And Stefan didn't go after her. When tonight's performance was over, he'd go to her stateroom, and to her bed, and after they made love, they'd discuss the issue of their child. She would not leave him. And he would not be limited to visiting his child between shows. That was not an option. But for the life of him, he did not know what was.
***
Less than an hour later, Joanna stood with Gene on the platform. Rain pelted the canvas in waves, and the air at the peak of the pavilion was oppressive. A convulsive shimmer filled the great canvas, illuminating the dome from without, followed by a sound like the rattle of musketry. The ground shuddered, and in the distance elephants trumpeted. Joanna felt the trapeze tremble, and all around, poles and tackling and supporting rods creaked and groaned. But the huge masts stood firm. Joanna gripped the bar tighter and gazed across the cavernous void at Otto on the catcher's bar while reviewing in her mind the flying pass they were about to execute.
Swing high... release... tuck and spin... count, one, two, three... open... contact. Two brains synchronized to calculate distance, time and equilibrium with absolute precision. A series of movements taking less than ten seconds to perform.
The murmur of the crowd hushed, leaving an eerie silent vacuum of anticipation. The hollow thunder of drums rolled. Joanna looked down and caught the flashes of brass and silver reflecting the glare of lights off the band instruments, glare that had always been broken by nets.
It all appeared so far away... so very... very... far away... as if she were looking through a long dark tunnel that stretched to infinity. For an instant her heart seemed to pause, then it began to shake in her chest. She gripped the bar with both hands as the scene wavered. After a moment everything came into focus and she saw the incredibly vast space surrounding her, a space bound by canvas above, and hard ground below.
The ringmaster's voice startled her as it blared, "Ladies and gentleman, high above center ring and performing for the first time without nets..."
Joanna heard nothing more as a wide shaft of brilliance, focused on her...
Above the chaos of her mind, Gene's voice rose. "Look at Otto! Not down," he said. She felt his hand on her waist, his fingers tightening to give her a reassuring squeeze. "Pull yourself together," he added in the quiet, confident voice she used to know. "You can do it, we've done the flying pass hundreds of times. Just swing high. Come on," he encouraged, "Get your timing going. One... two... three. Say it with me."
Joanna raised her hand to where the sapphire should have been and clutched at nothing. Panic gripped her. She couldn't go on. She couldn't hurl herself through space...
"Say the beat," Gene repeated. "Say it with me. One...two...three..."
"One... two... three," Joanna started the beat.
"Again, one... two... three. One... two... three," Gene repeated. "Keep the beat going," he said, snapping his fingers as she caught the rhythm.
Joanna joined in, repeating to the snap of Gene's fingers, "One...two...three. One... two... three." Gripping the bar, she jumped up, hurling herself from the platform.
Pumping her legs she rose high and descended. Higher, reaching for the canvas above, before descending again. And still higher, at last flipping up and dropping the bar. Tucking her body, she whirled in a double somersault. One, two, three, the beat inside her snapped like Gene's fingers... Unfold...
Reaching out, she felt Otto's hands smack her wrists. Together they sailed toward the peak of the pavilion and descended, the beat inside her constant. Otto released her and she turned, passing Gene in mid-air, and curled her fingers around the bar Gene had just released. Soaring toward the platform, she launched her legs forward, landing clumsily. Heart racing, she grabbed the rope to steady herself, then launched the trapeze to Gene for his return. Grasping the bar, Gene landed almost silently beside her on the platform.
She swung out for a double somersault, completing with a half-twist back to the bar. Gene followed with a backward somersault, was caught by the ankles and swung high, also returning to the bar with a half-twist. The time inched by... Back somersault... catch. Legs in a tuck... swinging foot-hang... catch. Pirouette... catch. Each return to the platform one step closer, until at last, Gene chalked his hands for the finale.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster's voice blared through the megaphone, "Gene Marquis performing his death-defying, two-and-a-half somersault... his first time without nets..."
