I started to giggle and unwound a paper clip sitting on the tabletop. Ted was trying to talk to me about my love life!
“Gemma, we’d like you to also take the curtain cal with us at the end of the show. You’re so terrific—Irina has realy shaped you into a world-class musician, and we don’t want to withhold anything this weekend. So we’d realy like you back behind the curtain. If you’re up for it, that is,” he said.
“I can handle that, I think.”
“And the curtain cal? In front of everyone, including Henry?”
“Sure, Ted. If that’s what you want.”
“Is it what you want?” he said, eyebrows raised.
“I’m fine, Ted. I can play the show. And do the bow. No big thing.” Irina had played the few shows we’d done since Delia’s death, but if Ted wanted me back in the chair, I could do it. It would be good for me. My violin kept me sane. And if it made Ted happy and assured the flow of Lucian’s money into circus coffers, then it was a win-win.
“Thanks for asking me, Ted. I’l be ready. And it doesn’t matter who’s in the audience,” I said. “I do like Henry. He’s a nice guy, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” Just saying the word love out loud made my ears flush. “You know I’l do whatever you need me to do for the good of the show.” I stabbed the end of the paper clip wire through a few shreds of torn paper.
“Thanks, Gemma. You’re a good kid. I just wanted to make sure…I didn’t want to blindside you,” he said.
“I’m tough, Uncle Ted,” I smiled.
“That’s what worries me most about you, though. You’re too tough sometimes. You’re only seventeen, for Pete’s sake, but you have such an old soul.” Ted’s voice took on a more somber tone.
“In affairs of the heart, my dear girl, wel, they’re not easy for any of us. And I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” We sat in silence for about a minute until I felt compeled to lighten the mood. I didn’t want to give him the chance to start talking about the birds and the bees and the abundant availability of condoms.
“Wel, again, thanks, Uncle Ted. Henry is just my friend, my very new one at that, so we’re cool. And I’l keep that heart of mine locked in its vault for safekeeping.”
He nodded and gave me a rare warm smile. It made me happy to see that Ted wasn’t al crust and horns. There was a softie hidden underneath that tough exterior, if you waited long enough for it to peek out from under the scales.
As I stood to leave, I caught the familiar spine of a book under a haphazard stack of newspapers next to the sink. La Una—the same text I’d just received in Mr. Harbourne’s philosophy class.
What was Ted doing with a copy of it? Kinda weird…maybe it’d been on the New York Times’ bestseler list and Marlene had picked up a copy for him. But Ted wasn’t a reader. And certainly not a reader of ultra-conservative ancient philosophers. I was just about to ask him but Ted had reaffixed his eyes to the screen of his computer, his eyebrows furrowed. Technology was not my dear uncle’s friend.
I reached out to grab the tarnished doorknob when Ted spoke again, looking up at me with the eyes of an old dog. “Gems, be good to an old man’s peace of mind. Be safe. Make good choices.
Mind your heart around Henry.” His request was kind but with an air of caution I’d never heard come from Ted.
“I wil, old man, I promise,” I said. He smiled again and lit another cigarette as I walked out.
As I headed toward the elephant enclosure to do my chores, a snippet of the conversation replayed itself in my head. I’m not in love with him or anything, I’d said. I stopped cold in my tracks, realizing that I had unwittingly looked into the eyes of the man who, by al practical definitions, had been my father, and told one whopper of a lie. And judging by Ted’s parting words to me, he realized it, too.
:14:
No one thinks of how much blood it costs.
—Dante Alighieri
Marlene caught up with me after dinner as I was leaving the meal tent. I was dying to check my email again before our team meeting, hopeful that Henry would’ve written. Since arriving home, I hadn’t heard from him either via email or text, and I was worried. That eye of his looked nasty. But Marlene looped her arm in mine, landed an impromptu smooch on my cheek, and detoured me to Ted’s trailer.
Email would have to wait.
Both uncles were waiting for us in Ted’s trailer, sipping cognac and puffing on cigars. Very masculine. Al they’d left out were a few chest beats and grunts, maybe a crotch scratch for effect. I was eager for Ted to get through whatever groundbreaking announcements he had so I could move on with my night, i.e., get back to my computer.
