Dumbo

by Kari Sutherland

  Colette didn’t seem to be wearing makeup and had on a simple black leotard. Surprisingly, her hair was short—she must have worn a wig most of the time. Her natural hair color suited her better, Holt thought. Shaking his head, he sized her up. She was petite, but muscled. Dumbo would have no trouble lifting her—it was whether his ears could hold them both in the air that worried Holt.

  “Right. Welcome. For the record, this was not my idea, okay?” Holt led Dumbo out onto the main floor of the tent, which was scattered with equipment. Once in the middle, he attempted to cross his arms, but ended up awkwardly hugging himself with just the one. “Dumbo works alone.”

  “So do I.” Colette tossed her head, then turned to the others. “Bonjour, Milly, Joe…and you.” Warily, she crouched down in front of Dumbo.

  Dumbo edged back, but Milly and Joe prodded him toward her. He spun to face them instead, leaving his tail spinning inches from Colette’s face.

  Colette stood up quickly. “Charming.”

  Better take charge here, Holt thought. “Probably doesn’t recognize you without your makeup.”

  “You speak for the elephant?” Colette said. Her eyebrow arched in challenge.

  “Like Vandevere speaks for you,” Holt countered.

  Colette turned away and began stretching, ignoring him completely.

  “Look, if I gotta teach you to fly—”

  “Oh, I know how to fly,” she interrupted. “Ever since I was a child. And they taught Dumbo to fly, no?” She gestured toward the kids, who elbowed each other in pride. Colette arched an eyebrow at Holt. “So I don’t need your expertise.”

  Holt bristled. “Just so you know, I’ve been to France. It wasn’t a good experience.” Shaking his head, he stepped back and waved at her and the kids to continue. If she wanted them to teach her, so be it. He’d stand by and jump in when things fell apart.

  Focusing on the kids, Colette relaxed. She hated when people looked down on her skills. Maybe he thought she was just a pretty face. He’d never seen her perform; how could he assume she was some beginner? And he clearly thought his precious elephant would be blighted by her presence.

  True, it was endearing how he’d accidentally rubbed hay into his hair as he scratched his head, and he was sweet with Dumbo. Nevertheless, she was more comfortable with Milly and Joe.

  She crouched next to the kids and whispered conspiratorially, “Show me your secret! How on earth does your elephant fly?”

  “Well, first he needs his feather,” Milly said.

  “He won’t fly without a feather.” Joe shook his head emphatically. He bent and opened up a satchel.

  Colette peered inside. It was stuffed to the brim with fluffy white feathers, the kind that poked out of mattresses and pillows. She peered at the kids again. They weren’t joking.

  “Well, then,” she said, “neither will I.”

  Not knowing what to expect, Colette picked up some feathers and held them out to Dumbo. He sniffed them curiously and she backed away, leading him over to a bench with a teeterboard next to it. Once he was on the bench, she stood on the board, tipping it up toward the bench. She tossed the feather into the air. Focused on catching it, Dumbo didn’t notice that he was stepping out until his foot came down on the board, launching Colette off the other end.

  Milly and Joe gasped as the aerialist flung out her arm and expertly caught a ring hanging from a rope. She wove her hands and legs through the lyra and arched her back like the prow of a ship.

  “Whoa, slow down there, princess,” Holt called. “Safety first. Guys, get the nets.” He waved at the guards to come help.

  Colette smiled at Dumbo and waved as the nets were raised.

  “See, Dumbo?” she called. “I fly just like you!” She twirled, her body weaving in and out of the lyra as though it were a dance partner. Dumbo’s eyes followed her, his head cocked to the side. “Now let’s see if you can catch me.”

  Colette dangled a feather above Dumbo. With a quick happy trumpet, Dumbo trotted over to Joe’s bag and sucked up a handful of feathers. His ears flared and flapped…and, with one big push-off, he flew up, up, up.

  “Mon dieu,” Colette whispered. She hadn’t believed until this moment that it was really possible. But there he was, circling the tent until he was ten feet off the ground, eyes wide with excitement…and headed straight for her.

  “Arrêtez, elephant! Arrêtez!” Colette begged him to stop and flung the feather away.

