Love's Final Act (Circus of Love Romances Book 3)

by S. Andrea Milne

  A couple of performers high-fived one another, or shared hugs, but most of us simply turned and walked back to our bags. Ten, if I counted correctly, down from the original two dozen. I stooped to retrieve my bag, hoisting the strap over my shoulder. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but the nerves and adrenaline that continue to course through me probably masked the need for fuel. Most of the performers were already out the door by this time, so I grabbed my shoes and followed.

  The selection team remained, talking, shuffling through papers, making plans for what torture they would run us through next. Jake looked up as I left. Again, he gave me a slight nod. He probably couldn’t show me more acknowledgment than that without fear of showing favouritism. Nonetheless, I got the sense from that simple gesture that I had so far fulfilled his expectations of me, maybe even exceeded them.

  Out of the audition studio, I took a momentary pause to orient myself, before following the strung-out line of aerialists heading, presumably, toward the cafeteria. After a few steps I noticed the signs—in both English and French—confirming our path. Was I going to have to sit and make small talk for the next thirty minutes while I ate, or would we each retreat into our phones to occupy ourselves?

  ∞∞∞

  I ate my lunch undisturbed by in-person interactions. It turned out we were all too hungry and too zapped energy-wise to make much conversation. Each of us sat at a table, shovelling salads containing things like hardboiled eggs, chickpeas, and avocados, into our mouths, while scrolling through our inboxes.

  I’d received several messages from Becca all along the lines of: Hope YR rockin’ it!!! Along with more sober lines of encouragement from a couple of fellow instructors from Flying High Circus Club, both Dehlia and Stephen, finally, Robert. I skimmed through my inbox making a mental note of who I needed to respond to once this was all said and done, then finally opened the message from Robert. It was time stamped at 9:35 am:

  Hope things are going/gone well. Look forward to hearing from you. Call me when you’re done. If you want.

  I stared at the message, my fork halfway to my mouth. If I want. A cold sensation settled in my chest. Did he think I didn’t want to be with him anymore? That I saw this audition as an out of my commitment to him? We’d barely talked since our ex-wedding day, but he’d insisted he didn’t want to break up. I hadn’t either, but we’d fallen into an uncomfortable silence that neither of us seemed to be able to penetrate. When was the last time either of us had said, I love you?

  I laid my phone on the table next to me, as I continued to eat. The thing about salads, was they took a lot of chewing. Maybe that’s why no one was talking. We were all chewing as fast as we could to get through our lunch before our time was up. Regardless, it meant no one was distracting me from my thoughts with chitchat. Instead it felt like my cell was thrumming at me, the way something marked as radioactive did in cartoons. I had to text something back before the end of the audition. Something to reassure Robert I wasn’t about to forget him.

  I jolted as someone tapped me on the shoulder, causing me to drop my fork. The clatter shattered the silence of the nearly empty cafeteria.

  “Hey Number Ten, it’s time to head back.” A short woman with dark, close-cut hair that I thought I’d seen on the trapeze this morning, stood next to me. Her eyebrows were cocked high on her forehead, obviously wondering if something was wrong with me.

  “Oh, thanks,” I said as I stood, gathering up my food tray, cell, and duffle as quickly as I could. “Just a bit distracted, I guess.”

  The woman smiled and gave my shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “Aren’t we all right now. No telling what they’re going to throw at us next.”

  I forced the corners of my mouth up, as I nodded to my helpful audition mate. “Thanks for not letting me zone out and forget to go back.”

  The woman pivoted and headed toward the exit of the cafeteria, waving a hand over her head as she went. “No sweat, Ten, just get your ass moving. I’m not going to hold your hand the whole way back. From where I was standing, you seemed to be doing just fine on your own.”

  I quickly gathered up what was left of my lunch, piled everything on my tray, then deposited it on a return cart by the door. A glance at my phone told me I had two minutes to get my ass back to the audition studio. I hadn’t answered Robert’s message, and certainly didn’t have the time now. I sprinted.

