Perilous Pleasures (9 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Joanna, feeling dismal, watched Matthew's phaeton amble away. She'd spent little time with him and his family, and now she wouldn't see them for another year, if she stayed with Porter Brothers, which was a big if. It seemed her visit to Vicksburg was over before it began. One last performance and they'd be underway again. Her eyes stung and she blinked back tears, wondering what was coming over her. Matthew wasn't going anywhere. Wherever the show might take her, he'd always be in Vicksburg, contentedly sharing his life with Libby and Robbie.

She could still feel Robbie's little hand patting her mouth, and hear his gleeful squeal as she nibbled his tiny fingers. Matthew's life was so uncomplicated, so perfect that it made her restless for the same. But when she thought of settling down into the idealistic marriage with a home and children, she saw Stefan by her side. Yet... that could never be because ultimately, she intended to leave the show. But Stefan's life
was
the show, and always would be...

With the show, and with his family, and with his cats...

Turning, she gathered her cape around her costume and plodded across the grounds to the exhibition pavilion, where the evening performance had already begun. The rapping of kettledrums announced Stefan's act. From the shadows of the performer's entrance, she watched as Stefan approached the arena to the applause of an eager audience. With the confident smile she'd come to know, he walked into the big cage and raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd. The lights glistened off his muscular chest beneath the Hussar vest, and even at a distance, she could see the intensity in his eyes.

A terrible fear settled around her, a fear that now comprised the vivid image that Helen Janacek had painted. But instead of visualizing Stefan's father struggling beneath the frenzy of attacking cats, she saw Stefan.
 

Fool! Damn... optimistic... fool!

She should not watch the performance. She'd determined not to. Yet, she was unable to turn away. A drop-gate rattled up and four lions trotted through the barred tunnel and into the big cage. The heavy steel gate swished down, closing with a resounding clank.

As Joanna stood watching, Walter's voice startled her. "The first minute in the cage is the most dangerous," he said, moving to stand beside her.

Joanna acknowledged him with an apprehensive smile, then swallowed hard. "Why?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know at this particular moment.

Walter's eyes followed the lions as they scurried around looking for their pedestals. "The males have their eyes on the females, and when the tigers come in, the lions may try to gang up on them before the tigers can get onto their pedestals."

"Oh," Joanna replied, wishing the animals would take their places.

Walter leaned toward her. "Stefan brings the lions in first. They're the troublemakers. Until they're on their pedestals it's risky. Stefan must be expecting trouble. Over near the door—" he pointed to the escape door "—Stefan placed a board and a bucket of ammonia water there."

"He doesn't usually do that?"

Walter shook his head. "Not unless he's expecting trouble."

"
Seats
!" Stefan demanded, swinging his whip in a wide arc and sending it snapping against itself. Three lions hopped onto waiting pedestals, but the black-maned lion named Rafat, that had given Stefan trouble the first time Joanna saw Stefan, crouched and skulked behind the seated animals, refusing to obey.

"
Rafat! Seats
." Stefan moved behind the defiant animal and cracked his whip. Rafat whirled around to face him, one huge paw raised in protest, mouth twisted in a vicious snarl. "Seats!" Stefan commanded again, cracking his whip. The lion wrinkled his nose and roared, then crawled onto his pedestal and stood with ears laid back, tail flicking.

Walter studied Stefan's precise movements. "Watch his paw, Stefan," he muttered. He leaned toward Joanna. "An uplifted paw can cause quick damage, tear a man's arm off in one blow. And that lion's a bad one."

Joanna's mouth felt too dry to reply.

"Come on, Stefan, make him sit," Walter droned under his breath. He nudged Joanna and pointed to Rafat. "When an animal stands on his pedestal, he's ready to spring."

Stefan cracked his whip. "
Rafat! Seats
!" Rafat reluctantly sat on the pedestal, muscles taut, ears flat, tail twitching impatiently.

Walter let out a long sigh. "Now, Stefan will bring in the tigers. They're much more predictable than the lions."

Stefan motioned to an attendant to let the tigers enter. Four tigers trotted into the big cage. "Seats!" Stefan commanded once more. Two tigers hopped onto their pedestals while two others headed for the same pedestal, landing together and knocking it over. Rafat jumped from his perch and lunged for one of the tigers."
Rafat! Seats
!" Stefan commanded. Rafat circled Stefan, refusing to mount his pedestal.

