Circus Excite (5 page)

‘Henri is not a man of many words,' he said. ‘But you wait till you see what he can do with a knife.' Julia flinched involuntarily, prompting another laugh from Joe.

‘Henri's a knife-thrower. One of the best in the world. It takes a lot of skill, and a lot of concentration. Especially the act he does with the circus.'

Julia was becoming intrigued by the mysterious references to the circus. Just what, exactly, was it that made it so different from any other sawdust-and-clowns circus anyway? She tried to probe Joe for information, but he shook his head and told her to wait. He promised that once they got to the site, he'd show her round and introduce her to some of the ‘crew'. At least there was one person who seemed to be friendly, Julia thought. And she liked Joe's laid-back rough and ready attitude. There was something refreshing about him, like a roll in a hay barn compared to her intense, infuriating encounter with Robert. Joe reached down to change gears, and this time he left his hand resting on Julia's knee. She felt him squeeze her leg, his hand rough and strong, rubbing the fabric of her stocking against his thumb. Casting an anxious glance at Henri, Julia quietly removed his hand, but shifted in her seat to feel the warmth of Joe's body closer to hers. She settled into the journey, reassured by the presence of a down-to-earth, horny young man.

The truck pulled into a field just outside Brighton and bumped over the grass to join various other cars, caravans and lorries that were parked in a circle. The field was already getting churned into a mud bath, most of the labourers having arrived the day before to set up. A small army of people were already putting up tents, raising poles and knocking pegs into the ground. Julia unfolded herself gingerly from the truck, her body cramped and sore. Joe ran round to help her down, apparently playing the gentleman, but not missing the chance to slip his arm round her waist and give her a stinging slap on the backside as he did so. While Julia tried to recover her composure he looked down at her shoes and shook his head.

‘Now those'll be absolutely no use,' he said. ‘Follow
me.' He strode off towards the group of caravans while Julia picked her way through the mud in his wake, her heels sinking into the earth with every step. Eventually Joe turned and watched her struggle for a bit before coming back to help her. Julia offered him her hand, but was taken by surprise when he grabbed her and swung her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, leaving her upside down with her ass in the air and legs flailing. Weakly, she tried to protest, aware that she would not be making the most dignified of entrances slung over Joe's shoulder, but he ignored her. As he passed the other workers, they greeted each other with shouts.

‘That the new dancer you got there, Joe?'

Julia winced, mortified at her ridiculous position and powerless to do anything about the whistles and jibes they attracted as Joe carried her across the field. Her underwear was digging in sharply, and she was rubbed and bumped against Joe's rough cotton shirt, irritating her tender newly-waxed flesh. All the blood was rushing to her head and her carefully primped hair swung wildly across her face. At last Joe let her slide down to the ground beside a caravan. He wrenched open the door and disappeared inside while she re-arranged her clothes, which had ridden up to expose her underwear and the lace tops of her stockings. Then she stuck her head inside the caravan, and found Joe rummaging in a cupboard.

‘First rule of the site, Julia,' he shouted to her over his shoulder. ‘Shoes off before you come in the caravan.' Julia complied, slipping out of her heels and climbing the steps in her stockinged feet. Once inside, she surveyed Joe's home with interest. The space was tiny, everything in miniature compared to Joe's bulky frame. It was also surprisingly tidy, the bed in the corner neatly made with a blanket tucked over it and the cupboards closed. It was a sparse home, everything functional and
a little worn. Without doubt these were a man's living quarters. A postcard of a motorbike was tacked up over the sink as decoration, and a St Christopher hung from a nail over the bed. Other than these small decorations the walls were lined with neatly stacked shelves.

Joe turned to her, holding out a pair of cowboy boots in one hand.

‘These'll do you better for rolling around in the dirt,' he said. As Julia sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on the boots, he came and stood close to her.

‘In fact, I think you'll need to change your outfit altogether.' Julia looked up at him. ‘I've got some old clothes in the cupboard there, if you'd just take off this.' He hooked a finger into the neck of her top, pulling it away from her body. Julia was aware that, standing over her, he could see right down her cleavage. And he was looking. She didn't pull away, enjoying the feel of his eyes on her, his playful confidence. She put her head on one side and looked sternly at him, meeting his forwardness with smouldering confidence.

