Fly With Fire

by Frances Randon

  “Detective Burnham assures me Chicago isn’t the tinderbox it used to be. And we have no cows in our show.” She kissed Roddy’s cheek while the group laughed. She caught the detective’s eyes. They were green. Green with golden flecks and she noticed a darker green rim around the irises. With reddish brown lashes a little thick in a sharply boned square face. He was maybe early thirties. He had a five o’clock shadow that only added to the rugged handsomeness. He wasn’t handsome in the manner of Claude. But he was attractive in a manly rather than a pretty way. His hair was reddish brown matching the lashes and brows. She noticed his even white teeth as he chuckled at her joke.

  Mayor Tyler cut Zack an annoyed look. “Well Burnham, you can wait at the bar. Have yourself a pop. I don’t think I’m in any danger from Ms. Whitman.”

  “Yes sir, your honor. Ms. Whitman.” He nodded and walked toward the door leading into the entry hall instead. Mo admired his stature as he went out and assumed a position as sentry exchanging a few words with another of the mayor’s bodyguards. He was tall and broad shouldered. His hair cut short. She scanned an eye down the back of him.

  “It was very kind of you to send your car for me.” She addressed the mayor shifting from one foot to the other. Her feet already ached a little from the new shoes.

  “We like to take care of our favored guests.” He signaled a waiter who brought over a tray of champagne filled glasses. “Especially the beautiful ones.” He offered her a glass.

  She has so many that want her that it means nothing to her, he thought watching her. She takes for granted that they want her. She believes she deserves the devotion of the masses. No one could possibly feel the way I do about her. He downed a vodka. She acts as if I’m not even here. Most of the time. Maybe she’s trying to make me jealous. But she gives me little hints. A look, a sigh. The lightest touch. Accidentally of course. I know what she really wants. I know what she really needs.

  He eyed the cop that had picked her up at the coliseum just as he’d been about to approach her. Yeah, I saw how he looked at her. What makes him think he has the right? Arrogant ass. And Claude? I was afraid he’d have to have a fall. At least she’s not dating that blond guy anymore either. I don’t think I can take it if I see her with another man. Why does she play these games with me? She’s very friendly with that black guy. The Rasta. He snorted. He better stay away if he knows what’s good for him. Now look at her with the Mayor of Chicago acting like she owns the world.

  Maybe tomorrow I’ll stop by her room for a friendly chat. Just for coffee. Sundays she doesn’t get up as early. Has coffee in her room. He recalled her well followed routine. She skips the gym and reads the paper. I’ll just happen by. Give her the paper. Sure, she’ll ask me in for coffee. She wouldn’t want to be rude. I’d go tonight but that might make her uncomfortable. No I’ll go in the morning. She’ll let me in. I know what she wants.

  Three hours later, Mo’s feet killed her. She had danced with the mayor several times. Had met the much mentioned Whitneys and had been invited to another party at the mayor’s home later in the week. She noticed Zack Burnham here and there being unobtrusive in the background. She noticed him chatting with Ling for a few minutes. She approached him at one point and asked him if he danced. “Only to the Mayor’s tune when I’m working.” He gave her a quick grin and went into professional mode. His smile warmed a wary face. Handsome, Mo thought. Troubled.

  Mayor Tyler said “good night” to Mo and waved Zack over. “Burnham, you have your car here, make sure Ms. Whitman gets to her hotel safely. Ms. Whitman, I look forward to seeing you again. Very Soon. If you want to come into the city, give me a ring. I’ll give you the keys, so to speak.”

  “Thanks, that’s very kind. Roddy keeps us pretty busy. He’s a slave driver, actually.” She glanced at the manager, who feigned innocence to the charge. “Roddy, you might as well ride with us since Lu had to leave.”

  Tyler kissed her hand looking into her eyes meaningfully. Zack looked the other way, the exit of the other guests suddenly of the greatest interest.

  “So your wife wasn’t feeling well?” Zack buckled his seatbelt.

  “Oh! Bad headache. She has the migraine. It hit her suddenly. She insist I stay. She need complete quiet and dark. Sometimes they last for days. But she is so brave, so strong; I have to force her to lie down.” Roddy was in the back seat loosening his bowtie with one hand, champagne flute in the other.

