The night before my planned departure, we returned home late from the High Flying Circus Club. Robert had begun re-choreographing the routine we’d planned with a coach from the gymnastics club in town, and I pretended to train. Mostly I tried not to watch their progress. At least he hadn’t decided to rework it with one of our own students like Cass—that would have been pure torture. His new partner was a pint-sized pixie, who seemed to be as comfortable balancing on her hands as she was her feet. It was for the better. It had to be for the better. If I kept telling myself that, it would be for the better.
As per our new routine, Robert and I drove home in silence. We seemed to have forgotten how to talk to one another. Once home, I trudged up the stairs, deposited my coat on the stand, then retreated to the bedroom. I had yet to pack, not that the task would take more than a few minutes. What did I need for an audition? My regular exercise clothing, which would be most comfortable for driving in, and walking around the city in—assuming I had any spare time. I needed the basic toiletries and maybe a book, if I wasn’t exhausted when I got into bed each of the two nights I’d be away.
I grabbed my backpack, then searched through the laundry basket at the foot of the bed—clean and folded, just not put away—and selected a plain pair of black leggings and an equally uninteresting white tank top. No need for my apparel to distract from what I was doing in the air. As I slid the clothing into my bag, I heard feet approaching. I didn’t look up, but kept my head slightly bowed as I checked my pajama options. January in Montreal was unlikely to be any better than January in Northboro. I grabbed a pair of flannels and added them to my backpack.
“Beth?” Robert spoke softly. When we did speak, we tended to do so in whispered tones.
“Yeah?” I paused and lifted my chin, although didn’t look straight at Robert.
“Do you still want me to come?” He stood, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants, on the far side of the bed.
“No, that’s okay. I’ve rented a car.” I returned my focus to my backpack, and the few belongings I had laid out in front of me. “I’m sure I won’t venture beyond the Cirque training facility and the hotel anyway.”
Robert remained silent for several moments. Perhaps he was thinking of protesting against the safety of a four-hour drive alone, in uncertain conditions, but ultimately seemed to dump any potential arguments. “Just text me when you get there so I know you’re safe. If you have time on Saturday, let me know how the audition goes, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, continuing to not make eye contact. If I asked him to come, he would. We could share the burden of the drive. I would have someone to eat my meals with; someone to help me relax the night before the audition; someone to share the strange hotel bed with and help keep me warm. Someone who would say good luck to me. Someone who’d say they loved me.
“I’ll text you, keep you informed of everything going on,” I said, then hightailed it to the bathroom, before I said or did something stupid.
Chapter 13
My luck, it seemed, was improving. The drive north was mercifully clear; slightly overcast, but not a fleck of snow in the sky. The boarder crossing, something I hadn’t done in years in any direction, was quick, and I was on my way after a few simple, unobtrusive questions from the Canadian boarder guard. From there it took half an hour to reach the outskirts of Montreal, but again that much to reach the Cirque Celestial headquarters.
It was about three o’clock, Friday afternoon and I had nothing to do until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I parked in the lot of the Cirque Celestial headquarters and looked at the building. I didn’t get out of my rental, but simply sat, hands clenched to the wheel, peering out the windshield, unmoving. Almost unbreathing. It was a large, glass and steel construction and in the grey light of the day appeared rather imposing. Perhaps that was my nerves stirring up in my stomach.
What if I didn’t make the cut? Jake had personally invited me to the audition, but I’d been warned that that didn’t necessarily mean a thing. I had to impress the rest of the selection team, and even if I succeeded in doing that, it wouldn’t mean I’d make it into the show he’d thought I’d be well suited for. I could wind up languishing on Cirque’s register of potential performers for years, never to be placed in a show.
My wedding had been called off because of this great uncertainty.