Gene poised on the platform, head bobbing almost imperceptibly to the count. When a hush had fallen over the crowd, he swung out, flipping his legs forward, reaching for exceptional lift. Joanna watched, aware of the danger. She knew by his second revolution that Gene's body would be moving at a speed great enough to fog his brain. Somehow, before his final somersault, he'd regain his senses, and with only his counting as a guide, come out of his tuck...
But when the familiar clap of Gene's hands on Otto's wrists should have broken the silence, Joanna heard instead, the concerted gasps of thousands of spectators, and she saw Gene hanging from Otto by one arm. She stared, unbelieving, as Gene's hand slipped slowly in Otto's grip. Her fingers tightened on the rope as she was swept by dizziness. "No," she whispered, a scream caught in her throat as she watched the stricken look on Gene's face contort into a grimace as his hand inched down Otto's arm. She looked far below to where the attendants stood dumbfounded, gawking up at Gene dangling from Otto's hold, not moving, not attempting to stretch the net.
Why, dear God, were they just standing there?
Although she knew in her heart there was not enough time to raise the net, it seemed at least they could try... Make an attempt if only to say they tried...
Gene snapped his body against Otto's grip, throwing his arm up in an attempt to make contact. Their hands missed. Again he jerked against Otto's grip as he tried in vain to reach his brother's hand. Again their hands missed.
Joanna could almost feel the strength draining from Gene's body and knew that with every passing second, his chances were growing slim. As she watched helpless, her heart beating erratically, her legs weak, Gene gave one final snap of his body while hurling his free arm upward. With a smack, his hand met and locked with Otto's, then settled in place against Otto's wrist. Together they swung out, pumping their bodies to gain height.
Joanna's hands felt damp on the bar. Quickly she dusted them with chalk and prepared to launch the trapeze for Gene to catch. But she'd lost the beat. Her timing was off. She could only guess when to release the bar to Gene... And pray.
Sensing the time was now, she sailed the bar toward Gene as he released Otto's hands and turned in space. Instantly, she saw him make contact and he swung toward the platform. As he landed, she reached out and grabbed him to steady him. Once settled, he raised his hand to the roars of a wildly enthusiastic audience.
Joanna looked at Gene's face. The tension she'd seen moments before had faded, replaced by a passion for the glory of hearing the cheering crowd.
Somehow, she knew from that moment, that Gene would defy death again... and again... until one day his chances would run out. For herself, she knew she'd made the right choice.
As the crowd continued to cheer and applaud, cautiously she climbed down the rope ladder, leaving the platform, and the flying trapeze, for the last time.
***
The blare of the band and the entrance of mimes flipping and tumbling their way down the hippodrome track signaled intermission. Attendants began assembling the big cage, while handlers rolled in the smaller cages with the cats. Stefan stood in the shadows of the performers' entrance, his eyes moving restlessly over the crowd.
Walter eyed him dubiously. "You sure you want to put Rafat in the ring tonight?"
"He'll be all right," Stefan said. "The storm has just about passed over now, and he's been doing fine all week." He focused on a corridor choked with spectators pushing their way to the concession stands on the midway and caught a flash of white, like a cloak. Joanna? For an instant he thought he'd seen he
r, but he was wrong.
Walter looked beyond Stefan to where one of his handlers was rushing toward him. "I think there may be trouble," he said, nodding in the direction of a man who was waving his hand to catch their attention.
Stefan turned. The face of the handler looked strained with worry. "Mr. Janacek," he called out, "two men from the American Humane Association are in the menagerie tent and they claim they're impounding Rafat."
"What are you talking about?" Stefan said, walking over to meet the man. "They have no right to impound any of my animals without cause."
The handler glanced over his shoulder toward the menagerie. "They claim Rafat's been mistreated, that they have evidence. And they're getting ready to take him. No one's mistreated that cat, Mr. Janacek, I swear it."
Stefan saw that Tony was busy directing the handlers in connecting the chute. "Come on," he said to Walter. "I may need your input. But let's hurry. We have less than fifteen minutes before I'm on." He pushed his way through the crowd choking the passageway, elbowing jugglers, dodging attendants gathered in the performers' entrance. With Walter close behind, he raced to the menagerie. When he stepped between the wide canvas flaps covering the entrance, he froze, eyes locked on Klaus Haufchild's steely gaze. Moving to stand between Haufchild and Rafat's cage, he said, "No one's impounding this cat without a damn good reason."
