Odalisque

“So I should admire him professionally, but avoid him socially.”

“Like the plague.”

Kelsey laughed. “Okay, I’m sensing you feel strongly about this.”

“I just think you should be concentrating on your training right now. This is a transitional time for you in the company. They have high hopes for your future, but you have to give them what they want.”

“Do you think I haven’t been concentrating on my training? I’m working damn hard. Ow!”

Jason ruthlessly worked at a knot in one of her back muscles. “I didn’t say anything about you not concentrating. Let’s keep it that way. New people come in sometimes and get caught up in the partying and backstage shenanigans. I call it the circus underbelly. I’ve seen more than one promising recruit go down.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, way down.”

Kelsey looked around at the assembled company as the stage manager called out “Ten minutes to animation!” None of the performers looked especially dissolute or seamy. Well, most of them didn’t, she thought, with a sidelong glance at the object of her obsession.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shrugging away from her coach’s prodding fingers. “I’m not taking chances with anything right now.”

“Genevieve says you can take Marisol’s place in just a few weeks, if you feel ready. How are things going with you and the other acrobats?”

Kelsey turned to take in the group of Argentinean tumblers she’d been rehearsing with. She was getting the routines okay. They were certainly within her physical skill set. The greater challenge was growing more natural as a performer, and tapping into the communal synergy. The Argentineans were a smooth, well-oiled machine while she was still a misfiring spark plug. She didn’t even speak their language. She looked back at Jason and shrugged. “I just need practice. I don’t feel ready yet, but I’ll get it.”

“Yes, you will.” He was manipulating her feet now, paying careful attention to her joints. “You can do all the things Marisol does. Easily. It’s just about getting into the rhythm of the group.”

“And learning Spanish.”

“Sí, querida. It will come. If you want to stay with Cirque du Monde, it wouldn’t hurt to learn French and Russian too. Mandarin, if you’re really ambitious.” He winked and patted her thigh, then moved off to help some of his other charges.

Kelsey lay back with a sigh and stared up at the beams in the ceiling, and air conditioning ducts painted in red, orange, blue, and fuchsia. Kelsey had on a similarly multicolored leotard, and her puffy blue plastic wig with her light blonde hair tucked securely underneath. Her makeup was just as involved as the main performers, even though for now she was only an extra, cavorting during act changes and helping move equipment.

She was anxious to get involved in one of the actual acts, but in the circus, you paid your dues and worked your way up. In the world of gymnastics she’d been a luminary, making it as far as a U.S. Olympic team alternate. Now she was an alternate again, training to step in for someone else. But she was here. The Cirque du Monde. Isn’t that what she’d wanted? She was tired of being the good girl, the disciplined Olympian. She was as creative and passionate as anyone else, and she was eager to let that side of her out into the light. That’s what she’d said during her interview with Genevieve, the director of the show.

Now she just had to get it done.

Kelsey sat up and looked around the room at her colorful cast of co-workers. Only Theo and Minya weren’t outfitted in rainbow hues. He was stark black from head to toe. No wig needed...his hair was black too. Minya was light to Theo’s dark, in a shimmering white and yellow bodysuit studded with crystals and topped off by a wig of fiery orange hair. For performances, she streaked the wig with red and gold highlights, to stunning effect.

Theo took his partner’s hand, and Minya looked up at him sideways. Kelsey couldn’t see her expression. Was she smiling? Seductive? Or questioning? Theo looked at her so intently, so...possessively. What must that feel like? He cupped Minya’s face in his hand and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

“Three minutes to animation!” The stage manager’s voice boomed in the backstage area. Kelsey shook off her horny daydreams and leaned to fish a red sugar straw out of her bag, tearing off the edge and upending it. A small, tart cascade of candy landed on her tongue. Across the room, Jason shook a finger at her, but she didn’t care. It was her pre-show ritual. The tart sugar was the taste of her dreams coming true.

Kelsey pranced through her roles in the production, enjoying every moment of it. Bystander #3. Villager. Spotter. Minor roles, but each necessary, a small opportunity to shine. After she finished helping the juggler pull all her stuff off the stage, Kelsey settled down in the shadows of the wings to watch Theo and Minya’s act at the top of the vast auditorium. The couple clasped the trapeze together and a cable pulled them up, so far up, at least sixty feet in the air to the bird’s nest. They checked lines and the balance of the bar, and the act began.

Kelsey had watched them fly so many times, she knew every release, every trick. Minya catapulted from Theo’s arms into a breathtaking somersault, and then back to his grasp. They flew side by side sometimes, in a sinuous dance of strength, and at other times, Minya hung from his hands, his knees, his shoulders. It amazed Kelsey, their strength and dexterity while swinging from a bar so many feet off the ground. There was no net, no spotters. For the final, most difficult trick, Minya wore a single safety line.

Kelsey could never have done it. You can never have him, trapezist or no. He’s not for you. No, they belonged together, Theo and Minya, the gypsy king and his orange-gold shadow, flung and then caught up again in space. The beauty of their dance brought tears to Kelsey’s eyes. Theo swung high, higher. It was time for the big finish. Minya flew upwards, her arms spread wide--

Kelsey knew right away something was wrong.

The angle was too great, the height was off. The audience didn’t know. They gasped in awe at the way Minya soared. Kelsey watched Theo, her blood pounding in her ears. He swung back, a twist of his body, and tried to catch her on the way down. His legs strained and he arched, reaching for her. Even from sixty feet below, even petrified with horror, Kelsey noted the mortal concentration on his face. He caught his partner for a moment, grasped her by one hand. His grip arrested her arc and she jerked. She no longer looked graceful.

Now, with that jerk and break in formation, the audience knew something was wrong, and the gasps turned to silence and panicked sharp screams. Kelsey’s own scream caught in her throat as the trapeze still swung and Theo lost his grip. Minya flew down, down, her yellow-red-orange-gold hair streaming behind as she dove head first toward the earth. It might almost be part of the act, it looked so graceful and dramatic. Kelsey waited for the safety to jerk Minya back, to halt her swan dive toward disaster. She saw the spotter pull the rope, faster and faster.

The safety never caught.