I dug my phone out of my backpack, which was slouched at the foot of the passenger seat. I hadn’t text Robert all day despite my promise to notify him of my progress to Montreal. I’d thought about it once or twice, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at my messages. Given what had happened a few weeks ago, I should have been texting every stop I made, giving overly optimistic reports about the clarity of the weather, but I didn’t want to. Like I was scared that now that I was out of the country, heading to the audition, it would be easy for Robert to type a few choice words on his phone to break off our relationship and ask me not to return to Northboro full-stop.
He wouldn’t do that; he was too kind. Right?
I switched on my phone and scrolled to my messages: two unread texts from Robert waited for me. I closed my eyes, calling up the image of my former fiancé in my mind, the crooked nose, the blue-grey eyes, the overall glorious package. I tapped on his name.
First, around noon, when I should have stopped for a rest and a bite. Hey. I’ve been watching the weather, looks like things should be clear all the way to Canada. I hope things are going well.
The second was timed at 1:25 pm. Hope you’re still doing well. I guess you’re crossing the boarder around now. Guess you can get some famed Tim Horton’s coffee and donuts now. Send me a text when you get in.
Guilt seeped in around the edges of my consciousness—whatever wasn’t already consumed by the increasing mass of nerves and worry. I’d said I would text, then I’d been what might seemed like a vindictive jerk by not keeping my word.
Sorry for not writing earlier. No good reason. Drive was fine. Staring at the Cirque Celestial buildings right now. Will go check into hotel shortly. TTYL.
TTYL. Not, Love you. My thumbs hovered over the screen. I could add the two words. It wasn’t too late. Was it?
I shivered. The car had grown cold. I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition, and then cranked the heater. It wasn’t that cold. The shudder was at least half due to the nervous tension building up in my body. As the car warmed, I typed the address of my hotel into the car’s GPS system and waited for it to calculate the best route. It appeared not that far away on the map, but it was rush hour, the drive was predicted to be at least thirty minutes. Damn.
∞∞∞
Then it was seven o’clock Saturday morning. I’d slept more than I’d expected, less than I needed to feel well rested, but enough to function proficiently. The hotel coffee maker was running, and the brew smelled surprisingly good given it was cheap stuff from a plastic package. I’d packed granola and fruit from home so I wouldn’t have to scrounge around for my first meal of the day. At home I could train steadily for a couple of hours on this sort of nourishment, and hopefully that would hold for the audition as well.
Jake had informed me that the handout of audition numbers would begin at nine o’clock sharp, but that the audition wouldn’t get into full swing until nine-thirty, as long as everyone on the selection committee was on time—something that apparently wasn’t always the case. Arriving promptly seemed the wisest course of action. The more time I had to settle into the space and calm my body the better. In the meantime, I needed to be careful not to down the entire pot of coffee. Naturally occurring nerves didn’t need to be amplified by caffeine jitters.
I sat on the bed eating my breakfast as I flipped aimlessly through the television channels. Nothing had caught my interest the first time through, but since the alternative was eating in silence, I kept flipping. Then my phone buzzed from the nightstand where it was charging. Dropping the remote, I grabbed my cell, unplugged it and switched on
the screen.
Hey Beth, good luck today. You’ll be fine. It was from Rachel. She and Becca had already joined up with their new Cirque Celestial show, touring somewhere in the south.
Thanks. Just having breakfast. Will head over to HQ in a bit. Nervous but ready.
Nervous but ready? Sure. That seemed like a reasonably accurate portrait of my state. I tossed my phone on my bed and continued with my breakfast. A few minutes later another buzz came in. Another well-wishing text, this one from Becca.
Good luck!!! UR going to rock 2day!!!
I smiled, imagining Becca jumping up and down, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tight. After shooting back a quick response almost identical to the one I sent her sister, I returned to my increasingly soggy granola. Who else was I likely to hear from this morning? Would Robert text? Did I want him to, or would it be better if we remained silent for now? Too many well wishers might drive up my anxiety, rather than soothe it.
