Bound in Blue (21 page)

She stared into her Master’s eyes and for
long delicious moments, the Exhibition, Vegas, Baat, none of it
mattered. All that mattered was Jason and his mastery of her, and
his life force pressing inside her, and their soul-deep bond.

Sara and Baat had a short practice the next
day with Theo, a final run-through. It went pretty well, as well as
could be hoped with nerves and anxiety. “Just relax,” Theo told
them. “Be proud of your strength. Be proud of what you can do. Most
of all, let the directors see the possibilities in your art.”

Sara loved the sound of that. Possibilities.
It seemed all of life was possibilities, especially now that she
wore Jason’s ring. She showed it to Theo and Baat after practice.
Baat, as usual, couldn’t care less, but Theo smiled and
congratulated her. “He loves you very much,” he said, then he
leaned closer. “You know what this is, yes? A collar for your
finger. Lucky girl.”

Lucky didn’t even cover it. Sara felt
euphoric. Here she was at the world’s top circus, in love,
inspired, and about to perform in an Exhibition for the top brass.
Around them, hallways and rehearsal spaces buzzed with activity.
Several new acts were making their debut today at the Cirque’s
multi-purpose auditorium, including acrobatic acts that Jason had
worked on. He was busy prepping those athletes, so she didn’t have
a chance to be with him before her performance. He was still with
her though. She put on her emerald green finery and glittering
makeup with last night’s “performance” playing vividly in her mind.
All the passionate kisses, and the way he’d held her close… She
loved when he was rough and masterful, but she loved his romantic
side too.

Even with her daydreaming, Sara was ready
early, almost an hour before stage call. Baat had disappeared after
he rolled his eyes at her ring. She hoped he was somewhere getting
charged up. If only this performance would go well... If only they
could get to Vegas, where both of them could be happy. Baat liked
partying, he liked showgirls, even the casinos.

Hmm. Baat and casinos. Sara wasn’t sure about
that.

She wandered the halls, buoyed by her fellow
performers’ encouragement and smiles, and ducked into one of her
favorite conference rooms, a quiet, uncluttered space. She sat down
in the dark, being careful not to snag the rhinestones on her
costume.

“
Mademoiselle
. What a pleasure.”

The deep, rumbling voice was Lemaitre’s. She
leaped to her feet and searched the shadows, finding him not ten
feet away. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” she gasped.

“Why are
you
sitting here in the
dark?” he countered. Even in the dim light, she could see his smile
and his casual shrug. “Like you, I came to escape the hullabaloo
outside. To gather my thoughts before the Exhibition.”

His voice sounded tired. This was
nerve-wracking for her, but how much more nerve-wracking for him?
She only had one act to concentrate on. Mr. Lemaitre had to
coordinate all of the coaches, staff, and performers, as well as
his team of directors, and somehow keep everyone content.

“How have you been, Sara?” he asked in the
silence. “All is well?”

She looked down at her costume, which was
really his costume. Everything she had came from him, even Jason,
in a way, because Lemaitre was the one who had sent him to
Mongolia. She tried to think of what to say to such an exalted
person, something clever and engaging that might make her stand out
from the other performers, but she couldn’t summon a word. All she
could think about was the way he’d scowled outside his back room at
the Citadel, and the way he’d ordered her out.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, trying to keep
her voice light.

“Are you looking forward to performing
today?”

“Yes, we’ve been working hard. I hope you
like the act.”

He smiled again, a tight smile that made her
wonder if he was thinking about the Citadel too.
I don’t need
your sex club. Jason loves me.
She didn’t have her ring on. She
couldn’t wear it while she was performing but she wished she had it
to flash in Lemaitre’s face.

“Hard work is good,” he said in his smooth,
French-inflected lilt. “Will you walk with me to the theater?”

He posed it as a question, but she couldn’t
realistically say no. He opened the door for her and light streamed
into the room, illuminating the sparkles on her costume.

“How beautiful you are,” he said, gesturing
her into the hall beside him. “But green isn’t your color. You
should be wearing blue.”

“They didn’t give me a choice.”

“Ah, yes. Sometimes at Cirque you have no
choice. Not the choices you want, anyway.” He guided her around a
milling group of performers, ignoring their curious looks. “There
is always the conflict of what the ego wants, and what is required
by the greater group.”

