realized. The look on her face right before he'd made a move to kiss her was sheer terror. Well, there was some satisfaction in that.

He returned to the tent flap, so preoccupied with thoughts of Angela Ruskin that he nearly ran into his father, who had been listening unabashedly by the door.

"Holy shit, Dad! What's the big idea, eavesdropping?"

"We're in, Paddy, we're in!"

"Yeah, yeah, I was there, Dad, remember?" he said sullenly.

"Well, you be sure and give his boy the royal treatment, you hear? And that Angela girl, well I expect you to start acting more like a gentleman around her. Her family's like royalty, and you need to treat her like the princess she is."

He hated how he and his father thought alike so often, especially about the way they'd both characterized Angela Ruskin as a princess.

"Seems to me she's a spoiled little brat, and I'm not about to cater to daddy's little girl just so you can get in good with the boss."

Alex paused to evaluate his son's demeanor. The boy was worked up, all right, in a way he had never seen him before. It wasn't like him to suddenly lose his charming ways, especially where a beautiful woman was concerned. He replayed in his mind the conversation between them that he'd overheard, and a plan began to form in his mind, like a snake who suddenly spies a helpless rabbit. Alex changed his own attitude immediately, settling in for the long con.

"You need to think about your own future, Paddy, when I'm gone and you've got the run of things."

"I've thought about that a lot, believe me," he said wryly.

"And it's obvious that girl has the hots for you."

"Yeah, right," Patrick said skeptically, but he remembered how Angela's breath had caught audibly as he'd stood so closely to her, how her eyes had fallen to his mouth, then hastily back to his eyes. There was no mistaking her desire, but she was such a bitch, he was sure it wouldn't be worth all the trouble.

Alex resisted lashing back and putting the mouthy boy in his place. There was a big picture here, and he needed Patrick to see it. "That girl is an heir to an empire, son. You get your hooks in her, and you could literally own our world. Just think of it. Everyone here would work for you. And from what I hear, that family owns five more carnivals just like this one, some even bigger. You'd never have to tear down a Ferris wheel again. This would secure your future, Paddy."

"And yours, you mean." He was a bright kid, all right, just like he'd raised him to be.

"Well, uh, sure. I won't lie when I say I worry about where I'll spend my last days. Medical bills are expensive."

Patrick's head jerked up as he looked at his father more closely. "Something you're not telling me, Dad?"

"This isn't really the time, Paddy. You've got a private reading in about five minutes…"

"What's goin' on?"

Alex turned his back to hide his triumphant grin, oddly pleased that Patrick seemed so genuinely alarmed.

"You know when I went into Sacramento the other day?"

"Yeah, you said you were going to the track."

"I did, but it was mainly to see a doctor and get some test results back."

Patrick held his breath.

"And…?"

"And, it's the big C, Paddy. Just like what killed your mama."

"What?"

Patrick felt his world tilt on its axis. He couldn't do this again, watch someone he loved waste away before his eyes in a damn hospital bed. He hated hospitals, had vowed he'd never step foot in one again after that. But mostly he hated feeling helpless and out of control, and while he and his father definitely had their ups and downs, he didn't deserve to die that way. Not to mention it had taken ten years to pay off his mother's hospital bills.

"Yes, prostate cancer," his father was saying. "But the doctor assures me it's in its early stages. But you never know, Paddy. You never know."

"Jesus, Dad. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was waiting for the right time, but realized there would never be one. That's why I'm trying to think of both our futures here. What if this thing puts me out of commission for a while? And the bills…"

"Jesus," Patrick said again.

"Hey, it's not like the girl is a dog, right? A man can put up with a lot with a looker like that on his arm. Keep an open mind," he added, throwing his own words back at him.

Alex walked over to his son, held him by the shoulders as he looked him in the eyes with the utmost sincerity. "Just think about it, Paddy, okay? Now, don't keep your customer waiting out there…"

Customer? He expected him to go out and give a psychic reading when his head was spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl?

"But, Dad—"

"No, buts, Son. The show must go on, remember?"

Alex picked up the turban and shoved it into Patrick's numb fingers. "You got this, Paddy. Go make your old man proud."

He watched Patrick slowly put on the hat—without argument—and walk back onto the stage, where Alex had set up a velvet-covered table and dimmed the lights dramatically.

Alex grinned. "I should have started dying years ago," he said to himself. "Kids don't know what's good for 'em. What's a father to do?"

A/N: Well, please tell us what you think. Starry19 is up next!