  Dumbo’s ears flared out to brake, but he crashed into the side of the lyra, sending it and her into a wild swing. Colette shrieked as she lost her grip, hanging only by one leg from the ring. Below her, the ground swooped past as the lyra’s momentum carried it back and it smacked into Dumbo from behind.

  “Eeeeuuuggh!” Dumbo trumpeted in surprise. He flapped forward, but his tail was caught in the hook connecting the ring to the rope. Panicking, he tried to escape the strange thing tangled in his tail, his ears pushing him higher and twisting his body this way and that.

  “Aaaaaaah!” Colette screamed as Dumbo’s frantic movements tore the lyra out of her grasp, and she plummeted toward the ground.

  Finally free of the ring, Dumbo froze. He exhaled the feathers and, not flapping, cannoned down.

  Fwwooop. Colette landed in a net and closed her eyes in relief.

  “Look out!” Milly cried.

  Eyes snapping open, Colette saw a ball of gray headed straight for her. She rolled to the side just as Dumbo hit the net, dipping it so far down that she slid back into him.

  A feather drifted down onto Colette’s head. Smiling, Dumbo stuck his trunk out and thwoooped it up.

  “We got some work to do,” Holt’s gruff voice proclaimed.

  Colette struggled free of Dumbo’s legs and flipped over the edge of the net, landing gracefully on the ground. Getting Dumbo down was a whole other spectacle, but the kids and roustabouts helped. Once he was back safely on the ground, Colette rubbed his head.

  They had some practicing to do, but the little elephant had won her heart. He truly was something unexpected. And something special.

  This is really happening. Medici surreptitiously pinched himself through the pocket of his best coat. Though it was a bold checkered pattern, it looked shoddy next to Vandevere’s smooth, simple striped jacket. You can do this, Medici told himself as Sotheby held the door open for them. Medici puffed out his chest. It wasn’t the clothes that made the man, it was how the man wore them—no different from a costume in the ring. So he would wear his with confidence.

  Medici strolled into the headquarters of Dreamland like he owned the place. Which—technically—he supposed he did. Partly.

  Half a dozen desks were arranged inside, with frosted-glass doors leading into unknown chambers. The women and men at the desks rose to their feet as Vandevere followed him in. They eyed Medici with curiosity.

  Sotheby stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Friends and colleagues, let’s give a warm Dreamland welcome to our new executive vice president, Mr. Max Medici. Anything he needs, anything at all, make it happen as you always do.”

  The assistants clapped their hands and smiled as Sotheby led Medici through the desks to one of the doors. Swinging it open, he revealed Medici’s new office.

  Medici’s jaw nearly dropped. The outer wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, giving him a clear view of the amusement park below. An enormous leather chair waited behind a cherrywood desk. Medici forced himself to walk—not run—to the chair and slid into it. The cushion was soft, but the arms of the chair were a tad high for him. No matter.

  In the corner, a second desk and chair was occupied by a gray-haired woman with a pinched mouth. She seemed decidedly less friendly than any of the workers in the central room.

  Sotheby gestured to her. “Miss Verna will handle your schedule, your correspondence, and all your calls. When you’re needed in meetings, she’ll let you know.”

  Medici beamed at her, and she glared back. Maybe she just needed time to warm
up to him. “Are there meetings today?” he asked brightly.

  “I’ll let you know,” Verna snapped. Her fingers slammed down on the keys of the typewriter.

  Vandevere nodded curtly to Medici from the doorway, then turned to go to his own office, Sotheby trailing behind.

  “Mr. Vandevere, one question!” Medici called, half rising from his chair. But the other men were gone, leaving him with the steely-eyed Verna. He plopped back into his seat. “What exactly do I do?” he wondered.

  After hours of practicing—with breaks to let Dumbo rest and give him well-earned rubdowns—Holt sat mending a net, using his teeth as a counterweight for knots, while Milly and Joe rewarded Dumbo with a bucket of peanuts. Across the tent, Colette did backflips and handstands on the teeterboard, keeping her muscles warmed up for the next session. Holt studied her. Her face relaxed as she spun through her moves, seeming to truly enjoy it. Everything around her appeared to drop away, like it was just her, the board, and the air, all in balance. It wasn’t what he’d expected from Vandevere’s starlet.

