Fly With Fire

by Frances Randon

  “Perhaps, I cannot trust you. You break my heart.” At least he had dropped the first person.

  “We better start trusting now or we’ll both be out of a job.” Mo sucked up her annoyance and smiled. “We’re the stars, Claude. We can’t do this without each other. We’re setting a poor example, what’s it gonna be?” Claude didn’t answer, swinging out in a huff.

  Mo stretched as Zack watched her. “How’s the wrist?”

  “What? Oh, fine, fine.” She rubbed it a second. She was aware of him assessing her body. But she was not self conscious or offended. She realized he made visual and mental assessments of everyone. Part of the job, she guessed. “I hope it hasn’t been too boring lurking around here all day.”

  “Not a bit. Pretty interesting actually. I guess when we see any kind of performance we’re seeing what you want us to see. You all make it seem so easy. Kind of cool seeing what really goes into it. All the work. You all really are athletes. As well as artists.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ve never seen so many perfectionists in one room. Does it get boring for you to do things over and over?”

  “That’s part of it. Challenging yourself toward a perfection that can never be truly achieved. Even if you get it perfectly one time, you won’t the next. But we have to give the appearance of perfection each time we perform. That’s what we strive for. It’s an illusion after all. Just like when I hold the flames in the palms of my hands.” She draped a towel around her neck and held up her unburned palms. “I’ve got to meet Sally for a few minutes. You want to wait here?”

  “I’d rather stick close.” Zack said with a professional air. He’d found out he was given leave. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight. He didn’t want her to guess how happy he found himself to be about that. “What are your meal plans?” he asked as they walked toward Sally’s domain. “In the room?” He noticed she actually not eaten much at all for the two, going on three days he’d been with her. A bite of bagel, a fork of salad. Was this her norm? Grief, stress, he guessed. Surely an athlete like herself wasn’t in a position to starve herself to be thin. She was strong. All muscle. Slender but not waiflike in the least. He didn’t figure her for a self starving idiot.

  “I guess the room. I can’t face being in the restaurant. All the guests looking. I wouldn’t mind except for… everything.” Mo turned and touched his arm. “Too bad you’re not armed with some of that Chicago pizza I keep hearing about. I wonder if one of the hotel restaurants serves it. I guess we could get delivery.”

  “You eat pizza?”

  “So Cal Martino says, ‘You gonna stand there, Burnham, or you gonna get this kid’s gun outta my ass?’” Mo watched him as she chewed the delicious pizza. It was a little hard to hear in the crowded pizzeria so they leaned toward each other across the table. “The kid was so embarrassed that he actually yanked his gun hand out from under Cal so he could toss the gun. I was so relieved, I threw up immediately. I did not want to shoot that kid. I threw up on the back of his jacket while I cuffed him. You know what he said? ‘Not on my Bulls jacket, motherfucker!’ Excuse me.” He looked sheepishly at Mo.

  “My god, what a job. I can’t imagine doing what you do.”

  “Ditto. How’s the pizza?”

  “Best pizza backa the Yards!” They laughed. She looked around the old factory building with approval, her eyes landing on this and that of the collection of vintage White Sox memorabilia, lots of signed old black and whites of ball players and celebrities. She had noticed a photo of Mayor Tyler with Zack’s friend Dino, the owner, at the entrance. She liked all the old Chicago advertizing signs and small odd implements. The building was all bricks and huge riveted pipes. On a platform in one corner was an enormous resin cow wearing a chef’s hat. Unfortunately for the cow it had been marked according to cuts of meat. Zack had explained it had come from a street art exhibition honoring Chicago’s stockyard beginnings. Mo ate like a champ and downed a beer. He was glad to see it. Couldn’t get enough of seeing her smiling a little, feeling more relaxed.

  She watched his face while he told his story, talked to his buddy, Dino Salvatiere, and ate his pizza. When he smiled his watchful green eyes relaxed. She looked at his full sensual lips. His ears were a little big. Maybe it was just the cop cut. Not that she minded since their relationship was strictly business. In a friendly way.

