One day in New Orleans, for instance, a black bear broke its claw, and it became badly infected. Later a show horse tripped and fell in the ring, fracturing a leg. Then a lion needed a tooth extraction and her gums packed. The monkeys, camels, and elephants had their share of problems as well.
Lisa soon learned that the camels were the most difficult of all animals to anesthetize. Because the camel's neck was rippled with several layers of fat, it was hard to insert the needle into exactly the right spot.
Under Dr. Woodstock's watchful eye, she found herself ever nervous and edgy. He's gearing up for the evaluation, she reminded herself. It's already the middle of July. On D-day, less than two weeks from now when my probation is up, he'll undoubtedly deliver the verdict.
Her struggling efforts to help the trainers whenever their show animals needed medical care hadn't improved much either.
Oh, yes, there had been those miniscule victories, those times she'd managed to coax one of the huge creatures to cooperate, or offer an innovative approach to an old problem. For a short-lived moment, she'd felt as she imagined Michael must feel whenever he caught a difficult trick--a grandiose rush of satisfaction, a mountaintop experience. But all too quickly another near disaster would strike.
Unfortunately, the disasters far outnumbered the mountaintop experiences.
One evening after another exhausting day, Lisa trudged back to Estelle's trailer, her spirits at an all-time low. The weather was hot and humid, the temperatures hovering at nearly one hundred. Her T-shirt clung to her, moist and clammy.
Most of the time, in hot, humid climates, she wore cut-off jeans or shorts, cotton T-shirts, and sandals--just as she had today. Now she could hardly wait for a refreshing shower and the chance to change.
"Hi there, Lisa!" Michael's mother waved as she stepped outside the motor home. "Got a minute?" One of her show poodles, Rag's sister, was tucked into the crook of her arm.
"Hello, Mrs. Figaro!" Lisa waved back.
Off to one side, three young children rode tricycles, causing swirls of dust to rise up about them.
Mrs. Figaro was dark-haired, pretty, and petite, much like Estelle. She smiled warmly. "What's with this Mrs. Figaro business? I've already given you permission to call me Olivia."
"All right. Olivia it is."
"I'm fixing fried chicken tonight," Olivia went on, shading her eyes against the sun. "Would you like to stop by later tonight to join the girls and myself?" She hesitated, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Or are you and Michael going to fix something to eat at his place again?"
"I...I'm not sure yet. But fried chicken sounds wonderful. I'll try to make it." She smiled her appreciation.
Actually, she and Michael had only shared a meal at his trailer a few times before. Though Lisa was eager to get to know Michael's mother better, she didn't relish the possibility of having to face Claudette again--especially not after their confrontation back in Galveston.
Lisa unlocked Estelle's trailer and stepped inside. Rags greeted her, wagging his tail and nipping at her ankles.
"Hello, you poor thing," Lisa said as she ducked down to scratch the poodle under his chin. "How can you stand this heat on a day like today?"
The dog gave an excited bark as Lisa started rummaging through the small closet she and Estelle shared in search of her most cool tank top.
Unexpectedly she spotted Claudette's oversized green blouse on a heap at the bottom. It was finally time to take action. Either she'd have to throw it away or deliver it back to Claudette.
Remembering a large Dumpster behind the north wall of the auditorium, she decided to discard it there. She showered and dressed quickly, then placed the blouse in a brown shopping bag and crossed the lot towards the Dumpster.
The evening show was in full swing. She paused to linger by the open back door of the auditorium. Music drifted from inside. Hot dog vendors worked the side aisles, while men, women, and children stared in awe at the kaleidoscope of activity inside the three rings.
It'd been nearly two weeks since she'd attended a performance, she realized. She adored watching the Flying Figaros, especially Michael. And the opportunities had been far too seldom. She took a front-row seat in the section reserved for the press and circus personnel, then settled back. In the center ring, Claudette was perched on top of a trapeze, balancing with both feet.
"Claudette's been working hard on her solo act," she remembered Michael telling her. Hopefully Lisa wasn't too late to see him too.