Saturday morning traffic back over to the Cirque Celestial buildings was predicted light, so I needn’t anticipate the nearly forty minutes of travel time it took me last night. I could finish my food, then take a lengthy shower before heading out. Hopefully, a long blast of hot water could help settle my nerves and ease out some of the tension in my shoulders. Hopefully.
∞∞∞
At precisely nine o’clock, the doors to the training studio of Cirque Celestial where the audition was being held, swung back. Jake was there along with a couple other people who I assumed must be a part of the selection committee, greeting us, beckoning the couple of dozen aerialists present to come in, settle our selves and start warming up. I didn’t catch all the instructions he gave us—had there been a mention of when the audition would start, maybe it had already—standing still was proving difficult, and my ability to concentrate was dwindling rapidly.
Whoo boy. Had I ever been this nervous before in my life? The way things were progressing, I was going to have zero coordination and have forgotten how to climb the silks by the time the audition began. However, despite the growing risk of embarrassing myself, I followed the other aerialists into the studio and accepted my audition number with a mumbled ‘thank you,’ as I walked through the doors. My feet, which seemed to be operating separately from my brain, carried me into the room, while I stared at my surroundings.
The ceilings were so high. Flying High Circus Club had pretty good ceilings. Around twenty-five feet of useful performance height. The room I’d staggered into had be thirty, forty, feet tall. Several silks, in a rainbow of colours, hung along the length of one side of the room, while a mixture of other apparatus like trapeze, hoop and hammock were rigged along the other side.
After a solid minute of staring slack-jawed around the room, I found an empty patch against the near wall to claim as my space. I dumped my duffle on the floor, then fumbled with my parka zipper, which caught on the fabric of my jacket. Heat crawled up my neck and into my cheeks as I yanked at the zipper, trying to free myself. I was sweating and I hadn’t even started to warm up. I looked up from my predicament, but no one seemed to have noticed. Everyone was too busy getting themselves settled, pulling out water bottles, therapy bands, and rollers of all different shapes and sizes.
Calm down, Beth. Breathe. You’ll be fine. In, two, three, four; out, two, three, four.
I opened my eyes, and carefully pulled at the zipper again, this time managing to free myself. Coat off, I sighed. Under my layers I could feel my tank-top stuck to my lower back. I looked around the room again to see what the other aerialists were doing. The audition for Circus of Height, had been straight forward, painfully simple, even. I’d sent in a video; they’d emailed me back. A few weeks later I had an in-person audition with only one other aerialist. They picked me and that was it. Having never been a dancer or actor, I’d been through few trials like this before, and now I was in over my head.
As time dragged on, I warmed up, performing a series of cardio moves on the spot before I stretched. During this time two or three late-arriving aerialists drifted in, but no further announcements came from the selection team. They talked to one another, sipping their coffees, while we carried on individually. A few of those auditioning appeared to be familiar with one another and chatted quietly, while the rest of us seemed to look around the room, without meeting anyone’s eye. I could pull out my phone, see if Robert had texted, or maybe send him something myself. Maybe my silence had muted him as well.
Regardless, I had no time to find out. As I turned to search for my phone, Jake walked to the middle of the room. Without having to speak, all eyes were on him. He motioned for us to come closer, which we did, forming a tight circle within seconds.
“Here’s how today’s going to run,” he said, but paused as loud, peppy music suddenly burst out over the sound system. Jake waved his hand, and the volume dropped. “Everyone has five more minutes to warm up on your own, then we’ll break you in to apparatus-appropriate groups. In those groups you’ll each work with a pair of trainers from Cirque Celestial, run through additional on-apparatus warm-ups, learn choreography, and perform for one another. We’ll take a short break after that before we move on some guided improv exercises. Then Lunch. Got it?”
Jake surveyed the crowd around him. Our gazes met for a moment, during which he gave me a small nod, recognition that I was here because he’d personally invited me. Because we had a connection through his girlfriend? Because I was good enough?
