Perilous Pleasures (4 page)

"I have to go," she said to Sally, while shoving her chair back.

"But you haven't had dessert," Sally said.

"Yes, well, I just realized I'm tired." Without waiting for Sally's response, she turned and walked at a fast clip out of the dining hall. But instead of returning to her stateroom where she might be cornered in the passageway, she went out to the promenade deck and hurriedly climbed the stairs to the hurricane deck, where she would remain until she felt confident that she would not meet the man in the passageway leading to her stateroom. In the shadows near the prow, she stepped to the railing and looked down, lured by the sound of voices rising from the cargo deck. Soon, the swishing of the paddlewheel was accompanied by the deep voice of a Negro roustabout singing, "Oh... Adam, he was
da
first built man..."
 
A chorus of voices replied, "
Dat's
what de Good Book say..."

"An' Eve come next! Den sin began..."

    
"
Dat's
what de Good Book say..."

"Eve bit de apple right in two, a wicked thing
fo
' Eve to do, yes,
dat's
what de Good Book say" Others joined in, and soon, voices rose to the accompaniment of thrashing paddles and Joanna found herself swaying and bobbing in beat to the tune...

"Miss Livingston?" She looked around, and to her alarm, saw Stefan Janacek standing not more than five feet away. When she glanced to either side of him for an exit, he raised both hands, palms out, and said, "I know I'm out of my cage, but I assure you I'm harmless."

Joanna caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want to know why you were spying on me at dinner, and why you ran off."

"I was not spying on you," Joanna clipped.

"They you always look at people through your fingers?"

"Only when I'm trying to avoid them."

"That's the other reason I'm here," Stefan said. "I want to apologize for distracting you when you were on the trapeze a few days ago."

Joanna's face flushed hot with indignation. "What an incredibly egotistical thing for you to say, even suggesting you could have such an effect on me. I assure you, Mr. Janacek, you had no effect at all. It was simply an off-day. It gets hot up there—"

"With the doves?" A smile crept across his face.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, "I prefer my stuffy quarters to your company."

Stefan moved a step closer. "Why? Because I'm gypsy? Because it was my act that replaced yours? Or because my presence seems to make you blush?"

"Of all the vain things to say." Joanna started around him, but he blocked her exit. She glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Attempting to finish my apology, but you're making it very difficult. What I'm trying to say is, I'm a boor and a lout, I behaved badly in the menagerie, I embarrassed you during the interview, and I'm submitting myself for a flogging or stoning. Your choice."

Joanna looked at him with a start. Humbling himself with an apology was the last thing she'd expected of the man. The fact that she
wanted
an excuse to spend a few moments with him was even more of a puzzle. She felt nothing for him, except a kind of perverse attraction for a man who looked like a gladiator and pitted himself against lions. "Since you put it that way," she said, "I suppose I have no choice but to accept your apology."

"I rather hoped you would." His gaze wandered over her with obvious appreciation, as he said, "You look stunning tonight."

"Well, actually, so do you," she found herself saying as her eyes skimmed over his formal attire, though she had no idea what brought on such a bold comment. Nor could she understand why this cocky cur of a man affected her in such an embarrassing way, making heat rush up her face to settle in her cheeks like hot-irons.

"Then I'll make a point of dressing like a dandy," he said. He leaned his elbow against the railing, clasped his hands together, looked at her with interest, and said, "Since we've established that you are safe with me, while I'm standing here talking to you, am I in danger of an attack by an irate beau?"

Joanna flirted with the idea of saying yes to discourage the man, but found herself replying instead, "If I did, I doubt you'd be the one in danger. But no, there is no one."

"Then we can stroll around the deck and get acquainted." Stefan took her arm.

"Look, Mr. Janacek—"

"It's Stefan."

"If you don't mind, I prefer Mr. Janacek. And I have no intention of strolling around the deck with you." Joanna shrugged off his arm and started around him.

"If you walk away from me now, I'll be forced to believe that you do, in fact, harbor a prejudice against gypsies," he said, with a hint of amusement in his tone

"Then you would be mistaken," Joanna countered. "I have nothing against gypsies."

"Good." He offered his arm again. "Miss Livingston, will you do me the honor?"

