Prue gazed at Ivan the Gypsy Violinist through the viewfinder of her camera and clicked. Another perfect shot. This guy doesn’t have a bad angle, she thought. He’s that drop-dead gorgeous.
Kristin was perched on the small built-in bed in Ivan’s trailer, taking notes. They had been interviewing Ivan for the last hour, and as far as Prue was concerned, time was just flying.
“This is your second season with the carnival,” Kristin said. “What were you doing before that?”
“I was performing with smaller circuses in Europe,” Ivan replied. “Mr. Amalfi had heard of me and very kindly offered me a headliner spot with the Carnival Cavalcade.”
Kristin flipped open a folder she had balanced on her lap. She riffled through the press clippings. “You’re being much too modest,” she scolded Ivan. “According to Mr. Amalfi, you were on your way to becoming a huge European star, and he was lucky enough to snatch you up.”
Ivan ducked his head, sending his thick dark curls cascading across his broad forehead. “He is too kind.”
Ivan got up and crossed over to the small kitchen area. He held up a box of tea. “Would you care for any?” he asked Prue and Kristin.
“No thanks,” Kristin said as Prue shook her head no. Ivan filled a tea kettle with water from the tiny sink and set it on a hot plate.
Prue marveled at how nice the trailer was. Compact, yes, she thought, eyeing the mini-fridge, the built-in bed, and the skinny door to the bathroom, but colorful and clean. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of unused space. Prue knew she wanted to get shots of the interior: The magazine’s readers would definitely be curious about how a circus performer lived, although any picture without Ivan in it seemed like a waste of film.
Luckily, I can stare at him all I want, Prue thought with a grin. I’m the photographer.
She studied Ivan through the camera. He had high, prominent cheekbones and olive-tone skin. His enormous dark eyes were almond shaped with thick lashes. Why do guys always get the great lashes? she thought ruefully, while we girls have to load on the mascara.
Ivan wore a midnight blue and silver scarf tied though his thick mop of unruly curls like a runner’s sweatband. His tight black pants reminded Prue of those worn by bullfighters, while the white gauzy shirt with billowing sleeves and the high suede boots made Ivan look like a pirate. The small silver hoop in his ear added to the effect.
Prue realized that as she was scrutinizing Ivan, he was watching her. “It is a shame to cover such a pretty face,” Ivan said to Prue.
“What?” She lowered the camera.
Ivan smiled, revealing two adorable dimples. “Much better. Now I can see you.”
Prue smiled back. And I wanted to bag this assignment? Was I nuts? “I have to do my job, you know.”
“Ah, well, then I suppose if you must, you must.”
Kristin eyed them with amusement. “If you two could stop flirting for a minute, I’d like to finish up this interview.”
Prue knew that Kristin loved nothing better than romance—she’d heard enough of Kristin’s endless attempts to fix up her friends. Then Prue also remembered how much Kristin enjoyed gossip. Better concentrate on work or the rumors would be flying at 415 before she had time to develop her film.
“Your colleague is right, of course,” Ivan said. “Work is important. Discipline. But so is pleasure.”
This time work is definitely a pleasure, Prue thought, patting her camera.
“I know in your act you’re billed as Ivan the Gypsy Violinist,” Kristin said. She leaned toward Ivan and her voice became low and conspiratorial. “Tell me. Are you really a Gypsy?” She gave Ivan a sly grin. “Or is that just for publicity because it makes you seem exotic?”
“No, I am true Romany,” Ivan declared. “Rom or Romany is the accurate term for my people. There are many tribes still scattered throughout the world. My family traveled primarily in Eastern Europe. But we share language with the Rom in many countries, from England to Romania to Mongolia. The Rom have always traveled, though not always by choice.”
Prue wondered if Ivan’s Gypsy heritage had fostered the rumors about his bad luck. She knew Gypsies were associated with all kinds of magic. Curses, divination, and the reading of signs and omens were the dark skills Prue thought of when she heard the word Gypsy.
