Circus Excite (21 page)

‘I seem to have a gift for international diplomacy,' Karin said, raising her eyebrow as she took in Julia's vertiginous heels and dangerous cleavage. ‘Although, may I suggest that your get-up could be translated as the universal outfit of sluts everywhere. What the hell are you wearing, darling?'

Julia could only laugh as she gave her friend a bear hug, realising she hadn't even spoken to her on the phone in the months she'd been travelling with the circus. The intensity of everything had meant that she'd all but forgotten her old friends, and she felt a pang of guilt as she embraced Karin.

‘This is Martin Woods.' Karin introduced the well-built man standing next to her with a hint of smugness. ‘We shouldn't even be seen in public together,' she added in a stage whisper, winking at Julia. ‘He's directing the show I'm in.'

‘You're in a show! That's fantastic.' Julia was genuinely pleased for her friend, but noticed at the same time Karin's sleek elegant appearance, her linen suit and glossy understated haircut. Next to her she suddenly felt ridiculous, dressed in a pantomime whore's costume with her make-up melting in the hot sunshine and her feet aching from the high heels. How would she explain what she was doing?

‘So what are you here for, Julia? What have you been doing all summer?' Karin seemed to read her thoughts, and Julia took a deep breath as she wondered where to start. Thankfully, Karin was already insisting that Julia must come for a drink, immediately, and the thought of a glass of chilled wine in a shaded bar was so appealing that she scarcely gave a thought to abandoning her work for the afternoon.

As they fought their way through the crowds and climbed the hundred steep steps to the Royal Mile, Julia listened distractedly to Karin's chatter about her
summer holiday in Greece, her new flat in London and who she'd been hanging out with since Julia left. It was comforting to hear someone familiar; after the tense, fraught personalities of the circus Julia found it deliciously easy to listen to Karin's banal chitchat. At the same time, though, Julia was aware that something had changed. She was no longer able to join in enthusiastically with their usual bitch-and-gossip session. As they entered a large busy bar with a Deco interior, Julia found she had hardly anything to say to Karin. Everything she'd experienced in the past couple of months seemed so outrageous and unlikely she didn't know how to explain it. The bad review was weighing on her mind, too.

Karin sent Martin to the bar to buy a round, and took the opportunity to fill Julia in on the details.

‘So he's a shit-hot director, made it big in New York and is the very latest new signing at the Rep,' she hissed, eyeing Martin's broad shoulders as he stood at the bar. ‘Luckily he also happens to be straight, which was a phenomenally nice surprise, and he's “discovered” me just as I was about to give up and start selling crack to pay the rent.'

‘So you're sleeping with him?' Julia asked, wondering whether Karin had fallen into bed with the man in a shrewd career move, or whether she was genuinely attracted to him.

‘No, darling. I'm fucking him in hotels when his wife's at work. We don't sleep together.' She shrugged. ‘It's one way to get a job as principal.
La Sylphide.
A modern interpretation, five stars in the
Guardian
review.' Karin gave Julia the news with a faux-casual shrug that hinted just how proud she was to be dancing for the Rep. It was a humbling moment for Julia, who realised she hadn't even seen a Festival programme and had obviously fallen out of the world she'd worked so
hard to break into. Erotic circus wasn't on the same level.

The latest new signing for the London Rep chose that moment to rejoin them, setting down a large glass of wine in front of Julia and giving her the kind of smile that hovered somewhere between indulgent and suggestive.

‘That should cool you down, sweetie,' he said pointedly, eyeing Julia's cleavage with a raised eyebrow. As he sat next to her he pressed the length of his thigh closely against Julia's fishnet-clad leg, while smiling unctuously at Karin. ‘So tell me,' he said smoothly, ‘what brings Karin's little friend to the Festival?'

Julia felt herself bristle. Martin had a certain kind of oily charm and he obviously was quite convinced of his own importance. Julia had met plenty of men like this at dance school; men who treated female dancers with contempt while simultaneously trying to get them into bed.

‘I'm performing at the Meadows,' she said, determined not to let the man's credentials intimidate her.

‘Oh really?' His voice was dripping with fake sincerity. ‘I would love to see you perform, sweetie. Is this what you wear?' Julia was well aware that he was ogling her blatantly. Even in front of Karin he seemed to be unselfconsciously coming on to her.