Joanna dropped her gaze and found Walter wringing his hands. "Bad sign... won't face his trainer. I can feel it... that cat's getting ready to spring." Walter stepped forward, eyes fixed on Stefan. "Keep moving, Stefan," he warned, his voice troubled.

Stefan snapped Rafat on the ear with his whip. Rafat ran behind the pedestal, met the sting of Stefan's whip at the opposite end of the cage, then whirled around and jumped onto his pedestal. Stefan reset the toppled bench and commanded, "
Seats
."

The tigers quickly took their places.

When the animals were seated, Stefan mounted the fire ring on a standard in the center of the arena and lit it. Flames burst in a fiery circle. "Rica, come," he commanded a tigress. Rica jumped from her pedestal and leapt through the fiery hoop, then trotted gracefully around the arena and again sprang through the ring of fire. She wheeled and sat in front of Stefan, awaiting her treat. "Good girl," Stefan praised the animal, rubbing her head while slipping a small chunk of meat into her mouth. "Seats." The tigress mounted her pedestal.

When Stefan turned to acknowledge the applause of an enthusiastic audience, Rafat jumped from his pedestal and lunged for the tigress, knocking her from her pedestal and sending her tumbling across the arena. Then the cage seemed to explode as other lions and tigers joined in the ruckus, fur flying, billows of dust rising from the cage.

Screams rose from the crowd as the huge barred arena swayed. Outside, attendants nervously walked the perimeter of the cage, fearing it might give way and fall as animals scrambled and tumbled against the bars, hurling props about. As Joanna stood watching, too terrified to move, Stefan cracked his whip and brandished the heavy board. She heard him yell at the lions to take their seats, but the frenzied animals ignored him. Then without warning, Rafat broke from the scuffle and lunged for Stefan. Joanna screamed, blood rushing from her face, nails piercing the flesh of her palms.

Stefan hurled the bucket of ammonia water in Rafat's face, then grabbed the board again, striking the big lion on the legs and sending him rolling over.

"
Rafat! Ahmed!
Sahar
! Seats!"
Stefan yelled, swinging the board haphazardly while rushing the animals. The fighting stopped, leaving a cloud of brown dust hovering about the confused animals. Stefan arranged the toppled pedestals while eight skulking animals, scratched and gouged, roamed the cage looking for their seats. Stefan cracked his whip and gave his command and the animals rushed for their pedestals and waited. Stefan surveyed the shaggy-looking crew. Keeping a wary eye on Rafat, he proceeded with the act.

Joanna glanced at Walter. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his temples. He slipped a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. "Stefan has control now," he said. "Rafat's a troublemaker, but I think even he's had enough for one night."

Joanna watched Rafat crouch amicably with the other lions that had taken their places in front of Stefan, then he rolled over like a giant, playful house cat, looked at Stefan for praise, and on command, headed for the tunnel. "Why does Stefan keep him?" she asked, as Stefan prompted the lineup of tigers to rear back on their haunches.

Walter shrugged. "Rafat's a magnificent animal, and Stefan feels confident he'll eventually be an outstanding performer."

She looked at Walter. "Would you have kept him?"

"Probably," Walter replied. "Nevertheless, I wish Stefan would get rid of him. But he won't. I've known Stefan too long to see him backed down by a cat."

Joanna didn't respond. Nothing about this madness made sense.

As Stefan cued the last tiger, Walter walked ahead several paces and paused. His eyes fixed on a point beyond the big cage. Joanna looked in the direction of his gaze and saw a one-armed man standing near the performer's exit, staring at Walter. The man turned abruptly and pushed his way past the people blocking his exit. "Who is he?" Joanna asked.

Walter's eyes narrowed. "Klaus Haufchild, the trainer Stefan replaced." Walter's eyes remained on the man until he'd disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. Offering nothing more, he turned from Joanna, pressed his way through the crowd and headed after the man. Joanna pondered Walter's reaction on seeing the man he'd referred to as Klaus Haufchild. But she soon forgot Walter's hasty exit as the clamor of wild applause filled the pavilion. She looked at Stefan, who nodded briefly at the spectators as he left the arena and walked out of the lights toward the performer's exit.

