Girl on a Wire (5 page)

six

From my vantage point below the wires, I looked up into the big top’s main spire, and my heart beat faster. It was part nerves—I’d woken up with them—and part awe at the elegance of the setup. Above the center ring on either side were the familiar black bars of the rigging, tucked amid the lights. Our wires were staged to the left, with Dad’s slightly higher than and five feet away from mine. The trapeze accoutrements were to the right.

The start of our season was tomorrow. The first show was two days away.

“Dad,” I asked, nudging him with my elbow, “if I want to do something crazy once the season starts, will you go along with it?”

He wasn’t listening, not even a little. I knew this wasn’t the time to tell him about my intention to follow in Bird’s footsteps. That now my sights were set on walking on air high above cities, like I was born on a cloud. I loved the idea so much I almost didn’t care if he approved, so long as he gave his consent to Thurston. I was confident I could pull off the incredible—and I wanted this stunt to be so big and so daring it would prove once and for all that whatever bad magic my Nan thought was out to get us didn’t exist any longer. Or never had.

I lowered my voice to a wheedle. “So you will?” A harsher tone was needed to prompt him to respond, so I used one. “
Dad?
You will?”

“Of course, sure.”

He didn’t even look at me. If he had, he’d have known I was up to something. Luckily, just then Thurston swooped into the center ring.

He removed his top hat and swept it in front of him, favoring the tough crowd of seasoned performers and work crew with a bow. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, before pausing to let practiced chagrin steal across his face. “Never mind. I’ll save the spiel for rehearsal.”

The crowd laughed, and a few people cheered.

“As you know, we leave tomorrow for our first dates. Jacksonville doesn’t know what’s waiting for them—well, they know we’re coming, but there’s no way they know what to expect. We’re going back to a time when things were done right. We’re going to reintroduce this country to the glory and glamour of the true circus. In a world where everything is faked, staged for the cameras, we’re going to show them something undeniably real.” He paused to let it sink in. To make sure everyone was with him before he asked, “Right?”

Thurston was a born showman. Despite that, there were a few nervous smiles mixed with the applause that came in response. Hoping was dangerous. Hoping could hurt. We all wanted it to, and many needed it to, but the Cirque might not make a go of it. Thurston had never run a circus before, and for all we knew, this was a whim.

He carried on, “So . . . we need a final running order, don’t we? And we need to decide who is going to close out each night’s performance. I don’t have to state the obvious: this comes down to our two new solo wire acts, from two generations of Maronis, and the Flying Garcias. Shall we begin?”

The performers shouted wholehearted approval to the competition. Thurston mused, “Who shall go first?”

Someone shouted, “The Garcias!” This touched off another round of clapping and a few shouts aimed at the beautiful blonde twins, who were the only nonrelatives in the act.

The three Garcias and the twin flyers straightened to absorb the attention like cats preening in the sun. Remy and Novio wore tight black bodysuits with a few red details, and the girls were in pink and red that showed plenty of skin. Dita’s number was a scanty sequined thing with shiny pink and red flowers and a few strategically placed flesh-colored cutouts. I barely recognized her.

But even if the costume wasn’t one I could picture her choosing, after seeing her in the suit, I had to admit that she—and the others—looked great. No tacky Eurotrash figure skating–style costumes in sight.

Remy caught my appraising look, and our gazes caught and held. We were challenging each other again. I smiled at him, and he looked away. First.

Ha. I win this round.

I turned back toward Thurston and his adoring audience of employees. If I was going to do this, I had to do it. Before he could give first dibs to the Flying Garcias, I stepped forward, and called, “I’d like to be first.”

The applause died, but even if they wanted to, no one had the guts to boo. Not with Thurston standing right there.

He made me wait a long moment, then grinned. “Julieta Valentina Maroni, everyone.” He slipped into the first row, in front of my mother.

“Julieta,” my father said behind me, but it was too late for talk. “Not now,” I said.

Thurston’s taking his seat must have been a signal to whoever was operating the lights and controls, because a ladder began to lower slowly from the rigging beside the farthest left-hand wire. My wire. I found the line of my spine and timed my crossing of the center ring so I’d reach the ladder just as it finished the journey.