  “I don’t remember meeting the guy, your ah, partner. Hades.” He glanced at her sidelong.

  “I think he had a hot date. He was there but he left early.” She looked straight ahead without further comment.

  “So he’s not your…” He knew he shouldn’t ask.

  “Not my husband or boyfriend or friend for that matter. He’s my partner in the act. Roddy’s doing.” She jerked her head towards the back seat then smoothed her already smooth dress. “But he’s very good. You can trust him in the air. In our work, Mr. Burnham, trust is everything.” Why did he have the feeling the guy didn’t merit trust otherwise? Her clipped tone?

  Mo looked over her shoulder into the back seat. “Roddy, do you realize we’re riding with a cop, in a cop’s car and you have a glass of champagne? Officer Burnham that man stole a glass from the restaurant.”

  “But I am not driving.” Roddy took a sip and smiled happily at Mo, flushed with the success of the evening.

  “I’m off duty, and anyway, I’m out of my jurisdiction,” Zack said with a grin. They arrived at the hotel. Zack jumped out and went around.

  “Thank you. I feel like you’re my Greendale tour guide. I guess it’s worth an autograph to have a driver direct from the mayor’s office.” Mo took his hand as he helped her up the curb. “Thank you, my feet are killing me.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Regular Sherlock Holmes are you?” she asked with a smile. “How many corns have I got?”

  “None, you take good…” he eyed her up and down, “very good care of yourself.”

  “You’re as big a flirt as the mayor. When you’re not working.” She turned and laughed at Roddy who was hanging on the hood of the car. “I think my boss needs a police escort. 1553. The key’s in his pocket. You do turn down service too?” She laughed and walked in the door.

  The music of her laugh was in his mind the whole time he half carried Roddy to his room. “Turn down and tuck in, lady.” He said to himself. “I could tuck in on that!”

  Morning came with a little headache and sore feet. Mo turned and kissed her fingertips and touched them on the black and white photo of a dark skinned beauty in a white leotard. “Thanks Gram. Another great show.” She made coffee in the luxurious but sterile feeling room and taking it into the bathroom ran a bath. The warm water was soothing. The coffee, survival. She soaked a while sipping her coffee and thinking about the show. She shook her head when she caught herself thinking about a tall, rugged looking detective with broad shoulders and green eyes. She chuckled knowing she probably wouldn’t be seeing him again. Besides he was a cop. A cop was the antithesis of her kind of people, the artistic eccentrics she had always been around.

  Mo rose from the bath with a sigh wrapping a towel around her head and donning a fluffy terry robe. Sterility aside, she had to admit the accommodations were first class. As she tied the belt she recalled that she had asked for a paper. She went to the door and put her hand on the knob when there was a knock. Linc stood outside with the paper in his hand.

  “You looking for this?” He thrust it at her.

  “What’s up, Linc. You had coffee?” She opened the door.

  “I had coffee four hours ago. Yeah, gimme some.” His dreadlocks were tied in a pony tail. He wore his running clothes. Mo poured him a cup of coffee. He took it and sat with his elbows on his knees. “Ling didn’t come in ‘til five o’clock.”

  “You have an unhealthy tendency to keep track of Ling’s movements.” She sat down across from him. “You need to put it out there or let it go. Let it
go and accept what is.” Mo pulled the towel off her head and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Her rooms right next to mine. I was up.” He heaved a glum sigh. “She’ll never like me. She’s, you know. And I’m…”

  “Ling’s not a racist. Sometimes people just don’t click that way. It has nothing to do with race.”

  “I meant she’s a premier act and I’m just a background tumbler.” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes white people got more race problems than black people!”

  “Point taken.” She sat back and took a sip of her coffee.

  “So, hey with the police escort and all, Ms. Biglady.”

  “I’m so Biglady and you’re so…” She did her best Gloria Swanson. “I’m ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille.” They laughed. “You know Linc, Ling wants to be seen as wild and rebellious. But look at what she reads. She’s a more serious person than she likes to let on. She may have graduated college at nineteen but she’s still trying to break loose of the demands of her mother. She’s young and so are you. You have plenty of time for serious relationships.”