“What do you think about Gypsy curses?” Prue wanted to see if he had heard the rumors about him. Sacha, the Man-in-the-Moon clown, had made it seem as if Ivan’s “curse” was common knowledge.
His dark eyes darkened further. “I have of course heard these things.” He seemed upset by the question.
“So I guess you believe them,” Prue said.
“No, you misunderstand.” Ivan ran his hands through his thick hair. Prue found herself wishing she could do the same thing. Those curls were adorable.
“The Gypsies have been persecuted for centuries because of such beliefs,” Ivan explained. “They have been accused of witchcraft and burned.”
Gee. So we have something in common after all, Prue thought. That’s been the fate of some of my relatives, too. But Prue stayed silent, of course.
The kettle whistled and Ivan made his tea. “In my family we have great pride in our heritage, but don’t go for all that hocus-pocus.” He brought his teacup over to the small table that flipped out of the wall. “I think it’s one of the reasons we Gypsies have had so many hard times. The believers think we are doing the work of demons. The nonbelievers think we are childish for our occult practices, even if we don’t practice anything of the sort.”
“That is tough,” Kristin said sympathetically.
You don’t know the half of it, Prue thought. I can really relate. She switched cameras. The thoughtfulness on Ivan’s face would be better captured in black and white.
“Besides, I don’t believe any of it. My family stayed away from all that. Personally, I think the so-called Gypsy magic is just a ruse to separate the gaujos from their money.”
“Gaujos?” Kristin asked.
“It’s a Rom term for non-Gypsies.”
Kristin took a note while Ivan cast Prue a sidelong glance. Prue felt herself flush under his gaze. She was glad she could hide behind her camera. This guy was having a major effect on her.
Kristin bit the eraser tip of her pencil. “Now I don’t want you to take offense,” she said sweetly. “But I guess what you’re saying is that there are some Gypsy fortune-tellers who, well, sort of rip people off. You know”—she lowered her voice and glanced around as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear her—“not totally honest.”
Prue shook her head. How anyone so uncomfortable with asking hard questions as Kristin ever chose journalism was beyond her. Of course, it suddenly occurred to her, Kristin’s sweetness-and-light act could be just that—an act. She did manage to soften up some seriously tough interview subjects.
“Please don’t quote me as saying that,” Ivan answered. He laughed. “I probably have distant cousins in that very trade.”
“Well, of course, not anyone in your own immediate family!” Kristin exclaimed as if horrified that Ivan might imagine she would suggest anything of the sort.
“My tribe had two areas of expertise,” Ivan said. “Many Gypsy families specialize in specific skills. Some are smiths, working in metal, some are cobblers, some are horse breeders. Others concentrate on performing, like my family.”
Prue enjoyed Ivan’s obvious pride in his family’s history. She, too, felt a bond with her own family traditions, particularly since she knew her magic was something that had been passed down to her and her sisters through their ancestors. I guess we Halliwells have gone into the family business—only our family business is witchcraft.
“Has your family always been in the circus?” Kristin asked, scribbling away.
“On my father’s side,” Ivan said. “Always working with the animals. On my mother’s side, the family has made instruments. I have melded the two together.”
Ivan stood and in
two steps crossed to an ornately painted cabinet. He unlocked the doors and pulled out a decorated violin case. “This has been in my family for several generations,” he explained. He flipped open the case and carefully removed a well-polished violin. The instrument gleamed, obviously from the loving attention that had been paid to it over the years.
Ivan gently cradled the violin. “My mother’s father’s father made this. Her father made the case. Now I play the violin in my act.”
“What is your act, exactly?” Prue asked. “Sorry, but I don’t go to the circus much. I know you’re world famous and everything . . .”
Ivan smiled at her. “I take no offense. The circus is a special place. Not everyone feels its pull.”
“Maybe you’ll change my mind,” Prue said.
“I hope I will,” Ivan replied, his dark eyes filled with warmth.
“Ivan does an amazing act with animals,” Kristin gushed. “It’s brilliant. Gorgeous. Spectacular.” She took in a deep breath and shivered with delight.