“Evening, ladies,” Irwin said as we closed the door behind us. I gave him a playful nudge in the shoulder and found a spot on the built-in couch paralel to the kitchenette.
“You’ve probably got homework, Gemma, so we’l keep this short,” Ted began. He puled out a stack of flyers that had been sent to local family-oriented businesses. The page contained al the usual info to sel the show, but was fancier, more elaborate than our old playbils. Lucian had hired a graphic designer to give the Cinzio Traveling Players an updated look. Better advertising had been part of the Dmitri Holdings strategy to boost attendance, and thus revenues. Although I was certain it pained Ted to outsource a job we had always handled, we were no graphic designers. In looking at the new flyers, I had to admit, they were slick. The fresh design had a professional flair that made Cinzio look legit. We were becoming a brand, a viable option for a family’s entertainment dolars.
The new marketing team had advised Ted to downplay the involvement of our captive animals, even though our track record was impeccable and our animals had always been treated like family. Instead the emphasis would be on our commitment to being a sustainable, eco-friendly band of talented artists, musicians, and performers, along the lines of Cirque du Soleil.
“For this weekend’s show, we’re going live with the Roulette,” Ted said. As the words fel out of his mouth, he puled out another stack of handbils, half-sheets, to be handed out at the gate and throughout the parking lot. A few hundred would be left at local businesses wiling to display them near front registers. The sunburst across the bottom read:
ALL NEW, NEVER BEFORE SEEN
DANTE’S FIRESTORM ROULETTE
My heart skipped a beat. What the hell? We weren’t ready with the Roulette. To move forward with this would be suicide, or homicide, depending on how you looked at it. Ted was seling this weekend’s show on a routine they had yet to nail with rubber blades. I seriously had to question his sanity.
But, then again, with Lucian Dmitri subsidizing the show, I figured that Ted must’ve been cornered when he agreed to do the Roulette. No wonder he’d been such a grouchy pain in the neck lately. His beloved show had been hijacked by a fat-cat megalomaniac. To say no to Lucian would’ve meant saying helo to the unemployment line.
Marlene and Irwin were unusualy quiet. No doubt they already knew about Ted’s plans, and it pissed me off that I was the last to find out. In their defense, though, I had been wrapped up in my own little world (school, Henry…) to have noticed much behind-the-scenes planning. But the Roulette—I would’ve noticed that, wouldn’t I? This wasn’t some wimpy card trick or cut-the-lady-in-half ilusion. This was a big stunt, with real flames, razor-sharp knives, and a spinning table, upon which would be strapped the very sentient body of my darling Auntie Marlene.
“Uncle Ted, come on. This is insanity. We’re not realy ready to do this in front of crowds. What if something goes wrong?
Shouldn’t we wait a few more months?” I said. I looked around at the stoic faces in the room. “Helo? Earth to suicidal maniacs! Is anyone listening to me?”
Ted looked up from his glass and cleared his throat. “We need to make this weekend’s matinee a memorable one,” he said. He reached for the cognac and poured two shots’ worth.
“Yeah, wel, using your wife as a pincushion on a spinning sheet of plywood i
s one way to make it memorable, I suppose.”
“Gemma, mind yourself,” Ted growled. “I told you earlier, Lucian is going to be here. He wants something spectacular to impress the crowd.”
“You told me the Dmitris were coming—you didn’t tel me you were sacrificing Aunt Marlene to keep Lucian happy,” I said, looking at Marlene. Her head was down; so was Irwin’s. “Wow, so this al comes down to corporate sponsorship dolars. Good to know the priorities around here.”
“No, I don’t think you do. We don’t have a choice,” Ted bit through an ice cube from his drink. “But if it’s any consolation, we’ve been very hard at work rehearsing.”
“Wel, I wouldn’t know that because I’m gone at public school al day,” I said.
“Don’t start.” Tensions were running high.