‘Yes,' Julia answered abruptly, and turned to Karin. She knew pointedly ignoring a man as well connected as Martin could be professional suicide, but she refused to join in his slimy act of gratuitous arse kissing.

The afternoon turned into evening, the uncomfortable situation seemed to ease as the drinks flowed, and by the time the sky outside was darkening Julia was laughing loudly at Martin's stories of New York dilettantes and allowing him to put his hand on her knee. Karin
didn't seem to mind; in fact she was smiling brightly at Martin as though she was entirely unaware of her lover's overtures. Around them the bar filled with young, Bohemian-looking locals and the occasional stray performer, and Julia felt jubilantly as though she'd been released from a very long, strange dream. It had been too long, she thought, since she hung out with people who understood her love of dance, who knew the theatre. Despite herself, she found Martin's ideas about dance fascinating. He might be an odious lech, she found herself thinking in the foggy recesses of her mind, but he is a formidable choreographer. He name-dropped ferociously, mentioning Nureyev as though he'd been an intimate friend. He'd lectured in Paris, Moscow, the states. As Julia finished her fourth glass, she found herself listening, dazzled, as Martin described the Sydney Opera House and how he'd demanded a new stage with exactly the right amount of ‘spring' he needed to make the show perfect. As she listened, Julia had thought nervously of the circus, and how different the people there were from the stage folk she used to work with. No one there seemed to have the breathtaking ambition of Martin Woods, and an erotic show was unlikely to win any major awards. The performers were skilled and worked like dogs to get the show perfect, but in the rarefied theatre world her role would be seen as little more than that of a cabaret dancer, a cheap titillation for the plebs. That is, of course, if it ran at all.

‘Don't you fancy a whirl with us, sweetie?' Martin had suggested, eyes watering with innuendo as he looked Julia over. She was under no doubt that his suggestion would include giving extra favours if she wanted to dance for the Rep. His hot, sweaty hand had stayed clamped to her thigh for the whole evening, and he occasionally brushed against her breasts by accident as he gestured.

By the time she stumbled back onto the street and made her way slowly back to the Meadows, Julia's head was spinning. She'd drunk too much, she knew, but mixed in her addled thoughts were images of Karin, dancing her elegant sculptural role in the ballet and winning plaudits in the reviews. For the first time, Julia felt that she'd made a terrible mistake. When she'd explained her role to Karin she'd reacted with loud guffaws, finding the whole idea of an erotic circus ludicrous. She'd offered congratulations, of course, but Julia could tell that she was only being polite. Next to a role in an acclaimed sensational new ballet by one of the country's leading directors, Julia's achievements paled. Eventually, Karin had expressed a little concern for Julia's career, asking her if this show wasn't going too far.

‘Isn't it all a bit louche, darling? I mean, you're not some cheap stripper, are you?'

Now, her words buzzed unpleasantly in Julia's head, leaving a sense of doubt and confusion that left her feeling on the verge of tears. She staggered down past the pubs of the Grassmarket, ignoring the whistles and cat-calls of drunken men sitting outside. Julia swore again as her heels nearly tripped her up, wishing fervently that she was wearing her civvies, and that she'd never even answered the advert for the circus. She was starting to feel sick as she thought of all the chances she was missing, the ballet roles that might have turned up had she not taken the job. It seemed to her that she was always missing the boat, from college productions to the present mess. She was starring in a show that had been ferociously, mercilessly panned.

The Meadows were a mass of inky black ahead of her, the trees forming a sheltered nook from where the tent poles of the circus were just visible. Julia thought of the struggles with Rachel and the humiliations Robert
had subjected her to, of her narrow cot in the leaky caravan and the five-star hotel Karin was staying in. Why the hell had she got involved with these people? She looked at the cluster of caravans and lorries with angry drunken confusion. She'd worked her ass off all summer only to realise it was a dead-end. She was going on stage in five days, to perform with a man who watched her fuck other people, who wouldn't ever even touch her himself. And the show was turning into a no-star disaster.

