Beautiful Freaks (20 page)

Sylvani
a’s wings burst forth, resplendent, shimmering red and gold
,
flickering in the sunlight that looked impossibly real. Then the revolving audience span as if on a roulett
e wheel
in the hands of fate.
It came to a stop facing stage number three.

Kaspian sat forward, eager for the curtains to part and for the scene to reveal itself. His eyes felt huge
,
as if they were drinking in every sight in front of him. When the curtains
finally
parted, all he could see was red smoke
that
seeped under the glass screen and filled the auditorium with a sickly-sweet and unfamiliar smell.
It licked around the glass, creating letters one by one. It was difficult to translate because as one letter formed, another faded but Kaspian believed they spelled out the name SERAPHINA.

When
the final letter
cleared
,
a woman stood in the centre of a set
composed
of
gr
eat bronze dragons, each one leaking
a
steady
stream of red smoke from their nostrils.
In the background a drum beat deeply.
She
wore
a Chinese kimono, her hair done in the fashion of the orie
nt. Her face was a painted mask – white with scarlet lips.
In her hands she held two burning torches
that
she spun, filling the space with a streaking blur of fire and flame. After a few acrobatic movements
,
she turned sideways so the audience could see her profile and raised the torch to the air
,
before tipping her head backwards and inserting the flaming tip of the torch into her mouth
. A
ppreciative sighs
and gasps came
from the audience.

Kaspian had seen something like it once before
,
at a travelling circus
,
but it had been years ago and the performer had been a filthy, year-worn man whose lips had been burnt black by repeated abuse and accident. It was nothing compared to the extraordinary beauty now
in
front of him.

The girl’s Kimono was made of red and gold silk
,
which looked like
fire. As she moved, the flame effect was hypnotising, lulling Kaspian into a trance-like state. All at once there was the sound of combustion; real flames flared and engulfed her completely. Kaspian
gasped in horror
and searched
th
e other faces for similar alarm,
but they all
looked
relaxed as if it was all perfectly normal. Just as he was about to leave his seat and call for help, the flames died down to reveal the woman standing perfectly intact
and
dressed in a sparkling red leotard. Thunderous applause erupted around him but Kaspian’s mind was crashing and he thought that he might scream.

‘Controlling fire.

The man in the morgue.

The Beautiful Freaks are killing.’

Suddenly
there wasn’t enough air in the room and he knew that if he didn’t leave immediately
,
he would pas
s
out on the spot. He took advantage of the standing ovations and made a hasty exit towards the curtains, which were opened by a pretty
,
cream
-
skinned hand. Outside of the theatre
room Kaspian buckled over and gasped
for breath.

“Fetch the boy some water,” a voice commanded. He glanced up to see the beautiful girl with the monocle star
r
in
g at him. A small smile flickered
at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes, Eve,” the girl replied
as she scurried
off.

“It’s all rather overwhelming a
t first. After a while it fades – the
excitement, the pleasure. One day you wake up and you find it no longer satisfies; it just isn’t enough – then what?”
S
he shrugged and let out a sigh.

“I don’t know,”
Kaspian
gasped, not able to sort his thoughts into words.

“Hmm …
then you die
, I suppose,
”
she mused. 

“Yes, I suppose…” Kaspian shook his head as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying
;

And this same flower that flowers today,

Tomorrow will be dying.” She spoke the poem as if she were singing.

“The
poet,
Herrick?”
Kaspian recalled.

“Yes, ‘To the
Virgins, to Make Much of Time.’ Do
you know it? It’s a poem that
has always filled
me with a terrible sadness.” She looked at him and smiled but it was shadowed by a grief. “Ah, here is your water.” Her tone returned to its clipped efficiency. Clearly she didn’t dwell on emotions.

“There you are, you goose,” Hugh said as he slapped Kaspian on the back.

When Kaspian returned his gaze, Eve was gone.

“Sorry about that. It was just a little hot in there,” Kaspian replied.

Thinking that Kaspian had intended the phrase as a witty pun, Hugh guffawed with laughter and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

“Not home?”

“No, not home. Sunrise is a long way off.”

They recovered their hats and canes from the cloakroom office and stepped out into the cold London air.

*

“Where are we going?” Kaspian asked.

“The Casino! Are you feeling lucky?”

Kaspian smiled to himself. “I’m feeling very lucky indeed.”

“
Hoorah
!” Hugh called as he
spun
himself around on the spot. “May the odds be in our favour!
”

Kaspian and Hugh made their way through the Haymarket and onto Windmill Street. Here the Street was filled with an eclectic mix of night dwellers; starch fronted opera goers, women in expensive silks baring daring décolletage, hawkers, and prostitutes
whose
skirts
were
cut short to expose bright coloured, ribboned stocking tops. All along the street were night cafes and taverns. A single wrong choice of door could land a fellow in a criminal den to be set upon by tattooed navies on leave.