“Gemma, honey, Uncle Ted and I have been practicing with the dummy blades, and we did a ful run-through today with the real ones. And see? I’m fine. No holes!” Marlene laughed. She held out her intact shirt to show me the success of their rehearsal. As usual, she was doing her best to sel me on this, but her fake optimism was annoying. No wonder she had been so emotional and lovey-dovey after dinner. Mortality visited her today in the form of flying, burning steel.
“Uncle Irwin and I have been counting the beats, doing the calculations for months,” Ted said. “This isn’t a new trick for us.
We did one similar to it years ago, but you might have been too young to remember.”
“No, I remember it. But the trick I remember involved playing cards stapled to the turntable, and you intentionaly stabbed each card to the wood. You wanted the blades to hit their mark, only there wasn’t a live person on the table! If you missed, it was the Queen of Hearts who took a knife in the leg, not Marlene.”
“Some people have caled me the Queen of Hearts,” Marlene said, trying to be funny. I glared and shook my head at her. I got the impression that none of them took me seriously.
“It’s the same concept as with the cards, though, Gems. We work with a series of metronome-precise clicks, and each click is measured per revolution of the table. Ted is a skiled swordsman—
it’s a muscle memory thing—so trajectory isn’t a concern,” Irwin said. “It’s a mathematical certainty that he wil hit the board and not Auntie.”
“Fine. But now you’re going to add fire? Not even mathematics can control or predict fire. It has a mind of its own!” I felt like I was the adult trying to convince a trio of rebelious adolescents that playing with knives and fire was bad, bad, bad.
“Honey, come on now. If it makes you feel any better, I had a reading with Irina, and she didn’t see anything that would constitute a reason for worry,” Marlene said, “although she did say I would be going someplace far away very soon, whatever that means…” She winked at me and whispered behind a raised hand. “But I hope it means cabana boys and piña coladas.”
Irina reads tarot cards and tea leaves and works as the resident psychic when she’s not teaching me her mad skils on the violin. I shook my head at Marlene and her sily faith in al things hocus-pocus.
I knew Ted’s ilusions were just that—ilusions. I knew his secrets. And whichever way you slice it—pun intended—Dante’s Firestorm Roulette was not an ilusion. Which is why I was so confounded by their blasé attitudes surrounding the throwing of razor-sharp blades that had been set on fire at a spinning human target. It was 100 percent real, 100 percent dangerous, and 100
percent lethal if something went wrong.
“So…what am I supposed to be playing in this circus of the damned?” I said.
“Irina already has the music scripted,” Ted said. “I’ve got a cue sheet here.” He sifted through a messy stack of papers and handed me a list. I scanned the page, satisfied with Irina’s selections. I knew this stuff.
“Who’s handling the knives and the fire?”
“We’ve been working with the fire-eater Jimbo, and he’s going to be backstage with me,” Irwin added. “Trusting a blind man with fire, now that is insanity.”
They chuckled at the irony of such a picture, but I stil felt as though I was standing on the outside of their very inside joke. I could feel a headache, a real one this time, knotting up behind my eyes. Lucian Dmitri’s quest for drama and sizzle had driven my family to the farthest edge of reason.
“So, if this is no longer open for discussion, I’d like to be excused. I realy do have homework,” I said. I was done being ignored.
I left, deflated. I was worried about Marlene’s safety, puzzled about the weird control Ted had given to Lucian. Ted was usualy so bulheaded about this precious show. I couldn’t imagine the old Ted ever alowing someone to tel him how to run things. But things were so different now. I saw it in Ted’s demeanor at the dinner thing. He was…afraid of Lucian. Nervous. I’d never seen my uncle act like that around anyone.
“Hey.” Ash’s voice surprised me. I’d been walking with my head down and hadn’t seen him sitting on the steps of my trailer, his arms wrapped around his knees.
“So now you’re speaking to me?” I said, my voice cold.
“I wasn’t not speaking to you.”
“Then what the hel is your deal, Ash?”
“No deal,” he shrugged and patted the top stair, as if to invite me to sit down. “What happened to your boyfriend’s face?” Mr.
