Wild Passions

by A Storm Moon Press Anthology

  He wasn't on the stage when I walked back. Only Cinnamon, the colored hoochie dancer was out there, her face bored as she went through her rehearsal. I dropped off the water and scooted to the freak tent just as the horn announcing the opening blared over the loudspeakers.

  At the end of the workday, I yawned and headed back to the truck. I wanted to see the lion-boy again. I wandered, weaving from exhaustion, through the darkened midway. The first drops of a warm spring rain fell on my fur. The only lights came from where the operators and roustabouts were playing dice and poker in the cook-tent. I went straight to the truck and crawled into my blankets on the floor of the vardo.

  Mama and Daddy Frank came in a little later and went to bed, too. They didn't make love if I was in the vardo anymore since I was older. I heard them sometimes, on clear warm nights when I slept outside. I tried to find another place to sleep if they were getting cuddly. Kind of embarrassing to listen now.

  I woke up early and went for water and built the breakfast fire in the brazier. Mama would be happy to have that ready when she got up. I hooked a cold biscuit from yesterday and wandered back down the midway to the Dance Palace.

  The lion boy was sitting on the edge of the stage, eating a sandwich. He looked about my age.

  "Hey, teddy bear," he said, his voice a soft purring growl.

  "Hey yourself, kitty-cat. Nice morning." And with that, I was out of things to say, so I clambered up on the stage and sat beside him to eat my biscuit.

  He nibbled at the edges of the ham and then looked at me. "You got a name?"

  "Sure. Do you? Don't tell me, let me guess..." I pressed my paw to my forehead like the Mental Marvel did when he was reading the rubes' minds. "It's Leo."

  "It's Gordon. They just bill me as Leo. How about you?"

  "Arthur."

  Gordon smiled. "I like it."

  We finished our breakfast and lazed in the sunshine for a few minutes watching the show wake up. I kept sneaking glances at him. He was so pretty, all stretched out and golden. I heard a low rumble and realized he was purring.

  He realized it too, because he sat up and blushed a little. "Sorry."

  I laughed. "Yeah, it's okay. Look, I gotta get back to work. Can I?" My tongue tangled all up, and I forgot the rest of the sentence.

  He laughed at me and flicked that long tail around to swish my nose. "Come back for breakfast tomorrow. Bye, teddy bear."

  I wandered back to the pickup, the smell of him--all hot cat and dust and wildness and a little smoke from the tent--filling my nose. I licked my snout where he had flicked me and got a mouthful of him. Cat again, with musk in, some smoke and dust from where he let his tail drag, hot summer wind, and all the odd smells of the show, like cotton candy and popcorn. I wondered if all his fur tasted like that. I wondered if he'd let me lick him.

  I sat down for bacon and eggs with Mama and Daddy Frank. Mama had started letting me drink coffee last year, but today I turned it down when she offered a cup. Didn't eat much either. My mouth was still full of Gordon and I didn't want to lose it.

  I washed the dishes, and Mama caught me licking my snout again. The taste was almost all gone. She moved in close and sniffed me, like I was a naughty cub who'd been into the food box and tried to cover it up.

  "Who?" was all she asked.

  "Gordon." She looked at me funny, not knowing the name. "You know, the construct dancer, Leo, over at the hoochie palace."

  "I've seen him." Her eyes went smaller than usual, and I prepared to duck her heavy paws. I felt exactly like I had when I was six and ate the whole pie she had made for dessert: sick and sluggish and wrong.

  She surprised me by hugging me close. "You're growing up. It happens when I'm not looking. And it surprised me. I knew there was another construct with the show. Did he kiss you?"

  "No, just flicked me with his tail."

  She sighed. "The dishes can dry by themselves; come sit." She took me to the shade of the pickup's vardo, and we sat down on the little canvas stools. "Arthur, son, we're different. You've known that since childhood. And you know how hard it is for people who are different. If you like males, you'll be one more kind of different, a kind that is illegal in many places."

  "I'm a bear, Mama. Kissing males or kissing females isn't going to make me any more different than these." I lifted my paws, paws that never fit into any shoes, off the ground.

  "You know that males can't breed together."

