“Pretty much.” She pulled out a couple of empty chairs, and we sat down. “It depends, though. I mean, people move around a lot, but then you have the regulars who are content to stay. Some are only here seasonally and then pack up and head off to other pastures for a while.”
“What does everyone do out here? How do they make money?”
Luna smirked. “Haven’t you heard that all gypsies are con artists?”
I knew she was joking, but it hit home for me, considering that I was. “I thought you said they weren’t all gypsies,” I replied.
“They aren’t.” She shrugged. “But we’re all tarred with the same brush because we live together. We get a bad rap, especially in Vegas because of a few bad apples. Some do run cons, but these people here are solid. They do good, honest work. Some have local jobs, or some just do seasonal work. A lot of the gypsies will leave the women home to tend to the children while the men work. It just depends on the family, really.”
I sat back and took in the buzzing excitement of a community free from the rules of society. “So where exactly does that leave you in all of this?”
“You mean because I’m single?” Luna teased. “I get by. I actually have a job in the city if you can believe that. I wait tables at a diner a few nights a week.”
“You forgot to mention your real talent,” another woman chimed in as she sat down beside us. “I bet you didn’t even know who you were sitting next to here, did you?”
Luna rolled her eyes. “She isn’t here for any of that, Tillie.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Tillie leaned forward, her face dead serious as she spoke in a whisper. “She’s a fortune teller. But not one of those scammer ones. She’s the real deal. I get chills just thinking about it.”
She rubbed her arms, and Luna bobbed her foot up and down in annoyance. “You’re going to scare the poor girl off before she even gets to know us.”
“Says the girl who brought her here for the circle.” Tillie laughs.
I looked at Luna in question. “Circle?”
“It’s a fire circle,” she explained. “I thought maybe you’d like to see it. Every month or so, we come together for this.”
“Speaking of,” Tillie cut in. “We should go get ready. Are you going to have her dance too?”
Luna offered me a mischievous look. “You can’t call yourself a gypsy if you don’t learn how to dance.”
The idea of dancing for anyone was the last thing I’d ever entertain, but as I watched the people come together around the fire and prepare for whatever was about to take place, I couldn’t say I wasn’t tempted. For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted to know my culture, and this was my chance. I just didn’t know if I had it in me to be a real gypsy.
“Just come and get ready with us,” Luna said. “Then you can decide.”
I followed her to her trailer, and she gave me the grand tour in about two minutes flat. “That’s the bedroom.” She pointed at a small space where her mattress was crammed. “Kitchen. Bathroom. And that’s it really.”
“It’s cute,” I said, and I meant it.
She had done a lot with only a little space. There were vibrant colors everywhere, and it was clean and homey. I wasn’t one to deny my affinity for creature comforts, but there was something to be said for a space that was as warm and comfortable as this one.
“It’s mine.” Luna smiled proudly. “Bought it with my own money, and there’s no greater feeling than that.”
I smiled back, but it was tinged with guilt.
“Here.” She opened a chest and pulled out a gold outfit that looked like it was straight out of a Vegas showgirl’s wardrobe. “This would look amazing on you.”
I eyed the three-piece costume that consisted of a bedazzled skirt, coin belt, and bra. Heat crawled up my neck when I thought about exposing that much skin. It was an instinctual reaction, a product of a childhood where I was the star of every man’s sick fantasy.
Before I could say no, Luna was in front of me, her brows pinched together in concern. Without a word, she took my hands in hers, as if she were trying to read me. “You don’t have to be nervous. This isn’t for anyone else but you.”
“I don’t think I should,” I said politely as I pulled away.
“You have no reason to be ashamed of anything,” she said. “This isn’t about displaying your body. It’s about your femininity. Your beauty. Your mystery. All the things that make you who you are.”
I looked at the costume again, heat flaming my cheeks. When she put it that way, it seemed silly that I would make it out to be anything else. I knew my mother loved to dance. I remembered watching her, mesmerized by the way she was able to maneuver her hips. It seemed magical to me, and I tried it many times on my own after she died, desperately longing to feel a connection with her.