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Jason watched her, stepping closer from time to time to offer support or resistance as she worked her flexible limbs. She braced a leg on his shoulder and did a back bend, stretching and lengthening her spine. As much as he annoyed her, he was good at his job. And handsome. She liked the deep blue of Jason’s eyes and the nature-tones in his hair. Gold, auburn, mahogany, dark-bark brown. She collected leaves the color of his hair from the autumn streets, which was weird, but she was always weird. That’s probably why he was so snappy with her. When she righted herself and stretched her arms over her head, he narrowed his eyes.
“What?” she said in exasperation.
“Instead of taking the world tour of Cirque cocks, you should be in the gym lifting weights. You haven’t gained any muscle mass. You need to be strong to do eight shows a week. Everyone’s expected to be fit.”
She did a couple back flips and faced him when she regained her feet. “I am not a strength performer. I’m an agility performer. If I develop big muscles I’ll be too heavy to lift.”
“Give Adei some credit. He can lift twice your weight without breaking a sweat. If you don’t bulk up, Lemaitre—”
“Lemaitre, Lemaitre. Blah blah blah Lemaitre. I’ll do my act, I’ll do it beautifully, and he’ll have nothing bad to say. He hired me as I am.” She gave Jason an arch look. “He understands me better than you do.”
Jason chuckled as she stretched her hamstrings and did another series of flips to warm up her back.
“What’s so funny?” she asked when she finished.
“Your bravado,” he said. “But whatever. This will be fun. Come on, you and Adei should run through it a couple times before he arrives.”
*** *** ***
Michel headed for the practice studio. His train from Brussels had been gratifyingly prompt, and the construction there on schedule. Everything in order, just as he liked it, and now he got to view the seeds of what would grow into the new Paris show.
As always, he felt impatience mixed with a rousing sense of possibility. So many personalities, so much creative spirit to mold into a unified program. Creating art was, to him, an exercise in discipline. One took risk and inspiration and harnessed them for the enjoyment of audiences, controlling elements that resisted control.
Speaking of elements that resisted control...
Michel pondered the issue of La Vampa. He hadn’t heard much directly from Jason, but word got around. She was every bit as disruptive as he had expected. She was either loved or hated by her colleagues, and sometimes loved and hated at the same time. Michel didn’t have the luxury of forming any emotionally-based opinion of her. As with all his performers, he would support Valentina Sancia as long as her art and performance merited his care.
A few moments later he arrived at the practice space and took a seat on the perimeter with his artistic team. He scanned the large room, noting the various types of rigging and the groups of artists stretching on mats near the walls. He beckoned each act in the order he wanted to see them, saving La Vampa’s act for last. He saw a fantastic high bar act, a Russian Swing routine with a lot of potential, a group of rhythmic dancers who were not as fey as he feared they would be, and a fire-eater that downright unsettled him. He watched his daughter’s emotional solo trapeze act, developed over the summer in Marseille. As many times as he’d seen it, it still amazed him.
Overall, he was thrilled.
To his left, Adei stretched bulging muscles while Valentina bent backward and arched her minute frame into a near-perfect circle. He thought of the ouroboros, the snake swallowing its tail in a symbol of eternity and reinvention. She rolled out of the unnatural position and came to her feet with a grace he found arousing. Michel was a carnal man; when she did those things, he thought about sex. If she could do that with her body, what else could she do?
But this wasn’t the time to fantasize about exotic sexual positions. He focused on Valentina and Adei’s showmanship as the pair began their act. They already had music, West Indian in origin, with modern beats and dance influences mixed in. His musical director would refine and expand it based on the final version of the act. For now, it provided a blueprint as far as tempo and length. Michel was struck by Valentina’s musicality as she twisted and strutted about the floor. Adei was the sun to her skittering planet. In a sensual bit of choreography, she shimmied up Adei’s body and stood, perfectly balanced, on his upraised hands.
The lifeblood of his circus—any circus really—were artists who could do what other people couldn’t. This hand-to-hand act fell firmly in that category, perhaps too firmly. Valentina’s daring alarmed him. She went into a handstand on one arm—hers and Adei’s—and bent her body back in a defined arch. She did splits and turns, her eyes locked with her partner’s. She flipped in the air and Adei caught her on his upturned palms. It wasn’t all his skill. She used her body to position herself perfectly and to land with a soft touch. With a grin, Adei flipped her up again, making it look like nothing more than schoolyard shenanigans. The things they did could only be achieved through the melding of two singular sets of talents. Even then, each new leap, arch, and stunt shocked him a little more.
“Dieu,” he whispered at one point to Jason beside him. “How is it possible?”