  “Coming from a grand old lady of twenty six, I’ll take your wisdom with a grain. Love is love. Eighteen or eighty, love and passion…well, they mess you up. I am messed up about Ling and she doesn’t even know. I guess she senses something ‘cause she has kinda pulled back.”

  “You’ve got to pull back too if that’s what Ling wants. But how can she know that if she doesn’t know how you feel? Problem is you’re already head over heels. That’s a lot of pressure. You’ve got to do some of your TM stuff and scale back the infatuation. Whatever you do, don’t let it interfere with your work relationship. You’re good Lincoln but you see this as a temp gig. Ling is the best at what she does. Her need is to focus. We have a short window in our business. In ten years or so Ling will probably be teaching physics and I’ll be coaching. That’s if I’m lucky. Go forward slowly. Ask her out. If you breathe down her neck, she’ll only cut you off. How’s school going?”

  “Good, when I can keep my mind on it. I can’t tumble forever, I know that. Thank God for online courses. I’ll have my CPA in one more year. Then no more hotels, no more road. I want to marry Ling and have my own office in Cleveland. Buy Mama a house. Have some babies. Buy Ling a house, have more babies.”

  “They’ve got birth control now you know. Ling’s only twenty two and she has said…” A knock at the door interrupted her train of thought. Mo went to the door where she found Ling leaning against the wall haggardly looking up at her. She waved impatiently to be let in. “Oh, Hi, Ling. Linc and I were just having coffee.”

  “I was just going,” Linc jumped up. Near lunch time for me. Hey, Ling. See you later, Mo.” He sauntered out.

  “Coffee with Linc?” Ling eyed Mo’s tousled, barely dried hair.

  “He was going by when I was getting the paper.” Mo looked at Ling’s smeared mascara and rumpled Goth dress. She turned back into the room, Ling following.

  “Ever notice how people who get up with the roosters think they’re better than other people?” Ling plopped on the big sofa forgetting Mo was generally one of those early risers.

  “Coffee?” Mo busied herself making another pot. “I don’t think that description fits Linc. Just his nature. He has goals and fortunately, loads of self discipline.”

  “Talked to that cop.” Ling changed the subject stretching herself out. You remember? The tall hunky one with Mayor Whatshisname?”

  “Mmm?”

  “He was cute, thought I’d do ‘im. Old, kinda. In his thirties.” She yawned loudly.

  “A relic.” Mo stared at the coffee pot. She loved Ling but sometimes she wondered just how she’d rated that one fifty two IQ.

  “I’m trying to hit on him and he just kept asking questions about you.”

  Mo furrowed her brow. “What kind of questions?”

  “General enough. Where you live. I mean city. He didn’t ask for your address, Momo! How long you’ve been the fire catcher. How long since you and Claude broke up. Stuff like that.” Ling gave out another loud yawn.

  “And you gave him all the answers?” She threw off her robe in an impatient huff and pulled underwear out of a drawer. Despite what she had told Zack Burnham he knew there had been something between her and Claude. Well, she’d probably never see him again. The coffee maker sputtered. Mo poured two cups and sat one on the table at the end of the sofa. Ling ignored it. She was going to get some sleep.

  Ling sleepily admired Mo’s tall, lean body. Envied the height of it. It was curvy for an athletic body. The breasts smaller but full and round. The waist was long with toned muscle. Mo attracted men in a way Ling envied, and was certainly aware of. But it wasn’t something she seemed to think much about. She didn’t go out of her way to do it, Ling thought as she admired the taller woman. That was something she envied too, in a friendly way. “You’re the only one I know who unpacks her suitcases and actually uses the dresser. I thought they were fake drawer fronts for a long time. Anyway it was harmless curiosity. I told him you and Claude hadn’t really gotten off the ground.” She giggled at her own joke. ”Romantically, that is.” Ling assessed her short well proportioned legs. Longer would be better she thought. “So what’s up with Linc? He told me he had lots of studying to do. CPA shit. Gonna be a suit. That’ll be the day.” She pulled a throw from the back of the sofa over her face. “It’s too bright in here.”