  "Different species of constructs can't breed either," I said. "Only constructs of the original species, members of the original species, or sometimes with humans." She'd taught me that a couple years ago when we'd had the big birds and bees talk. Or the bears and hoochie girls talk, rather, when she'd caught me watching the dancers.

  She kissed me on the forehead. "Get ready to open. And be happy, no matter what anyone thinks."

  "Like you and Frank."

  She nodded and stood up to go wash clothes. "Like me and Frank."

  I cleared up the dishes and put most of our personal items away. Gordon's taste was all gone, and I finally had that cup of coffee before I went to work.

  I wasn't on. I kept getting distracted by the memory of Gordon's tail flicking over my face and the memory of his smell and taste. I went through the show in a daze until the talker came up to me and asked what was wrong. I shrugged.

  "I'm okay, just tired."

  "Get more sleep," he snapped and went off to yell at the Headless Woman and her doctors. I slipped out for an hour before my next show. There he was, on the outside stage, all tawny gold fur and black mane.

  I leaned on a lamp-post and watched, trying to pretend I was used to the sight. I tried to convince the rubes that I'd seen it a dozen times before. And I did a miserable job of it. I wanted to stand and watch him dance all day. I really wanted to push my way to the front of the crowd, lean my elbows on the stage and stare at him with that same dreamy expression Mama got whenever she watched Daddy Frank sing. But he was just a teaser act and went back inside all too quickly.

  He saw me, though. He flicked his tail just for me, and licked one paw. I felt that lick rest of the afternoon, just like I had felt the tail-flick all morning.

  I curled up on my own stage and took a short nap before the next show. I knew I had to do it well if I wanted to see Gordon again. I did my lumbering little dance for the tourists, embarrassed by the memory of his gracefulness. I sold my last teddy bear and had to make a quick run to the pick-up for more before my late show.

  I paused to listen to Daddy Frank as he finished "No Strings" and went into "Begin the Beguine." Mama joined him and sang the popular song as the crowd stared at them. A blind man playing and a bear singing always drew a crowd.

  Gordon came my way that night, after hours. Daddy Frank had gone to play his guitar for the poker game in the mess tent, and Mama had already gone to bed. I was sitting by the fire, poking at the last of the coals before banking it for the night, and thinking of him.

  His eyes glowed in the firelight and I saw them before I saw him. He slunk out of the dark, gold and black and wild-looking in the fire. I realized his eyes had been painted like the Egyptian dancer's, making him all exotic and very beautiful.

  I tried saying something, but my mouth just kind of hung there with a few sounds coming out. This was Leo the dancer, not Gordon the boy that I'd had breakfast with. I didn't know how to talk to him.

  Then that tail came up and flicked me across the snout again. I knew the smell, even with the perfume stuff on top of it. He smelled like foreign places, Egypt and Israel and Arabia. Or at least how I imagined they would when Daddy Frank told me stories about the Pharaoh and the Children of Israel.

  "Hi, Arthur," he said, stretching out on the blanket I was sitting on. I made a few more sounds and then the smell of him cleared my head. Just the boy I'd had breakfast with, I told myself.

  "Hi," I managed, more a squeak than a growl. "How'd it go today?"

&nb
sp; Gordon smiled at that. "Not bad. I got some nice tips. Ginny tripped on her Airplane dance and got booed off the stage. Cinnamon had to take over for her."

  "Cinnamon is the colored girl, right? That her real name?"

  "Nah, none of us use our real names. Her name is Betty, and she's really nice."

  I couldn't think of anything to say. I didn't want to talk. I wanted to look and listen and maybe touch his long black hair and smooth gold skin.

  He gave me a smile, not like something was funny, but a sweet smile, one just for me. "Arthur, you keep looking at me. What do you want?"

  My head spun with the sudden invitation to tell him everything. Like a dumb kid, I blurted, "I wanna hold your hand and maybe kiss you. You're so beautiful, and I want to see if your skin really does feel like the velvet patch on Mama's pillow."

  The minute the words were out, I covered my mouth. I was an idiot, and now Gordon knew it.

  He never stopped smiling. "Good. I want to see if you feel all fuzzy like Laura's teddy bear. And maybe kiss you. Arthur, how old are you?"

