Tony said nothing, only nodded vaguely, turned and left.
***
That evening, just before the performance, Stefan and Walter stood with Tony, who wore safari garb and had a pistol on his hip. Stefan eyed the pistol. "I assume that's meant to be part of your costume," he said, "not to be included in the act." He knew of many trainers who tried to overawe the animals with pistol shooting and whip cracking for show, and was completely against that method of subjugation.
Tony gave him a wry grin. "Let's just say it's my security blanket."
Although Stefan sensed something feigned in Tony's response, now was not the time for an interrogation. "For tonight," he said, "just run the cats through some rolls, sit-ups, and the pyramid and let them go. We'll cut the performance short."
Banks of gaslights converged on the arena as the announcer informed the audience that Tony Bernardo would be standing in for Stefan Janacek.
Stefan looked at Tony, who seemed confident. Perhaps, too confident? "Watch their eyes," he warned. "Mischief shows up there first. Dilated pupils."
Tony listened with mild concern as Stefan emphasized the positions he wanted the cats to take in the pyramid. "Put Katma on top and pair her with Trista since those two don't like being separated." He held Tony back to stress the importance of keeping Sophie separated from Katma and Trista. Then he patted Tony on the back, and said, "Good luck."
Tony gave him a self-assured smile and walked toward the lights. The audience cheered. Tony raised his hand in a flamboyant gesture to the crowd as he stepped into the arena. With a loud clang of metal, the animals entered the cage and leapt to their pedestals. After cuing them to do several routine tricks, Tony called Ahmed, a large, heavily-maned lion, to crouch at his feet. Stefan stood with Walter by the escape door, prepared to enter the cage if necessary. Tony cued the big lion to crouch with his forepaws outstretched. Then Tony kneeled on one knee just in front of the lion and reached out to stroke his head.
Stefan curled his fingers around the bars. "What in hell is he doing? That's not part of the routine," he said, watching Tony take a hold of the lion's nostrils with one hand and chin with the other and pull the lion's jaws open. The lion's tail flicked with irritation. Tony peered into the mouth, then released the animal and jumped up, hands raised for applause. After he'd sent the lion to his pedestal, he cued the animals for the pyramid—Katma at the top and Sophie just below—separating the big tiger from his litter mate and friend, Trista. Precisely what Stefan instructed Tony not to do. Stefan's knuckles whitened as he gripped the bars. Had he misjudged Tony? Was he just another cocksure sensationalist?
Walter watched intently. "Did you tell Tony to do that?"
"Hell no," Stefan said. "He's going for effects... deliberately matching enemies."
With the clout of a paw, Sophie sent Trista toppling from the pedestal, then Sophie jumped down and challenged Trista. Tony fired into the air and Trista scurried up to where Sophie had been. Finding herself next to her litter mate, she started licking Katma's face. The audience laughed, enjoying the show.
"I thought you told him not to use the pistol," Walter said.
"I did," Stefan gritted through clenched jaws.
Tony turned to acknowledge the crowd, then swung his whip in a flamboyant arc, sending it cracking above Sophie's head. The lioness rushed to sit beside Trista, tail flicking, lips curled back as low snarls rumbled in her throat. Stefan's eyes narrowed. "He's sure as hell keeping himself in the lights," he said, noting that Tony continued to draw attention to himself instead of the performing animals.
Tony walked a short distance from the cats, turned his back to them and stood facing the crowd. Hands raised for applause. He sent the animals into the chute, then with a flourish, raised his hands to the crowd, bowing in every direction. The audience continued their eager applause as he walked out of the bright lights. Stefan intercepted him as he left the cage. "You deliberately paired enemies for effect!"
Tony shrugged. "Porter wants a fighting act, so that's what I gave him."
A reporter stepped in front of Tony. "Could you say a few words about how you felt tonight stepping in for—"
"No, he won't say a few words." Stefan curled his fingers around Tony's arm and dragged him around the reporter. "If you want to use that method of training—whips cracking, guns blasting—you're working under the wrong man. One more stunt like this and you're through. Is that clear?"