“Have the Flying Figaro's already performed?" she asked a man with a red beard and laptop computer who sat next to her.
"Yes," he answered. "They finished about five minutes ago."
"Just my luck," Lisa muttered.
"What did you say?" He peered at her through Coke-bottle glasses.
"What I mean is," she amended, "I...I always seem to miss the best part."
"Maybe not. Watch this chick. She's sharp."
As Lisa looked on, she knew she had to agree. Dressed in a neon blue sequin-studded leotard, Claudette looked stunning.
Yet Lisa sensed something was wrong. Claudette's stance appeared unsteady. Her normal smile of confidence missing. In an instant, her knees buckled. Her arms started to flail. Then she tumbled downward. A gasp rose from the audience.
"Close call!" the guy next to her exclaimed, straining forward on the edge of his seat. "Good thing for that safety net!"
"Yes, thank goodness," Lisa agreed, heaving a sigh. A strange mixture of relief and pity swept over her. Poor Claudette. Lisa's dislike for her unexpectedly gave way to concern.
Ghostly pale, Claudette leaped down over the side of the net and clutched the front of her leotard. Yet her efforts failed to conceal the large rip that extended right down the middle.
Lisa's hand flew to her mouth in an effort to suppress a giggle. So Claudette had ripped her costume and lost her focus. No wonder she'd fallen...
Suddenly Lisa recognized her golden opportunity. Springing to her feet, she snatched the blouse from inside the bag and rushed into the ring. Then in one quick motion, she draped the blouse over Claudette. Saved by the sickening green fabric, Lisa silently cheered. Right back home where it belongs.
At that moment, she had to confess, she was more interested in adding to Claudette's embarrassment than covering up the rip. But the crowd was loving it! The sound of their applause rose. Louder and louder. In no time, they had risen to their feet and were waving their arms and cheering wildly.
Claudette flashed the audience her most dazzling smile as she dipped into a sweeping bow. For a split second her eyes met Lisa's.
As Lisa hurried back to the bleachers, she blinked hard. She couldn't believe what she'd just done.
Then the truth hit her like a meteorite crashing to earth. Claudette had changed her blunder into victory. She'd made it appear as if all along, Lisa's entrance was part of the act.
It was the mark of a true entertainer, Lisa mused, shaking her head. Without a doubt, Claudette's got what it takes to turn things around.
But the big question remained, did Lisa have it too?
Chapter Eight
"HOSHI," LISA CALLED TO the stable boy from the far side of the horses' tent. "I need to leave a little early tonight to talk with Dr. Woodstock. Will you please finish up here and see that the rest of the horses get fresh feed and water?"
"Sure, no problem." He looked up from the opposite side of the tent. Beneath a large spotlight, he stood brushing down a white Arabian. "Is something wrong, Miss Lisa? Why do you have to talk with the doc?"
"Diamond might have a respiratory infection. It's not an emergency, of course, but she might need antibiotics."
He nodded. "I noticed she's looked a little listless lately."
"Yes, and she's dragging her head--a sure sign." Diamond was one of the two black liberty horses that performed with Ebony.
Lisa squatted down and placed her hand between the animal's thighs, then added, "Hmm. I think she's a
lso running a fever."
Though Lisa and the veterinarian checked all the horses' temperatures routinely twice a day, she'd have to make certain from now on to monitor Diamond more often. In hot Southeastern climates such as this, horses sweated off most of their water. A high fever could easily hasten dehydration.
"Are sinus infections contagious?" Hoshi asked. "Do we need to worry about the other horses too?"
"It all depends. This condition usually starts from a virus, a common cold. But horses can be prone to the bacterial complications that sometimes affect their sinus passages."
Thank goodness, Ebony was staying hale and hearty, Lisa thought, as she wandered over to where the mare had been tied. She gave her a pat on the snout, then offered her a handful of oats in her opened palm.
Ebony snorted, eyed Lisa with velvety brown eyes and munched down the feed.
