Fly With Fire (2 page)

“Don’t
worry, it’ll stretch. I told you I needed an earlier fitting. Do you have any
idea how many costumes I’m responsible for? Home office refuses to send me any
more people. What’s the point of having a dozen seamstresses a thousand miles
away? Stop pulling at it!” Sally’s long, red wig was disheveled. She checked
her work through thick glasses.

“Lucky
I got that wax. I’ve got to let Karen at me.” Mo turned and saw Roddy and his
wife come into the chaotic dressing room.

“Perfecto!
Darling!” Rodrigo was in his tux, as he always was for opening night. His wife,
Luciana, decked out in sequins, waved and smiled at the various performers
before turning a cooler smile on Mo. “Monica, what a lovely costume.”

“Lu,
how are you? Got some parties lined up?” Mo smiled and read resentment in Lu’s
appraisal.

“The
Whitney’s are hosting the after show. At Mr. Whitney’s restaurant.” Luciana ran
her eyes the length of Mo’s body. Her smile tightened. She unconsciously ran a
hand down the side of her own voluptuous body, her smile became smug.

“The
Whitneys! I love the Whitneys. They make everything go, how to say, smooth as
silk!” Rodrigo took his wife’s arm. “Let’s get this show over the road!”

As
he laughed, Luciana nodded coolly at Mo then smiled at Sally “Kisses, Sal! It’s
‘on the road’, Roddy.”

Sally
raised an eyebrow as they walked away. “She’s put on at least ten pounds since
I last saw her.”

“That’s
pretty catty, Sally. Think it’s just ten?” They both laughed. “Seriously, I
worry about Roddy. He’s so in love. Does she really love him? He’s made a lot
of money. And now he’s a partner. Is it bad to think she married him for
money?”

“She
has expensive tastes. Lu never did save her money. I have to say I thought it
was to try to get her job back. Watch your back, Mo. She’s not your biggest fan.”
Sally made a last inspection. “You look hot, appropriately enough. Go get ‘em!”
She clacked off in her spike high heels to inspect other performers.

“I
should give Roddy more credit,” she said to herself thinking fondly of the
manager and trainer. He was like a father to her and in her opinion the most
lovable man she knew. She wasn’t the least worried about her job.

“Ma
Cherie! Why pouting, beautiful? You are not angry at Claude! You ruin your face
frowning like that.” Claude wore a leotard that matched hers, with flame like
stripes made of sparkling red sequins. Unlike hers it was not sheer between the
strategically placed stripes. He wore the top half of his hair in a short pony
tail. The bottom half of his thick, dark, brown hair hung loose to his
shoulders, pushed behind his ears. He raised a finger to her cheek and looked
into her large, slightly slanted eyes.

She
turned her head away. “How many times have you been told not to come in here?
Somehow I missed being broken up with last week. Not that we had a
relationship, or that I wanted one. With you.”

“What’s
to say? I wanted something you did not. I told you I don’t chase after you. You
want me, here I am. No? Then we go our own ways. Why have hurt feeling?” He
looked at her with an innocent expression that usually made women melt. And he
was…cute. Beyond cute. Claude’s looks were model perfection. He had survived
modeling until he’d gotten his break with the show. His blue eyes were playful.
A little daring. He’d been manipulating woman a very long time.

“You
know? No reason at all. It’s not a big deal and not worth regretting. Your
absolutely right, Claude.” She turned on her heel and went over to makeup.

“Momo,
wait! No regrets, eh? You didn’t let me give you anything to regret. And it’s a
very big deal. If you knew how big, you would have regrets!” He followed her
shouting until she turned and put a hand on his chest and pushed him backward
while he yammered out the dressing room door. She restrained herself from
slamming it in his face, closing it lightly. A woman in a zebra costume breezed
in leaving it open again but Claude was gone. Mo turned to reface the pre show
chaos. The dressing room was a buzz of talking, shouting, laughing and griping.
All the women in various stages of makeup and costume dress.

“Roddy
told me you looked tight. Let me do your shoulders while Karen does your face.”

Crystal
McCleary. Oh boy. Mo went to the makeup chair. Karen pounced on her with a
plastic cover.  “I showed Roddy the drawing, he’s good with the stripes
down the sides of your face. We talked a little glitter to bring it out. I’m
going to exaggerate the shape of your eyes. And give your brows a higher arch.”