Tony looked at Stefan with a air of haughtiness. "I gave Porter and the audience what they wanted. I can't please everyone."
"You'll damn well please me or you'll work for someone else."
Tony shrugged. "Okay, okay. We'll go back to routine tricks with overgrown house cats." He turned and headed for the dressing rooms.
Reporters followed Tony, who smiled graciously. As Tony turned into the corridor, Stefan watched Karl Porter intercept him and pat him on the back. And for the first time in his career, Stefan questioned his judgment in selecting an assistant trainer.
Tony Bernardo, he decided, should be closely watched.
Stefan considered holding Tony out of the ring and stepping back in himself, but he still had bouts of dizziness that had him steadying himself against something solid until it passed. Not a good position to be in when facing a cage of lions and tigers.
For the remainder of their stay in Baton Rouge, the cats were carefully guarded and Tony performed as instructed while Stefan stood by, watching critically. With Rafat and Shani excluded from the act, and Sophie and Trista kept apart, the animals went through their routines with only minimum protests. Stefan was anxious to get to Donaldsonville where he'd resume his position and run the animals through their more sophisticated routines—jumping through fiery rings, leaping over each other's backs, walking on the mirrored globe. The Donaldsonville performance would be his comeback.
The afternoon of their last day in Baton Rouge, Stefan, Ivan, Laszlo and Kitta joined in a family gathering in their grandmother's wagon to discuss Laszlo's wedding, which was scheduled for the one free evening they'd have while in Donaldsonville. A traditional gypsy wedding, it would include feasting under the stars and dancing to music around a great roaring campfire. Friends and relatives from other parts of the country would have arrived a few days earlier for a general reunion, their wagons congregated in an area north of the city.
Stefan was anxious to be done with the wedding plans and final performance and get on with the river trip, where he would have Joanna to himself in their private quarters on the Aurora. He'd seen little of her in the past few days as he'd been staying in his wagon near the menagerie tent where he could keep watch on the animals. But once aboard the sternwheeler, he'd pass on that task to Walter, Tony, and the cage boys. He needed time alone with Joanna to release the tension that had been building inside him like a giant coiled spring. The same tension he was certain she felt, knowing he'd soon be going back into the cage with the cats.
***
Late that night, and a few minutes before the sternwheeler was scheduled to depart, Stefan dashed into his stateroom for a quick sponge bath. As he stood stripped in front of the washstand, he heard the familiar hissing of steam, followed by the shriek of the whistle and the slow churning of the paddlewheel. The Aurora eased backwards, the engine reversed, and the paddlewheel began churning, the thrashing letting him know that he and Joanna were in their private world that lay behind the closed door to the promenade deck. Quickly he washed, anxious to be with Joanna. He needed her.
His body cool and damp, he slipped on a pair of drawers, crossed the passageway and rapped on Joanna's door. Joanna met him in her nightgown. When she looked at him, he felt whole again. He'd missed her terribly. Missed strolling with her on deck, dining with her at meals, holding her in his arms at night. He took her in his arms and she nuzzled his chest and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Umm," she said, "You smell like soap and witch hazel. Are you trying to bring out the animal in me?" she asked, peering up at him,
eyes dancing with flares of eager anticipation.
"Does it take soap and witch hazel to do that?"
She laced her fingers behind his neck and drew his head toward hers. "No, all it takes is you." She pressed her lips to his, hungrily, fervently kissing him until he felt his nerves humming with expectation. "But when you come to me bare-chested—" she kissed her way down his neck and across his chest "—you turn me into a very wanton woman."
Gliding his palms down her back, he cupped her buttocks and pressed her against him. His mouth curved in a wicked grin. "So, my wanton woman, do you think you can tame this beast that has come between us?"
Joanna savored the feel of his hard male member moving slowly and sensuously against her, straining to be one with her. "Are you offering me a challenge?" she asked, her heartbeat quickening.
"Definitely, a challenge," he replied, kissing his way down her neck and across her chest.