Joanna looked at the arm being offered, almost feeling the muscular strength of it beneath his frock coat. "Oh...very well," she huffed. As she curved her hand around an arm that felt like wool-clad iron against her palm, a thrill of danger and excitement coursed through her. This was a man who toyed with lions and tigers the way a house cat toyed with a mouse. He was not afraid to face death. She suspected he was not afraid of anything.

He placed his hand over hers and guided her toward the stairs leading down to the promenade deck. "Are you from a vaudeville family?" he asked.

"A what?" Joanna said, distracted by the large hand covering hers, and the big finger lightly brushing over her knuckles.

"Your family," Stefan repeated. "Are they vaudeville people?"

 
"Yes...
 
I mean, no." Collecting her scattered thoughts, Joanna said, "That is, my family are ordinary folks. A twin brother who is married and has a gymnastic academy in Vicksburg,
 
a devoted mother who runs the house, and a doting father who owns a bakery in Birmingham."

"That's a coincidence," Stefan said, starting down the stairs. "My brother is an attorney in Birmingham."

"Your brother... an attorney?" Joanna said, incredulous. She'd thought gypsies were illiterate, wandering vagabonds.

Stefan looked askance at her. "So you think all gypsies are thieves and beggars?"

"Well, no," Joanna replied. But that was
exactly
what she'd thought.

Stefan eyed her with amusement. "We try to uphold our iniquitous image," he said, "but there are some nonconformists among us, like my brother Josef, who spoil it for the rest of us."

"I didn't mean to imply... " Joanna looked at him, contrite. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There's an old Romany recipe for goulash that begins, 'First, steal a chicken,'" he said, as he strolled with her along the promenade deck. He arched a dark brow. "We come by our reputation honestly, though over time I like to think that we are just ordinary people." They had not gone far when he stopped abruptly and looked through one of the wide viewing windows of the Grand Saloon.

Joanna followed the direction of his gaze and saw an old woman sitting at the window. A scarf covered her hair, gold loops dangled from her ears, and between her teeth was clamped a small pipe. "Who is she?" Joanna asked.

"My grandmother," Stefan replied. "Porter Brother's new fortuneteller."

"Umm, just ordinary people?" she said, with a snicker.

Stefan laughed. "Maybe my grandmother is still a little old world."

Joanna looked at him, dubiously. "Do
you
believe in fortunetelling?"

Stefan nodded. "It's worked with my grandmother too many times to deny."

"But you concede, there are times when it doesn't work."

"On occasion," Stefan said. "But with my grandmother, even those instances, more often than not, prove accurate after time has passed. Come meet her. Have her tell your fortune."

Joanna wasn't sure she wanted her fortune read, but while she deliberated, Stefan ushered her through the beveled glass doors leading to the Grand Saloon, past a lineup of men sitting at an elegant oak bar, between tables where people played cards and chess, and over to where his grandmother sat alone in a straight-backed chair in front of a small table.

"Mamio," Stefan said, as he approached. When the old woman looked up, he nudged Joanna forward. "Miss Livingston, I'd like to introduce my grandmother, Madam Janacek."

Joanna's lips darted in a nervous smile."I'm pleased to meet you, Madam Janacek."

Tekla Janacek clamped the pipe between her lips and drew on it, sending smoke puffs rising. Eyes on Stefan, she said, "I told you, is not good. Rom and
gorgio
. Not good."

"Miss Livingston came for a reading." Stefan slipped a coin into Joanna's hand.

 
Joanna pulled her hand from his arm and opened her fingers. "If you would, please," she said, offering the coin. "I would appreciate it."

Tekla took the coin and nodded toward the chair across the table from her. After Joanna seated herself, the old woman pulled a small crystal ball from a pocket concealed in the folds of her skirt, held it in her hands as if absorbing some great power from within, then set it on the table and ignored it. "Your right hand," she said, extending her hand.

Joanna rested her palm against Tekla Janacek's. The woman turned Joanna's hand over, but instead of reading her palm, she studied Joanna's face. "I see good fortune. You born to have luck in some things but not all. You help some who not help you..."