“What happens after lunch?” One of the other aerialists asked.
Jake turned in the direction of the voice, seemingly seeking the identity of the speaker. “If we invite you to continue with the audition process at that point, you’ll find out.”
Contrary to the nervous laughter that broke out across the circle, I needed to stifle the urge to vomit. I placed my hands across my stomach, and pressed, like I could keep my jumbling insides in place with a little exterior pressure. Lunch. I could be packed up and heading home by noon.
“Five minutes, folks.” Jake clapped his hands, and everyone around the circle dispersed.
Except for me. I remain rooted in my spot. I tugged on the waist band of my leggings, making sure they’re high up on my hips, then pushed the cuffs of my hoodie up on my forearms, ready to get my hands dirty. I was about to ply them full of rosin, climb, and do who knows what. Impress. Impress my fellow aerialists, impress the selection committee. I breathed, swelling my chest. I was not going to be sent home before lunch. I didn’t ruin my wedding to an amazing man to get sent home before lunch. I was going to crush this audition.
∞∞∞
Crush? Okay, maybe that was too strong a word for it, but I hadn’t embarrassed myself yet, either. So far, I’d run through a series of drills, learned choreography, and maybe, just maybe, managed to not make a fool of myself pretending to climb as though I were a variety of different animals. I even made a few people laugh when, as an elephant, I’d pretended to be unable to ascend the silks at all. Now all the performers were back to our solitary stations along the wall, wherever we’d dumped our stuff when we’d first arrived. The selection team were huddled around a table in a far corner, presumably decided the fates of everyone here.
“How long are they going to take?” Someone nearby asked.
We were waiting to be dismissed for lunch—or for home.
“Oh, they already know,” someone else replied. “This is for dramatic effect, see who can take the pressure of the wait.”
I hadn’t bothered to gather the names of my fellow Cirque Celestial hopefuls. I’d done my best to reply politely, if not enthusiastically, if spoken to, but I didn’t want to make friends with anyone. Even for those of us who made the cut, there was no guarantee we’d ever see each other again. It seemed like an emotional expenditure I didn’t have the energy to waste.
At last Jake stood in the middle of the studio. He cleared his throat with a cough, but he already had everyone’s rapt attention. “We’re going to call o
ut numbers. If you hear yours, please gather your belongings and exit the studio. A member of the selection committee will speak to you there.”
Then another person who’d worked with the other group joined Jake and began slowly reading out numbers from a clipboard. Did I want to be called? They’d said to take your stuff, that sounded like a dismissal. Why were they being so mysterious? Was it another level of testing?
I moved so I was sitting in a tight ball, my arms wrapped around my knees, listening carefully for my number. The reader proceeded at a glacial pace, waiting for the corresponding performer to stand, collect everything in their arms, and cross the room before they announced the next number. I could pull out my phone, check for messages and help distract myself during the wait—could that be construed as disrespectful? Instead, I clasped my hands tightly and rocked slightly from side to side.
A sudden hand clap aroused me from my anxiety-induced trance—I nearly toppled over, catching myself with my hand at the last moment before I hit the mat.
“All right, the rest of you, huddle up for a minute.”
Half of the remaining performers had already circled around Jake before I’d even scrambled to my feet. Determined not to be the last, I jogged the thirty paces it took me to join the group. As I surveyed the group, I realized everyone else was doing the same. Looking from one aerialist to the next, counting and sizing them up, trying to recall what apparatus each person worked on. How many more would we have to beat to earn a spot?
“Congratulations,” Jake said, and we all released a collective sigh. He smiled and chuckled quietly. The instantaneous reaction of a group of relieved aerialists must be a standard part of the audition. “You’ve passed the first hurdle. You have thirty minutes for lunch, then we reconvene at one o’clock. There’s food in the cafeteria down the hall if you didn’t bring your own. Don’t be late returning.”
Love's Final Act (Circus of Love Romances Book 3) Page 17