“The Black Bull is a safe bet,” Hugh said as he used his cane to point in the direction of a tavern that glowed warm light through cut glass windows. A doorman wearing a thick woollen coat and a top hat was positioned to deter less desirable clientele. “A little more suited to your refinement, Kaspian … but it isn’t as much
…” he searched for a suitable word, “…
fun
as the Argyll Rooms. Yes the Argyll is much more the sort of place to find some trouble.”

“Really, how so?”

“One evening, the right honourable Lord
Hastings
let free a bag of rats onto the dance floor, just to watch the fun of the women lifting up their skirt
s. R
ather than being thrown out
,
he was made guest of honour … they’ve als
o got acrobats. I love acrobats!
”

“Me too. Let’s go there!” Kaspian said. He was as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

“Well if you insist. Let me lead the way.” Hugh raised his cane in the air and gave a little skip before hurrying off.
They wove their way through the panto
mime cast and down a back alley.
Dressed as they were, with their expensive suits and paraphernalia of wealth, Kaspian and Hugh had no trouble entering the exotic world of The Argyle. Kaspian had expected it to be a little like
No.7,
but it wasn’t.

Here the
interior
space was vast and open, flanked by velvet benches and oak tables. Acrobats whirled in the air above
them, their sequined leotards and long ostrich feathers creating strange, exotic flashes of colour. A
ll around the second-story
,
boxes con
tained the wealthiest
patron
s
so that the lower floor became a kind of stage or as Kaspian
wryly
thought,
‘a gladiatorial ring.’

It was a milli
on miles away from the refined
intimacy of
No. 7
. Here the energy buzzed with an almost crazed potential. Hugh and Kaspian took a seat, moved the empty champagne flutes to the edge of the table and tried to catch the attention of one of the waiters. The only drinks available were beer or champagne. B
oth of them opted for champagne,
which at twelve pence a glass was nothing short of extortion.

“What do you think?” Hugh asked a slightly aghast Kaspian.

“I think … I think it is glorious!”

As Kaspian spoke
, a sequin-
spangled acrobat whizzed over thei
r heads. Her shoe barely missed
the t
op of Kaspian’s hat. Giddy with excitement he started to giggle, finding it almost impossible to stop until he resorted to stuffing his white leather glove into his mouth.

The waiter bought their drinks and as he did, Kaspi
an noticed a girl watching him. A
smile
danced
on her lips. She was a pretty thing, dressed alm
ost in the fashion of a sailor-
doll.
He
couldn’t work out if she were a part of the circus act or an eccentric customer. Her cheeks were roughed in little red circles and her lips had be
en made into the tiniest red
cute-bow
. S
h
e wiggled her head coquettishly causing
her tight golden ringlets
to bounce, just as if they were made of metal springs.

“You have
curious taste, Kaspian,” Hugh whispered in
his
ear before letting out a giggle and lighting a cigarette.

Kaspian blushed, embarrassed at having been so obvious about his attraction to the girl. When he looked back she had disappeared and he felt the momentary
sense of loss
at
having seen something wonderful
and then losing it.

On the stage
a
heavily greased opera diva
belted
out some
heavy
German operatic
. It was providing mass entertainment just for its sheer awfulness.
When she had done killing the small animal stuck in her throat, the gas lamps were dimmed, leaving nothing but a dark red glow moving w
ith shadows. The stage was spot lit in preparation for
some extraordinary act
,
and the orchestra
was
doing their be
st to create a sense of exotic E
astern sound from their
classical,
European instruments.

All at once Kaspian felt completely intoxicated. The mixture of champagne, rich African cigarettes
,
and warm darkness sent Kaspian on a dark
,
dreamlike journey. He
became
acutely aware of everything
, and yet every
thing seemed less substantial than it had just ten minutes
ago
.
All of his
sense
s
had
softened and warmed. It were
as if he
were
opening himself up to the sensations of the universe
; w
hich is why
,
when a hand slid over his thigh and down into his lap, he didn
’t startle
but let out a soft sigh.

When he traced the hand back to its owner, his hand fell on stiff silk and then onto the rounded curves of a woman. He turned
to
face his assailant and saw in front of him the
sailor girl. Her eyes were wide and blue;
the irises ringed with a dark line of navy
,
as if a heavy hand had drawn them. Her lips
,
as bright as summer cherries,
were
in
full pout
,
inviting Kaspian to reach out and pluck them
.
Desire stirred in him and through all the heavy sensuality
,
there
surged
an energy
that
felt like a
pounding drumbeat
. He reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, drawing her lips to his. With his other hand he stroked
the lace of her
stocking top and
let his finger
tips explore the silks of her bloomers.