‘Strip,’ she commanded, bluntly. ‘I need to see what I’m working with.’
Julia obliged, shedding her clothes on the floor and standing in her underwear under the critical gaze of Eva and Sylvie. ‘You’ll have to take all of it off,’ Eva insisted, still staring intently at Julia’s figure as though measuring her with her eyes. Reluctantly, Julia unhooked her bra and dropped it on the floor, then pulled her knickers off and stood naked in the midst of all the clothes, shivering.
‘What’s the theme?’ Eva asked Sylvie, who was sitting in the corner with her legs crossed under her, smoking and watching Julia with amusement.
‘I think white for this one. Pale, angelic. Pure. Make her look like a virgin slave. A little ragged around the edges. I’ll be in gold. We can keep the lighting warm and use a bit of smoke on the floor. Everything will be totally decadent.’
Eva nodded.
‘Roman-esque, don’t you think?’
She flicked quickly through the rail of costumes, murmuring under her breath.
‘Something billowy, a kind of wrap-around. I think we can adjust one of these.’ She pulled a hanger from the rail, and handed the costume to Julia, who looked at it dubiously. It was basically a long strip of rough white cotton.
‘Arms up.’ Eva wound the cloth over Julia’s shoulder, wrapped a strip tightly over her breasts and round her back, letting it drape round her hips. She pinned it in place and stood back.
‘Something like that, Sylvie?’
Sylvie cocked her head, watching Julia.
‘See what happens when you move around, girl. Is it loose enough?’
Julia looked at herself in the mirror. The fabric just skimmed over her nipples, her breasts threatening to spill over the top. It covered her pubis, but only just, leaving one hip entirely bared and the crease of her buttocks showing. If she walked you would catch a glimpse between her legs with every step, and if she leant forward her arse was bared like an animal displaying its genitalia. Although Eva had pinned the costume together, she’d have to be careful not to let the whole thing slip off her shoulder. Julia whirled around, and the fabric brushed against her body. The cotton fell in ragged folds, chafing against her, winding round her legs. It excited her to think of an audience full of men watching her move in this, trying to get a look at her naked, tantalised by the possibility that the whole thing could unravel in front of them.
‘I like it,’ she declared. ‘It needs trying out onstage though, there’s no room to move in here.’ Sylvie nodded in agreement. ‘What about the hair?’ she asked Eva. ‘Make-up?’
Eva considered for a minute.
‘Full body, I think. Maybe a bit of powder. We can tie her hair up and keep it simple to start with. You want to keep the innocent character going, so don’t make a fuss about her face. She should look blank almost, like a statue come to life. Then when you’ve got your twisted, bizarre poses next to her it’ll provide good contrast. Anyway, they’re going to be looking at the curves –’ Eva ran a hand down the cotton to where it hugged Julia’s hip ‘– and the flesh, not her face.’
‘In fact, we must use white paint all over,’ Sylvie joined in, standing and approaching Julia. ‘Do you mind, sweetie?’ She pulled aside the cotton swatch to show Julia’s pubic hair. Before Julia could move, she was reaching down to the strip of hair between her legs, tugging gently at the tufts. ‘I think we need to get rid of your muff,’ she said, frowning. ‘Eva can wax you tomorrow.’
Julia was stunned, feeling totally vulnerable as the two women pulled and prodded her. She was also uncomfortably aware that she was turned on; Sylvie’s pulling at the hairs had sent a surge of blood between her legs that made her knees weak. Blushing, she drew back from the women, her heart hammering. Sylvie, totally unconcerned, sensed her discomfort and smiled wickedly.
‘Excellent,’ she purred. ‘That’s exactly what I want. A blushing virgin who can’t help getting turned on.’ She turned to Eva. ‘You’re a genius. Now we can get started on the practice.’
Walking across the grass with Sylvie, Julia felt relief at being clothed again and out of the charged atmosphere of the wardrobe trailer. The site was still buzzing with people carrying equipment into the tent. Radios were playing music and the day was heating up. Most of the men were shirtless, and many of them turned to give her a lingering stare as she passed. Before, she’d felt like she was invisible on the site as the company focused intently on their work. This time, she and Sylvie attracted attention, and Julia was a curiosity. She felt scrutinised in a way that was almost hostile. This feeling was only made worse when one of the men called something to Sylvie that made her laugh out loud; a rough dirty laugh that Julia suspected was directed at her.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, bristling. Sylvie looked at her with her round cat-like eyes, considering whether to explain the joke.