  "Sixteen." I bit my tongue the instant it was out. How stupid. I should have said twenty, or he'd think I was just a kid.

  "Good. Me too."

  With that, he reached out a big soft paw and stroked my arm, his hands feeling like he was wearing fuzzy gloves with leather pads on them. Goosebumps ran all over my arm from where he'd touched me. He slid his hand down my arm and linked his fingers into mine.

  "Like this?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I whispered, my throat dry as a bone even though I wasn't thirsty.

  "Yeah."

  We sat that way and watched the fire for a long time. I don't know what Gordon was thinking, but I was half hoping for the kiss. Or maybe more. Maybe he could raise goosebumps if he touched other parts of my body, like my back or belly or legs. I wondered what his tail would feel like sliding through my hands and what his hands would feel like on my stumpy tail and round ears.

  I felt very brave and reached over to touch his mane. It was all fur, soft and nice around my hand. He smiled at me.

  I heard a familiar tapping behind me and turned. Daddy Frank with his guitar on his back was making his way home. He looked like he'd had a couple of drinks, not enough to be drunk, just enough to be very careful as he tapped with his cane along the lane between trailers and pickups.

  "Daddy Frank," I called out.

  "You still up, son?"

  "Yeah. I have a friend, too. Come over and meet Gordon."

  He made his way to the fire, and I disentangled myself from Gordon's hand, not wanting to let go of him at all.

  "You need to bank that, Art," he said, waving his cane at the fire. "Gordon, speak up."

  "I'm here, sir."

  "Good boy. May I have a look?" He held out his hands.

  "Yes, sir," Gordon said. I was settling the coals and the green wood to burn through the night, but I still saw him hesitate as Daddy Frank reached out to feel his face.

  Daddy Frank had long cool fingers, I knew, and Gordon relaxed, even as Frank's face deepened into a frown. I watched, feeling an uncomfortable twist in my stomach as his fingers stroked over Gordon's face and into his thick hair where mine had been a few minutes ago.

  "Are you a construct, Gordon?"

  "Yes, sir, a lion."

  "Ah, I've heard of you. You're with the hoochie show." Something in the way he said it told me he didn't approve. "Quite a draw, old Nathan says."

  Gordon's eyes flashed a dangerously cat-like green. "Yes, that would be why he bought me from the lab." The words came out almost as a hiss. "That's what constructs are made for, you know. Work humans can't do or as specialty entertainment. How much did you pay for the bears?"

  Daddy Frank bristled. "I don't own Ursula or Arthur. They are free."

  Gordon just laughed nastily, clearly not believing him.

  "It's true. Mama escaped the lab before I was born. She married Daddy Frank a while back."

  Gordon shook his head. "That's illegal."

  "Love is love, son," Daddy Frank said. "We don't pick and choose. And God doesn't mind, or He wouldn't have let it be. Nobody falls in love without God."

  I smiled at Gordon. "Thanks, Daddy. Yeah, it's illegal. So's this."

  I leaned over and kissed him, not sure where I got the nerve. Gordon's eyes got big and then he kissed me back. He tasted like hot summer and sweet ice cream and wind and something spicy and just all him. My whole body went tingly even as my brain screamed at me. His lips moved softly under mine, and I kept kissing him.

  I never even noticed when Daddy Frank left.

  Gordon looked at me after we came up for air. "You're sweet," he said and got up. He was gone into the darkness before I could get to my feet.

  I didn't see him for days, maybe a couple weeks. It all ran together, and I was lost in a haze of the remembered kiss anyway. We played a lot of shows close together as high summer came on. We'd arrive on Wednesday, set up and open Thursday. We'd tear down Monday and be on the road to the next date.

  Sometime around the middle of July, Mama started having to tinker more to keep the truck running. I heard rumors around the carnival that the pick-up wasn't an ordinary vehicle, that Frank had modified it before he'd gone blind and made it something more than just transportation. I laughed at the stories. I'd been living in the truck, or at least the vardo on the back, for nine years, after all. But that didn't change the fact it was acting strange, sputtering a lot and stalling out at weird times.