  “Where’d Vandevere find you?” Holt asked.

  “I was a street performer in Paris,” Colette explained. “And he discovered me. And here I am.” She shrugged at Holt’s bemused stare.

  “Millionaire’s girlfriend. Real tough break,” he joked.

  “Oh, it’s all for show.” Holt’s eyes widened in surprise. Colette must have noticed, because she continued, “He’s got me acting in his pictures now, trying to launch his movie studio. But I can’t stand it. It’s the circus that I love.” She leapt off the board and grabbed hold of a rope, swinging her body out to the side, the rushing air tickling her face.

  “You two—you’re not—together?” Holt silently cursed how awkward he sounded. It was none of his business. And yet he still sort of cared about the answer.

  Colette’s gaze was fixed on her hand as she slowly curled it through the air. “I’m one of many gems he wears to reflect light back onto him,” she said. Her voice was sad and tinged with self-recrimination. But what did she have to be sorry about?

  She slowed the rope and eased back to the ground, her eyes drifting to where Milly and Joe guided Dumbo through a warm-up using the triangular flags they’d made.

  “I think you are the lucky one,” she said.

  Holt followed her gaze. Milly pointed the flags to both sides, directing Dumbo to flare his ears. Joe clapped and threw Dumbo a peanut when the elephant got the move right.

  “Who’s been dreaming like I’ve been dreaming?” a voice called, the words thrumming in the space.

  Vandevere stood framed in the tent’s entrance, his eyebrow arched with anticipation.

  The net slid off Holt’s lap as he stood and tipped his hat to his new boss. “We’re making progress, but he’s not quite ready.”

  Not quite ready? Vandevere’s good mood burst. He eyed Holt, who’d been ogling Colette just a minute ago. If he had time for that, surely he had time to train Dumbo. That was his job, after all.

  “What’s wrong?” Vandevere growled. “Doesn’t the animal trust you?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Colette interjected. “It’s about balance and weight—”

  With a tight smile, Vandevere turned to her. So now she was defending the newbie?

  “Cherie, the tickets have been sold.” The act had to work—in four nights’ time, the tent would be packed, Vandevere’s future hanging in the balance. “Where’s my little scientist?” He crossed to Milly and crouched down, looking straight into her eyes. “Why don’t you show me that it’s going to work?”

  Milly darted a nervous glance at her dad, but he nodded. Straightening her back, she spun to Joe as Vandevere stood back to give them room. “Attention on the runway,” she called.

  Joe tripped on his way to take his place, quickly scrambling to his feet and dusting off his pants as he rose. Vandevere’s lips pinched together, impatient for them to get on with it.

  Once in front of Dumbo, Joe tucked the flags in to his sides. “Prepare for takeoff,” he told Dumbo as he faced him.

  “Flight test—left wing!” Milly commanded. Joe snapped a flag to his right and Dumbo’s left ear unfurled and wagged in the air.

  “Check,” Joe called back to Milly.

  “Right wing,” Milly prompted.

  “Check,” Joe said as Dumbo responded to Joe’s next flag move smoothly.

  “And rudder.”

  Joe grinned as he spun a flag around his wrist and Dumbo twirled his tail in answer. “Check!”

  Next to Colette, Vandevere raised his eyebrow at her. Was this what they’d spent all day on?

  “Oh, V. A.,” Colette whispered, “let the kids have their fun.”

  Suddenly, Joe whirled and pointed both flags at Colette.

  “Take her up, Dumbo!” Milly called. She whispered something in the elephant’s large ear, too softly for Vandevere to catch, though he thought he heard the word mom.

  Wriggling in delight, Dumbo snorted up the nearest feather and bounded toward the adults, his footfalls thundering. As the elephant neared, Vandevere scrambled out of the way, tripping over the net Holt had been mending.

  Dumbo lowered his head, but he was moving too fast and his trunk didn’t get a clear hold on Colette. She flipped through the air over his back and only just managed to land on her feet on the board.