‘You’re a stranger, Julia. You’re a “first of May”, you know? A townie.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a hard life, and we stick tight together. Some of the roustabouts don’t trust outsiders; it’s just in their blood. They’re probably going to hate you. Either that or they’ll be trying to fuck you.’ Sylvie looked Julia over. ‘You’d better keep your wits about you, girl. You go around shaking those big titties at the labourers, and you’d better be prepared for the consequences.’
‘I can handle myself’.
‘Maybe with the pretty boys in college. But this circus is kind of a magnet for outsiders, you know.’
‘What do you mean, outsiders?’
‘People who are drawn to extremes. Who like to experiment. They like to play games, Julia. You need to understand the rules.’
‘And they are?’
Sylvie laughed, a squeaking shivery laugh that made her whole body shake in delight.
‘Nobody tells you the fucking rules, Miss Ballerina!’ She made her eyes round and wide, mocking Julia with an expression of dazed innocence. ‘Just presume this place is full of dangerous perverts with kinky ideas, okay?’
‘And what if I have some kinky ideas of my own?’ Julia asked, rising to the challenge. At this, Sylvie threw back her head and howled, laughing like she’d inhaled helium. They’d reached the caravan, and she climbed the steps shaking her head at Julia’s naiveté. As she opened the door she turned to Julia, her small frame still quivering with laughter.
‘Okay, sweetheart, you play your own games.’ She winked. ‘Just don’t let the ringmaster catch you fucking behind his back. He likes to keep a very close eye on our antics. You’d be surprised at how much he sees – it’s like living in a peepshow, this place.’ She delivered the last line in a stage whisper, as though she were letting Julia in on a dirty secret.
Julia imagined Robert’s intense brown eyes watching her as she flirted her way round the circus. The thought of his attention gave her a delicious glimmer of nerves, the same butterflies she had when she performed. She was struck by a vision of the circus itself as a sexual theatre, everyone a performer, everyone a watcher. From the steps of Sylvie’s van, she turned to look round the site. Amongst the cluster of vehicles and tents, she imagined every corner filled with writhing couples, lewd acts hidden behind curtains and furtively enacted perversions. Watching everything with a penetrating gaze was Robert, spying zealously on his workers while the site buzzed with simmering, artful eroticism.
Julia let the vision wash over her, certain that in such a place her desires and talents would thrive.
‘Hey, daydreamer,’ Sylvie called from inside. ‘Get your ass in here. We’ve got a dress rehearsal to prepare for.’
4
‘HEY! WHAT’S THE game?’
‘Hit the lights, for fuck’s sake!’
‘I can’t see a thing – will someone get those sparkies moving? We’re trying to work down here!’
‘Can we get some light onstage please? White floods will do.’ Robert’s voice cut smoothly through the confused darkness of the tent. The stage was smothered in velvety blackness and tangle
s of cables were heaped haphazardly among the equipment, making moving around a dangerous operation. Julia was tucked in behind the curtains at the back, wearing her slave-girl wrapper and watching intently. The tent was a chaotic industrial scene, with the muscular roustabouts and stage crew busily adjusting the scaffolds and working on the next set. The vast circular platform of the stage, covered with stretched canvas, sat resplendent in the midst of the racks of folding seats. It could be seen from almost every angle, and Julia was aware that when performing she would be enclosed by a ring of strangers, rather than facing the audience as she was used to. Her performance had to be flawless – she would be totally exposed.
