Perilous Pleasures (21 page)

Joanna looked at Stefan's eager face. "Well, maybe just for the ceremony."

Stefan grinned, eyes luminous in the subdued light. "If you leave before the reception you'll miss a feast to end all feasts." He hopped to the ground and raised his arms to help her down. She placed her hands on his shoulders and slipped to the ground, then curved her arms around his neck, and said, "This is all I need right now." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

He pulled her into his arms and held her against him. "I wish it was us out there getting married," he said against the top of her head. "I want you as my legal wife. I want the ties that bind--chains, manacles, whatever it takes to tie you to me."

Joanna looked up at him. So much would have to happen to make that a reality. She knew he would give up the cats for her and their child, if she was carrying it, but she couldn't let him do that. If he had a reason to leave the show beyond her, maybe it would work. But she suspected that after time had passed, he'd be back. She kissed him. "Having you in my bed each night is all I need. Besides, chains and manacles would get in the way of our lovemaking." She ran her hands along the silk facing of his lapels. "I wish we were in my stateroom right now because seeing you looking so handsome in this suit is having a decidedly unladylike effect on me because all I want to do is strip it from you, one garment at a time, and feast my eyes on every deliciously male part of you. In fact, I feel like a wanton hussy."

"Good God," he said. "You have any idea what that kind of talk does to a man?"

Joanna smiled. "Of course. And I don't need to look down to know."

Stefan covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, then said, "I'll try to get away from here early so you can be as wanton and unladylike as you desire. Until then, however, I'm going to be pretty damn uncomfortable."

She gave him a sultry smile. "I promise to make it worth your while."

He chucked her under the chin. "You always do."

After tying the horse, Stefan tucked Joanna's hand in the crook of his arm and they threaded their way among women wearing skirts of vividly-contrasting colors and low-cut overblouses and embroidered vests, their hair adorned with ornaments or covered with bright-colored scarves, and they strolled past men in conventional suits, or wearing coats trimmed with brass buttons and metal discs. Stefan placed his palm over Joanna's hand and squeezed. "I have to leave you for the ceremony," he said, "but I'll meet you here as soon as it's over."

Joanna looked around at the people, who seemed unaware of her, the focus of their attention on the procession that was forming. "I'll be here, unless of course I'm snatched up and carried away by a band of marauding gypsies," she teased with a wicked grin.

Stefan gave her a wry smile. "If you are," he said, "the king of the gypsies will personally track them down. You can count on that. He kissed her lightly, then went to join the procession marching toward a wagon adorned with red crepe flowers.

The procession halted at a barricade of chairs draped with red and blue streamers that blocked the entrance to the bride's wagon. Tekla Janacek, along with one of Ivan's uncles, stepped around the barricade and went inside. The people waited until Ivan's uncle announced that the bride price was accepted. Cheers rose and the barricade came down. Then quiet fell over the crowd and everyone waited for the bride to appear.

After the short wedding ceremony, the guests gathered round a table graced with a four-tiered white wedding cake. As Stefan started toward Joanna, he was detained by several of the guests. It was then that Joanna began to feel eyes on her. A woman seated at a table with several other women stared openly, eyes coldly appraising. Under her relentless gaze, Joanna had the feeling she was being thoroughly inspected. Several other women paused from eating to follow the woman's gaze, all of them watching with smoldering eyes. Joanna backed away and turned. Seldom had she been the object of such close scrutiny. She moved to the fringes of the festivities and sat on one of several chairs arranged in a group. While she searched the crowd for Stefan, she heard a rustling and glanced back to see a figure moving from the shadows and walking toward her. With relief, she realized it was Helen.

"I thought it was you," Helen said, smiling. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Joanna nodded. "Please do."

Helen sat beside her. Looking in the direction of the musicians, she said, "Kitta will be dancing the
zorongo
for Laszlo and Cara. She's over there about ready to begin." She pointed to where Kitta stood in front of the fire.

The first tones rose from the orchestra—rich gypsy strings accentuated by the resonance of flamboyant brass. Kitta glided into a cleared area illuminated by flames, her arms high above her head, fingers snapping like pistol shots.

