The Ladies of the Secret Circus

by Constance Sayers

  Kerrigan Falls, Virginia

  June 23, 2005

  Lara had a reminder message from Audrey to pick up the tickets and a stern warning that the office was only open for two hours today, from ten in the morning until noon.

  Throwing on jeans that were not covered in dust, Lara twisted her ankles into her black Chuck Taylors and raced out the door. She had fifteen minutes until the offices of the historical society closed.

  It was Saturday, so she usually slept in a little later, but this was unusual. All night, armed with a French dictionary, she’d been up translating Cecile’s journal. At first, she thought she’d just work on a few pages, but by two in the morning Lara had found that she’d been able to read most of the composition book without the help of her dog-eared and coverless Bantam French dictionary. Some of the handwriting had been faded or stained with what appeared to be a watermark and some phrases had to be looked up, but she managed to finish most of the translation.

  As she read, she’d tried to equate the woman with the silver bob and heart-shaped face that she’d known with the young girl trying to learn the trapeze. Something about it didn’t fit, causing Lara to wonder if Cecile had tried her hand at creative writing. Perhaps the journal was just some made-up story.

  She ran the last block, sliding through the doors of the historical society offices at eleven fifty. Marla Archer had her back to Lara, and she wondered if she should feel weird about this. Tonight, she was going to the gala with this woman’s ex-husband.

  The radio was playing classical music, a baroque piece, likely Bach. Lara had majored in music, so she’d generally spent more time playing classical than anything modern until she’d graduated. The music suited the place. Looking around, Lara realized she’d never come in here before. All around the office were old photos of Main Street and Jefferson Street; “before” and “after” photos of schoolhouses turned into grocery stores, factories into housing developments; and of course the posters of Zoltan’s Spicy Brown Mustard and Le Cirque Margot.

  Above the counter was an old circus poster featuring the blond likeness of her grandmother Margot Cabot draped over a white steed, her famous leg clutching the back of the animal. It was an unreal position—anyone normal would have fallen from that angle—but it sure made for a great illustration.

  “She was a beauty, wasn’t she?” It was Marla.

  Lara looked up, surprised that she’d been so lost in the artwork, she hadn’t seen Marla turn around.

  “She really was, but no one can stay on a horse perched like that.”

  Marla chuckled. “Well, I think that pose was more to draw the teenage boys to the circus than anything else.”

  Lara walked up to the counter, where books like Virginia’s Battlefields and Kerrigan Falls in Photography, which Lara noticed was written by Marla, were stacked in neat piles. “I need to pick up tickets for my mother.” Lara paused. “Audrey Barnes.”

  Marla smiled. “I remember you from Gaston’s.” She thumbed through a small box of envelopes, going forward and backward until she found the one she was looking for. “Barnes.” She opened it. “Two tickets?”

  Lara nodded.

  “I hear you are Ben’s date tonight.” Marla held the tickets out for Lara.

  Lara stammered, not sure how to respond.

  “It’s okay,” said Marla. “He told me. I warn you, though, he doesn’t dance. I tried for years. Took him to Arthur Murray for salsa lessons and they refunded my money after one session. Said he was hopeless.”

  Lara clutched her tickets. “He also has terrible taste in James Bond films.”

  Marla leaned against the counter and folded her arms. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” said Lara, a bit wary.

  “I have something for you.” She paused. “It’s complicated. It was for Todd, actually. Do you want it?” Marla put her finger up for Lara to wait, then opened a drawer and pulled out a parchment envelope of photos.

  “The truck,” said Lara, remembering that Todd had been looking for old examples of Le Cirque Margot’s livery. He’d shown her some photos that night in the garage. That night.

  She spread them out on the counter. There were eight photos of the old truck from its day, most black-and-whites showing people posed around it. In one, Margot stood next to it with a feather headdress and sequined leotard. “This is the best one.” Marla slid the smaller photo from the pile. Lara noticed that the woman’s nails were meticulous with shiny beige polish. She tapped a color photo. “I think this one is from 1969.” She picked it up, studied it, and then, satisfied, pointed to the date stamped on the side of the photo paper. At this point, the truck looked old, but the logo was still visible. The photo was in color, and it appeared that the black lettering was actually royal blue. The woman paused, her clear blue eyes shining. “I didn’t know if I should give them to you, or if you knew about the truck. I’d tried to find other examples of the logo for him.”

