Perilous Pleasures (25 page)

Joanna looked toward the menagerie. She knew nothing about the behavior of big cats during a thunderstorm, but if the actions of the elephants were an indication, Stefan could be having trouble. Bending into the wind and feeling the first heavy drops of rain pelting against her face, she headed for the entrance to the menagerie.

"Joanna!" She turned to find Helen rushing toward her, tugging on the hood of her slicker, which flapped with the gusts of wind. "Will you talk some sense into Stefan's thick head," she pleaded. "He's determined to go on tonight. It's suicide."

"I don't understand," Joanna said. "The cat cage isn't raised."

"He's going on after intermission, when the cats have settled down. This storm is supposed to pass over by then. But he must be stopped." Helen's anxious eyes shifted to
Tekla's
wagon. "His grandmother—" she swallowed hard and looked back at Joanna "—she had a dream of forewarning last night."

Joanna looked at Helen's worried face. "About Stefan?"

Helen's eyes seemed to glaze and she didn't reply.

"Helen!" Joanna said, a terrible and sudden sense of foreboding creeping over her. "What was Stefan's grandmother dream about?"

Helen blinked several times. "A black horse running through black water," she replied. Her eyes sharpened and she stared at Joanna. "Death."

Joanna tried to remain calm, concentrating on what Sally told her after her own disturbing dream, knowing there was no scientific basis for prophetic dreams. "Did she say whose death?"

"No," Helen replied, "she couldn't tell. She claimed the dream was symbolic, that she didn't get the picture of any specific person."

"Then there's no reason to believe it's Stefan," Joanna assured her, "that is, if there is anything to all of this dream nonsense, which I still don't believe."

Helen gave a heavy sigh. "I realize I'm probably overreacting, but this is the jinx performance, and Alonzo was killed during a jinx performance. But that's not all."

Joanna felt her stomach knot. "What do you mean?"

"Klaus Haufchild," Helen replied. "Walter spotted him at last night's performance. And someone saw him again this morning."

Joanna felt the blood drain from her face. "Where is Stefan now?"

"In the menagerie."

Turning quickly, Joanna rushed to the menagerie and spotted Stefan beside a row of cages in which lions paced nervously. Against the back wall, the leopard
 
lunged at the bars of his cage, hissing and snarling at the restless tigers in neighboring cages.

"Stefan?" she called across the menagerie to where he stood watching the lions.

Stefan looked up, his features tense. "I'm glad you came," he said, rushing toward her. "I couldn't get away and I need to talk to you."
 
He gathered her in his arms.

Feeling the strength of his embrace, Joanna slumped weakly against him, wrapping her arms around his waist for support. He raised her chin with the curve of his finger and kissed her, then looked into her eyes, and said, "I just found out you're planning to work without nets tonight. Honey, you can't do it."

Joanna heard the urgency in his voice. "I've already promised Otto. I won't let him down. But you don't need to go on. Please, Stefan. Cancel."

"I can't." He withdrew the sapphire from his pocket. "I insist you wear this."

Joanna looked at the stone. "If you think that's going to keep me from falling, you're wrong. I don't believe any of it."

"Please," he urged, "just take it and wear it."

Joanna stepped back, putting some distance between them to enable herself to collect her thoughts. She didn't want to see Stefan after the performance. It would be difficult enough to leave when the show was over without having to find him to return the sapphire. "No," she emphasized. "I don't believe in jinxes, or amulets or... gypsy dreams."

"You heard?"

"Yes, I heard. The only reason I'm here is for your mother. She said Walter spotted Klaus Haufchild last night. But if you're not concerned for your own safety, you might at least consider your mother. She doesn't need a repeat of what happened to your father. She raised four children alone, and I can't live with the fear of
rais
—" She stopped short, and her palms went to her belly, an impulsive move Stefan was certain she was unaware.

He looked at her hands placed protectively over her wound and imagined his child growing there. The child of their many unions. The child of their love. She had said nothing to him. Yet... her gesture, her words moments before, and the guarded look on her face made him wonder. Could she know so soon? Intuition perhaps? Or her monthly time missed? He moved toward her and placed his hand over hers, and said, "Are you carrying my child, Joanna?"

