Kiss an Angel (42 page)

"You've had lots of rough weeks, but you haven't taken them out on me."

"How many ways am I supposed to apologize?"

"This isn't about apologizing. It's about the reasons you keep pushing me away."

"Just give it a rest, all right?"

"I can't do that." The clown act was coming to an end, and she knew this wasn't the time to talk, but

now that she'd gotten started, she couldn't hold back. "We've been on an emotional marry-go-round,

and it's hurting both of us. We have a future together, and we need to talk about it."

She touched his arm, expecting him to pull away, and when he didn't, she found the confidence to go on. "These past few months have been the most wonderful time of my life. You've helped me find out who

I am, and maybe I've helped you do the same thing."

She gently pressed her palms to his chest and felt his heartbeat through the silky fabric. The paper flower tucked between her breasts rustled, and the lash of the whip he carried brushed the side of her hand. "Isn't that what loving is all about? Being better together than we could be apart? We're good for each other." Without any planning, the words she'd held back for so long spilled out.

"And we're going to be good for the baby we're having."

For one small fragment of time everything was fine. And then it all changed.

The tendons in his neck bunched, and his eyes darkened with something that looked like fear. Then his features contorted into

a mask of rage.

She snatched her hands from his chest. Her instincts warned her to run, but she was a lot tougher now, and she held her ground. "Alex, I didn't plan this baby; I don't even know how it happened. But I'm not going to lie to you and tell you I'm sorry."

His pale lips barely moved. "I trusted you."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

The muscles in his throat worked, and his hands clenched at his sides. For a moment she thought he

was going to hit her. "How far along are you?"

"About two and a half months."

"And how long have you known?"

"Maybe a month."

"You've known about this for a month, and you just decided to tell me?"

"I was afraid."

The raucous music of the clowns rose to a crescendo, signaling the end of their act. She and Alex were next. Digger, who was in charge of sending Misha into the arena at the climax, approached to take charge of the horse.

Alex grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the others. "There's not going to be any baby, do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No ... no, I don't understand."

''Tomorrow morning, you and I are taking off for the day. And when we come back, there won't be

any baby."

She stared at him in shock. Her stomach heaved, and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth. The

crowd inside the big top fell silent as Jack Daily began his dramatic introduction of Alexi the Cossack.

"Aaaand now, Quest Brothers Circus is proud to present..."

"You want me to have an abortion?" she whispered.

"Don't look at me like I'm some kind of monster! Don't you dare look at me like that! I told you from

the beginning how I felt about this. I spilled my guts trying to make you understand. But, as usual, you decided you knew best. Even though you don't have a trustworthy bone in your goddamn body, you decided you knew best!"

"Don't talk to me like that."

"I trusted you!" His mouth twisted into a snarl as the first strains of the balalaika drifted into the night,

the cue for his entrance. "I actually believed you were taking those pills, but all the time you were lying

to me."

She shook her head and fought against the bile rising in her throat. "I'm not getting rid of this baby."

"The hell you're not! You'll do what I tell you."

"You don't want this. It's ugly and wicked."

"Not as wicked as what you've done."

"Alex!" one of the clowns hissed. "You're on!"

He snatched the coiled whip from around his shoulder. "I'll never forgive you for this, Daisy. Do you

hear me? Never." Thrusting himself away from her, he disappeared into the big top.

She stood there numbly, gripped by despair so thick and bitter she couldn't breathe. Oh, God, she'd

been such a fool. She'd thought he loved her, but he'd been right all along.

He didn't know how to love. He'd told her he couldn't do it, but she had refused to believe him. And

now she was going to pay the price.

Too late, she remembered what she'd read about the male tiger.
This animal
will have nothing to do with family life. Not only does he play no part in raising
his own cubs, but he may not even recognize them.

Alex was going one step further. He wanted this small speck of life that had already grown so precious

to her destroyed before it could even draw its first breath.

"Wake up, Daisy! That's your cue." Madeline grabbed her and pushed her through the back door into

the big top.

The spotlight hit her. Disoriented, she lifted her arm, trying to shield her eyes.

"... and none of us can fully appreciate the courage it has taken for this sheltered young woman to enter the arena with her husband."

She stumbled forward, moving automatically to the balalaika music, as Jack wove his story of the convent-reared bride and her mighty Cossack. She barely heard. She saw nothing except Alex, her betrayer, standing in the center of the arena.

Specks of crimson glitter clung to the lash that coiled over the tops of his shining black boots, and blue lights flickered in his dark hair, while his eyes had turned the pale gold of a cornered animal's. She stood in her own small spot of light as he began his whip dance. But tonight the dance didn't speak of seduction. It was frenzied and savage, a declaration of rage.

The audience signaled its approval, but as the act progressed, Daisy's part in it wasn't as well received. The instinctive communication she'd always had with the crowd was gone. She didn't even wince when Alex cut the paper tube from her mouth, but performed automatically, her despair so deep she couldn't summon any feeling at all.

The rhythm of their act gradually fell apart. Alex destroyed one of the tubes in two cuts, another in four. He forgot a new bit he'd added with a ribbon streamer, and when he wrapped her wrists with the whip, the audience stirred uneasily. It was as if the tension between the two of them had somehow communicated itself, and what had formerly been an act of seduction now seemed tinged with violence. Instead of a bridegroom trying to win the affections of his wife, the audience felt as if they were watching a dangerously predatory male attack a small and fragile female.