“Because she’s crazy,” he whispered back. “Like I told you.”
Then came the wobble. Adei’s fault, not hers. Michel’s practiced eye saw it nearly before it began. A falter in balance and concentration, a shoulder dipped too low. Valentina came tumbling down, landing on her feet like a cat—even that happened gracefully. The look she turned on her partner, though, was the least graceful thing he’d ever seen.
“You beast,” she spat. “What’s wrong with you? How lazy and stupid can one person be?”
Adei offered his hands to propel her back up but she slapped them away. He scowled and walked off the performance floor with a shrug and few choice words of his own. Michel watched with a measure of patience. This was how the best acts grew and changed—and Valentina’s act would have to change. There was no way she could sustain that level of concentration and performance through eight shows a week. Even if she could, her partner couldn’t. That seemed obvious from the way he willfully tuned out her ranting.
“We should go save him.” Jason sighed.
“By all means. Partners must push one another to strive for excellence, but she may be pushing a little too hard.” Literally, pushing him. The muscular black man was twice her size, and to Michel’s mind, exercising laudable control in the face of her onslaught.
He crossed with Jason to the area where Valentina and Adei worked to settle their differences. Both men flinched as the petite woman let loose with a string of Italian curses.
Michel made a note of the ones he hadn’t heard before, even as he frowned in disapproval. “Our own Mount Vesuvius. Charming.” He made a sharp sound to get Valentina’s attention. “Miss Sancia, do not injure Adei. You’ll need him for future performances.”
She ignored his order, waving a finger in her partner’s face. From the looks of things, they weren’t lovers anymore. He wondered if they were still friends. It became clear that Adei would need backup if he was to continue working with Valentina.
Michel turned to Jason. “Why do you not use spotters for the act?”
At those words, she left off Adei and turned on him. “Spotters?” she snapped. “I do not need spotters.”
“Don’t you? I could have sworn I just saw you fall.”
“That was not my fault.”
He couldn’t remember the last time a performer had used such a tone with him. And here, in front of dozens of people. “It was your fault and that of your partner,” he said with brisk authority. “You should not incorporate skills into your act that you can’t replicate perfectly every time.”
She straightened her shoulders, turning her wagging fingers on him. “I will perfect that skill, I just need time to do it. I don’t want spotters milling around and getting in the way.
There are lines that must be seen, movement that would be ruined by spotters lurking here and there. I know how to fall and not get hurt.”
“You say ‘I’ a lot, Miss Sancia. You are not the only member of this act, nor the only person whose wishes must be taken into consideration.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but I am part of the act, unlike you.” At that retort, Michel heard gasps from the gathered audience of artists and directors.
He stared at her. Strong personality or not, she had crossed a line. “Miss Sancia—”
“Don’t ‘Miss Sancia’ me—”
He held up a hand to silence her, then scanned the room. “Someone bring Andrew from the other studio to act as spotter. He’s warmed up.”
“No!”
Michel turned back to her with his iciest stare. “Are you speaking to me? I sincerely hope not.”
The warning in his voice worked. She deflated a little, the blaze of her fury downgrading to billowing embers. “You’re not listening to me,” she said.
“I am listening to you. We can all hear you, but in this, you’re not going to get your way. I won’t stage this kind of act without spotters. At least, not the kind of act I envision.”
“But—”
“I’m the director of this circus.”
“Genevieve is the director of this show, not you.”
Astonishing, the backtalk, the inability to show respect. Genevieve, slight and dark-haired, sent him an apologetic look. She looked terrified on Valentina’s behalf, but Michel was rather enjoying the drama. He hadn’t experienced this kind of mutiny in years. Ever, really. Was Valentina crazy, as Jason claimed, or only exceptionally brave?
He walked closer to her, inches away. She held her ground, vibrating with indignation. When he spoke, it was in a biting and resolute tone. “Miss Sancia, Genevieve might be the director of this show, but I am the director of all things Cirque du Monde. Perhaps you were unaware of this. Perhaps you are unaware of too many things. Let us proceed to my office, where I can explain these important matters to you.”
Genevieve blanched and Jason got in his way as if to impede him. What did they think, that he would take her there and wring her neck? As tempting as the prospect might be, he’d worked too hard to get her here to choke the life out of her. It was only time to lay down some ground rules and teach her who was in charge. Without physical force, hopefully.
The only person in the room who did not look at all alarmed was Valentina. She stormed off ahead of him. Marshaling her defenses, he was certain. Planning her mode of attack. “You will wish to come too?” he asked Jason, who shadowed his side.
“I would like to, yes.”