Stefan heard all the familiar catch phrases his grandmother used when giving a reading. As a child, he'd hidden under the cloth-covered table in the corner of Mamio's wagon on occasion, listening while she told the fortunes of
gorgios
who paid for readings. For dapper businessmen she'd announce that they'd soon be taking a journey. For women, she'd start with words about good luck, helping others, things they wanted to hear. Then, like now, she'd follow with, "But beware! You have friend who is not friend..." Her voice trailed off. Her thumb, which had been stroking Joanna's palm, paused, and she said nothing, seeming to be staring into an endless passageway into Joanna's mind, until her eyes drifted closed.

Stefan shifted uneasily. This was not like the usual readings. By now, Mamio should have finished with words of advice and dismissed her client. Instead, she sat silently, eyes shut, continuing to hold Joanna's hand until the unspoken interlude seemed awkward. Then she began slowly shaking her head, and a frown gathered between her brows. Eyes closed, she started speaking, her voice low, ominous, "...falling from great height... bad omen... brown clouds... many brown clouds... dust... misfortune... beware of new acquaintance..."

She opened her eyes and stared at Joanna. Saying nothing more, she released her hand. Then she lifted her pipe to her lips and inhaled deeply. "This bad omen," she warned, while exhaling a plume of blue smoke.

Joanna looked at Stefan, whose face held an expression of impending doom. Uneasy, she stood, smiled politely, and said, "Thank you for the reading, Madam Janacek."

As she walked with Stefan across the room, she said, "You don't believe that nonsense?"

Stefan shrugged. "Not all of it. She says about the same thing to everyone. 'You're born to be lucky. You have a friend who is not a friend.' But she said other things that trouble me."

"What? Clouds of dust? Or falling from a great height? We have nets, remember?"

"Perhaps," Stefan said. "But I feel uneasy."

Joanna also felt uneasy, but she would not yield to the empty predictions of a gypsy fortuneteller. "Well, I refuse worry about it," she said. "If I fall from a great height it will be into a net, and the only bad omen will be embarrassment in having to make such a humiliating exit."

Stefan laughed and took her arm. "Come on," he said. "I'll introduce you to my mother."

Joanna wasn't sure she wanted to meet another member of Stefan's family, but she was enjoying his company too much to protest. He ushered her across the room to where a middle-aged woman, with ash-brown hair swept into a knot, sat in a chair, bent over a book. Spectacles rested low on her slender nose, and when she looked up, Joanna was surprised to see fair skin, and eyes the same striking shade of green as Stefan's. Stefan introduced them and told his mother about Joanna's fortune.

Helen Janacek pursed her lips. "I hope you didn't pay for the reading."

"Well...yes," Joanna replied. "That is, Stefan paid for it."

Helen sighed. "The readings are all the same. But I guess it's entertainment."

Stefan shifted restlessly. "It wasn't like that. This time she made predictions."

Helen eyed Joanna with concern. "What kind of predictions?"

Joanna laughed lightly. "She was vague. Something about—" she gave Helen Janacek a bland smile "—brown clouds of dust—"

"And falling," Stefan interjected. "You never work without nets, do you?"

"Never." Joanna's smile faded, but she shrugged off her concern. Gene might threaten to drop the nets, but she would flatly refuse to perform without them.

While chatting cordially with Helen Janacek, a young woman wearing a brightly-colored skirt and a low-cut blouse came rushing up to Stefan, dark eyes smoldering, and said, "Mamio sent the costumes I selected back to wardrobe." She glanced at Joanna with distaste and returned to Stefan. "If it were up to her, I'd wear a
gorgio
nun's habit."

Stefan eyed his sister with irritation. "You should be happy to have new costumes."

"I'd be happy," Kitta fumed, "if I could wear tights like other women performers do instead of a skirt like Mamio insists. Would you talk to her?"

Stefan sighed. "Have Laszlo or Ivan to talk to her. It's their act."

"She favors you. Just do it." Kitta's gaze dropped to Joanna's hand on Stefan's arm, then she looked at Joanna with disgust, turned abruptly and walked away, never looking back.

After bidding Stefan's mother 'good evening,' they returned to the promenade deck. As they were strolling alongside the railing, Joanna said, with irony, "Why do I get the impression that your grandmother's word is final?"