“You’ve seen it?” Prue asked her.
She nodded. “In Europe. It’s beautiful.” She gazed at Ivan adoringly. “You are the main reason I worked really hard to pitch this story.”
“Thank you, but it is too much.” Ivan turned back to Prue. “My animals and I enjoy the music of my violin together. That is all.”
Kristin laughed. “You say it as if it’s nothing! Prue, he gets tigers and lions and bears to dance. And the music! I’ve never forgotten it.”
“I play the songs of my people,” Ivan said. “Old folk songs from my childhood. The melodies are very rich.”
“I can’t wait to see you perform,” Prue said. To her surprise, she actually meant it.
Ivan laid the violin back in its case and returned it to the cabinet. Then he stood and turned, opening his arms wide.
“Now you must see my costars,” he declared. “I am nothing without them.”
“Oh, could we?” Kristin squealed.
“That will make great pictures,” Prue said, adopting a more professional stance. Somebody had to.
Ivan led Kristin and Prue back through the maze of trailers, deeper into the parklands. Some of Golden Gate Park was pretty wild.
And getting wilder. Prue could smell the animals before she saw them. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent, earthy odor. Low growls and rumbling sounds came through the trees.
“Ahh,” Ivan said softly. “They know we are coming. They are calling to us.”
Ivan brought Prue and Kristin into a clearing ringed with large metal cages. Inside each one animals paced, and Prue’s pulse quickened. To be near all that pure animal power and energy, there was something thrilling about it.
Ivan began to hum a haunting melody. The animals seemed to recognize it. They stopped pacing and sat patiently in the centers of their cages. They looked expectantly at Ivan.
Ivan bounded over to the cages, as lighthearted as a puppy. “Come join me!” he called to Prue and Kristin. He waved them into the center of the clearing.
“Hello.” Ivan reached into the cage to pet an enormous tiger. The tiger sloppily licked Ivan’s arm. “Miss me? Ready to show off? We have some pretty ladies we want to impress.”
Kristin giggled. “Hi, kitty,” she said. Prue was afraid the overjoyed journalist would swoon with delight right on the spot. Prue could tell Kristin had no romantic interest in Ivan; nor was she the investigative reporter right now. The woman was simply a heartfelt fan.
“The animals love you,” Prue observed.
“The feeling is mutual.” Ivan moved over to the bears. One of them reached through the bar, playfully cuffing Ivan. Ivan didn’t seemed fazed at all.
“It’s the only way it can work,” Ivan explained, giving a large black bear a much-enjoyed scratch behind the ear. “We love each other, and more important, we respect each other.”
Ivan wove in and out of the cages, speaking softly to each of the animals in turn. He never used any kind of force, even when the lion got feisty and needed some persuasion to release Ivan’s shirt from its claws.
“Are you all right?” Prue asked, trying not to stare with horror at Ivan’s shredded sleeve. All she kept thinking was that it could have been his arm in pieces.
“He’s just being himself,” Ivan said. “You can’t expect an animal to be anything other than an animal. They are beautiful creatures—noble and pure. If one is lucky enough to have a special relationship with them, as I have, one is truly blessed.”
Prue watched Ivan check each animal’s paws and ears, replenish their food, speaking softly to each one, stroking their fur.
What a gentle, caring man he is. She sighed. Not to mention seriously handsome.
A movement in the bushes caught Prue’s attention. Kristin was so caught up with Ivan that she didn’t notice. Only the lion seemed to be aware they were being watched.
A thick, heavy-set woman wearing colorful clothes stood staring at them.
Prue went over to Ivan. “Who is that?” she whispered. She nodded toward the bushes.
Ivan glanced over. Then he went back to grooming the bear cub. “That’s Olga.”
“She looks angry,” Prue commented.
“Olga the fortune-teller?” Kristin asked. She shaded her eyes from the bright sun, trying to make out Olga in the bushes. “She’s on my interview list, too. Can you introduce me?”
A dark look crossed Ivan’s handsome features. “Better not to meet her through me.”