My costume was a prima ballerina’s dream, or maybe more like a crazy dream about a prima ballerina. Instead of white or pink, I’d gone with rich red for the color—inspired by the rose that had turned out
not
to be a gift. The bodice was simple and fitted with clean lines, and at the waist frothed into a relaxed rather than stiff tutu.

Sensing that unnecessary flourishes would turn this particular crowd even more against me, I climbed the ladder without adding any showy smiles or significant pauses. I concentrated on grace and speed, and soon enough I was at the top. I stepped onto a small rectangular platform. The wire ran from it, continuing across a wide swathe of the tent.

A rehearsal is never quite the same as a performance. Every extra set of eyes on you brings extra intensity. People add a charge to the air, a spark. I was keenly aware of the crowd of experts watching, probably hoping I’d screw up.

Before I took my first step, I let the people below fade away, let go of my worries about my fall and Nan’s weird actions and how people at the Cirque treated us, until it was just me and the wire and nothing else. I was an upside-down rose, a suspended drop of blood, a floating ballerina.

I was alone on the wire. I was whatever I felt like being.

Lost in the nothingness, I did my best, executing my aerial ballet like no one was watching and like everyone was. Soon enough I reached the platform on the other side. Done.

The performance had been flawless. That took the sting out of the subdued applause—polite, nothing more—from below. I heard a wolf whistle and recognized it as Sam’s.

I had to bite down on an unprofessional grin as I took my bow. When I finished, I headed back down and into the stands, where I’d need to be for the next phase of my plan. Mom pulled me in beside her and Sam. Even Nan gave me a nod, signaling approval.

Too bad that won’t last.

Dad went next, walking straight and sure, adjusting his speed when it suited the walk. Faster, slower. But no tricks. None were necessary. The way he moved was enough, so easy that everyone watching believed gravity had given up on trying to keep him tethered to earth. He simply walked on air.

Even this harsh audience couldn’t help giving in to applause that was more than polite when he finished. Thurston was on his feet. From Dad’s pleased expression, I could tell he was sure he’d secured the finale spot.

I experienced a moment’s concern that he’d flip out when I put my plan into action.
If
I really had the guts to do it. But before I decided to raise the guillotine above my own neck, it was the Garcias’ chance under the spotlights.

They didn’t hold back on the pausing and smiling on the way up their ladders. And they got affectionate applause and shouts from the crowd in return. There were two sets of platforms, one higher and one lower, and two sets of trapeze swings. Novio and Remy were on opposite platforms, Remy on the higher one and Novio the lower. The girls were all on the platform below Remy, beaming.

Remy and Novio unhooked their trapezes and started things off by sending them sailing across to each other. Each of them grabbed the bar of the tossed swing at the exact same moment and their bodies launched into the empty space, crisscrossing because of the height difference. The brothers released their grips on the bars of the swings, and I expected them to plummet, to bounce off the net—I was sure it was a mistake—but Remy grabbed Novio’s trapeze and swung his legs powerfully over the bar, letting his torso dangle below. Novio stood on Remy’s swing, gripping the thick cords, sailing back to his platform. Remy swung his body back upright, and leapt onto his feet. He waited in the air for Novio to swing out and tap him forward with a cheeky kick that sent Remy close enough to jump off onto the platform that held the girls.

They caught him, playacting an adoring swoon as they wrapped their arms around him.
Please.

Next, the twins flew off the platform and did some elaborate—and effective—interplay in the air. Novio caught them in turn, and then dangled one blonde from each arm. They speared down to the net at the same time. Dita was the last of the girls to go, and she did several pretty twists on the swing, before launching herself into a perfect triple somersault. Novio caught her, and she spun again on her way to the net, landing featherlight and bounding to her feet. It was an old-fashioned act. None of the gimmicky safety-wire-enhanced stuff so popular elsewhere.

Dita’s dismount would have been a natural end, the cue for Novio and Remy to catapult to the net for bows.