"She's barefoot," Joanna stated.

Helen laughed. "Kitta never does anything halfway. She may not be able to walk tomorrow, but tonight she'll dance like a proper Rom or die trying."

Kitta swirled to the lively music, her movements quick and active, her bare feet lightly touching the ground, her body twisting to the insistent frenzy of four violins accompanied by the staccato clapping of onlookers. While watching Kitta's spontaneous movements, Joanna said to Helen, "Did you have a wedding like this?"

"No," Helen replied. "Alonzo and I were denied a gypsy ceremony since marriage between Rom and gorgio is without parental approval."

"I suppose you weren't too well-received after that," Joanna said, watching as Kitta's body swayed to the sliding notes and glissandos of the Gypsy fiddle.

"Not at first," Helen replied. "The laws of the tribe are rooted in tradition, and marriage is important to the Romany. Although it's strictly forbidden for a Rom woman to marry a
gorgio
man, marriage between a Rom man and a
gorgio
woman—like Alonzo and me, and you and Stefan—is tolerated as long as the wife lives with the husband's family and acts as a servant to the mother-in-law, obeying everything she says.

"Doesn't it bother you to be subservient to your mother-in-law?" Joanna asked, trying to understand the strange ways of these wandering people.

"It did at first," Helen replied, "but Alonzo made up for it in other ways. She shrugged. "Now, it's a way of life and I don't think about it anymore.

"Why do you stay, now that your husband is gone?" Joanna asked.

"It's my home, my family," Helen replied. "Ivan, Laszlo and Kitta will probably always stay with the Rom, so that's where I want to be."

"I don't think I could do that, be subservient to my mother-in-law and—" Joanna paused, caught Helen smiling, and burst out laughing.

Helen threw her shoulders back and raised her chin. "I like breakfast in bed, and my bath water prepared when I snap my fingers." She gave Joanna a wry smile. "Do I sound convincing?"

Joanna chuckled. "Sorry...no," she said. She lapsed into speculative silence. She knew she could never adjust to this wandering life with its strange tribal customs and strong communal bonds, even with Stefan by her side. Yet... Helen seemed relatively content.

"Have
 
you moved around much like this, with a caravan of wagons?" she asked.

 
"Quite a bit," Helen replied. "Gypsies wander with the wind. Alonzo loved it. He had the true soul of a Gypsy—the beat of romance in his heart, the urge to move with the rhythms of nature." Her eyes grew pensive. "We would just set out with the children,
 
nowhere in particular, camping in a different place each day. And every night, Alonzo would bury our money and build a fire over it so it wouldn't get stolen."

"It didn't burn up?" Joanna said, surprised.

Helen chuckled. "No. But the first time I saw Alonzo do it I was mortified. I was certain we'd have no money by morning. But sure enough, when the fire died and he dug it up, the money was fine." She looked toward the blazing fire. "I guess I'd better go mingle. Some might not recognize it, but I
am
mother of the groom. And I'll find Stefan and tell him where you are."

"Thank you," Joanna replied. "I'll probably just tell him good-bye and be on my way."As she watched Helen moving toward the crowd, she contemplated her words. The thought of constantly being on the move for the rest of her life, traveling with a vaudeville show or wandering with a band of gypsies, gave her a decidedly unsettled feeling.

But Stefan was more like Helen. Perhaps he could adjust to living in one place. He did have a house on the river, and he admitted to staying in it several months of the year. Would it be so hard for him to remain there longer? And after a while, year around?

"How long you think you hold him?" The voice came as if out of the night.

Joanna looked up with a start to find Tekla Janacek moving from the shadows. The old woman lowered herself to the chair Helen had vacated. When Joanna didn't reply, Tekla said, "How long you think Stefan live like caged animal?"

Joanna's skin tingled under Tekla Janacek's intense gaze. How had the woman read her thoughts? "Stefan has a house on the river," she said, a feeble attempt in her defense, knowing Tekla Janacek would read right through it.

Tekla Janacek's dark eyes gazed unblinking. "And you think Stefan stay in house on river and live like
gorgio
?"