She looked up at him, and shrugged. "I don't know."

"But you could be?"

A sadness crept over her face and her eyes misted with unshed tears. Then she blinked away the tears, and said in a clipped, dry tone, "Of course I could be, Stefan. You have come to my bed every night for two weeks now."

"Then I'll sell the cats and find a job and take care of you."

She shook her head. "No. I'll raise this child alone, and you can visit it from time to time, between shows."

"I can't let you do that. It's my child too."

"But we are not legally wed, so you have no claim on it."

When she turned to go, he caught her by the arm. "If you're carrying my child, Joanna, this is not over."

"Yes, Stefan, it is. Now I need to change into my costume and prepare my state of mind for flying without nets." She broke from his grip and raced out of the tent, winding her way between spectators filing into the pavilion under a bevy of black umbrellas.

And Stefan didn't go after her. When tonight's performance was over, he'd go to her stateroom, and to her bed, and after they made love, they'd discuss the issue of their child. She would not leave him. And he would not be limited to visiting his child between shows. That was not an option. But for the life of him, he did not know what was.

***

Less than an hour later, Joanna stood with Gene on the platform. Rain pelted the canvas in waves, and the air at the peak of the pavilion was oppressive. A convulsive shimmer filled the great canvas, illuminating the dome from without, followed by a sound like the rattle of musketry. The ground shuddered, and in the distance elephants trumpeted. Joanna felt the trapeze tremble, and all around, poles and tackling and supporting rods creaked and groaned. But the huge masts stood firm. Joanna gripped the bar tighter and gazed across the cavernous void at Otto on the catcher's bar while reviewing in her mind the flying pass they were about to execute.

Swing high... release... tuck and spin... count, one, two, three... open... contact. Two brains synchronized to calculate distance, time and equilibrium with absolute precision. A series of movements taking less than ten seconds to perform.

The murmur of the crowd hushed, leaving an eerie silent vacuum of anticipation. The hollow thunder of drums rolled. Joanna looked down and caught the flashes of brass and silver reflecting the glare of lights off the band instruments, glare that had always been broken by nets.

It all appeared so far away... so very... very... far away... as if she were looking through a long dark tunnel that stretched to infinity. For an instant her heart seemed to pause, then it began to shake in her chest. She gripped the bar with both hands as the scene wavered. After a moment everything came into focus and she saw the incredibly vast space surrounding her, a space bound by canvas above, and hard ground below.

The ringmaster's voice startled her as it blared, "Ladies and gentleman, high above center ring and performing for the first time without nets..."

Joanna heard nothing more as a wide shaft of brilliance, focused on her...

Above the chaos of her mind, Gene's voice rose. "Look at Otto! Not down," he said.
 
She felt his hand on her waist, his fingers tightening to give her a reassuring squeeze. "Pull yourself together," he added in the quiet, confident voice she used to know. "You can do it, we've done the flying pass hundreds of times. Just swing high. Come on," he encouraged, "Get your timing going. One... two... three. Say it with me."

 
Joanna raised her hand to where the sapphire should have been and clutched at nothing. Panic gripped her. She couldn't go on. She couldn't hurl herself through space...

"Say the beat," Gene repeated. "Say it with me. One...two...three..."

"One... two... three," Joanna started the beat.

"Again,
 
one... two... three.
 
One... two... three," Gene repeated. "Keep the beat going," he said, snapping his fingers as she caught the rhythm.

Joanna joined in, repeating to the snap of Gene's fingers, "One...two...three. One... two... three."
 
Gripping the bar, she jumped up, hurling herself from the platform.

Pumping her legs she rose high and descended. Higher, reaching for the canvas above, before descending again. And still higher, at last flipping up and dropping the bar. Tucking her body, she whirled in a double somersault. One, two, three, the beat inside her snapped like Gene's fingers... Unfold...