“Hi,
Karen.” Karen cleaned Mo’s skin in preparation for the heavy makeup. Mo admired
Karen sophisticated makeup and short sleek hair. She felt Crystal’s fingers on
her shoulders with a start. She gave in and relaxed. She was tight, she had to
admit. “I thought the makeup plan was firmed up at the production meeting.
You’re not going to shave my brows?

“No.
Makeup. Be still. They don’t always grow back, you know.” Karen worked at a
furious pace. “It was decided your face was obliterated by the flames. We want
our Queen of Hell to be seen.” Karen was always rushed and brooked no refusal
to cooperate. She turned Mo’s head this way and that.

“Sorry
‘bout all that. I didn’t know he was taken. Just flirting. You know how it is.”
Crystal was surprisingly skilled in her trade, despite the nails. If she would
just not talk. “Anyway, we girls have to stick together. Know what I mean?”

“Sure.
A little higher on my neck, right there.” Mo would have liked to close her eyes
but didn’t risk a verbal cuff from the makeup artist. Karen ran heavy liner
around her eyes and feathered in a frosty white shadow. Kind of a facial
massage, she always thought. At least when Karen didn’t have her chin gripped
in a vise.

“What’s
this shit, Karen?” A short red and black faced clown with orange hair waddled
into the dressing room on big clown feet with a small jar. He held it as if it
were a dead mouse. “Somebody slipped another brand into my kit. Am I really
supposed to use this? You know I don’t like this Halloween makeup from China.
It’s got lead and shit in it. You look great, Mo.”

“You
look like a clown, Trollie.” Mo laughed peeking out as Karen firmly jerked her
chin up. “Hey!”

“Some
women are hot for clowns you know. It’s a thing. You shouldn’t judge a man by
his costume.” Trollie rifled for an approved make up. “You should judge him by
the size of his shoes.”

“Go
hassle someone else, Troll. You don’t let anyone else do your make up so tough
luck.” Karen eyed her work.

“No
one’s ever seen you without make up, Trollie. Who could judge? Besides, shoes
like yours would be way too scary if that’s what we had to judge by. What do
you do, just keep layering make up on?” Mo spit glitter out of her mouth.

“Nice,”
says Karen, dabbing pencil at Mo’s brows. “Get the fuck out, bigshoes.”

“I’ve
heard it’s a myth, the shoe thing,” Mo continued. “Wishful thinking probably.
But really Trollie, why don’t you ever show us your face? Is it to create a
mystique?” Mo enjoyed the back and forth with the other performers. But some
members of the company weren’t back and forth types.  

“Would
you back off?” Karen barks at Crystal. She does a final brush of glitter and
nods. “Betty! Virgin gown!” Another woman rushes over with a flimsy costume.

“Trade
secret.” Trollie gave Mo a look, or rather an appraisal, as she stood up. “I
better go warm ‘em up,” he said, giving her a last long glance. His bright red
pantaloons billowed as he walked out the door heels always hitting the floor
first as if he were wearing flippers.

“Break
one, Mo,” Abby, a dancer shouted zipping out the door painted like a giraffe
with little giraffe horns on her head.

Mo
raised her arms and a short sheer tunic with gauzy fishtails is pulled over her
head and adjusted by Betty. She sat back down allowing Betty to arrange a
garland and short veil on her head and face. “This is better, Betty. I can see
through this much better. Thank you.”

Ling,
the contortionist Roddy had complimented strides over. “Mo, you going to the
party? How ‘bout we see if anything looks good there then go downtown?” She
bends her arm impossibly around her back. Her hair is short and spiky, but
shellacked back and sprayed green. Her costume is almost sprayed on as well.
Her snake makeup uncomfortably realistic.

“God,
Ling, I just want to go back to my room. I know I have to make an appearance
but that’s it.” Mo looked at Ling through the veil. “Why not ask Linc?”

“Might
as well ask my brother.” Ling’s head jerked toward the music. “All work and no
play, Mo.”

The
music rises up to fill the auditorium. In a fantastic world created with light,
color and silk, sirens sing joyously of an ancient paradise. Most of the
audience does not understand the words of the song being sung in French but
it’s easy to gather the meaning by observing the symbols displayed by the
performers. Juggler’s twirl and throw long sticks to which are tied colorful
silk ribbons which symbolize the blooms of spring. Multi colored silks are
suspended from the air where acrobats dressed in costumes representing flora
and fauna pivot and bend in elegant postures.