"Good, Ebony. Nice girl," Lisa crooned. "I'm afraid you and I won't get to ride tonight. But maybe tomorrow night, okay?"
Lisa's bond with the horse was growing stronger with each passing day. She could well understand Edward Figaro's affection for Ebony. According to Estelle, he'd asked about her nearly every time Mrs. Figaro had phoned him.
Lisa glanced at her watch. What was taking Michael so long? After tonight's show, his fans--especially the groupies--had pressed in like a swarm of bees attacking a honeycomb. Though Michael was always courteous, pausing to chat, sign his autograph, and answer questions, this time he was uncustomarily late.
What would he say about Claudette having fallen? Lisa wondered uneasily. And especially about the way she herself had intervened? Since Lisa had never told him about the nasty trick Claudette had played on her, he wouldn't understand the real meaning behind what Lisa had just done. Maybe he was angry with her. Maybe that's why he was staying away.
She emerged from the tent and looked first right, then left, in hopes of spotting him. Though dusk had settled over the circus grounds, she could see people milling about. Michael wasn't one of them. Farther down at the elephant kraal, a square of portable sheds, two keepers were hard at work oiling the massive creatures’ dry, leathery hides with mops and buckets.
At last she spied him striding in her direction. His eyes were downcast. He appeared lost in thought.
"Michael!" she called to him and waved. "Over here!"
"I'm coming," he said, lifting his gaze. "Sorry I'm late. I got a little waylaid after the show talking with my sisters and--"
"Michael," Lisa interrupted him. "I think Diamond has a sinus infection. She's hanging her head and running a fever."
He ran a hand through his hair, sighed heavily, and hitched his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans. "Maybe I've been working her a little too hard. Have you mentioned it to Doc?" he asked.
"Not yet. I'm going to in just a few minutes."
"Lisa--" His eyes bored into hers, his expression wary. Something told her he was no longer thinking about the show horses.
Her stomach dropped. "What is it, Michael?"
"We need to go somewhere to talk. Someplace where we can be alone."
"Michael, if you're upset about what I did tonight to Claudette, I swear I can explai--" She stopped abruptly. Dare she change her mind and tell him? Would he believe his sister could've been so contemptible?
"No, it's not that, Lisa. Right now, I've got other things to worry about."
She caught her breath. "What's wrong?" She hadn't seen such a troubled look on his face since the night Mr. Figaro had told them about his brother's passing.
"I...I'll explain in a minute. Let's head over to my trailer. Now."
She hesitated.
"But Diamond. Dr. Woodstock--"
"You can catch up with Doc later." His gut twisted so bad he felt like doubling over. If he didn't talk with Lisa now, he might lose his nerve. She'd never understand. Never in a million years. But then in all fairness, how could he expect her to?
"All right, Michael. Let's go." She felt her mouth grow dry and her muscles tense.
They started off, an arm's length between them. Two dare-devil motorcyclists wearing shiny metallic riding suits passed by. Lisa noticed one of them make eye contact, sending her a suggestive smile, but her awareness of him was fleeting and inconsequential. The unspoken tension between Michael and herself was becoming more charged with each passing moment.
At last they arrived at the trailer. He held the door open, waiting for her to enter first. Then he stepped in and flicked on a small table lamp. A dim glow illuminated the compact interior.
"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the daybed against the opposite wall.
She did, glancing about. As before, the same thought struck her. Michael could benefit from a woman's decorative touch.
Though clean and tidy, his living quarters were Spartan, lacking the special details that characterized Estelle's. Apparently unfazed when Lisa had offered suggestions, he'd jokingly referred to it as his bachelor's retreat.
But tonight, she could tell, he was in no mood for jokes.
As he eased down on a folding chair directly across from her, worry lines creased his forehead. Hunching forward, he stared down at the floor, and clasped his hands tightly together.
"So what is it?" Lisa asked, scarcely taking a breath. She prayed that nothing had changed between them. But the edge in his voice only underscored her misgivings.