‘What have you got?' she asked slyly.

Joe visibly shook himself and went back to the cupboard. He returned with an armful of clothes – a check shirt and jeans – and threw them onto the bed next to her. She looked them over doubtfully.

‘What, no cowboy hat?' she asked. Joe reached behind the door.

‘It just so happens . . .' he said, producing a felt hat and tossing it to Julia, who caught it and smiled.

‘A proper caballero, eh?' She let the hat dangle from her finger and grinned at him.

‘Well, you know, I do work with the
horses
.'

‘Yeah . . .' Julia frowned. She had the distinct feeling she was being wound up. Adopting a brisk tone, she tried to wrest the situation back to a more professional level.

‘So, tell me where can I get changed.'

Joe spread his arms wide. His fingertips reached nearly to the walls of the tiny space.

‘Feel free, babe. I'm not shy.'

‘No,' said Julia, ‘but maybe I am. Can't a girl have a little privacy?' She raised her eyebrow, letting the tension between them rise in the silence.

Joe licked his lips, obviously undecided just how far he could push it. He gave her a last lingering stare before bowing deeply.

‘As you wish, madam,' he declared with mock formality, and left, closing the door behind him.

As she unzipped her skirt, Julia smiled to herself. The morning's flirting with Joe had warmed her up nicely. She had a little buzz between her legs that meant she was more than ready to go and find Robert.

She was unaware of the caravan window opposite her, or the fact that, outside, Joe watched her ghostly reflection disrobe with great pleasure.

Julia emerged from the caravan in the over-sized old clothes and stepped into a maelstrom of people all moving with purpose towards the centre of the site. She could hear hammering and shouts, and she followed the noise out past the caravan enclosure. In a wide open space in the centre of the field the company were erecting the tents. Julia watched as the central marquee went up. A couple of dozen men, sweating and grimy, pulled on ropes and the structure was heaved up to stand forty feet high. It didn't look like the circus tops she remembered. The marquee was entirely black. A woman draped black silk over the guy ropes, which were trimmed with purple flags. She watched a couple of guys climb ladders to the top and loop long strings of fairy lights round the crown. Towering over her, the dark canvas with its fluttering pennants loomed like a
nightmare pirate ship. Julia felt a mix of excitement and anxiety as she looked around the site. The workers swarming over the site were a bizarre assortment of creatures. Each worked with intense concentration, the whole operation precisely co-ordinated. They had muscular, athletic builds and many of them were tattooed and pierced, with dyed hair tied back or shaved at the sides. They moved with a peculiar sort of grace, as though putting up the tents was a performance in itself. As a burly man brushed past her, Julia caught a whiff of body odour mixed with a faint scent of patchouli or hash – she couldn't be sure which. She saw Henri, winding a rope into a coil that he tossed into a crate. A slim delicate looking woman was sitting on another crate, stitching her costume. Julia walked slowly through the site, swerving out of the way as a young man, stripped to the waist, walked swiftly past on a pair of stilts. Behind her she heard the roar of an engine and turned to see Joe astride a black motorbike riding into the marquee. Motorbikes? She followed Joe into the tent, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside.

The black canvas filtered the light to a sepulchral glow, turning the bright morning into twilight. The atmosphere had an intense dreamlike quality that made Julia feel she had entered a strange new world.

In here the workers swarmed like ants: hoisting a lighting rig into the rafters; unfolding rows of benches; hammering scaffolds in place in the centre of the tent. There was a smell of diesel and woodchips, and a sudden harsh burst of noise from the speakers at the back of the tent. Joe's motorbike leant against a pole and he stood watching the action. Standing in the centre of the ring was Robert. Julia recognised him instantly, a tall figure standing with his legs spread, directing people around him. Her stomach gave a little flip as he turned towards where she stood, but he seemed to look right
through her. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he was obviously totally absorbed in the preparations. As he moved around, inspecting scaffolds and giving instructions, Julia observed his calm, magnetic presence. She began to understand how he could hold a whole show together. He was the lynchpin around which everyone else was spinning. Without raising his voice, he summoned people to him and smoothly sent them off to their tasks.