The old woman gave Joanna an eerie, uncomfortable feeling. How was she to respond? The woman was a soothsayer who could read people's minds, perhaps even direct their wills. And right or wrong, Tekla Janacek had an answer for everything. "It would be Stefan's decision. And yes, I believe he could be happy living in his house by the river."

Tekla said, her voice grave, "For Rom, living in house like living in cage. Four walls like prison. Rom need freedom." She looked up at a moon that hung red as a disc of polished copper. "Rom like wild bird. Die when caged. Stefan marry you. Now you want to put him in
gorgio
cage. Stefan die there. You see." She stood. Saying nothing more, she wandered toward the crowd and blended into the mass of people.

Gypsies, Joanna realized with mounting apprehension, actually believed they'd die if they stopped wandering. Certainly Stefan didn't share this archaic belief? But then, he admitted he only stayed in his house for short periods. She sighed. Perhaps Stefan was less
gorgio
than she'd hoped. Maybe, like his father, he'd slowly die living in a house. She looked to where Stefan would be moving from the crowd to join her, then stood and walked to her buggy. She needed time to be alone before Stefan would come to her stateroom, time to ponder the chasm between them that was growing wider and wider with each day.

***

"
No! Stefan!"
Joanna screamed a silent scream while grabbing Stefan's arm, her nails curling into his flesh. Stefan snapped his arm from her grip and glared at her, eyes defiant. As she looked at him, the space separating them became oppressive. She didn't know this man. Stefan said nothing, but turned and continued toward the big cage where Rafat paced restlessly inside. As Stefan entered the arena, Joanna tried to scream but couldn't. Instantly, Rafat sprang, taking Stefan down, clawing at his flesh, tearing off great long strips. Across the arena, Tony watched and smiled, making no attempt to help. He swirled a long whip above his head and cracked it uselessly. Joanna tried to run toward Stefan, but she felt as if she were immersed in heavy liquid, her feet weighted so she had no strength to move her legs. Tony's whip cracked... and cracked... and cracked... And Joanna's eyes flicked open.

She gazed at the ceiling while drifting in a nebulous state between fantasy and reality, heart drumming, body damp with perspiration. As the dream faded, the cracking noise sounded again, very close. She looked toward the wash stand and saw Stefan.

He smiled at her. "It's hot as hell outside," he said, handing her a glass. "I thought you'd like to wake up to something cold."

Joanna stared at what appeared to be orange juice and cracked ice. Gradually, the cracking of the whip, and Tony Bernardo's face with its scathing smile, faded. Joanna sat up and rested against the pillows. "How long have you been here?" she asked, tightening her fingers around the glass to quiet their trembling.

"Long enough to squeeze juice and crack ice," Stefan replied. "You seemed restless."

"I didn't sleep very well last night," Joanna said. "It was the first night you didn't come to my bed." She looked up at him and waited for an explanation. She'd wondered during the night, as she'd twisted and turned between hope and despair, if Tekla Janacek had convinced Stefan that marriage to a
gorgio
would confine him to a sedentary life that would ultimately kill him. She suspected he took to heart his grandmother's predictions, and her advice. He'd married a
gorgio
once. To do so again would end the same.

He'd also said he'd give up his cats if she were carrying his child, which was a distinct possibility. They had made love so many times over the past two weeks that she'd lost count. And there was no question that when they did, Stefan went deep inside her, as deep as her supple, aroused body demanded. She wanted him to go deep. She wanted him to fill her completely, to satisfy her in a way that only Stefan could. And when he released his seed each time, it was heavy in volume and certain to be fertile. Nor could she dismiss the queasiness in her stomach, which she had initially passed off as nerves. But whether she was carrying Stefan's child or not, for the time they had left together, she wanted him.

He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. "The wedding lasted well into the night and I didn't want to disturb you."

 
"You're my husband, Stefan. Your coming to me in the middle of the night and making love would never disturb me." She took a slow sip of orange juice, then looked up at him and said, "I missed having your arms around me, and kissing you good night. Without you in my bed, I felt empty and alone. I still do."

Stefan sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms. "Will making love to you help?"