by R. E. Rose
20.
Magical Burlesque
I sent a tipsy and happy Glendie home in a cab. Her giant prize had to ride in the trunk of the cab. Once I felt Glendie was safely on her way, I gave up looking for Tommy Black. I called Emi.
“Hey, Jane, what’s up? You want to practice some more for my act?” She asked.
“Emilia, there is no way I will let you throw a knife at me, ever.”
“I don’t throw them at you. I throw them around you.”
“No.”
“Okay, whatever you say. What’s up then?”
“Maisie wants you back at the shop.”
“What’s new?” She asked, and I imagined her rolling her eyes.
I decided right then and there that I would do my pole dancing at the fair; that way I couldn’t be talked into doing Emi’s act. I had to convince her that my show was for real. Then maybe she’d leave me alone.
“Before you head back to her, can you meet me at the sideshow, Tent A?”
“What’s there?” she asked.
“Me. That’s where I dance,” I said in a soft, shy voice.
I got to Tent A before Emi, and I went in. The place was quiet, with about a hundred empty seats. The lights came on automatically, and three poles made a triangular formation on the stage, with the largest pole up front and the other two to the sides and back; this allowed the audience to view three dancers on stage at the same time. I tested the stage’s sturdiness, did a few practice twirls and spins around the main pole.
“Mzzz. Starr, I’m here.” Emilia sat in one of the middle seats to watch me rehearse.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Good.”
“I still have the magical outfit Maisie gave me when she wanted me to dance for Vince Cabria.”
“Oh, that’s a good thing,” she said.
“Thanks a lot!”
“Kidding, but it does help,” she said, backpeddling.
“Yeah, it does.” I agreed. “It’s a small stage, but a strong one.”
“So it won’t collapse, in case anyone falls off the pole?” she said, smartly.
“Ha, ha very funny.” I stuck out my tongue. “I’m going to check out the costume change stalls, wanna come with?”
The tiny and tight change area left no room for a deep breath, but the space worked. My costume hung from a hook like a small spangled purse, and my dressing gown hung like an empty satin skin. I wondered who’d brought my things.
“I did. I confess,” Emilia said, probably reading my mind.
“Well, as long as they didn’t materialize on their own.”
“Nope. I wanted to help you out and thought maybe, you know – you’d scratch my back.”
“I’m not doing the knife throwing act.” I gave her my deadly serious tone. “I don’t have time for it because I am pole dancing!
“Okay, okay; well, then, if you don’t want to practice with me, I’ve got to get back to work. Maisie doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Emi pulled out one of her throwing knives, and it flashed in the mirror and lights.
“What time is Maisie coming back to the fair?” I asked, ignoring her knife.
“She wants to catch the opening ceremonies, so I better hustle. I will see you at the main tent in about a half hour.” Emilia left.
“See you there,” I said, feeling a little abandoned.
I’d wanted Emi to watch my rehearsal.
I went back out, and a couple of other women turned up to practice their burlesque act, and to put their costumes in back. They didn’t pole dance. With no one to watch me, I left. The burlesque ladies chatted about hitting their marks on the small stage.
I decided to make my way to the main stage tent. If I wanted to get a seat I needed to get there a little early. The grounds, more crowded than ever, made losing my way a real possibility. For some reason, before I headed to the main tent, I decided to try Huckster’s Alley one more time. I’m not sure why I did that. Even if I found Tommy Black there, all set up and ready to go in his game booth, I didn’t have any time to talk to him. But I followed my compulsion and went.
When I found Tommy’s, I soon realized that he ran a gambling booth and not a ring toss as I’d imagined. He had a mini area within Huckster’s Alley, and inside his tent, a micro version of Vegas sparkled out at me with every gambling contraption a gambler might want. I stopped at the entrance, keeping out of sight. For some reason, it seemed extra quiet around his gambling compound. I found it more than a little odd that no one was up front hustling customers, and collecting cash, so I snuck around the back.