"Then I accept." Feeling indeed wanton, Joanna tucked her fingers into the waistband of his drawers and slipped them off his hips and down his legs so that he stood before her in the glory of his maleness. He reached for her and she backed away. Looking at him quite blatantly, she said, "A most savage-looking beast, Mr. Gypsy lion tamer. Are you certain it can be tamed?"
He grabbed her arm, pulling her forcefully against him. "Keep that up, woman, and there will be no preliminaries. I'll simply throw you on the bed and show you just how savage this beast can be." He tugged her gown over her head.
Smiling up at him, she said, "I think I'd like that."
"Oh...you do, do you?"
Lifting her in his arms, he dumped her onto the bed and threw himself on top of her. Pinning her wrists together, low growls rumbling in his throat, he claimed her, slowly at first, then fulfilling the promise he'd made, sending her writhing in ecstasy as he brought her to a climax that came so suddenly, she was unaware of the squeal of pleasure that burst from her lips. After her moment of glory passed, and when she could finally catch her breath, she said, "You caught me by surprise."
Stefan rolled onto his back. "So I did," he said. "But as you can see, you did manage to tame the beast as well. At least for a few minutes. I suspect he will be raising his ugly head again very soon."
Joanna looked at the cluster of male parts that lay limp against his leg, and said, while studying it closely, "An odd fellow, he is, but I do like the means by which we subdue him." She guided her hand over his chest and snuggled against him, taking pleasure in the feel of his muscular body, so firm and sleek against her, and as they lay together, she knew she wanted him to hold her and love her and continue to fill the hollowness in her for the rest of her life. "I love being with you like this," she said. "I wish it would never end."
He held her closer to him. "It doesn't have to," he whispered through the tangle of hair covering her ear, "Every day of our lives can be like this. Traveling together, working together, spending our nights together, ending each day in each other's arms."
Joanna clung to him, unable to think, to reason what their paths would take after their final performance in New Orleans. She wanted tell him that he hadn't heard a word she'd been saying, that she had no intention of spending her life roaming with a show and raising a family on the move. Attempting to dismiss that troubling thought, she said, "Is everything ready for Ivan and Cara's wedding?"
Stefan nuzzled her ear, nibbled his way down her cheek, pressed his lips lightly to hers, and said, "Do you really want to discuss the wedding now?"
"Well, yes... I do," she said, feeling a need to direct the conversation to a neutral subject, not wanting to focus on their uncertain future. She moved out of the circle of his arms and went to the wash stand, and filled the basin.
Stefan walked over to stand beside her and dampened a washcloth. "I assume everything is ready," he said, passing the cloth over her sweat-dampened skin. "Cara's parents and relatives in Donaldsonville are making arrangements—the wedding cake, food, tables and chairs—so all we have to do is arrive," he said, making his way down her body.
Joanna let out a little gasp as the cold, damp washcloth met sensitive flesh. She took the washcloth from him, refilled the basin, and dipped the cloth into the water, and said, while passing it over his chest, "I'm sure it will be a lovely wedding. I just hope Cara will enjoy her time in bed with Laszlo as much as I enjoy my time with you." She dipped the cloth again, wrung it out and concentrated on washing off the evidence of their lovemaking. Their little after-lovemaking procedure started the first time they made love, when she'd moved to the washstand and he'd taken the washcloth from her hands and lovingly took on the task. She'd followed by doing the same for him, and since that time, it was part of their lovemaking ritual. She hoped it always would be.
"Laszlo expects you to come," Stefan said, as she sponged him off. "I have to leave with Ivan right after the performance to help set up tables, but you can go with my mother and Kitta when my cousin comes for them."
Joanna shook her head and set the cloth aside. "I'd feel terribly out of place."
Stefan took her by the arms and looked at her. "You shouldn't feel out of place. Everyone thinks you're my wife, and they expect you to come. Besides, it's the only chance anyone will get to see Laszlo dressed in a suit and tie. He swore he'd never dress like a dandy, but Cara convinced him otherwise."
"I'm sure he'll make a handsome groom," Joanna said, wishing the groom could be Stefan and the bride her, that they would be just two ordinary people living an ordinary life, no lions and tigers, no unending shows. A wish so simple. Yet so impossible.