Reaching out, she felt Otto's hands smack her wrists. Together they sailed toward the peak of the pavilion and descended, the beat inside her constant. Otto released her and she turned, passing Gene in mid-air, and curled her fingers around the bar Gene had just released. Soaring toward the platform, she launched her legs forward, landing clumsily. Heart racing, she grabbed the rope to steady herself, then launched the trapeze to Gene for his return. Grasping the bar, Gene landed almost silently beside her on the platform.

She swung out for a double somersault, completing with a half-twist back to the bar. Gene followed with a backward somersault, was caught by the ankles and swung high, also returning to the bar with a half-twist. The time inched by...
 
Back somersault... catch. Legs in a tuck... swinging foot-hang... catch. Pirouette... catch. Each return to the platform one step closer, until at last, Gene chalked his hands for the finale.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster's voice blared through the megaphone, "Gene Marquis performing his death-defying, two-and-a-half somersault... his first time without nets..."

Gene poised on the platform, head bobbing almost imperceptibly to the count. When a hush had fallen over the crowd, he swung out, flipping his legs forward, reaching for exceptional lift. Joanna watched, aware of the danger. She knew by his second revolution that Gene's body would be moving at a speed great enough to fog his brain. Somehow, before his final somersault, he'd regain his senses, and with only his counting as a guide, come out of his tuck...

But when the familiar clap of Gene's hands on Otto's wrists should have broken the silence, Joanna heard instead, the concerted gasps of thousands of spectators, and she saw Gene hanging from Otto by one arm. She stared, unbelieving, as Gene's hand slipped slowly in Otto's grip. Her fingers tightened on the rope as she was swept by dizziness. "No," she whispered, a scream caught in her throat as she watched the stricken look on Gene's face contort into a grimace as his hand inched down Otto's arm. She looked far below to where the attendants stood dumbfounded, gawking up at Gene dangling from Otto's hold, not moving, not attempting to stretch the net.

Why, dear God, were they just standing there?

Although she knew in her heart there was not enough time to raise the net, it seemed at least they could try... Make an attempt if only to say they tried...

Gene snapped his body against Otto's grip, throwing his arm up in an attempt to make contact. Their hands missed. Again he jerked against Otto's grip as he tried in vain to reach his brother's hand. Again their hands missed.

Joanna could almost feel the strength draining from Gene's body and knew that with every passing second, his chances were growing slim. As she watched helpless, her heart beating erratically, her legs weak, Gene gave one final snap of his body while hurling his free arm upward. With a smack, his hand met and locked with Otto's, then settled in place against Otto's wrist. Together they swung out, pumping their bodies to gain height.

Joanna's hands felt damp on the bar. Quickly she dusted them with chalk and prepared to launch the trapeze for Gene to catch. But she'd lost the beat. Her timing was off. She could only guess when to release the bar to Gene... And pray.

Sensing the time was now, she sailed the bar toward Gene as he released Otto's hands and turned in space. Instantly, she saw him make contact and he swung toward the platform. As he landed, she reached out and grabbed him to steady him. Once settled, he raised his hand to the roars of a wildly enthusiastic audience.

Joanna looked at Gene's face. The tension she'd seen moments before had faded, replaced by a passion for the glory of hearing the cheering crowd.

Somehow, she knew from that moment, that Gene would defy death again... and again... until one day his chances would run out. For herself, she knew she'd made the right choice.

As the crowd continued to cheer and applaud, cautiously she climbed down the rope ladder, leaving the platform, and the flying trapeze, for the last time.

***

The blare of the band and the entrance of mimes flipping and tumbling their way down the hippodrome track signaled intermission. Attendants began assembling the big cage, while handlers rolled in the smaller cages with the cats. Stefan stood in the shadows of the performers' entrance, his eyes moving restlessly over the crowd.

Walter eyed him dubiously. "You sure you want to put Rafat in the ring tonight?"

"He'll be all right," Stefan said. "The storm has just about passed over now, and he's been doing fine all week." He focused on a corridor choked with spectators pushing their way to the concession stands on the midway and caught a flash of white, like a cloak. Joanna? For an instant he thought he'd seen her, but he was wrong.

Walter looked beyond Stefan to where one of his handlers was rushing toward him. "I think there may be trouble," he said, nodding in the direction of a man who was waving his hand to catch their attention.