She hadn't realized that Gene had spoken until she felt his hand gripping her arm. Icy-blue eyes darkened with anger. "I don't know what the hell's going on between you and Janacek," he said, his harsh words punctuating the pounding of Joanna's heart, "but we're on in fifteen minutes, and you're in no shape to fly."

Joanna snatched her arm away. "There's nothing going on between us," she replied. "I just don't like watching lions and tigers fighting or people being ripped apart." She hadn't realized her voice was so shaky until she'd spoken.

"Then you'd better not hang around Janacek," Gene said, "because if his animals don't rip him apart, I might."

Joanna glared at Gene. "Working together does not give you a claim on me. My personal life is mine, whether it includes Stefan Janacek or anyone else."

Gene's eyes narrowed. "I don't give a damn about your personal life unless it affects the act."

Joanna's nostrils flared. "You don't give a damn about anything, unless it affects the act."

Muscles rippled in Gene's jaw. "I don't know what your plans are, but I didn't spend six years training for a second-rate act, and I won't let Stefan Janacek or anyone else stand between me and the top."

Joanna raised a brow. "No, I'm sure you won't." She turned from Gene and walked away. Her legs felt weak, her head light, her body drained. Yet somehow, in less than fifteen minutes, she'd have to be ready to hurl herself through space with timing so precise she'd make contact with Otto the only instant his hands would be there. She wasn't sure she could do it this time.

***

A wide bank of gas lights illuminated Joanna as she stood poised on the platform. Across the vast space, Otto sat swinging leisurely on the catcher's bar.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Karl Porter's voice boomed through the megaphone, far below, "The Flying Marquis."

Surprised to hear Karl's voice, Joanna glanced at Gene, who was standing beside her. From the puzzled frown on his brow, she knew he too was surprised. On rare occasions, when it was necessary, Karl substituted for the ringmaster, but Joanna wasn't aware that this was one of those times. She felt anxious and uneasy, especially since the regular ringmaster had been present to announce Stefan's act, just before theirs.

Still shaken from watching Stefan and the terrifying cat fight, Joanna grasped the bar of the trapeze with moist, nervous hands caked with chalk, and waited for the signal from the band. She looked down. A haze of brown dust still hovered over the ring from the cat fight. But now the barred walls of the big cage had been disassembled and stacked to the side of the arena, and the safety net swayed gently. She tightened her hands on the bar and lifted her eyes to focus on Otto, waiting for his signal...

"Whoa there." Karl's voice rose. "What have we here? Mr. Tucks, what are you up to?" The crowd laughed, ignoring what was happening on the bars.

"What the hell is going on?" Gene said. "Porter's not supposed to be announcing."

Joanna glared at the scene below. Their act had been announced, the lights were on them, but The Flying Marquis were clearly not on center stage. And she knew precisely why. "I hate Karl Porter," was all she could think to say."

"There he goes again," Karl's mocking voice, amplified by the megaphone, spiraled to the heights of the pavilion. "Mr. Tucks, you'd better stay away from that cannon." More laughs from an audience that showed little interest in what was happening above.

The band started playing, cuing Otto to drop head down on his trapeze, but the lights remained divided. "Damn you Karl," Joanna hissed, hands tightening on the bar. She glanced down, but it wasn't the antics of the clowns that gripped her chest like a vice, but the haze of dust that lingered, reminding her how tenuous life was. She focused on Otto, determined to shove thoughts of Stefan battling cats from her mind and concentrate on her first pass. But as the seconds ticked by, she realized she'd missed Otto's cue.

She closed her eyes and took several slow breaths, then looked at Otto, waiting for his signal once again. It came. She swung out, launched high, rolled into a tuck and whirled in space, the silent beat inside her signaling when to unfold. The smack of hands was clumsy. She held tight, determined that the next pass would be flawless. But it wasn't. She slapped against Otto's hands, the fell to the net below.

When the performance was over, and she stood between Otto and Gene while acknowledging the crowd, she felt tension coiling between them. All of her catches had been clumsy, her landings awkward, her timing off on every pass, one sending her to the net. The entire evening had been a nightmare becoming reality. Everything happened as Tekla Janacek predicted. First in the dream, then during the performance. Yet, she knew the idea of gypsy fortunetellers was superstition, and she refused to believe otherwise.