Circus Excite (27 page)

Another camera was trained on Joe's crotch, and the image on the screen now showed a black-gloved hand move over the buttons of his jeans, tugging them open. The music increased in intensity, but wasn't enough to overwhelm a gasp from the crowd as Joe's fly was ripped open and Sylvie's small hand seemed to cradle his cock. Leaning down, she put her mouth to his lap and moved her head, apparently working him over with her mouth. The images were blurred and partly obscured by the limbs and moving hands of other performers, still interspersed with close-ups of Julia playing a game of hide-and-seek with the feather between her legs. Sometimes the images on the screen became amorphous ambiguous shapes, shifting shadows so out of focus one couldn't distinguish which flesh was Julia's and which Joe's.

The music grew louder and more intense, Henri bringing the beat to a pounding crescendo and increasing the sound of a woman sighing. Crackling and buzzing interrupted the melody now as the images became less and less distinct, Julia and Joe crouched so close together the audience could not see what was going on between them, only guess from the hazy and moving images which Sylvie continued to broadcast over the screen. Then a strobe speeded up, giving a disorientating jolt to the audience, showing bursts of sudden shocking images, the figures onstage captured in bizarre and orgiastic tableaux with every flash of light. Sylvie and
the others began unzipping each other and emerging bit by bit as naked and oiled figures, still wielding their cameras but showing now only the vaguest blurs of flesh, teeth and mouths on the screen, and every so often the proud protrusion of a nipple or a pair of thighs spreading open to reveal the briefest glimpse of their sex.

It ended in a tumultuous tangle of strobing images, a crashing of electronic cymbals and banging drum beats, the half-clothed figures writhing over Julia's magnificent glistening nakedness, Joe thrusting his hips into hers, the entire stage strewn with abandoned clothes and the cameras dropped on their sides, filming skewed and unfocused footage of the orgy onstage.

The lights dropped with split-second precision, at the exact moment the music built to an almost unbearable level and then ceased, leaving the audience breathless and dazed, plunged suddenly into the dark and suffocating silence of the tent.

Onstage, Julia lay panting under Joe, sweat running in rivulets down her back, chest heaving with the effort of her exertions. She hardly dared to move, terrified of what the reaction might be. Had she pushed it too far? Mauling members of the audience might be enough to infuriate Robert. As she listened to the silence in the blacked-out tent, Julia felt her worst anxieties start to loom over her. There was no sound other than the ragged breathing of the performers onstage.

Then, just as Julia thought she would have to steel herself for the disgrace due to her, the house lights started to glow dimly. A shout rang out – Rachel's voice, Julia realised, incredulous:

‘Bravo!'

The shout was brief, but strong and decisive, and it seemed enough to open the floodgates for the rest of the raggle-taggle audience to start. Gradually at first,
and then with growing volume, a torrent of claps, whistles and shouts flowed over the stage. Feeling relief and delight surge through her, Julia pulled herself slowly to her feet and took in the sight of the entire circus applauding her. Their faces were stunned, but smiling delightedly, heads shaking as they saluted her outrageous spectacle. And Rachel stood at the back clapping loudly. Julia felt a particular rush of unexpected pleasure in noting her most formidable enemy applauding her.

It was far from a full house, nor even a true paying audience, but Julia was keenly aware of the high standards of her fellow performers and their long ovation was more than she could have dared to wish for. As she gave a brief buoyant bow and tripped off the stage, she felt almost on the verge of tears. It was her first show, choreographed, planned and executed according to her vision. She gave Sylvie a fierce hug backstage, whispering her thanks in the girl's ear.

‘I couldn't have done it without you,' she said.

Sylvie laughed, and squeezed Julia back tightly, giving her a playful pat on the bottom. Sweating and breathing heavily, she was nevertheless smiling gamely at Julia, who was well aware of the risk the other girl had taken to perform without Robert's blessing.

‘Always happy to help a fellow artist, girl. Especially when the act's as hot as that one.'