  “He’s perfectly serious. He has plans for the future.” She didn’t mention how Ling fit into those plans. “He knows a body doesn’t last forever in our business.” Mo pulled on leotards and shrugged on a button down shirt dress. She looked at Ling in the mirror as she buttoned the buttons with her long fingers. The black, wilted spikes of her friend’s hair were all she could see. Wouldn’t know a good man if she tripped over one, Mo thought. And she has. Well they were young. At least Linc was realistic, except when it came to making babies. He’d move on she was sure. She looked at her own face with its trace of freckles and high, sharp cheekbones. Her large black eyes slanted a bit. She had a slightly oriental look herself except for the slight arch to her nose. An astute person might guess at the Native American blood in her.

  Most people were surprised to find out she was the granddaughter of a Scottish Ironworker and a Mohawk woman. She had been born in a small town a hundred miles north of Toronto where her grandfather’s family had settled in his youth. Grandpa had gone to New York looking for work and had met Gram who performed a trapeze act in a small circus that traveled the border circuit. She was visiting her ironworker cousin in New York City when she met Grandpa. Gram had given up the life for love and had been disowned by her relatives. Mo’s parents had died in a car accident when she was two years old. Her life, such as it was, was in Montreal. But she had been on the road her entire life as Gram worked to support her after Grandpa passed away. Gram had scraped together a living getting what gigs an aging performer could get. They weren’t the best jobs, although she sometimes made extra money coaching. Mo had been homeschooled on the road.

  Beautiful as it was, Montreal had never seemed like home any more than the small towns they’d traveled all around Ontario had. Not since her grandmother had died. She smiled at the thought of Gram up on the balance beam with her in her arms. She had taught her to swing and tumble and climb as soon as she could walk. Her grandmother had doted on her scrawny, shy granddaughter and taught her confidence in what her body was capable of. She had also been a stern task master, strict and unrelenting though not unkind. Her reverie was interrupted by Ling’s snore. Might as well see what’s left of the free breakfast she thought picking up the Chicago Tribune.

  The Headline blared: “Feds investigate Tyler; Mayor says advisors ‘kept him in the dark’ about questions concerning city building inspectors. Patronage draws criticism from Republicans.” Mo read on, Danish in hand. The restaurant was empty except for a few stragglers looking for a late, quick bite. Typical hand in the till politics, she thought looki
ng around as if she had spoken aloud and expected a response. Mayor Tyler. Her new best friend.

  Zack was almost numb with boredom so he let his mind wander to a beautiful trapeze artist many people called the fire catcher. Out of his league, but man, she was something. With just a few minutes of contact she had gotten under his skin. But he probably wouldn’t see her again. Oh if she showed at the Mayor’s party he might get a glimpse of her. Might as well get her out of his head. Ray would have said he’d been celibate for way too long. Too picky, Ray had been fond of saying. And now he was paying the price. Ray would have teased him about it and encouraged him to go for it, fears be damned. But Ray was dead and he had been thrown the bone of the Mayor’s detail while circumstances were sorted out. He tried to change both subjects on his mind.

  The Mayor was arrogant and sure of himself. He could be jovial and likable one moment and a storm most people sought shelter from the next. Zack had decided to let the storm blow as it would and didn’t blink when the mayor’s wind blew his way. It was a trait Gerald Tyler both admired and found annoying. The mayor rambled on dictating talking points to his staff for a speech in response to the latest the Feds were throwing at him. How did the most investigated man in America sleep at night? Zack wondered. He looked around the mayor’s office. The building was Sunday quiet but the Mayor never stopped working. He could see the lake out the corner window. The office smelled like leather and expensive cigars. There were numerous awards and commendations on the walls. Dozens of photographs of His Honor with politicians and celebrities. Zack glanced at the mayor who at one time was almost his father in law. He could see the desktop photo of the mayor with his wife and kids. Patricia, the oldest, had been too young, he knew. They had both been too young. The phone buzzed, the secretary’s voice was ‘backa the Yards’. “Chief’s here, your Honor.”