  “Now that we’re all back.” Jake shot a glance in my direction, the last of the remaining ten to return to the studio. Damn. I’d been doing so well up until now. “We’re going to mix things up a little, to see how everyone copes with new situations.”

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. My breath, already elevated from the run back from the cafeteria, didn’t have a chance to return to normal. What the hell was coming now?

  Jake continued. “We’re going to switch your groups around. If you’re normally a vertical apparatus person, you’re going to spend the next hour seeing what you’ve got on trapeze or hoop and visa versa. Got it?”

  I wasn’t the only one in the group to groan—hopefully, I wasn’t the loudest. Trapeze? Hoop? When was the last time I’d been on one of those? Months, at least. The big reason I steered clear from bar apparatus is because they hurt like hell. Would I be able to keep from grimacing as I attempted to wind my body around the thin metal rods?

  “All right, folks. Get to it.” Jake clapped his hands together sharply, jolting me and the other aerialists into action. “Show us what you’ve got.”

  Right. Show them. I ran a hand over the top of my head, then used both to pull my ponytail a little tighter. Shoulders back, head up high, I walked toward the opposite side of the room from where I’d spent my morning. This was like facing a predator, right? The selection committee could smell my fear if I let it overcome me? I strode quickly in order to be one of the first aerialists to reach the horizontal apparatus. At least I wasn’t been asked to demonstrate my handstand skills.

  ∞∞∞

  It was three o’clock. My fingers ached. How long would it take before I could straighten my hands out again? The rest of my body felt okay—except for one spot behind my right knee where I was certain a bruise was forming—just extremely fatigued. No matter the outcome of this audition, I was going to go back to my hotel reward myself with a long, hot, shower. And a beer.

  “Okay, people.” Once again, Jake stood in the middle of the studio, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “We’re down to the last hoop for today.”

  As Jake said this, I could hear the aerialists around the room shifting about in their spots, waiting to find out what we were going to be taxed with. My heartbeat was in my throat and my shoulders grew more rigid with every silent moment.

  Jake paused as he looked around the room. “Breathe, everyone. You’re all doing great. You’re almost all done.”

  One or two people might have released a gush of air, but for the most part, the atmosphere in the studio remained thick with worry. My posture and racing pulse remained unchanged.

  “Each one of you will be provided three final minutes to show us everything you’ve got. You pick the apparatus—even if it’s one we haven’t seen from you so far today—we’ll give you a music selection from one of our popular shows. Then you’re done. We’ll go alphabetical by last name, starting in ten minutes.”

  Alphabetically by last name. That almost certainly meant I was going last or near to it, there weren’t many letters left after W. A few aerialists jumped up and began jogging or skipping in place, warming their bodies back up in preparation for the pending three-minute performance. They must have names at the beginning of the alphabet. I’d only been with Circus of Height for a month, but I knew from that experience how much time I needed to prepare. Instead, I closed my eyes, then slowly rolled down onto the mat.

  Three minutes. What would I do in three minutes? Amaze. Dazzle. It seemed unlikely that I could surprise them with anything they hadn’t seen before, but that d
idn’t mean I couldn’t impress them. I would show them my favourite things. My favourite three things, that was about all that three minutes would allow. Who knew what kind of music they would give me, that must be part of the challenge, since a three-minute performance wasn’t all that bad—especially after an hour on a horizontal apparatus.

  When at last I had a plan prepared and visualized, I opened my eyes and sat up as the first hopeful, Erin Barber, took her place at a trapeze. She was the dark-haired woman who’d kindly alerted me it was time to get back to the studio. As she lifted herself onto the bar, I got to my feet to begin my own warm up.

  As I moved and stretched, I kept my eyes on my fellow aerialists as they took their turns to excite the selection committee. Polite applause followed each performance. By the time my name was called, the last of the ten, there’d only been two real-standout showings: Erin Barber absolutely blew my mind by what she could do on a trapeze; and Raven Sharpe, a young woman who’d been on the silks with me, but had requested to perform on straps.