“Why not?” Prue asked. “Are you from rival Gypsy families or something?”
“Not exactly,” Ivan said. “Though we don’t see eye to eye on several subjects.”
Prue glanced back at Olga. The woman was muttering and making strange hand gestures. “What is she doing?” Prue asked Ivan.
“She is protecting herself from the evil eye,” Ivan replied grimly. “She wants to be sure she doesn’t catch the curse she believes is on my head.”
CHAPTER
5
A curse! Fabulous!” Kristin gushed. “That will make such wonderful human interest.”
“No!” Ivan snapped.
Prue’s head whipped around to stare at Ivan. It was the first time she had heard him raise his voice. Even when the lion insisted on shredding his shirt sleeve, and the bear tossed its food out of the cage at him, Ivan didn’t yell.
“You mustn’t write about the curse,” he ordered. Prue was surprised by the hardness that had appeared in his deep-set eyes.
Kristin was oblivious to Ivan’s change of mood—or was pretending to be. “Why not? It will make a great story.”
“I don’t want the world laughing at the foolish Gypsies,” Ivan insisted. “Curses, superstition, it is all ridiculous. Olga talks of signs and portents. Old-fashioned nonsense.”
Prue studied Ivan carefully. This was the second time today someone had hinted that he was cursed. She had not seen any ill effects around him, but wondered if perhaps there was truth to the rumors.
“Let us go back,” Ivan said, obviously wanting to change the subject. “It is time for me to prepare.” He held up his arm so that the shredded sleeve dangled. He grinned, breaking the tension of the moment. “You have no idea how many shirts I go through.”
“I can imagine,” Kristin said, laughing. “The wholesaler must love you.”
Prue hung back, gazing at the gorgeous animals. “Listen, you go on ahead,” she told them. “The light is beautiful right now. I’d like to get some more pictures.”
A look of concern crossed Ivan’s face. “I generally do not allow anyone near my animals without me,” he said.
“I promise to stay back,” Prue said. “And I won’t antagonize them in any way.”
Ivan still didn’t look quite convinced. “People see the way they are with me and believe the animals are tame. They are not. They will rip apart a stranger as any wild beast would.”
Prue nodded. “I understand. It’s that essence I’d like to try to capture, actually.
The contrast between their behavior on their own and their behavior with you.”
Ivan studied her a moment longer, then said, “I believe you do understand. Respect their power. It is different from yours and mine.”
“That’s a great idea for shots,” Kristin said. “I just knew you’d be perfect for this assignment.” She gave first Prue and then Ivan a sly glance. “Isn’t she perfect?” she asked Ivan in a very leading tone.
Prue shook her head at the obvious matchmaking attempt. “Go,” she said. “I don’t want the light to change.”
Prue spent some time taking pictures of Ivan’s animal partners. They were different when he was around. Alone with them, Prue was very aware that she was among creatures unlike herself. No matter how much she might think of them as big versions of pussycats, they weren’t. The lions and tigers stared at her with mysterious eyes making her realize that she would never quite grasp what was going on inside them. She could never truly enter their world.
She finished the roll of film, then checked her watch.
“Oops,” Prue said. “Don’t want to be late for the show.” Prue packed up her equipment and headed back toward the main part of the carnival.
Soon enough she recognized Ivan’s trailer. She rapped lightly on the door, but there wasn’t any answer. He and Kristin must have gone on to the show, she figured. Prue picked up speed and caught her heel in the gravel.
“Oh, darn these sandals.” Prue bent down to try to fix the flimsy shoe. Astrange shadow appeared on the ground in front of her.
“Ruby,” a raspy voice said.
Prue’s eyes traveled up to see who had spoken. She wobbled a little in her crouched position.
That is some wicked costume, Prue thought.
The guy wore tattered rags, and the hands that hung below his torn sleeves were long and skeletal. His face was a ghastly greenish yellow, and his eyes seemed to be just gaping sockets. He looked as if his skin were peeling off its skull. What an amazing makeup job, Prue observed.
Charmed: The Gypsy Enchantment Page 4