At once, she thought of Baat.
Selfish.
You’re so selfish.
Did Lemaitre think so? Maybe that’s why he
didn’t allow her at the Citadel. She made some ambivalent noise as
they turned into a quieter hallway.

“And how are things with Mr. Beck?” he asked.
“Still pleasant in your world?”

What business is it of yours?
If he
was fishing due to his own interest, he could forget it. She’d
never give up Jason for a cold, haughty Master like him. “Things
are great with me and Jason,” she said, lifting her chin. “He gave
me a ring last night.”

Lemaitre’s eyes went wide. “A ring? An
engagement ring?”

“Well, no.” Sara felt a flush spread out from
her ears. “He said I’m too young, that we need to wait a little
longer. But it’s a promise ring. A bond between us.”

“A bond.” Lemaitre pursed his lips. She could
tell he was unhappy, even when he forced a smile. “What a nice way
to put things.”

“We’re in love,” she said. “We’ll probably
get married, just not...yet.”

“It’s good of him to give you some time to
grow. In the scheme of life, you’re little more than a girl.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“An infant then.”

“No, a grown woman.”

“Hm.” That was all he said.
Hm
, with
that lofty tilt of his aristocratic nose. Why was she arguing with
him? And why must he stare at her so intently every time she met
his eyes?

“I should go find Baat,” she said as they
approached the theater lobby. Lemaitre nodded and bid her goodbye,
and then she felt guilty for being so snippy with him. It wasn’t
that she didn’t like Lemaitre. He just made her uncomfortable with
his probing questions and assessing stare. He might be Master over
everyone at his circus, but he’d never be Master over her.

She touched her ring finger, remembering last
night’s heated whispers and caresses, and headed backstage to
prepare for the show.

* * * * *

Jason and Kelsey sat eight rows back, near
the middle. The previous seven rows were filled with a chatting,
laughing, babbling assembly of Cirque bigwigs and directors who’d
flown in from all over the world. The Exhibition always had a
celebratory feel. New acts, new artists to admire and nurture,
fresh material for aging venues. So why did Jason feel nervous
rather than celebratory?

“Stop bouncing,” said Kelsey, pressing down
on his knee. “Everything will go fine.”

Jason’s acts were ready, Sara was ready. He
didn’t know why he felt this agitation. Maybe because Theo was in
an especially long conference with Michel Lemaitre down on the end
of the first row. He couldn’t see Lemaitre’s face, only Theo’s
carefully controlled reactions to whatever he said. A moment later,
the conversation came to an end and Theo climbed the stairs,
sliding into the chair on the other side of Kelsey.

“What’s the news?” Jason asked.

Theo grimaced. “Lemaitre is waffling about
Cirque Brillante
again. He wants Baat and Sara to go, he
wants to wait, he’s not sure if it’s the right place for them.” He
bent closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I think he doesn’t
want his little daughter too far away from him.”

Kelsey shook her head. “Someone should tell
her. Just tell the poor girl. I would want someone to tell me.”

“It’s not my secret to tell, or yours,” Theo
warned his wife. “It will come out eventually, when the time is
right. Let them work out their own affairs.”

Jason stayed silent. Would it come out? When
he looked at Sara now, he saw so much of Lemaitre in her features,
he couldn’t believe everyone didn’t know. More and more, he agreed
with Kelsey. The deception bothered all of them, especially Jason.
He ought to tell her, but what would happen then? What would be the
emotional damage for Lemaitre, Sara, even Jason when she realized
he’d kept quiet about it? It could be devastating. When he thought
about it that way, he thought Theo was right. Lemaitre was the one
who should have to tell her and deal with the fall out. It was his
affair, no one else’s. As loyal as Jason was to Sara, he wasn’t
sure it gave him the right to “out” his boss.

Kelsey held his bouncing knee again. “Stop
it, seriously. Or go sit somewhere else.”

Shortly after that, the lights dimmed and the
Exhibition got under way. The first act was a strength act,
anchored by two women rather than two men. Every fifteen seconds or
so, Kelsey breathed “wow” until Theo held up a finger to silence
her. The next act was a completely crazy hoop thing, then a
banquine routine that Jason had consulted on.