Haufchild raised the iron-hooked stump of his arm and said, "We have reason." He motioned to a man standing behind him and moved aside for the man to come forward.
"Mr. Janacek, my name is George Robinson and I'm with the American Humane Association," the man said, holding out his identification badge. "We have evidence that this lion has been repeatedly mistreated." He removed a folded paper from his inside pocket and handed it to Stefan. "This is a court order for impoundment of the animal."
Stefan took the document, wondering what Klaus Haufchild's part was in this. Was it he who notified the authorities with trumped-up evidence? Publicity about animal cruelty could terminate an act. "I don't mistreat my animals," he assured George Robinson. "Mr. Haufchild should know that. He's responsible for most of my training." Stefan shot Haufchild a quizzical glance. Obviously this was a vindictive act on Haufchild's part to get revenge for the accident that ended his career. "I don't know what evidence you have," Stefan said, studying the court order, "but I assure you, my animals are not mistreated. In two days they'll be roaming free in an eighty-acre habitat with forty thousand dollars worth of custom-designed animal pens."
"This has nothing to do with your winter quarters," Robinson said. "This has to do with what happens on the show grounds. We have photographic evidence that this lion has been repeatedly mistreated." He handed several photographs to Stefan. "This photograph was taken in Natchez. This one in Vicksburg. And we have reason to believe the animal has been harassed in other ways."
Stefan looked at the photos. His heart quickened. "Tony Bernardo?" he said, staring in disbelief at the photograph of Tony shoving a pointed metal rod through the bars and prodding Rafat. "This is my assistant trainer." He brushed through the rest of the pictures. In another photograph, Rafat raised his paw to ward off a pitchfork. "This explains Rafat's behavior. And the cut rope... a deliberate attempt to get me out of the ring so Tony could take my place."
The sound of the band burst through the big top, the lively march signaling the end of intermission. Stefan looked with contempt toward the pavilion where Tony would be preparing for their final performance. He turned to Walter. "I want Bernardo detained," he said. "Alert security. And don't let on to Tony. He might try to run. Then notify the police. I'm filing charges against Tony for attempted murder."
Walter looked at Stefan in alarm. "You can't go on without an assistant."
Stefan's mouth tipped up in a cynical smile. "It appears that's exactly what I've been doing all season," he said. "We'll hold out Shani and cut the act short." He turned to George Robinson. "Look, I've got a performance right now, but I'll be back here right after. Take the cat if you need to, but I don't advise it. He can be vicious."
George Robinson looked at Rafat, who paced restlessly inside his cage. "We'll talk after your performance," he assured Stefan.
"Better keep the spectators away too," Stefan said. Taking a last curious look at Klaus Haufchild, he marched toward the exhibition pavilion.
A few minutes later, while he stood in the performers' entrance, Stefan watched two security guards approach Tony. Each burly man gripped one of Tony's arms and quietly escorted him away. Surprise on his face, Tony looked from one guard to the other, then caught Stefan's eyes as the guards ushered him past. Stefan looked at Tony with disdain, then he stepped to the front of the big cage, prepared to enter. As he stood waiting, he saw Joanna standing in the shadows of the performer's exit. She'd changed from her costume into what appeared to be a traveling dress, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat and a rain cape. She clearly was not planning to take part in the final parade.
He couldn't just let her go... Maybe there was still some way... There had to be a way... They'd talk right after his performance...
A fanfare announced his act. Lights swept across the big cage, coming to rest on the performers' entrance, and the ringmaster's voice blared through the megaphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, the king of the gypsies..."
Joanna edged forward and watched as Stefan walked into the light, hand raised to acknowledge the cheering crowd. He stepped into the enclosed arena and stood waiting for the lions to enter. She saw the sheen of perspiration on his muscular chest, the intensity in his eyes. He was incredibly handsome in his Gypsy costume—the bright-colored hussar vest, the form-fitting trousers, the tall black boots. She looked at the strong hand gripping the whip and remembered how gentle that hand could be. Standing in the crowd and watching him, she felt more solitary, more isolated than if she were alone...