  “So pretty lady, you must be something to get this one out for the night.” Dino slid into the booth and elbowed Zack in the ribs. “We went to high school together. Who woulda thought a puss like Burnham would become a cop. But look at ‘im now. Tough guy! Eh, Zack? You like the pizza? Thanks. So pretty lady, what do you do?”

  “I…Uh…”

  “Ms. Whitman is a performer for the show out at Greendale.”

  “No, shit! The murder and everything! Holy Shit!”

  “Dee, there’s a lady present.”

  “A beautiful lady! You one of them acrobats” Mo nodded with a smile. “I tried to get tickets. My kids begged. My wife works at the tourism bureau and thought she might come up with some, no dice. Shit, I mean tickets sell out so fast these days. My kids act as if I’m just out to torture them. They don’t understand. Oh, well, so what’s going on, Zachary? I saw Chelsey the other day. I was at Fulton, checking out a new distributor. She got out of a cab and saw me. I waved. You know what she did, Zack? She ignored me. Just looked away. What d’ya think about dat?”

  Zack looked uncomfortable. Mo guessed Chelsey was the ex-wife. Dino kept talking about her. Not malicious, just unconscious of his friend’s discomfort. Mo wondered if he was still carrying a torch. Not that it mattered. He was her security, they were just on friendly terms was all. But she couldn’t help but wonder what this Chelsey, the name annoyed her for some reason, was like? Dino went on. “Well, she never took to us south siders…”

  “Dino? Dino, how would you like to bring your family to the show as my guests?” She stopped him in mid sentence.

  “What? No shit, I mean really, ya kiddin’ me?”

  “No. What day would be good for you?” Mo smiled with her brows raised in question.

  “Did you all hear this? Nicky?” Dino yelled at his brother in law serving beer at a nearby table. “Did you hear this? I’m off on Mondays. I have five kids. Right, Zack? Five. My wife is devout but she likes to make babies as much as she likes to pray. Five kids.” He nodded his head in affirmation. It was a number that astonished him and he expected it astonished others.

  “Mondays a good time. We don’t usually do shows on Mondays but we are this next one. Sold out but they’ll be some no shows. I always get some tickets for guests. You call Zack’s phone while you’re parking. Show’s at eight. You call him and he’ll meet you by the ticket booth. Is that okay Zack, do you mind?” Zack nodded his head looking very well pleased. “Let’s say ten seats. Is that enough? You can bring a few friends.”

  “Jesus Christ! Sorry. Ten seats! Nicky! Wanna go see a show. Call Angela. Tell yer sister we’re all going to see Circus du Ce.Les.Ti.al! Monday! No, I ain’t kiddin’! Have another beer, Ms. Whitman, how ‘bout dessert? Dinner’s on me!”

  They walked down Jackson across the bridge that spanned the Chicago River. She leaned over and looked at the tour boats on the dark water. “Is this where that toilet thing happened?” She referred to a rock band emptying their tour bus toilet over a tour boat. An incident that had caused local, and national, outrage some years back.

  “No that was a few blocks away. Jerks.” The sound of her laughter made him smile. The night was warm enough and they were far enough from the lake that she didn’t need the denim jacket she’d brought with her. She had had to stop making him thank her for the tickets for his friend. It wasn’t that big a deal. Now she was feeling like he was a little too in awe of her. They’d lost the even footing they’d attained and he acted a little nervous. She was a star again and she didn’t want him to look at her that way. For reasons she had not yet ascertained.

  She looked up at th
e Sears tower. It was unbelievably tall. The night was clear and she could see the top of it. The bars of light around the observation deck were red. He had explained about the city’s penchant for having a theme with lights on buildings in the same color on their first drive into the city. Holidays, sports victories, commemorations. People strolled, biked and rollerbladed. There were lots of people out enjoying the warm, pleasant night. She thought of how she enjoyed going for walks in Montreal when she was home. So many people going places, doing things. She enjoyed seeing it, though she herself hardly ever went anywhere. Save those walks.

  “You want to go up?”

  “Up?”

  “Yeah, up in the Tower.”

  “Why not?”

  Up they went with other people in the elevator. The observation deck was low lit so the view could be seen more easily. And what a view it was. The entire city stretched out in its blinking glory. The people below were like ants. The Navy Pier Ferris wheel was minute. The tour boats on the lake were like tiny little toys that seemed to be barely moving in the night. It was breath taking. They were a mile in the sky.