This afternoon, the first dress rehearsal, the audience consisted of other performers and the circus workers. In some ways they were more daunting than the public – Julia had noticed the rough brutal attitudes of the people on site. They wouldn’t spare her feelings if she messed up. She was also keenly aware of Robert’s presence. Hs attention was focused sharply on the stage, as he paced round the tent checking every aspect of the show. He moved fluidly through the chaos, occasionally shouting brusque orders at the performers. Julia could feel the tension building around her – the outraged shouts as the lights cut were just part of the intense urgency that permeated the whole circus. Behind her, Sylvie was stretching, warming up her muscles. She caught sight of Joe, deeply involved with the lighting rig, his face grim and sweating. Backstage there was no laughter; only abrupt exchanges and occasional arguments as the performers clashed with the stage crew. Sylvie had barely spoken to her, just given her a critical stare and pulled at her costume so that more flesh was exposed. Julia had submitted with sulky reluctance, letting Sylvie push and prod at her till she was just about spilling out of the wrapper. She had a bad feeling in her stomach; not the usual pre-show butterflies but a nasty twisting sensation, as though she was about to enter a nightmare.
She had spent a difficult few days with Sylvie practising their routine. The other girl was quick to anger and even more demanding than the strictest ballet master. If she sensed even the slightest reserve in Julia’s performance, she’d bark insults at her – ‘With feeling, girl, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have any imagination?’
Julia didn’t respond well to such scathing criticism, especially from someone with none of her formal training. She’d danced solo routines en pointe – gyrating sexily around the stage was sure to be a breeze. The more Sylvie pushed her to learn the movements precisely, the more Julia resented taking orders from an arrogant little nymph. After endless repetitions of the act, the sequence still wasn’t flowing perfectly. Backstage, she ran through the steps in her head, secretly hoping she could rely on improvisation. There was no escape now though, and time was running short. They were on after the next act.
Onstage now, suddenly bathed in flat white light, were the tigers. These were, in fact, three lithe and curvy girls, kneeling or lying on plinths. They trailed their hands languorously on the floor, like sleeping cats. Julia recognised the blonde girl. Sarah had shared a smoke with Julia the night before and seemed friendly in a rough aggressive manner. The set was based on a carousel, a crazily ornate Baroque backdrop, gilded and strung with lights, the whole central dais revolving at a languorous pace. Sawdust was scattered in drifts over the stage, adding to the sense of an old-fashioned fairground. As the lights gradually came up, a hush fell over the workers and attention focused on the glittering, lush spectacle. Julia watched as Sarah and the other girls held their poses, crouched on the floor in tiny bikinis.
‘Will they be in costume tomorrow?’ she whispered to Sylvie.
‘Not exactly. They’ll be painted. Naked, but made to look like they’re tattooed in black stripes. Eva does them. And the way she does it, there’s something vicious about the faces, you know. Like they really are bloodthirsty animals.’ Sylvie laughed, looking at the tableau onstage as the speakers whined with feedback.
‘I love this act. So does Robert, in fact. Look at his face.’ Julia sought Robert’s tall slim figure and found him in the shadows opposite; his hand stroking his chin, a thoughtful, hungry look in his eyes. She knew instantly that she wanted him to watch her like that. He was eating the scene in front of him with his eyes, and she wished she were there onstage, letting his gaze stroke over her, showing him the beautiful curves of her body.
Julia’s attention was drawn back to the stage as music poured from the speakers in a sudden rush. The sound was a loud raunchy tune that suggested old-fashioned circus – a squeezebox and mewling violins. It sounded like an old record playing, with all the scratches and crackles of vinyl. The tent suddenly seemed European, rich and Bohemian in atmosphere, as though they were thrust back into a vintage big top smelling of sawdust and sulphur.
She watched as the lights came up on the performers, spotlights whirling over the stage and flecks of light from mirror-balls cascading over the bodies of the tiger-girls. They lay curled over the plinths, bodies frozen in pose, totally unmoving as the opening bars played out. Then there was the shimmer of a drum roll, and the girls came to life, twisting and stretching. At the same time, Julia had to leap to the side as four burly guys charged past her, poles resting on their shoulders supporting a canvas litter. Sprawled on top was the tamer – Rachel, dressed in top hat and tails, fishnet stockings and viciously high stilettos. A long leather whip trailed from her hand, and she flicked the tip of it idly over the shoulders of the men carrying her. Her face, vividly made up and thickly covered in white panstick, wore an expression of sultry arrogance. As she passed Julia she aimed a kick at her with the pointed toe of her shoe and sat back laughing as Julia recoiled, bewildered.