  “Number ten, Beth Witt,” Jake looked straight at me as he called my name, then motioned me over to the silks.

  I leapt from the ground, gave both my tights and ponytail a quick adjustment, then strode across the studio to a bright green silk I’d used in the morning. I positioned myself next to the fabric, standing tall and straight, waiting. The music selections had varied widely from individual to individual. I had no idea what to expect, except for a certain quirkiness that seemed to be the common underlying current between each piece. I curled my lips into a small smile—not my normal performance smile, huge and full of teeth—a slight smile that I hoped conveyed confidence.

  I truly felt confident. I could and would do this.

  Then my music started, slow and low, a flute carried a haunting tune over top of some kind of hand-percussed drum. I took one final breath on the ground, raised my arms above my head, gripped the silks, then lifted my legs into the air, carrying them through an arc until I was upside down. I hooked one knee tightly across the silks, drove my free leg down toward the ground as I sat up sharply. Regripping, I repeated the process once more, then paused, having already ascended ten feet into the air.

  The rhythm of the drums grew more urgent, as I swiftly separated the strands of the silks, so I held a piece in each hand. Releasing my legs, I suspended myself between the long strands of fabric, waiting, one, two, three beats to demonstrate my strength before I windmilled my legs to one side, catching the silks high on my inner thighs, effectively tying myself into place. With a couple more well-practiced movements, I had both silks wrapped around my left leg, the right free, as I pivoted backward so I hung upside down.

  Despite the almost fevered drumming of my music I remained calm, catching my right foot in my hand, as I extended out into a split. I would wait here for the exact right moment to explode out of my position, driving that knee through the opening in the silks and into another split position. The moment came as the drumming abruptly stopped, the studio blanketed in silence, I dynamically moved to my new pose. A smattering of applause broke out—that hadn’t happened during any of the previous performances—and my smile spread wider across my face.

  The solo melancholy flute returned. I probably only had a minute, maybe slightly more, left in my time. Three minutes wasn’t much. I righted myself, freed my legs from my silk bonds, and prepared for my final move. Back to holding myself by the strength of my arms alone, I gripped each piece of fabric in my hands. Again, I inverted and hooked each knee on the silks, ascending higher, adding a series of complex wraps that, at the right time would allow me to tumble down safely again.

  “Thirty seconds, Miss Witt,” the voice of one of the selection committee floated up toward me.

  The musical timing wasn’t perfect like it was for my first move, but I had to push on, I had to get in this drop before I was told time was up. Without warning—to the audience—I leaned back, diving one hundred and eighty degrees so I was upside down; circled my legs so they came together and tipped me upright; then pushed through with my hands, as I plunged toward the ground, head first. At last the knots around my wrists stopped me, and I held myself in an upside-down pike position for a few short breaths, before arcing my left leg out behind me in one last split.

  A few more hands broke into applause this time. It seemed I’d managed to wow at least a few of the people in the studio. Was it the right people?

  My music was cut off, signaling that my three minutes was up. I righted myself, released the silk-locks around my wrists one at a time, and stepped to the floor. I curtsied slightly in the direction of the selection committee, then returned to where I’d left my bag and jacket. When I reached my spot, I realized my knees were shaking—late surfacing anxiety, perhaps—then sank to the ground. I’d done everything I could. How long was I going to have to wait to find out?

  “Thank you, everyone.” Jake had returned to the centre of the studio. “We won’t keep you waiting long. I’d suggest everyone pack your bags, and we’ll announce our final decision in a few minutes.”

  A few minutes. They must have had a good idea of who they were going to select before our final performances if they needed so little time to deliberate. I peeked around the studio but most of the other aerialists had their heads down and were stuffing their belonging back into their bags. We’d been a quiet bunch when we’d started, and after a day-long audition, I was running out of steam.

  “All right.” The entire selection committee was standing in the middle of the studio now, however Jake continued to act as the spokesman. “If you’re number is called, please join myself, Marie, and Braun here, the rest will head out the doors, and speak with one of the other committee members.”