  Lara studied the photos and had trouble catching her breath. “I did know,” she said, almost croaking her words. “He showed it to me before…” She let the sentence hang. Gathering up the photos quickly, Lara slid them into the sleeve of the envelope. “Thank you. Do I owe you for these?” Lara didn’t look up, trying to scurry out of the place.

  “Of course not.” Marla waved her hand.

  Lara nodded and turned toward the door, clutching the two envelopes in her sweaty hands. As she got to the front of the office, the door opened and Kim Landau stepped through.

  “Am I too late?” she called, realizing that Lara was blocking her from the counter.

  “Just under the wire,” said Marla, her head back down in the file box, searching for Kim’s tickets.

  “Lara,” said Kim, rather surprised to find her there, her big blue eyes wide. “You’re going to the gala tonight?”

  “I am,” said Lara, turning toward the door in an attempt to pass her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kim—she really didn’t know her. It was just that the articles Kim had written about Todd after his disappearance always had a bite to them, like there was some underlying reason that Todd had left Lara, but she was too polite to spell it out.

  “I… I was hoping that maybe you’d be up for an interview.”

  “An interview?” Lara leveled her eyes at Kim. Her brows furrowed.

  “You know,” said Kim, pulling strands of dark, nearly red hair away from her face. “How you’re feeling since the whole Todd thing…” She tilted her head from side to side, like she was selling jeans at the mall.

  Lara felt her stomach twist. “How I’m feeling?” she snorted. “Are you kidding?”

  Kim looked blank. “No… I—”

  “I feel awful, Kim,” said Lara, cutting her off. “How do you think I’d feel? He’s missing… dead, maybe. I feel like shit. And you can quote me.”

  “Here you go,” called Marla, holding Kim’s tickets in her hand. She turned her eyes to Lara conspiratorially. “It was so good to see you. I know you’re in a hurry. Thanks for stopping by to pick up those photos.”

  Lara smiled, grateful for the rescue.

  Kim went to say something to Lara, but she’d already pushed through the door.

  That was ghastly,” said Audrey, her eyes wide. “She wanted to interview you?”

  Lara fell back on the bed, closing her eyes. “She said she wanted to know how I was feeling.” Reaching out, Lara’s fingers felt the edge of Cecile’s journal, right on her bed where she’d left it.

  “I hope you told her,” said Audrey, sitting back in Lara’s chair, her posture perfect. “The nerve of that woman. I ought to call Avery Caldwell myself to complain. You’re Simon Webster’s granddaughter for Christ’s sake. All the articles that they printed about you…” Audrey stared out at the window. “I should have called him earlier, instead of just having Caren get them from the mailbox. You know Ben Archer would get that paper first and would call me if there was something he thought you shouldn’t see in it.�
�� Her mother kicked off her sneakers.

  “Ben.” She hadn’t known the great Kerrigan Falls Express newspaper conspiracy had so many participants. Sensing the tone in her mother’s voice, she asked, “Do you approve?”

  “It’s not that I don’t approve of him escorting you tonight. I just hope it’s for the right reason on your part.” Audrey picked up the photo of Lara and Todd that sat next to the lamp on the side table.

  “You think it’s too soon,” said Lara, eyeing her mother.

  “That’s not it.” Audrey placed the photo back on the table and strummed her long, pale fingers over it, considering her words. “As you well know, I was never a fan of Todd’s.”

  “Then you think Ben is too old for me.”

  “Well,” said Audrey. “He is ten years older than you? At least I can’t sense other women on him, like I used to do with Todd.” Her mother closed her eyes tightly at what appeared to be a painful memory, then realized that she was speaking out loud. “Sorry…”

  Lara put her hands on her face, hoping this would all go away. “Todd was certainly no angel.”

  “He wasn’t worthy of you, but I’m your mother, so… Just make sure that you really care about Ben Archer, that’s all. Don’t rebound. Trust me, I know about that. Take the time you need to recover.”

  Lara lifted her head from the bed and looked at her mother suspiciously. “Rebound? What would you know about rebounding?”