In the midst of the bustle backstage, even as she thanked all the others who'd given their time and effort to help her pull it off, Julia was mindful of the hovering presence of Robert. As usual he'd watched from the wings, from where he had an optimum view of both the stage and the audience, and now Julia caught sight of his tall figure standing by the curtain. His head was buried in a sheaf of papers, and Julia felt her heart lurch as she wondered for a moment if he'd even watched the
act. Brow furrowed, he was leafing through the papers in his hand, giving no indication he was even aware of her standing a few feet from him.

Julia was still wearing her scant costume of beads and glitter, but somehow her near-nakedness seemed to give her confidence rather than make her feel vulnerable – as though she were draped in the success of the piece she'd devised. Walking towards Robert, she bit her lip nervously, hardly daring to imagine what his response might be. Her fellow performers had loved it, of that she was sure, and from the buzz of adrenaline now surging through her veins, Julia knew that there was something to the act that went beyond a simple spectacle. She'd created a work of art, from the things she felt most passionately about, from her experiences of the summer and her long training in dance. It was her finest achievement yet, and she was high from the feeling.

‘Robert?' she asked, standing before him, her nudity defiantly on show. Around them the crew and performers were hustling around, now making ready for the dress rehearsal, and Julia stood her ground, trying not to let the jostling technicians get in between her and Robert. He looked up briefly.

‘Julia.' He nodded, curtly. ‘Nice act.'

It was his usual understated response, but Julia felt pride flood over her. He hadn't sneered at her, nor had he exploded with rage. And his carefully meted out praise meant more to Julia than the entire response of the rest of the company.

‘Does that mean I can perform it for the run?' she asked, impatience overcoming her hesitation.

Now Robert did laugh; a short bitter chuckle.

‘Julia, the production values were good, and there were some interesting ideas in there. But there is absolutely no way I'd let you toy with members of the
audience, planted or not. We'd have mass walk-outs, refunds, chaos. I can't afford to take that kind of chance.'

Julia felt her heart swoop down with disappointment, and then crackle with anger. She wanted to lash out at Robert suddenly. Yet again, he was refusing her the one thing that she wanted most, and this time she felt sure that he was unjustified. Jealous, even.

‘It's a risk, I know. I've never done this before, Robert,' she admitted. ‘But you heard what the crowd thought. They loved it! Surely their opinion counts for something?'

Now Robert looked at her, a brisk businesslike stare.

‘Julia, your audience are performers who work in this world day in, day out. They're pretty hard to shock. Do you really think your average Festival goer is used to seeing things like this? We're treading a thin line as it is, Julia. The licence is under threat, the show is on the verge of attack from that damn journalist, and I'll be happy to make it to the end of the run, let alone escape a scandal. There is no way we can get away with stripping audience members onstage.'

His tone was curt and Julia knew she should hold herself back, but she couldn't help herself. Her emotions were stretched to breaking point as she felt herself once again standing vulnerable before Robert and being cut down to size.

‘Since when were you scared to take a risk, Robert? I thought that was the whole point of the show, of your work? In fact, I never imagined you'd back away from a challenge, or let some shoddy journalist scare you like this.'

Robert's eyes burned darkly with anger, and Julia realised with a start she'd hit a nerve. With terrifying self-control, he let his gaze drift down over Julia's sweat-soaked trembling body and brought his eyes back to meet hers.

‘Julia, you're a talented dancer. And I told you the act was fair. Promising, even. But remember what you were hired for. Remember what I use you for.'

His words stung Julia even as they set off a chain reaction of pictures in her head: Robert's cool piercing stare as she lost herself in bizarre sexual encounters that he engineered; the feeling that she was tumbling further into a dangerous mysterious world of sexual adventure; the trembling that he seemed to cause every time he turned her on and kept her hovering at a distance, desperate for his touch and battling not to show her desperation. He used her, he was freely admitting it. She felt suddenly as though the ground had been swept from beneath her feet – she was nothing but a plaything for his twisted fantasies, an object to be enjoyed when he wanted a little live sex show, another curio in his harem.

She felt the tears prickle behind her eyes and a flush rise in her cheeks, and even though she struggled to keep herself calm, Julia knew she was about to say something she'd regret.

‘I won't forget the people I've fucked for your pleasure. I enjoyed them. It's just a shame you don't have the guts to say what you really want, and you'll never know just how good it is to fuck me yourself.'