  "Frank, we should just get Johnny to help us out," I heard her say one evening as she bent into the engine compartment, a pair of overalls getting stained with grease as they covered her fur. "You can't see, and I don't have a delicate enough touch to handle this."

  "I don't want to owe Johnny a favor," Frank protested from where he was tuning his guitar.

  "Then Nathan or Walter or Ralph." She came over, wiping her paws on her coverall and licked the edge of his mustache. "I need a human. I can't handle that engine."

  "I'll ask Walter. He owes me one."

  I quit paying attention when she licked him again. That was my cue to get lost. It was plain old embarrassing to listen when they were getting mushy. I decided to go find Gordon. Maybe there could be another kiss for me. I hoped so. We'd been too busy to see each other. I'd been working, and he'd been dancing. I didn't know why he never came back and sat at our cooking fire again.

  I wandered down the midway and found myself at the hoochie trailer. Cinnamon sat on the edge of the stage, chewing gum. I could smell the mint from where I stood. She crossed one long brown leg over the other, her little yellow shorts bright against her skin.

  "Hey, teddy-bear, want a cuddle?" she teased, opening her arms.

  I swallowed hard. "I'm looking for Gordon."

  She looked confused, then her face slammed shut like a door. "Oh yeah. He's busy, kid. Run along. I'll tell him you were looking for him."

  I wandered on down the way, just kind of moping along. There wasn't much to do after the crowds had left. I never went to the mess-tent after hours. I'd promised Mama I wouldn't. All they did was smoke and play cards and grumble anyway.

  I walked to the side-show tent. Someone, an audience member or a roustabout, had left a pulp magazine on one of the benches. I picked it up and thumbed through it under a street-light. Nothing else to do. I couldn't go back to the truck for another little while.

  I wondered where Gordon was, what had made Cinnamon's face shut down like that. Maybe he had gotten hurt dancing. Maybe he was in trouble. Maybe he was sick. I decided I had to see him. I had to know. I wasn't paying any attention to pretty colored dancers. I wanted Gordon.

  Cinnamon wasn't sitting on the edge of the stage, so I slipped around to the back of the trailer, where it hooked up to the living trailers. There were six, and I had no idea how I would find him. Then I smiled and took a deep breath. Gordon was back here somewhere, and I knew what he
smelled like.

  I kept breathing and turned in a slow circle, smelling for the spice and desert and Gordon. There. I padded that way, being as quiet as my shambling body allowed. He was in the trailer farthest from the midway. I paused outside the window where I smelled him most strongly and listened.

  I could smell he wasn't alone, and I could hear heavy breathing and rhythmic thumps. It dawned on me what it all meant. If I weren't furry, I'd have been bright red with blushing. This was more embarrassing than listening to Mama. Then I started feeling sick as I thought about it. A deep, angry sort of sick that made me want to tear through the thin metal skin of the trailer with my claws and bite and rend and eat.

  Then I heard something under the heavy breathing, not much, just a soft little sob and a low growl. The sick feeling bloomed into full rage. Someone was hurting my Gordon. I stopped myself from tearing open the trailer, but not before my claws scratched across the paint, and ran for the woods on the other side of the midway.

  On two feet, I could manage a shambling run, so I dropped to all fours and lolloped along a lot faster. Once I reached the sweet, clean woods that didn't stink of humans or pain, I let out a bellow that made two of the operators camped on that side look out of their tents.

  I dug my short claws into the bark of a tree and ripped down, like I longed to rip into the human who was hurting my Gordon. But if I did, Gordon and I would both die for it. Mama too, most likely. Constructs weren't people.

  I slashed at the tree, chunks of it coming away most satisfyingly in my claws. I gave another roar. The next tree went down under my claws and body.

  Mama found me on the third roar. "Arthur!" She looked shocked and horrified at me. The sick rage left me, and I looked around. Every tree in sight had deep claw marks, gouging down into the heart wood. Branches lay broken around on the ground.

  Mama wrapped me in her arms, and my face felt wet where it pressed into her shoulder. "Shh, baby. What's wrong?"

  "Gordon," I whispered. "A human is hurting Gordon." I clung to her, even though I was a little taller than she was.