  Zack popped four quarters into a telescope fixed on a stand. “Look at this.”

  She leaned and looked through. “Wow.” She turned the telescope this way and that. Then angled it toward the moon. “This is amazing! Aw!” It had stopped. Zack leaned close and popped in four more quarters. She looked through it aiming it at the lake, the other buildings, Navy Pier, until it stopped again. She walked around the perimeter of the observation deck. There were alcoves of glass that hung off the sides of what was called the sky deck. People were in each one looking straight down through the glass at the streets below. Kids lay down and looked up at the sky or faced down to the street. Mo smiled noting that they made snow angel like motions as they lay on the glass. Flapping their wings. One emptied and Zack went into it. He turned and held out his hand. She took it and could not suppress her delight at the sensation of just being in the air hanging out over the beautiful city with its brilliant lights. “We can actually lay down in it! I wonder how thick this glass is. She lay face down in her jeans. He checked out the back of those jeans. Long legs and round curves. He noticed she had a very round bottom for such an athletic person. She looked up at him over her shoulder. He’d been caught and embarrassed he looked out toward the city lights.

  Down on the street she seemed more at ease than he had seen her since the murder. She smiled easily but he knew the grief that was under the surface. She chatted and asked questions about the city, its history and politics. He told her bits of history that he knew. She said she remembered the name Burnham from ‘Devil in the White City’. No relation. “I know from Dino that you went to high school here. Are you from here originally?” she asked.

  “Yep. Born and raised. So you’re from Monteal? Originally?”

  “North of Toronto, but we moved around. I was raised by my grandmother. My parents were killed, in an accident. I don’t remember. My grandmother was Mohawk and grew up in a traveling circus. Virtually a slave. Story was she ran away with my Scottish grandfather whose family had settled in Ontario. Gram had gone to New York hoping to break into one of the bigger circuses. They didn’t have much use for a short Indian woman back then despite her skill. Grandpa was an iron worker. You may have heard there are many Mohawk iron workers and Gram was related to some who were friendly with Grandpa. He married Gram and whisked her back to Ontario and was a carpenter there. Gram taught kids tumbling and stuff. Things were good for them ‘til my parents died. They were missionaries. They had me and went to Africa. Before they could get me they died in an accident. Car accident. Grandpa died a couple years later. Gram always said his heart broke when he lost his only child. Then Gram and I were on our own. It was tough. But we had each other. I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “It’s okay. It’s interesting. One of the things I love about Chicago is there are so many people from so many other places. Makes for great food, great music, great stories. I’m sorry about your parents. So did you learn what you do from your grandmother?” Zack guided her around a corner towards his car.

  Mo breathed a deep breath and swept a stray hair behind her ear. The wind picked it up again immediately. “Yeah. I grew up learning and performing. She was strict about everything. I think she was always afraid about my future. Her parents died when she was young. She wound up with relatives in the circus. They were not kind. She didn’t want me left unable to fend for myself. Gram could seem hard but she loved me. She wanted me to be disciplined. She wanted me to me successful and able to take care of myself. Same with school, she home schooled me and was very strict. She basically learned with me since she wasn’t very educated. I guess the way she’d grown up, being beaten if she made a mistake, working all day, practicing all the time, influenced her view of child rearing.”

  Zack stopped and looked at her. “She beat you?”

  “No. Never. But she scared the shit out of me with the sheer force of her personality. I lived in terror of not living up to her standards. Well, she did have a way of twisting my ear occasionally. She was very loving too. It was just the two of us. Both families had disowned my grandparents. I guess at the time their marriage was frowned on.” Mo reached over as if to twist Zack’s ear. He winced as if wounded and laughed.

  “But you knew she loved you,” He touched her shoulder then let his hand drop.

  “My favorite memory is how at night, after all the work and all the discipline she would hold me on her lap and tell me stories about when she was in the circus as a kid. Sometimes about Grandpa or my father growing up. Then she would brush my hair and stroke my neck and tell me some day I would be famous. I would be beautiful and happy and have everything she’d never had. Well, at least I’m making a living.”