  “You really must wait till I’m ready,” she said as Dumbo pivoted and galloped back again.

  “Dumbo, settle down,” Milly pleaded as he charged into Colette.

  Again, his momentum was too much, and his trunk knocked her legs into the air. From the ground, Vandevere glowered. This was what he’d partnered with Medici for? A clumsy, galloping elephant bound to the ground?

  But then Colette caught hold of Dumbo’s ear. She swung herself into position on his back, her legs and arms wrapped around him.

  Dumbo’s ears flapped. The wind from his movement forced Vandevere to squint. Together, Dumbo and Colette lifted into the air, climbing higher as he circled the tent.

  Vandevere’s heart skipped a beat.

  The elephant could fly.

  “Woo-hoo! Higher, Dumbo,” Milly and Joe called.

  Vandevere let Holt help him up from the ground; he was too busy staring at the impossible coming true.

  Astride the flying elephant—the honest-to-goodness flying elephant—Colette sat up and reached out her arms, brushing the top of the tent. Tingles ran down Vandevere’s skin and laughter bubbled up from his chest.

  Hugging Holt to him, Vandevere beamed. “You beautiful, crippled cowboy. You just made me a child again.”

  The men stood together watching Dumbo and Colette zoom through the air. Milly and Joe whooped and hollered. The air fizzled with magic. Dreams really could come true.

  The cot squeaked underneath Puck as he shifted his weight, leaning over to grab his guitar. The tents Vandevere had put most of the Medici performers in (the Farriers’ link to Dumbo elevated them) were much nicer than their old ones. The fabric was thick enough to protect against winter winds, but there were screened sections that could be opened in the summer. Quite ingenious.

  And yet, it was too quiet back in this section of the park, sequestered away from the bustle of the main fairgrounds. They weren’t even anywhere near Dreamland’s performers, whose housing was rumored to be brick-and-mortar.

  The tents were nicer and the mattresses fluffier, but he missed the cozy camaraderie of their old setup. Reluctantly he admitted to himself that he even missed the campfire cookouts. Here food was served in a dining hall with people slopping stew onto their plates and then scattering across tables and benches. More civilized than the cobbled-together stools and chairs and logs of the traveling circus, sure, but no one really talked to anyone else. They just shoveled their food in and left.

  The food was bland, too. Rongo had assured him he liked Puck’s better.

  Strumming his guitar, Puck hummed softly.

  “Can I join you?”
a sweet voice asked from outside.

  Puck bolted upright, then quickly scanned his tent. “Um, um.” He kicked his dirty socks under the bed and swept the pages of a script he’d been writing off the chair and onto a side table instead. “Of course. Please come in.”

  Miss Atlantis ducked into the tent, a pile of books in her hands.

  Puck’s eyes widened. “Where did you get those?” he blurted. Then he blushed. He should have at least said hello first.

  She didn’t seem to notice his slip in etiquette, or mind it if she did.

  “Milly brought them to me. Apparently there’s a whole library in the house where they’re staying. She wanted us to share them, knowing how much we both love to read.” Miss Atlantis smiled tentatively, then handed over the top three to Puck.

  Twelfth Night and The Tempest by Shakespeare, which he couldn’t wait to reread, and a new one, The Magic of Oz by Frank L. Baum. He’d heard of this series of adventures in a far-off land.

  “I thought we could, if you’d like, read them and then discuss them afterwards?” she said.

  He looked up from his pile. Her face was earnest, open, and nervous. Maybe she was just as anxious around him as he was around her.

  “That’d be—that’d be great,” he answered. This was his chance! He could prove to her how deep his thoughts went, how vast his emotional scope and empathy. Maybe they could do dramatic readings and his voice would roll out, weaving a spell over her heart the way her voice had done to his when they’d first met.

  “Wonderful. It’s settled, then.” She glanced around the tent, and his gaze followed hers. “It’s a bit dark in here for reading at the moment, though. Perhaps we could take a walk through the fairgrounds?”

  Puck nodded, having lost control of his voice. So much for weaving a spell over her. “Um, uh, yes, um, I mean”—he coughed—“I’d be delighted.”