  “Are you thinking an updo?” Her mother changed the subject, swirling her finger in the general direction of Lara’s tangled mess of hair.

  An hour later, those same locks had been tamed by a curling iron into smooth, long waves. She let her mother zip her into the blue gown that made her waist look tiny. Perhaps she had lost more weight than she’d thought. One of the things that hadn’t made it into her new house was a scale. Once zipped, she tugged on the gown, which fit her like a glove.

  “You’ve lost weight since your wedding gown,” confirmed her mother.

  Lara studied her collarbones, which were far more pronounced than they’d been. A wave of nausea gripped her. Maybe it was too soon to be doing this. The gala… Ben. He had been her lifeline for information about Todd, but they’d become entwined over the last nine months. Complicating things with him risked losing her closest ally. Often, knowing Ben was home alone in his apartment, she’d strung together a bunch of songs for him—“Lovesong” by the Cure (only off the Mixed Up album), “Go Your Own Way” and “I’m So Afraid” by Fleetwood Mac, “When I Was Young” by Eric Burdon and the Animals, “Invisible Sun” by the Police, and “Rumble” by Link Wray. It was reassuring knowing that he was on the other side of the airwaves listening to her well into the night. As the months wore on, Lara couldn’t imagine not talking to him. She valued—and needed—his opinion on everything. The subtleness of this shift struck her. How had she allowed this to happen? She had sworn she wouldn’t care about someone again. And yet.

  Lara felt flushed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you all right?” Audrey was pulling her own dress down over her head, a platinum strapless beaded number with a plunging back and a slight mermaid cut. She turned for Lara to zip her.

  “I don’t think I can do this?” Lara fell back on the bed.

  “Sit up. You’ll crinkle the dress,” said Audrey. “I need to be zipped.”

  “I might be fainting, Mother.”

  “Doubtful,” said Audrey. “Zip, zip.”

  Lara sighed deeply and raised herself high enough to zip Audrey into her gown. Her mother looked stunning. “I know something that will change your mind about this whole evening.” Audrey dug into her purse and held out a box. Lara opened it, knowing what was inside: Cecile’s pearl choker. “Someone needs to see you in this.”

  A pang of sadness overtook her as she touched it.

  “That choker is yours,” said Audrey. “It has no connection to him.”

  “I’m afraid everything has a connection to him,” said Lara under her breath. She looked up. God knows, the woman was trying. “You are the world’s most thoughtful mother.” She reached out and took her mother’s hand.

  Audrey leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “I’d give anything to take your pain away.”

  “I know you would.” Lara stood and shook herself. She felt very conflicted now, torn between her past and present. Oddly, as she was embarking on her first date, Todd seemed closer to her tonight than he had been at any point in the past months. Lara pushed those thoughts away and focused on her mother. Her hair was gathered in a French twist, and she had chandelier earrings dangling to her chin. If she was involved with Gaston Boucher, he was a lucky man.

  “So, Gaston Boucher?”

  “Look at the time,” said Audrey, handing Lara a mask. “I need to find my shoes.”

  “They’re on your feet,” said Lara, laughing before she turned and headed down the long hallway. “Someone’s in love.”

  Mother and daughter made their way down the street toward City Hall down past the old Kerrigan Falls cemetery. As the sun set, the alabaster slabs, obelisks, and weathered cherub statues shimmered with a gold glow. Cecile and Margot were both buried on the southern side—the newer wing of the cemetery.

  Lara peered through the tall iron gates. “Do you know if Peter Beaumont has a gravestone?” She was surprised to find herself thinking about him tonight.

  Audrey stopped walking and opened her bag, pulled out a lipstick tube, and took one final swipe across her lips. “He does,” she said, pointing. “The grave is empty, of course, but his mother needed somewhere to go to honor his memory.”

  So far, Fred and Betty had resisted any memorial for Todd. Lost in thought, Lara stared at a marble bench under the weeping willow tree, its branches overgrown and heavy.

  “Peter’s grave is on the south side, near the back entrance of the church. It’s a small stone, easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it,” said Audrey, snapping her evening bag shut and walking on, like she couldn’t bear the sight of the graveyard.