Between each act there were pauses for
performers to introduce themselves, to take questions, to display
their equipment, then the next act would need time to set up. Jason
waited impatiently as the show dragged on, enduring Theo and
Kelsey’s bemused looks. Finally the stage crew pulled out Sara and
Baat’s safety mat, cleverly disguised as a dragon boat. Their red
trapeze drifted down from the rigging on automated pulleys, Baat
sitting on one side, Sara posed on the other. Their preview act was
loosely based on an Asian-nature theme, complete with plinking
Chinese music and a river and moon projected onto the stage.

Jason relaxed as the act got underway. The
presentation was beautiful, with the red and green colors and their
striking dark hair. Sara looked strong and confident, and even Baat
looked good in his laced-up emerald leggings. Jason had never seen
it all together with the costumes and music, and thematic staging.
Her costume made sense now. She looked like an ancient jeweled
goddess under a mysterious moon. Jason could see Theo’s expertise
all over the act, in Sara and Baat’s movements and transitions, in
the small, meaningful things they did. He became so lost in the
flow he didn’t see the first mistake happen. He only saw Sara twist
and grab for Baat’s arm in a jerky movement.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Kelsey
whispered.

“No,” Theo said, leaning forward in his
chair.

Sara regained her momentum, found her groove
again, and the act resumed. But moments later, it seemed to unravel
completely. Their moves became stilted, tentative. Jason could see
the panic on Sara’s face even from the eighth row.

“Stop. Stop,” Theo whispered. “Something’s
wrong.”

Sara did a somersault and Baat almost missed
her ankles, grabbing for them in an uncontrolled way. Theo shot to
his feet in the darkened theater, jumping over chairs and
spectators and rushing toward the stage. “Stop! Stop the act.
Something’s wrong with him.”

Jason bolted after Theo, pushing past anyone
in his way. Theo called to Baat from downstage. “Stop! Lift Sara up
to the bar.” Jason could hear Sara hissing at Baat over the rising
hubbub from the audience.

“Shut off the music,” Lemaitre boomed across
the theater. “Stop the act.”

Sara stopped then, hanging limp from Baat’s
hands.
He’s going to drop her. Fucking Christ, what if he drops
her?
A moment later Sara had swung herself up to the bar, and
climbed to perch on the narrow length of wood. Baat settled beside
her, slouched over, glaring down at the audience. Slowly, the
trapeze began its ascent into the rafters.

“No, not up. Lower it,” barked Lemaitre.
“Bring them down.”

The theater was in an uproar. Twenty people
were on stage now, ranged around the apparatus, and forty more
milled in front of the seats. Jason stood right under Sara. He’d
catch her if he had to. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theo
slip away through a side door, his shoulders up around his
ears.

“Sara,” he whispered. When the trapeze
arrived at stage level he caught her in his arms, hugging the
solid, intact shape of her. “Are you okay? Is everything okay?” He
went into coach mode, checking her joints, her shoulders and
elbows, wrists and hands. “I thought you were going to fall. What
the hell happened up there? What was Baat’s problem?”

She shook her head, bursting into tears. “I
don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

While Jason tried to console Sara, Lemaitre
spoke to Baat, demanding explanations. His gaze burned dark as the
depths of hell. Since Sara was bawling too hard to translate, the
men fell into pantomime. One of the directors made a drinking sign,
the universal gesture of tossing one back, and Baat nodded
ruefully.

Jesus Christ.
He’d been drinking.
Baat
had taken Sara fifty feet in the air and performed with her while
he was
inebriated
.

Jason didn’t think. He let go of Sara and
lunged at Baat, tackling him to the painted safety mat. The man’s
breath blew in his face, saturated with alcohol. This cushy surface
was bullshit. Jason wanted Baat to hurt.

“You could have killed her,” he yelled,
throwing him off the mat and onto the floor. “What the fuck is
wrong with you?” He ducked as Baat threw a fist, then they were
rolling across the stage, grappling, punching each other. Jason
didn’t feel anything, didn’t think anything, just pummeled Baat
with the metal taste of adrenaline in his mouth. Baat snarled in
Mongolian, his diatribe rising over panicked shouts and screams.
Jason didn’t care what Baat had to say. All he cared was that Baat
had gone up on the trapeze with Sara while he was full-on drunk,
and almost dropped her on her head.