When I saw Remy take the swing one last time, I realized I was clutching my mother’s hand. She’d believe it was just nerves about the decision to come. But it wasn’t. I wanted to know what he was going to do. And then it was clear.

He was going to try it.

He built up speed even more quickly than he had the night before. Novio bided his time, swinging back and forth, waiting for the catch.

Finally, Remy sallied forth. Until he started to spin, I wasn’t sure he’d go through with it. After the third revolution, the audience lifted to its feet, shocked when they saw he was attempting a quadruple.

Remy made the fourth spin look easy, just as he had the night before. And, just as the night before, he missed his mark coming out of it. Barely. Novio’s hands slipped past his, and Remy plummeted into the net.

But he didn’t punch it. His hands were relaxed. If his shoulders were tight, he made a good show of making way for Novio’s own flip down to join him, smiling as he grabbed his sister’s hand and joined the troupe for a line of deep bows.

The crowd showered its favorites with adoration. Thurston was on his feet in front of me, gaping at Remy in surprise.

So Remy tried the quad, after all. I was . . . proud of him, which was ridiculous.

I released my mom’s hand and stood up, knowing it was now my turn to be shocking. I was going to show whoever gave me that rose that they had another thing coming if they thought they could scare me off with a creepy hair. It was time to prove to Nan she had nothing to fear here.

I ignored my mom’s frown, and stepped up next to Thurston. “Can we talk for a minute?” I asked him.

Now?
his expression said.

“It can’t wait.”

He pitched his ear closer, listening, but not looking so happy about it.

“We’re doing parades, right? Into the towns?”

He nodded.

“I’d like to remove myself from finale consideration.” Not that there’d been much chance I’d land it over Dad or the Garcias. “I can go right before Mom, and she’ll cap the first act.”

“But why—”

I was confusing him, but there was no other way—this wasn’t the easiest thing to propose. “How good are your permit lawyers and advance people?”

I had his full attention now. Mom started toward us, but I waved her away.

“The best in the business,” he said. “Why?”

I couldn’t show the nervousness of taking a deep breath, but oh, how I needed one. “Do you know who Bird Millman was?”

He nodded, eyes widening.

“And you know about her building walks?”

I didn’t need to say anything more. He got it.

“You’re sure you can do it?”

“Yes.”

“Even so, your parents will never agree—” he started.

“Let me handle them. You handle the permits.”

He paused, and when he nodded, the dip of his chin was brief. We had an agreement. “I have to do this now. We’ll work out the details later.”

“Make your announcement,” I said, “but not about this, not just yet. Okay?”

I hoped he’d take my meaning. He did. “Of course.”

I needed to tell my parents first. My dad came over and took my hand as we waited. When Thurston announced my placement, he was outraged on my behalf until Thurston and I both clarified that I’d asked to be before Mom. Mom was smiling, sure that was all the conversation she’d started to interrupt had been about.

The moment of truth. Thurston looked from our family to the Garcias, still glowing from their almost-triumph. Well, all except Remy’s mother. Maria had left the crowd and stood at Remy’s side, frowning. Guess she’d been surprised by Remy’s quad attempt—and not in a good way.

“The quadruple somersault is one of the most impressive feats in the history of the circus,” Thurston said. “And it’s difficult to see how I could put it anywhere other than the finale.”

Remy’s eyes were on me. I couldn’t look at Dad.

“But what we have is an
attempt
at the quadruple,” Thurston continued. “While I’m sure the Garcias will make it happen at some point, we can’t risk ending the show on an incomplete trick. No matter how impressive. Emil will close the show.”

There was no booing. The logic was too sound. This wouldn’t win over any of the other performers. If anything, Remy’s almost-there attempt might create more gossip that Nan was somehow back to her old tricks and doling out bad luck.

My gaze caught Remy’s again, and held. He smiled at me this time, but it was that skeptical grin from the night before. I imagined his expression when he heard about the stunts I was planning to pull, my wire walks high above the great outdoors. Then I imagined the expression of the mystery person who planted the rose, when they heard.