As I approached, I heard voices, men’s voices. Through a small bug screen in the tent wall, I saw the same two thugs from the parking lot – James King and his side kick, Pepé Lance! I heard them ask Tommy for more money.
“Pay up, Black, or else,” Pepé said. The thinner, wirier thug seemed agitated. James put a gentle, meaty hand on Pepé’s shoulder and forced him aside.
“You know the deal, Black, don’t get Pepé fired up,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets.
I looked at Tommy, and he seemed very relaxed. Before he had a chance to respond, Emilia walked in on the men! She came out of nowhere, literally. She had a portal key! She had to! Nothing else explained her sudden appearance.
I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes remained before I needed to get to the main stage tent. I knew there’d be standing room only for me, but I wasn’t going to miss this little show for anything.
“Hi, I’m Emilia Darkiness, Death-Dealer. Who’re you people?” Emi introduced herself, but none of the guys responded to her. They stared at her and didn’t say anything. She turned her attention to Tommy Black, and she asked him who the two gentlemen were. Maybe my imagination worked overtime, but her sword handle, barely visible from inside her backpack, twinkled under the halogens.
“Walk away, Emilia,” Tommy said. He seemed to know her.
From outside the back of Tommy’s tent, I called Emi on her cell, and when she saw my number her eyebrows rose, but she remained cool.
“I’ll catch up with you goons at the next tent. See ya later Tom.” She stepped out and came around to the back where I stood waiting.
She waved me away, and in silence, we walked toward the big top. When I thought we were far enough from Tommy’s to not be overheard, I asked her how they knew each other.
“Jane, I know a lot of characters around town. I work with Maisie, closer than you might think.”
I didn’t say any more. Emilia seemed different, changed and maybe that inner difference did show on the physical change in her belt and in her sparkling sword. She seemed tougher, maybe a little meaner, at least to me it seemed that way.
Her phone went off again. We stopped walking while she pulled out the cell. A big picture of Devon’s handsome face smiled out at her.
“Devon,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “S’up, Dev?” She smiled. We both knew Devon hated being called Dev. She put him on speaker.
“I’m locked in,” he whined.
“When you get out I want you to bring these cards from the deck,” she said. “Listen close. Bring the Temperance, the Wheel-of-Fortune card, and your card.” I heard his response through the phone.
“I can’t bring mine. I’m locked in it.”
“You’re not locked in. Get yourself out. Maisie freed you yesterday.”
A stream of expletives flowed from Devon. When he stopped, he had more to say.
“I can’t bring my card you know that. I will end up putting myself back inside the deck if I touch it while I’m in the shop.”
“Use one of Maisie’s silks. They’re hanging in the windows. You can carry your card inside a silk hanky. Wrap the selected cards tight and find a secure box to put the cards in.” She ended the call.
“I thought Maisie had the deck here, tonight, so she can do her readings.”
“Different deck. She doesn’t like to take chances with the cursed one.”
&
nbsp; “Sure. I get that.” But really, I didn’t. Clearly, I didn’t understand all the rules surrounding the deck. Silks? A different deck? Some cards removed? Would they work in her Abu Dhabi tent? And how had Devon put himself back inside his own card? I felt like I was back in the land of Cheshire.
As we neared the big top the music got louder. The crowds got thicker. The smell of delicious food made my stomach fold in pain. I didn’t realize how hungry the smell of the food made me. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I told Emilia I wanted a hot dog and a drink, but she wasn’t interested in food.
I left her and found a small food stand that sold wieners and chicken wings, and ordered both. Ravenous, I stood near the food stand and wolfed down my meal. I didn’t want to go far in case I needed more. I ordered an ice tea and carried it away with me. The food and drink did the trick, and I headed inside the big top.
Emilia hovered around the inside entrance.
As I walked toward the tent, I looked at the faces of the crowd. I didn’t recognize anybody and for some reason that surprised me. I hadn’t realized so many people lived in the area, and I didn’t know who they were.