  My stomach clamped up, as a cold sensation spread throughout my body.

  “Number twenty.” Erin Barber clasped her hands to her mouth as though it total disbelief of what she’d heard, then a moment later she worked her way to her feet, and bounded across the floor to where she’d been directed.

  “Number thirty-three.” The other aerialist I noticed, Raven Sharpe, got to her feet, less shocked and more smug than what Erin had been.

  “And number ten.”

  I stared at Jake. I was number ten. I should get up, join the others. My heart pounded hard in my chest, the cold I’d felt a few moments before replaced with an incredible heat, and a sense that everyone in the studio was staring at me, waiting for me to get up. I should get up. My body didn’t want to respond, I couldn’t get my arms to support me so I could push myself to a standing position. I should really get up before the selection committee started to think something was wrong with me and that they made a bad choice.

  “Beth, did you hear me? Number ten, that’s you.” Jake’s lips where drawn into a frown.

  “S-sorry.” I finally managed to scootch my hands underneath me, and lever myself to me feet. It felt like my cheeks might burst they were so hot. “Just shocked, that’s all.”

  A few people might have mumbled or grumbled as I tripped over my own feet, but I tried hard not to hear what they said. I focused on Jake, Marie, and Braun, all waiting for me to join them. Now that I was moving, Jake was smiling again, the other two had slightly more concerned looks clouding their faces. Had Jake had to convince the others to take me, or did they look that way normally?

  “Now that we’re all here,” Jake said, then paused, sending me a pointed look, “we won’t keep you for long. We know it’s been a long day. We’re going to take a picture of each of you, so we can include one in your file, and we have a short consent and personal information form to fill out, agreeing to allow Cirque Celestial to put you into our talent bank. We will contact each of you with more details at a later date with information about any potential roles you may be able to fill within our company.”

  I was on my way out of the studio ten minutes later, the strap of my bag slung over one shoulder, my coat pinched under the other arm. I walked, but I dragged my fe
et, not even lifting them off the ground. Hopefully, traffic would be light on the drive back to the hotel, I had no energy to deal with unfamiliar streets. Should I shower when I reached my hotel, or start sending out text messages? Jake promised he wouldn’t contact Rachel about my success, so I didn’t need to race against time before the Nicks twins were made aware—and Becca proceeded to inform every person we had in mutual acquaintance, and then some.

  “Beth.” An extremely familiar male voice called out, followed by rapid footsteps.

  I froze in my spot, my coat slipping out from my grasp. I looked around for the owner of the voice, my heart once again pounding uncomfortably in my chest.

  Robert stopped ten feet from me. He held a small bouquet of roses in his hand. He looked at me, the edges around his blue eyes were soft, a look I’d missed in the last few weeks. It was the tender look he gave me when we were alone “The thing is, I love you. I—I was being stupid—I was angry, and jealous, and hurt, and—stupid, so stupid—I can’t even. I love you so much I can’t breathe properly sometimes when I look at you. Like, right now. I feel like my chest is being compressed and it won’t expand properly.” He paused for a moment to put his hand over his heart, like he was trying to force himself to relax.

  “Fuck. I had a whole speech worked out. I spent the entire time in the car figuring out what I was going to say and now I can’t remember half of it, and you’re staring at me like I’m crazy. I shouldn’t have come.” His gaze drifted to the floor, and the hand that held the roses slipped, so it hung limply at his side.

  I stepped toward Robert then halted. Several questions buzzed around my brain as I looked at my former-not-quite-ex-fiancé. I ignored them all. Now wasn’t the time for talk, it was the time for action. I closed the gap between the two of us, practically slamming my body into his as I wrapped my arms around him. A moment later I stepped back slightly, but only so I could place my lips on his. My right hand drifted to Robert’s face, to gently cup his cheek, as though my fingertips needed to feel his skin for my brain to comprehend that he was here, and this was truly happening.