"Seats!" Stefan said in a deep voice as five lions scurried to find their pedestals. That done, four tigers moved into the arena, stealing in a wide arc around the lions as they crept to find their places. Tails flicked nervously. Ears laid back with impatience. Low guttural snarls rumbled from the twisted face of a lioness.
Joanna spotted Walter standing a short distance away, a pistol resting in a holster at his hip. Weaving through the mass of people, she moved to stand beside him. "Where is Rafat?" she asked, relieved that the big lion was not among the cats in the arena.
Walter turned to acknowledge her. "He's being held by the humane association."
Joanna stared at Walter. "Why?"
Walter's gaze moved anxiously to the activity inside the cage. "We just found out that Tony Bernardo was behind everything... prodding Rafat and probably Shani too. It's fairly certain he was the one who cut the rope."
"Tony?" Joanna said incredulously. "How did you find out?"
"It's pretty ironic," Walter said. "Klaus Haufchild is trying to pin Stefan with animal cruelty to end his career. He has apparently been following the performances, looking for anything he could use against Stefan for bad publicity. And while he was spying on Stefan, he took photos of Tony prodding Rafat. What's so ironic is that Klaus Haufchild may have saved Stefan's life. As for Tony, it's a devil of a way to get to the top--maim a trainer and move up." Walter arched a dark brow. "The bad part is that the sort of thing Tony did can go undetected until it's too late."
Joanna's eyes narrowed as she visualized Tony's face, not unlike many faces she'd seen during the six years she'd been with shows. Ambitious, cunning faces that reflected lethal intent.
"I know that when I leave here tonight, I'll never look back with regret," she said with confidence. Then she remembered Walter's accusation a few weeks before, when he suspected Gene of doing the very thing Tony was accused of doing. She felt a sense of relief, knowing that Gene wasn't behind it. She only hoped his ambition wouldn't drive him to the point that Tony's had. Malevolent ambition, she realized with careworn anxiety, is cancerous. It can grow and destroy, just as Tony's ambition was
meant to destroy Stefan.
"Tekla was right," Walter said. "She always did have bad feelings about Tony."
Joanna remembered her own dream about Tony. Had it been a prophetic warning? But she'd almost forgotten about Tekla Janacek's latest dream, her prediction of death. Gene had come close, but he defied death. Now Stefan was in the arena without an assistant. And the prophecy of Tekla's dream had not yet been fulfilled.
She noted that Stefan was having trouble with one the lionesses. And although the other cats sat on their pedestals, their tails twitched with agitation and their ears flicked with annoyance. Glancing at Walter, she said, "What happens if there's trouble tonight?"
Walter pointed to several attendants spaced around the perimeter of the ring. "The handlers have been alerted to throw ammonia on the cats if they get out of hand, and the fire hoses are ready. Beyond that, nothing more can be done. It's all up to Stefan."
Walter's words did nothing to calm the flutters in Joanna's stomach or quell the anger she felt toward the man who had put Stefan in this position. "I hope Tony Bernardo rots in jail," she said. "But it's more likely he'll get slapped on the hands and released."
"He'll get more than slapped hands," Walter said. "He's looking at serious charges. Convicted or not, he won't be seeing the inside of a ring again. When word gets out there won't be a show in the country that will hire him. His career is over." Walter waited with Joanna for a few more minutes, then he wished her well, excused himself, and left to check on Rafat in the menagerie tent.
Feeling a growing sense of melancholy, Joanna eased backward until she could no longer see the flicker in Stefan's eyes, or the lines of determination around his mouth, or the furrows of concentration between his brows. He'd seemed so arrogant the first time she'd met him. Yet when she looked at him now, she knew that beneath his rugged facade was a warm sensitive man. And she was walking out of this man's life. How could it come to this? Why couldn't two people in love find a way to be together? But now it was three people. Their child was also a factor.
Perilous Pleasures Page 20