“Emilia!” I tried to get her attention but saw her step deeper into the tent, and I worried I might lose her. And of course, I did.
People rushed to their seats. Small girls with miniature skyscrapers of pink, blue, and green candy floss skipped to their seats, their sticky candy held high so as not to accidentally catch it on anything. And the little boys all had balloons with pictures of clown faces on them, so when the children sat, a sea of clown faces and a checkering of floss colours spotted the horizon. The seat takers all held big long, red tickets in their hands. The assigned seating didn’t seem to alleviate the chaos.
I didn’t have a ticket and therefore, no seat, but when I looked down because my shoe stuck to the floor, I saw a dropped ticket and picked it up. I went to the seat assignment and considered myself lucky to be near the front row and center of the three rings.
Never before had I ever experienced an old-fashioned circus carnival.
I stretched my neck looking for Emilia, Maisie, anyone, but in the crowd of hundreds, I sat alone. I got comfortable, and the lights dimmed. A din of silence rippled across the audience, through the air, and the anticipation built until babies started to cry.
Quiet, hypnotic music started up; harps and violins, and electric guitars, along with drumming. I expected to see a band of musicians appear under a spot light, but that didn’t happen. The music exploded into crescendo after crescendo of sound, and the spotlight went crazy and threw itself all around the darkened watchers. The circle of light behaved like a crazy flying animal and then landed in the middle of the grand center ring.
Two smaller rings of light landed in the centers of the two rings next to the big center ring. Up through the centers of all three rings rose the Emcees: first, two young ladies in the smaller rings, both dressed in tuxedos and top hats and sequins and sparkles, each carried a cane.
The one on my left wore a burgundy coloured tux, the other, on my right, wore a silky and satiny green looking tux; their top hats matched their outfits. They pointed their canes to the center ring. The last emcee rose slowly from the ground, and people cheered nonstop.
When I saw who rose up in the center ring, I nearly choked. Devon Raker, dressed in a long tailed, white tux with a white top hat and spats, and he looked ready to attend his own wedding. He did a little soft shoe and everyone thunder clapped. Someone tossed him a fiddle.
He abandoned his cane, and it remained standing straight up all on its own, waiting for its owner. He grabbed the violin and played a short melodramatic piece that had the audience crying. Then he played a whirlwind waltz that got everyone’s feet tapping. He made an irreverent toss of the fiddle into the darkness. He grabbed his cane and looked sharply up at the crowd.
A silver wireless microphone plummeted downward from the dark rafters, like a small diving bird. Devon caught it in one hand. Who knew such showmanship existed in him? He spoke into the microphone, and his deep, rough voice echoed throughout the grounds.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! But especially the ladies!” And the crowd loved him. “Welcome to the Saturnalia Ball!”
And the music started up again, especially the fiddle, the sound made me want to stand up and dance.
“You may dance in your seats,” he said, and they did. A full head of candy floss flew down from the rafters and landed in my lap, followed by the paper cone it no doubt once sat in. As the crowd got rowdy Devon continued. “Tonight we have a special guest at Meadowvale’s Saturnalia! Do you want to meet our special guest?” The crowd went wild. “Do you want to know what she does?” I twigged on the word ‘she.’ I’d expected a male.
“Welcome Lady Lucilla, the Bringer of Light. See her ride in on Gaia, the mystical white elephant from the exotic lands of Asia!”
Except for a single spot aimed on the velvety, black wall of the center ring, the lights went down, and an enormous, white elephant emerged from the darkness behind center ring, and on its back sat what I would describe as the princess of glitter.
As the elephant stepped into the ring and walked round in a slow, lumbering pace, the audience got a good look at Lady Lucilla, the High Priestess of Light. She rode on the forward hump of the great beast, her slim legs out in front, daintily crossed at the ankles, her toes covered with glistening rings. Her white bodice, like the beast she rode, sparkled like a million stars.