FROM THE INKY
black space under the trees came low voices, speaking as though they did not want their conversation overheard. Julia stood in her heels and costume, listening. She couldn't see who was there – the circus floodlights had not yet been rigged up – but she recognised the warm tones of Joe's Romany, and the dry reedy voice of Henri replying. Julia wondered if she could intrude on them. She wished someone could reassure her, tell her what to do. It was a hard decision to make, but Julia was certain she couldn't stay here. Martin's offer of a place on the corps de ballet had only deepened her confusion – from his hints she understood that the role would be available as long as she complied with his desires. He had spun her a line about how he needed to ‘know' his dancers, and Julia was in no doubt that he would expect very intimate knowledge of her body. The thought repulsed her – but the alternative was a dangerous one.

The thought of going onstage after such damning and vicious criticism gave her a queasy feel in the pit of her stomach. What if the audience reacted as the reviewer had done? Could she bear to be ridiculed in the press, could she even take the risk? Julia swayed towards Robert's caravan, wondering if she could find some reassurance from him. Or should she tell him about Martin's offer? How could she leave five days before the show started? Julia's fuddled thoughts were only more confused from all the wine, and she suddenly hit upon the idea of pushing a note under the
door. It would be the easiest way to break the news without a confrontation, and in her shaken state the last thing she wanted was to face Robert. Fumbling with her suitcase, she managed to extricate a flyer and her pen, and leant against the side of his van to scrawl a note on the back:

Robert,

I have to leave, I'm sorry.

Julia

After slipping the letter under Robert's door, Julia turned back to the site, wondering if she really could run off in secret without telling anyone. She could stay with Karin tonight, and send someone back to get her things later. Make a dash for it now, part of her urged, although the thought of leaving without saying goodbye made her heart ache. She'd grown attached to the circus crew and knew she was taking the cowardly option. Joe and Henri were by the trees; she could at least wish them luck before she cut loose.

On site, the usual chatter and bustle was absent. A strange unease seemed to hang in the air, with the performers staying in their caravans and Joe and Henri talking clandestinely under the trees. Julia stumbled towards them, her heels becoming even more of a hindrance on the soft grassy field. The haze of wine in her head made her sway slightly and as she reached the two men in the shadows she almost fell into Joe's arms. He steadied her wordlessly, noting immediately the state she was in.

‘You've been gone a while, Julia.'

‘I bumped into some friends. Ballet dancer and her shit-hot director man.
Sylphide
– five stars.' Julia knew she was rambling incoherently, but was past caring. She hardly noticed that her cleavage had at last spilt free of her top and a nipple peeked from the corset, adding to
her dishevelled appearance and giving her the look of a ravaged libertine. Quietly, Joe took off his overcoat and wrapped her in it. Henri remained silent, pulling on a cigarette and blowing long blue streamers of smoke into the dark.

‘He offered me a part. I could be in the
corps de ballet
. Ballet . . .' Julia tried to turn a pirouette, and practically collapsed. Joe gripped her arm tightly and sighed again.

‘You know, most people don't run away from the circus, darlin'. Though I don't blame you for wanting to, tonight.'

‘We're fucked, Joe. Aren't we?' The edge of despair in Julia's voice was blurred by alcohol, and she leant close in to him, wanting to feel a warm man's body, the comfort of his arms around her. ‘I have to go.'

At last, Henri spoke.

‘The last time I was here, we had a beautiful walk up the Calton Hill. It's a nice night for a ramble. Joe?'

‘Might sober up this one.' Joe nodded at Julia, slumped against his shoulder. ‘Come on babe, you need to get some proper shoes on. We're going to take you for an adventure.' He considered for a minute, before adding: ‘And I think we should bring Sylvie. It may be a good time for Julia to hear her story, even if it is her last night with us.'

The group of four walked slowly through the dark streets of Edinburgh, still littered with drunken Festival goers loudly discussing the shows they'd seen earlier. The pubs would be open till the small hours, and hardcore revellers were taking full advantage of the city's generous licensing laws, filling the beer gardens and squares and trailing into late-night takeaways. Now dressed in her rough clothes, flanked by Joe, Henri and a recalcitrant Sylvie, Julia was subdued. She walked as though in a dream, absorbing the sights of the partying
metropolis, letting her thoughts wander as they moved towards the black dome of Calton Hill.