An
innocent swings on a garland sheathed swing. Her long black hair is braided, a
dark contrast to the virginal white dress. A garland around her head adds to
the sense of purity. The young virgin wears a short veil to conceal her beauty
from lustful mortals who might spy her. She holds freshly picked flowers in her
hand. She does a dance in celebration of spring. She twirls around the ropes of
the trapeze then sails to another garlanded swing. Attendants swirl and float
surreally around the virgin on white silks falling from Mount Olympus itself.
The gods of Olympus watch with pleasure from on high, doing their own dances on
suspended rings of gold. The diaphanous fishtails flow behind and around the
virgin. She hangs like a floating angel as the trapeze swings through the air.
Banners unfurl as the light on the virgin darkens and the audience’s attention
is taken to a delightful paradise of playful and amazingly agile creatures that
fly and tumble and sail through the air.

The
stage is an eye popping fantasy of light and color. An agile snake twists and
turns in the lovely garden. Its sinuous body performing feats that bring forth
sounds of awe from the audience. Tumblers dressed like monkeys dart about.
Unseen jugglers hurl lifelike birds through the air creating a perfect
illusion. A lion rambles through and sniffs the snake then sees a monkey and
gives playful chase. Various animals dart and play, leaping, spinning and
thrilling to the pleasures of paradise. All is joy and happiness in the garden
of life.

Now
attention is drawn again to the lovely virgin enjoying the delights of
paradise. A dramatic drumming accompanied by lightning startles the girl. The
colors below are suddenly replaced by red. Fire eaters blow fireballs from the
various levels of the stages. With a flash of sparks and smoke, Hades appears.
For a moment the innocent is bewildered and drops her bouquet.

The
innocent senses danger. But Persephone is a daughter of Zeus. She will not
succumb to the desires of the god of the underworld. She rises to face him but around
her the garlands begin to fall away. He comes to her, she moves the other way.
Her flight is graceful, but only delays the inevitable. He looms nearer, and as
she falls he catches her. He has her by the ankles, the fishtails wavering
around her. He swings her out. She somersaults and spins and leaps. The sirens
now sing of Persephone’s great temptation. Long banners of red fall from above
and down them slide demons that spin and glide on the flames. Persephone
escapes but is captured again. They swing and twirl in a seductive dance of
desire and fear. Then finally he has her and the swing starts to fall. The
audience gasps. Persephone struggles but he holds her firm. As they land on the
stage below, they are obscured by the silken flames. The music rumbles quietly,
then burst into an electric keening. Now the flames dance and the animals catch
each other in their own maddened mating. Red gowned singers marching with
torches wail ominously. Demons dance and the snake has taken on a menacing
persona, slithering in and out among the dancing demons, stopping to contort
into frightening postures tongue darting out threateningly.

Drums
pound and the demons become more excited and enact various feats of acrobatics.
Demons fly and twirl on the trapezes above. The wailing grows louder and then
coalesces into a single high pitched note. Then a song begins to welcome the
Betrothed of Hades. The flames part and up rises the innocent, rising on a
trapeze into the air. She wears a circlet of fire on her head. Her skin is
kissed by flame. She is of the fire. Higher she rises. Hades follows up a
silken rope. His powerful body seems to glide up the rope against the laws of
physics. Standing on the bar, the future queen of the Underworld then loops and
twirls. Hades meets her and they dance a dance of promise flying in Hades’ dark
sky.  

Hades
lands on the stand and prepares his bride’s gifts. She is ready as she hangs by
one knee. Flaming batons suddenly appear in her hands. She flies through the
air twirling the batons which are lit at both ends. She tosses them back. Then
she is tossed flaming rings which she catches on her wrists and spins ‘round
and ‘round. She tosses the rings to Hades minion as the Lord of the Underworld
swings out to her. She dives to him and caught, is launched into a somersault
back to the other swing. The rings of fire fly back to her and are never seen
to stop moving as she catches the flaming batons.  The batons twirl as the
rings orbit her wrists. This, while she swings upside down on the trapeze
suspended in Hell’s smoky night. She tosses the batons and the rings and
receives large hoops of flame. She hangs from the trapeze manipulating the
hoops as Hades darts and flies from one swing to the other anxious his bride
accept his gifts. The burning hoops drop and the couple burning for their
marriage of fire loop and catch each other until the dreadful keening grows
softer as Persephone and Hades court in flames. An illusion of fire surrounds
them as if they are being consumed by it. The lights go down as Persephone is
consumed by the flames of love.