  “I think she was right.” Zack wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was becoming famous. He couldn’t speak to happy. He’d landed in her life during a difficult time. “Hey, so is it true that Mohawks have no fear of heights, Ms. Whitman?”

  “My Scottish grandfather was the ironworker, Mr. Burnham. I do believe I’m being stereotyped. Is it true the Irish run Chicago?” They both laughed lightly.

  “I’m only part Irish, on my mother’s side.” He knew she was a person in grief and fear. He respectfully tried not to think of the sparkle in her eyes, her small, full mouth and her long, lustrous hair in its windblown braid. He opened the car door and assisted her in with a shy smile. They were just a few minutes into their journey north on Lakeshore Drive when Zack took a sudden turn and found a parking spot by putting a police sign on the window of his car.

  Buckingham fountain spewed its pastel streams to the amusement of tourists and lovers alike. Lights from beneath the fountain shone up and shimmered through the cascades of water. Kids ran in the overspray laughing and squealing. Some older kids sat on the edge and played as if to push each other or dive in themselves. They were averted by the rough bark of a cop on a horse. They walked the perimeter enjoying the changing lights of the fountain. People were everywhere taking in the mild evening.

  “What about you, Zack? You have family here. What about your folks? Your Mom’s family was Irish and your Dad…”

  “My parents are dead.” Zack stated this fact without emotion.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Mo felt a bit of a wall go up. But walls could be climbed. “Got any brothers or sisters? Any other family?” Mo’s back teeth clenched a little as she noticed his wary visage return. She felt guilty but decided to try to draw him out anyway. “Come on Zack, you know all about me now.”

  Zack stared toward the top of the fountain for a moment. “I became a cop like Dad. I have a sister in Toledo. She’s sort of…We don’t keep in touch. I’ve got a few relatives around. Guess we’re not a close family. Cops tend to let cops be family. But there always disillusion, just like in real families I guess. You wanna get a drink?” He was shutting down the topic.
She didn’t push.

  “Not tonight, but thanks so much for showing me some of your city. A lot of notions have been dispelled.”

  “I noticed you were reading ‘Devil in the White City’. Another book about the city’s lurid side.”

  “About it’s amazing history too. I think you’ll understand why I can’t finish it right now. Though I do like the history of how the world’s fair transformed Chicago. I guess when I’ve thought of Chicago I’ve always thought of gangsters. And gun molls. ‘You dirty rat!’” She pretended to aim a gun deepening her voice. “Edward G. Robinson type stuff. I never even thought about coming downtown the last time I was here.”

  “That’s odd if only because I’d assume most women wouldn’t be able to wait to hit Michigan.” He feared that sounded sexist and regretted it. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’ve never been a big shopper. Not that I don’t like to occasionally, but it’s not something I have a lot of time for.”

  “Well, you should try to hit Michigan while you’re here.”

  “I’ll ask my bodyguard if he can arrange it. It’s an early morning, Zack. Mind if we go?” They walked to the car, Zack concealing his regret their evening was coming to an end.

  It was seven thirty in the morning and Mo was running on the treadmill watching the early morning news. She had almost snuck out until she was faced with him gun in hand coming out of his room. Light sleeper. He was in shorts and a tee shirt in two minutes. He lifted weights on the other side of the gym, glancing at his charge every now and again in the mirror. She sipped coffee from a water bottle. She didn’t like drinking out of plastic but one had to make compromises. This was her routine, she told him, and she had been off of it. Up at six thirty. Make coffee. Gym for at least an hour. Pilates in room, one hour. More coffee and a light breakfast. At the coliseum at nine thirty to ten. Practice, fitting, production meeting, late lunch. A quick nap if time allowed. Rehearsal. She explained that practice and rehearsal was not the same thing. He compared her schedule to basic training. She figured that was about right. She let up a little on weekends. There was often some social thing she felt obligated to attend. So she might sleep in. A little. Mondays were normally off, but the schedule had been thrown off. Roddy encouraged the performers to rest their muscles. Some did, some didn’t. Mo usually put in a few hours of practice. What could Roddy say? He worked every day himself.