He looked up and met her gaze. "Tonight after the show, Uncle Rudy, my sisters, and I had a long talk. That's why I was late."
"A talk about what?"
"About where the troupe is headed. About our future with Jessell and Stern." He flicked his gaze away from her, then pulled it back, hesitating. "Actually, we first started talking about it back at the street dance in Galveston. When you asked me about it later that night on the beach, I didn't want to tell you because everything was so uncertain. But now that's changed. We know for sure what we must do."
"So..." she prompted.
"So we're adding a new member to the troupe. Rita."
Her heart lurched. "Rita?"
"Uh-huh. It's time we expand our act...and...in order to do that, we need a fourth flyer."
"Why?" she gasped. "Why would you need Rita?" Her thoughts skittered back to that day on the horse-drawn tram when Claudette had foreshadowed this. Was Michael planning to leave again?
He faltered, his eyes dark with...with what? Pain? Regret? Deceit?
"We just do," he answered. She could see his Adam's apple moving. "We need Rita."
"But...but, whose idea was it anyway?" Lisa asked. "Who decided you needed a fourth flyer?"
"Claudette did. I did. All of us, I guess."
"I see," she said, pressing her hands against her temples. Her head pounded. No, if Michael was leaving, he would surely tell her so. The reason for the new flyer was his obvious interest in Rita. Lisa had seen it coming. And without a doubt, Claudette was responsible for this cozy arrangement. But what had happened to Michael's resolve? In the beginning, at least, he'd been savvy to Claudette's intentions. He'd said that Claudette was determined he marry another aerialist. Couldn't he figure out what was happening now?
"But there's one major problem," he continued. "Though Rita's pretty good at flying, she's been away from it for a while. She's going to need tons of practice to catch onto our routines."
"Then why didn't you pick someone else?" Lisa asked, pointing out the obvious.
"There is no one else. At least no one else we could get on short notice. Rita is the logical choice." He rose, exhaled slowly, and turned away. Silently he stared out the small window next to the trailer door, propping his hands on his hips. The only sound was a ticking clock coming from somewhere in the back.
At last he turned around and sat next to her on the daybed, only inches away. He pinned her with his gaze. "In the beginning--when you first came to Jessell and Stern--I told you we wouldn't be seeing much of each other."
"And you were right," she agreed. "You and I both put in long, ex
hausting days."
"Yes, we do--though somehow we've managed to eke out an hour or two together at the end of each day." A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he added, "I guess that's only been possible because we've combined business with pleasure."
"But at least we managed," she said in a small voice. Was Michael suggesting that their time together had meant to him more business than pleasure? Had he only been using her to help him with the horses?
He reached for her hand, clasping it tightly. "Yes, we did manage," Michael agreed. "But I'm afraid, now...I'm afraid things will have to be different for a while."
"You don't want me to help you with the horses any longer?" she asked. "Or come here anymore after the work's done?" Was he giving her the brush-off? Did he plan to spend all his free time with Rita?
He met her gaze, but for a long moment, refrained from answering. The lamplight illuminated his profile, the tight and uncustomary downturn of his mouth. His nearness was bittersweet.
"No," he said at last. "It's not that I don't want your help. In fact, it's just the opposite. You and Hoshi and the other stable boys may have to get along without me for a while. Now that we're breaking Rita in, I'll have to spend more time than ever practicing--especially each night after the last show."
"But what about your promise to your father, Michael? He's put his trust in you to look after the show horses, especially Ebony."
Michael's face darkened. "I haven't forgotten about that. But Pop will understand when he comes back and learns the circumstances. He'll have to."
Visions of Charles swam up in her mind. Hadn't it been the same with Charles and Ramona? Hadn't he insisted their last-minute meetings were only for professional reasons? Lisa blinked twice, forcing the memory to the farthest corner of her mind. Don't let it happen again. Michael's ruse is no different than Charles's. Take back your heart--before it's too late.
"Lisa?" Michael's voice cut through her thoughts.
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