‘Rachel has a fairly competitive streak,’ Sylvie said behind her. ‘She likes to discipline people.’ Julia raised an eyebrow, shaken by the unprovoked attack. ‘She’s one of Robert’s oldest colleagues. They devise the scenes together – though I reckon it must be a hell of a fight before they agree on anything. Especially with all their history.’
‘History?’ asked Julia, feeling a sudden cold pang of jealousy. ‘Are they together?’
‘They’re not lovers, at least not in the way you’d normally describe a relationship. Robert doesn’t do that kind of thing.’
‘Surely he’s not celibate?’ Julia said, incredulous. She couldn’t imagine a man so deeply involved in eroticism leading a monk-like existence. Robert’s whole raison d’être was sexual arousal. The thought seemed kind of perverse. She wanted to ask Sylvie more, but the show onstage was starting to heat up and her attention was drawn back to the performance.
‘This is where Rachel licks the girls into shape – look, you mustn’t miss it, Julia.’
Rachel had been carefully lowered onto the stage, and was now parading around the circumference, rolling her hips and strutting so that her costume displayed her G-string under the hem of the fitted jacket. She was buttoned up to the neck, but you could see the tight fit of the coat, the swell of her breast underneath. The brim of a top hat hid her eyes – her appearance had an almost military air to it, Julia thought. She held her shoulders rigid and the purposeful strides she took in her four-inch heels could have been a march. Now she stood with her back to Julia, legs spread wide and arms akimbo. In front of her the tiger-girls paced warily on all fours, baring their teeth. The pallbearers stood aside with arms folded and faces impassive, awaiting their orders. Rachel nodded to them, and used the handle of the whip to point at Sarah, singling her out for attention. The men approached, now carrying heavy black ropes and a net. This they threw over Sarah, who screamed and struggled wildly as she was scooped up and carried to the side of the stage where Rachel stood waiting.
The men dropped the net at her feet, sending Sarah sprawling across the floor. She craned her head back at Rachel, a mix of fear and anger in her eyes as Rachel lifted the whip and flexed her arm. She gave a shout and brought the whip down with a sharp crack, flicking it away inches from Sarah’s back. Julia watched fascinated as Sarah
, on all fours, panted and arched her back, flinching as the whip cracked above her. The scene was surreal, but there was something in the attitude of the two performers that meant Julia couldn’t look away – the tamer had an edgy drive about her that suggested she was restraining herself from actually letting the whip cut Sarah’s flesh. Her ass jutted out as though part of her wanted to feel the stinging punishment of the whip. The atmosphere between them had a buzz of cruelty and Sarah’s whimpering and trembling was real enough to make Julia wonder if there wasn’t more going on than just acting.
‘Sarah tried to make a move on Robert last year,’ Sylvie whispered to Julia, answering her unspoken question. ‘It hasn’t been forgotten. Rachel is very protective of him.’
‘She won’t let him get involved with another woman, even if they don’t sleep together? That’s crazy,’ said Julia.
‘This circus runs on frustration. And Robert just encourages it. He won’t ever flat out refuse anyone – he’ll tease you till you’re dripping, but he’ll never touch you. I think that’s how he gets off, in fact, just letting his women fight among themselves, watching the tensions build and meanwhile just staying above it all.’
‘But if everyone knows that, how does he get away with it?’ Julia asked.
‘He’s a sexy man. You know how charismatic he is; I’ve seen you look at him. What he likes best is to watch, and what do all performers want most of all?’
Onstage now, Rachel had locked the tiger-girl in a cage, which was hoisted high into the air. Sarah writhed pathetically, reaching her arms through the bars and snarling at the empty space below. The music was grinding on around them, punctuated by the cracking of the whip and shouts from Rachel as she goaded the other girls. Julia heard a sinister tone in the fairground music now; the plaintive notes of the accordion seemed to turn sour and dark as the tigers cowered, shrinking back from the vivid figure of the tamer. Julia suddenly wanted them to turn on her, wanted to see Rachel stripped of her power and stopped from her relentless tormenting of the tigers. Though she knew it was a fantasy, she sensed that Rachel enjoyed wielding her whip and intimidating people. Julia hadn’t forgotten the vicious kick she’d tried to give her earlier. She saw Robert, leaning over a chair and watching with a twisted smile, and felt as though the two of them were implicated in some strange sadistic game.
Circus Excite Page 5