Stefan's breath warm against her temple, he said in a quiet voice, "I love you."
Joanna couldn't respond. She loved Stefan deeply, but she could not give her love without conditions... if you truly love me, you must give up your cats... Nor could she ask him to make such a sacrifice. She could not dismiss Helen's words...
...Alonzo was like a caged animal...the house like a prison...he grew more and more restless...like he was dying...
It had not worked for Alonzo Janacek, and Joanna sensed intuitively that it would not work for his son. Stefan, too, had a wayfaring nature...
"You're very quiet," Stefan said. "Are you having regrets?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your virginity. A woman can give it only once, presumably to the man she loves... the man who is or will be her husband."
He was baiting her, Joanna knew. She trailed her finger along his jaw and lightly followed the line of his lips. Smiling her assurance, she said, "I have no regrets. I gave up my virginity to the only man I ever intend to have in my bed. No man could satisfy me the way you do, nor do I want any other man's hands on me. Ever. You have completely spoiled me for any other man."
Stefan smiled. "Good." He reached for his drawers. "Before the accident I told you I had something for you, and tonight I want to give it to you. I'll be right back."
When Stefan returned from his stateroom a few minutes later, Joanna had slipped into her gown and was sitting in front of the dressing table, brushing her hair. Standing behind her, Stefan raised his hands, holding up a sapphire with a star in it. The gem hung from a delicate gold chain. He draped it around her neck and fastened the clasp.
Joanna looked at the stone in the mirror. "It's beautiful," she said. touching it.
Stefan rested his hands on her shoulders and stared at their reflections. "I want you to promise to wear it when you're up on the bars so you'll be protected from danger."
Standing, Joanna turned and put her arms around Stefan's neck. "Thank you," she said. "I'll wear it always." She took his hand, drawing him down on the bed.
Stefan whispered against her ear, "I'm ready to make love again, sweetheart, but I suppose we'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow I have to get away early. While we're docked in Plaquemine, I need to repair some gear and tend Miya, who has a bad tooth."
"Then you'd better plan to wake earlier yet," she said, nibbling his ear, "because I insist on taming tha
t wild beast of yours in the morning before you go."
Stefan gave a hearty laugh and pulled her against him. "Good God, woman, you're going to wear the beast out. Have you no mercy?"
Joanna cuddled closer to him. "None whatsoever."
"Good." He cradled her in the curve of his arm. After a few minutes he said, "Come with me tomorrow and I'll show you how to tend a tiger's tooth."
"I can't," Joanna said. "I need to talk to Gene about... some changes in the act."
"What kind of changes?"
"Just... routine changes." She considered telling him about Gene and Karl Porter's insistence on dropping the nets, and that she was seriously considering quitting the show and working with Matthew at the gymnastics academy because of it. And she toyed with the idea of asking him what their future would hold if she did leave the show. But she suspected he'd suggest she quit the trapeze act and find other work with the show so they could be together. Which wasn't an option. She knew now that she couldn't endure the unceasing anxiety of watching him with the cats. So she'd put it off for now, not wanting to spoil this time with him, not wanting to dwell on the fact that for them, New Orleans could be the end of the line.
CHAPTER NINE
Placquemine, Louisiana
The whistle shrieked, the engine gave a whining hiss, and the paddlewheel stopped. Joanna peered through the shutters. A pack of hounds barked and yelped at the Aurora from the landing below, and under a ragged storefront awning, two old men sat tilted back in chairs, watching the activity. Downriver stretched vast fields of sugarcane with their knotty stalks and fan-like leaves, and in the distance, the tall stacks and large box-like structure of a sugar mill broke the horizon. At once, the calliope began wheezing out Shoo fly! Don't Bother Me, and with it, the riverfront became a hive of activity. The principle patrons for the one performance in Placquemine would be Negro workers and their families from the plantations, who would arrive in droves after receiving their weekly pay. But the pavilion would not be raised, there would be no aerial act, and Stefan and his cats would not be featured.
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