Overhead, a rack of lamps was switched on, flooding the ring with a harsh violet light. The colours were suddenly inverted, and the scene resembled a photographic negative, grainy and indistinct. Julia walked into the ring to where Robert was bathed in UV, his teeth and the whites of his eyes dazzling against his blue skin as he looked upwards, peering into the dazzle. She felt disoriented, as though she had been flung into a surreal tableau. Would Robert even recognise her? She approached him as though moving underwater. When she caught his eye, he gave her a violet smile and walked over.

‘So you made it,' he said, with genuine warmth in his voice. Julia felt a surge of relief that he knew who she was. Lost among a crowd of shadowy strangers, she was grateful to know at least one person. Even if their previous encounter had been a frustrating one, Julia felt a connection to him, as though they'd shared some intimacy as she danced for him. This time, though, Robert was obviously in his element. The languid suggestive manner she'd found so beguiling had been taken over by a focused exuberance. He was buzzing with energy, his movements vital and confident. He surveyed the interior of the tent, still awash with blue light.

‘It's fantastic, isn't it?'

Julia looked around, seeing the dark structures of scaffolds, now being hung with heavy drapes, ropes
looping overhead and rows of empty seats. Fantastic was right.

Abruptly, she was shaken out of her reverie.

‘Sylvie,' Robert was calling, over her shoulder. ‘Can you take – sorry, what was your name?' He looked at Julia, frowning.

‘Julia. Julia Spark.' She was crushed that he didn't remember.

‘Sylvie, can you take Julia to your caravan and sort her out please? Thank you.' He nodded at Julia, and turned back to his work.

Julia smiled weakly at Robert's back as a girl approached and led her out of the tent.

Back in the glare of daylight, Julia got a look at Sylvie. She was small and lithe, with a heart-shaped face covered in heavy make-up. Fast and graceful, she moved through the chaos of the site, leading Julia back towards the caravans. Following behind her, Julia admired the sculpted muscles of her legs, knowing how much effort it took to keep your body that sleek. Sylvie moved with a natural wiggle, and shimmied her ass as she climbed into a small silver trailer, beckoning Julia after her. Once inside, Sylvie sank onto the bed, lit a cig and let out a long sigh. Julia looked around in wonder. This caravan was a world away from Joe's sparse home. The tiny curved interior was a cornucopia of exotic fabrics and decorations. The bed was covered in a heavily embroidered Indian blanket, with mirrors and beads stitched over the surface, and a profusion of silk pillows. Sylvie lay back in these like a bird curling into her nest. Julia ducked her head to avoid crashing into the low ceiling, and felt feathers brush against her cheek. Dream catchers and mobiles hung around her, wind chimes rung tiny silvery notes. Sylvie nodded Julia to sit on the couch opposite.

‘That's your bed. I'll get Joe to bring in your cases.' She spoke with a husky Eartha Kitt voice that didn't match her doll-like looks. Julia eyed her warily. Something about Sylvie was a little unnerving. She was a strange creature, by turns petulant and girlish, although Julia sensed in her proud posture and lithe body a confidence that could only come from long experience and devotion to her art. Sylvie did a high-wire act, ‘and the contortionist thing,' she said, blithely. It was in the contortion act that Julia would start off.

‘When I'm up on the platform, I need an assistant to dance around,' Sylvia explained. ‘You know, that wafting stuff.' She waved her hands vaguely to show what she meant. ‘Also to pour the wine over me.'

‘Excuse me?'

Sylvie sucked her teeth, obviously impatient at Julia's ignorance.

‘It's an Eastern theme. I'll be up on a podium, like a temple statue. While I'm rolling around and doing positions, you'll be brought on like a human sacrifice, in chains. In fact, maybe we'll make you crawl. Then, when I'm in position like this –' She pulled her leg round to flex behind her head and rested it on her shoulder. Pulling her other ankle round so she was delicately poised, she balanced on her hands. It took Julia's breath away. ‘You put wine glasses here,' Sylvia nodded to the soles of her feet, ‘here,' the palms of her hands, ‘here and here,' her head and shoulders, ‘and two here, on my breasts.'