Nonchalant.
“Seriously? Wow. That’s classic. Why don’t you go ask Summer?”
“Come on, don’t be mad at me. You know I can’t take it when you’re mad at me.” He reached for my hand. I took a step backward, out of his reach. “I just figured you’d know, since you’ve been hanging with him so much.”
“Ash, even if I did know what happened, you’d be the last person I’d tel. Can you move, please? I have homework to do.” I tried to shove past him, but he grabbed my hand and puled me into his lap.
“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice sugary.
I bounded off his legs, uninterested in playing the sucker to his Lothario ways.
“Don’t touch me. You have gone above and beyond to ignore me. You’ve laughed at me and avoided me ever since we started school. I owe you nothing. Just leave me alone.”
“Gems, I’m not avoiding you. I just don’t want to get in the way of your budding romance with Henry.”
“That’s a load of shit and you know it.”
Ash smiled and shook his head. I wanted to punch him in the throat.
“Summer told me his nose was broken.”
“Yeah, wel, Summer’s her own tatt’d-up freak show who would tel you that gnomes were real if it meant you’d ask her out.” He laughed again, which pushed me just that much too far.
“You’re such an insufferable dick. You think this is funny, that I’m funny?” I hissed. With the ful brunt of my strength, I shoved him off the trailer steps and into the sawdust. “Everything’s just a big damn joke to you, isn’t it? You think I don’t see you skulking around the hals, shooting daggers at me and Henry, hiding in the smokers’ lounge with that skank? You’ve probably sold me out, told Summer al my deepest, darkest secrets, so she and her friends can have a good laugh. What is your effing problem? Al that stuff you said to me before we started at Eaglefern, how you’d be there for me, how I’d never eat alone, how we were in this together?
You’re so ful of shit, Ash!” I yeled at him, shaking with rage.
Ash was on his feet, brushing himself off, waiting for me to finish ranting. Before I could say another word, he closed the distance between us and wrapped his arms tight around me. I tried to pry loose but instead of letting go, he grabbed the back of my head with his right hand and kissed me hard on the mouth.
I struggled at first, but his ripped arms were fast around me. He was strong, way stronger than I was. And when his lips touched mine…as angry as I was, I gave in and kissed him back, something I’d dreamed about for so long, before public school, before our lives had been irreversibly screwed up by foolish adults, before
Henry…
Henry.
My fury reasserted itself and I pushed Ash hard, untangling myself from his arms. Without thinking, I slapped him hard across the face.
The impact stunned him for a brief moment before he spoke.
“That was a mistake, Gemma,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “I only came to tel you I was sorry for being a jerk.” He stomped away, not looking back.
I stormed into the trailer, angrier that I’d been in recent memory
—angry at Ash for being such an insolent prick, angry at Ted and Marlene for treating me like a nobody, angry at Summer Day and her stupid gossip, angry at Junie for having new friends, angry at my crazy mother for abandoning me, angry at Henry for not trusting me today, angry at myself for being duped by al the people in my life.
I plopped down on my bed and touched the mousepad on my computer, a force of habit rather than a genuine interest in logging on. I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes, but to cry would mean to give in, to let al these people win. I held my breath until I was certain the threat had passed.
My inbox showed three new messages, and through the blur of residual water in my eyes, I could see that none of the emails bore the name I hoped would be there. Instead, the good people at Macy’s wanted me to know about some retarded sale coming up, Saturday and Sunday only.
I slammed my laptop closed, kicked my backpack across the floor, and cried myself to sleep.
:15:
Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires courage.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
The next day started much like the one before had ended. I’d slept like the dead, though that’s a sily statement. The dead don’t sleep. They folow me around. The sole dream I could remember involved me being chased by some unknown entity. Whether friend or foe, I couldn’t tel but judging by the pace at which I fled from it, and the ache in my jaw upon awakening, I assumed it was a bad guy who very much wanted to hurt me. And in the dream, much as is the case in real life, there was no champion to swoop in and save me from my demons.
Sleight: Book One of the AVRA-K Page 9