  A scatter of pale stones in all sizes and shapes bordered the chapel. Lara wondered how it was that her mother knew the exact location and details of Peter Beaumont’s grave.

  “Something strange happened the other night,” said Lara, nearly running to catch up. “When I told Dad about it, he was upset.”

  Audrey stopped again. “What did you do?”

  Lara frowned at the accusation. “I didn’t do anything. I was cuing one of the Dangerous Tendencies albums, and there was a song when you ran the album backward. I mentioned it to Dad, who said they hadn’t done backmasking on the Tending album, so to prove his point, he cued the record up and there was nothing. But then I tried…”

  “And—” Audrey’s voice fell like she knew where Lara was going with the story. “The song was there.”

  “He said it was Peter Beaumont’s song.”

  “Peter?” The look of alarm on her mother’s face caused Lara to step back.

  “And the song I heard had never actually been recorded.” Lara started to hum a few bars.

  Audrey turned pale.

  “You know the song?”

  She nodded and turned, walking down the street, holding her stomach.

  “Dad believes Peter was sending him a message.”

  Audrey stopped walking again.

  “The way he looked at me,” recalled Lara, observing the change in her mother’s face. “It was like he’d seen a ghost. You know, like you’re looking at me now.”

  Audrey’s voice was low, yet no one was around to hear them. “It was magic, Lara. Just like the enchantment of a gown or the turn of a lock.” She backtracked a few steps, her expression weary. If it hadn’t been for the pink lipstick, she would have looked sickly. “You must remember to hide your magic, my dear. It has the potential to hurt others who don’t understand.” Audrey gathered her gown and walked down the cobblestones past the cemetery gate. The discussion was over.
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br />   The pathway leading to City Hall was lit with hurricane lanterns with tall white candles burning. At the stairway, the Rivoli jugglers were tossing fire and a small group stood to watch them. As they ascended the steps, Lara saw a sea of black and white formal wear in front of her. The lobby of the two-story building with its curving staircase had been converted for the gala. Other than the Victorian Christmas celebration when the twenty-five-foot tree stood here, this was the biggest event in the town. The Rivoli Circus had loaned out their orchestra for the occasion, and the sound of stringed instruments tuning themselves could be heard around the block.

  While most towns wouldn’t have focused as much on their historical societies, Kerrigan Falls played it up. With Monticello and Montpelier nearby, the town was nestled among some of the most historic locations in America. Over the years, the carnival gala had grown, thanks largely to the fundraising efforts of Marla Archer. Before her, Marla’s mother, Vivian, had been the executive director of the Kerrigan Falls Historical Society. Under Marla’s leadership, the once tired dinner had become the social event of the season. It was a lovely tradition, and the fete only grew more crowded with each passing year. Along with the homes tour, it was also one of the biggest fundraisers.

  The color scheme used the Rivoli colors of blue and green. In the grand foyer, chartreuse and indigo fabric panels streamed down in a dramatic maypole sweep over the two stories to mimic the circus’s big top. At center, a giant chandelier, surrounded by cascading green garland vines, dangled. Pots of green, blue, and white hydrangeas were interspersed with hurricane lamps. The room shimmered.

  Audrey was immediately drawn into a conversation with a clump of masked revelers whom Lara recognized as some of the local vintners and stable owners. Passing her, waiters carried silver trays of smoked salmon and goat cheese puffs. Far off, Lara heard the sound of glassware clinking and the smell of meat on a grill.

  Even with a mask, Marla Archer was easy to spot. She was wearing a peacock-blue mermaid gown with long sleeves and a plunging neckline with a matching green-and-blue choker necklace. As Marla turned, Lara noticed the gown was backless to her hips. Surrounded by board members and the mayor, who was drinking up the attention, Marla held court, placing her hand on the mayor’s forearm for emphasis in their conversation. Off to the side, drinking a glass of champagne, was a maskless Ben Archer. If there was any awkwardness between Marla and Ben, they put on a very good public display. He exchanged a quick hug with his ex-wife before the rest of their group began to squeeze together for a party picture. While Ben stood outside the frame of the camera, Lara watched as Marla coaxed Ben into the shot, pulling him in to replace her at the last minute. Ben looked sour before switching to a wide smile for the impromptu pose.