She knew she'd already stepped over the line. Even if she and Robert had shared the darkest intimacies, he remained her boss, and was more than capable of ending her career there and then. Recklessly, she blurted her parting shot:

‘I know what you really are Robert: a coward hiding in the shadows. You're just forcing other people to indulge your perversions.'

Robert watched calmly, his face betraying no flicker of a response.

‘Finished, Julia?' he asked. ‘I think you'd better go and
change. Sort your face out as well please, I don't want you going onstage with eyes that puffy.'

He turned back to the rest of the company, apparently signalling the end of the conversation with Julia. She stood, spent, swaying slightly, as though she'd just fought six rounds and lost. Turning one last time, Robert motioned her brusquely to leave the tent.

‘I told you. Cold water on your face, and back here in costume. Half an hour.
Move
.'

Numbly, Julia walked in the direction he indicated, feeling her dream fall in tatters around her. As she emerged into the afternoon sunlight, dazzling after the gloom of the tent, she felt the last of her energy drain from her and walked slowly towards her caravan. She barely noticed as Joe approached, grinning broadly and eager to hear how Robert had reacted.

‘So, what happened?' he asked, searching Julia's face anxiously for her response, and quickly gathering that she'd been turned down flat. He heaved a sigh.

‘No cigar, hey? Sod it, Julia, it was a long shot anyway, babe. Pretty good effort for a girl in her first professional job, don't you think?'

Julia shrugged, unable to find the words to agree with him. Trying to console her, he looped a heavy arm over her shoulder and squeezed.

‘I bet Josephine Baker had to work at it before she got to shake her tush in Paris, too. Julia?'

Remembering the story of Josephine's earth-shattering appearance at the Folies Bergère, Julia felt a spark of her dream glow again deep inside her. The reaction to Josephine's magnificent nudity, her barbarous eroticism, had frightened the young starlet so much she ran into the wings – people rushing to the stage, roaring, half horrified, half entranced. She was described as a revolution, a tidal wave, and she'd won that acclaim because she'd dared to do what no one else had done before.
Despite some parts of her audience whistling with disapproval, Josephine had continued her dancing, moving with the confidence of a panther, throwing her sensuous gestures to her partner as though she were out of control.

Walking over the grass with Joe, Julia felt her resolve return. Robert had years of experience, it was true, but that wasn't the only thing that mattered. Julia had passion, and talent. Her act had been something new and exciting; she could feel it without a trace of doubt. It was risky, but that was the whole strength of the show, daring to transgress what people expected, shocking the audience into a new appreciation of the sensual, exposing their complicity, ultimately, enveloping them in an overwhelming experience of sex and spectacle.

She would still perform the act, Julia found herself certain of it then, as though there had never been any doubt. With or without Robert's approval, she would realise her dream, and she would show him, finally, how far she would go.

THE MEADOWS WERE
soaked in blackness, lit up with strings of streetlights that lined the path to the circus site. They dimmed next to the blaze of spotlights strung over the tent, the centre pole standing high among the trees, black permants snapping in the wind. Fire-eaters circled the ground outside, weaving around the sideshow tents and streaking flame through the night. The crowds that approached over the grass were buzzing already, reeling from nights in theatres and bars, curious to see the ‘lurid fantasies' awaiting them.

The talk around town was that this circus was a tangled mess of filth and depravity, and bookings had been frantic. Julia heard the shrill laughter of women, the fierce whispers of the audience as they approached the tent, half desiring to be shocked, half scared. The atmosphere was tenser than usual, as though a storm was brewing. Backstage, Robert was pacing around in his costume, a deep frown shadowing his brow. The area between the curtains and the showmen's entrance was crowded with performers itching to take the stage. Julia was dressed in her slave costume, hair coiled into ringlets clogged with white paint, make-up so ghostly pale she seemed like a statue come to life. Sweat beaded over her pancake foundation and she bit her lip furiously, watching Robert from the corner of her eye. They would reveal all of the performers in turn in an opening parade that gave the audience a brief glimpse of the acts to come. Sylvie would be leading Julia onstage. As usual, Robert was looking them over, tweaking
costumes every so often, leaning to whisper in the ears of certain performers.