Her arms she held straight out from her sides, parallel to her shoulders, like a ballerina might do in dance. Her head dress glittered, while what seemed like a million long white peacock feathers, sprinkled with crystal bling, fountained out of the headdress. The elephant’s head gear matched her mistresses’, but smaller! The elephant’s large toenails twinkled with large diamonds on each nail. A spectacle indeed!
Lady Lucilla did some fancy maneuvers on the back of Gaia, and the elephant continued her long, slow lumber around the giant circle. In a few of their short carnival routines, the elephant used her trunk to suspend the sparkling lady over the crowds in various contortions.
Meanwhile, Devon, emcee, continued to raise the temperature of the crowd by introducing act after act. It reminded me of the opening of an Olympic Games ceremony, all of the countries introduced before they performed. That’s exactly what the Saturnalia Ball became.
In the two smaller rings clowns swarmed together, wearing team uniforms, one group silver the other red. Devon introduced them as the Silver Bullets and the Razors! And they were going to entertain us with clown football. They stayed inside their assigned circles and ran in opposite directions, doing pregame running skills.
Overhead, acrobats lowered into viewing position from the rafters. A huge net shot across the interior and hooked up to the other end of the building. People went wild as the acrobats dropped like colorful, twinkling fruit from the dark heavens.
I sat close enough to see the faces of the two acrobats who clambered out of the net, and I recognized Cassandra Baranova! Beside her, holding her hand and bowing to the audience, Drake Hellman. They looked neither stoned nor drugged. They ran and bounced across the net and scrambled up the ladder, Drake ahead of Cassie.
They were back up in the high, dark rafters in no time. I tried to keep track of them, but up there too many performers skipped and leaped which made it nearly impossible to identify any of the acrobats. They glittered like jewels as they posed on the bars and perches like exotic birds against the darkness of the big top.
Devon announced a magic act about to take place in ring one. In ring two, a high diver readied himself for the big plunge into what appeared to be the tiniest barrel of water I’d ever seen. His act was called, “The Hanged Man’s Folly.” I didn’t want to watch, and I didn’t know where to look.
Then I noticed a magician came out of the shadows spinning and swirling inside the glittery, magical Cape of Mystery, and when he stopped Malcolm Press stood stock s
till, arms out, cape blowing and flapping.
Devon announced Malcolm as “The Magician of Mayhem!” Malcolm ran up to the audience. His magic wand pointed at them! The crowd went wild.
Devon redirected their attention to the high diver about to plummet into an impossibly small tank. I looked away from the diver and right into the glistening eyes of Malcolm the Magician. I really didn’t want to connect with the magician. I gulped and looked away from him and back toward the jumper.
The Hanged Man leapt from his diving board, and as he plummeted toward the barrel it grew smaller! The audience gasped. I screamed as the barrel became thimble sized. The hanged man never reached it. An almost invisible bungee rope yanked him back. His peril averted, I watched, riveted as his third bungee bounce took the diver up into the dark rafters, where he vanished into thin air. The rope snapped and writhed as if it had a will of its own, searching the empty air for its rider. The audience went ballistic.
When I looked back toward Malcolm’s magic act, he now led a young child from the audience toward a wooden box. He put her inside. Encased with only her head, hands and feet exposed, she smiled out to everyone as sweet as a butterfly in a tree.
He began to saw her up with a buzz saw. When he finished cutting the box into about twelve pieces, he appeared to throw pieces of her out into the audience. I screamed again when I caught an arm and quickly realized it was the limb of a doll, not a child.
He threw her body parts into various places inside of the three rings. They rolled to a stop. The audience went dead quiet. Somewhere a drum beat played and with each hit of the drum the glittery pieces of doll vibrated, then levitated into the space around Malcolm and circled him like satellite debris.
The pieces danced and bounced following the rhythm of Malcolm’s hands. He used his wand like a band leader’s baton, and the band played music for the macabre jig of doll parts. Malcolm acted like he got bored of his routine. With a dramatic yawn and a pat to his lips with his white, gloved hand, he used his wand to snap the floating pieces together, but something went wrong.