Alex sensed what was happening, and his pride kicked in. He seemed to realize he couldn't afford to wrap the whip around her again without completely alienating the audience, but he also needed one final gesture to bring this part of the act to a close before he signaled Digger to release Misha.

She saw his eyes settle on the crimson tissue paper flower nestled between her breasts and realized he had forgotten it earlier. He signaled what he was going to do with a subtle nod of his head. She faced him numbly, wanting only to have this done with so she could go off by herself and hide from the world.

The music of the balalaika swelled and she found herself looking across the ring into his eyes. If she had not been frozen herself, she might have seen the suffering there, along with a deep, wrenching grief that matched her own.

He drew back his arms and flicked his wrist. The tip of the lash flew at her as it had dozens of times before, except this time she felt as if she were seeing it in slow motion. With a peculiar sense of detachment, she waited for the paper petals to fly, but instead, she felt a searing pain.

All the air was ripped from her lungs. Her body buckled as liquid fire cut across her from shoulder to thigh. The arena began to spin and she started to fall.

Seconds ticked by, and then music erupted, a

loud and happy tune that rang out in bizarre counterpoint to a pain so intense she couldn't breathe.

Strong arms swept her up as the clowns came racing in.

She was conscious, although she didn't want to be, and she heard a prayer that she hadn't spoken

herself. The lively music, the muttering of the crowd, Jack's calming voice, all those things echoed

dimly behind the wall of pain that enveloped her.

"Get away! Get back!"

Alex's voice. Alex carrying her out through the back door. Alex the enemy. The betrayer.

She felt the ground, hard and chill against her back, as he laid her down against the side of the big top. Bending over her, he used his body to block her from the view of the others. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry.

Oh, God, Daisy, I'm so sorry."

Using what remained of her strength, she turned her head away from him so that she was facing the

dusty nylon, only to gasp with pain as his hand brushed the torn fragments of her gown.

Her lips felt dry and so stiff she could barely part them. "Don't. .. touch me."

"I have to help you." His breathing was quick and shallow, his voice reedy.

"I'm going to carry you to

the trailer."

She moaned as he picked her up, hating him for moving her and making it all worse. She found just enough breath to whisper, "I'll never forgive you."

"Yes ... yes, I know."

The scorching trail of fire cut from her shoulder across the inside of her breast, then over her belly to her hip. It burned so fiercely she wasn't conscious of his gentleness as he carried her across the lot and into the trailer where he laid her on their bed.

Once again she turned her head away, biting her lip to hold back her screams as he slowly eased the ruined gown from her body.

"Your breast..." He drew a ragged breath. "There's a welt. It's—the skin isn't broken, but there'll be bruising."

The mattress moved as he left her, only to come back much too soon. "This'll feel cold. It's a compress."

She winced as he laid a wet towel over the seared skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing time to pass.

As the towel warmed from her skin, he removed it and replaced it with a fresh one. Once again, the mattress sagged as he sat next to her. He began to speak, his voice soft and rusty.

"I'm not—I'm not poor like I let you think. I teach, but— I also buy and sell Russian art. And I do consulting work for some of the biggest museums in the country."

Tears leaked through her lids and onto the pillow. As the compresses began to do their work, the pain subsided into a dull, aching throb.

His words were awkward and halting. "I'm considered the leading authority on Russian iconography in the—-in the United States. I have money. Prestige. But I didn't want you to know. I wanted you to think of me as an uneducated roughneck living a hand to mouth existence. I wanted to ... scare you away."

She willed her lips to move. "I don't care."

He spoke rapidly now, as if he had only a short period of time to get everything out. "I have a—a big brick house in the country. In Connecticut, not far from the campus." With a feather-light touch, he replaced the compress with a new one. "It's filled with beautiful art, and there's—I have a barn in the back with a stable for Misha."

"Please leave me alone."

"I don't know why I keep traveling with the circus. Every time I do it, I swear it's the last time, but then

a few years go by and I start getting restless. I might be in Russia or Ukraine, maybe in New York—it doesn't seem to matter— I just know I have to go back on the road. I guess I'll always be more Markov than Romanov."

Now that it no longer mattered, he was telling her everything she'd been begging him for months to

reveal. "I don't want to hear any more."

His hand cupped her waist in an oddly protective gesture. "It was an accident.

You know that, don't

you? You know how sorry I am."

"I want to go to sleep now."

"Daisy, I'm a wealthy man. That night we went to dinner, and you were worried about the bill... There isn't—you don't ever have to worry about money."

"It doesn't matter."

"I know it hurts. It'll be better tomorrow. You'll be bruised and sore, but there won't be any permanent damage." He faltered, as if he realized what a terrible lie he'd just told.

'Please," she said tonelessly. "If you care about me at all, leave me alone."

There was a long silence. Then the mattress moved as he bent forward and brushed her damp eyelids with his lips. "If you need anything, just turn that light on. I'll be watching for it, and I'll come right away."

She waited for him to move. Waited for him to leave so she could shatter into a million pieces.

But he had no mercy. He turned back the top corner of the compress and blew softly, sending a soothing ripple of cooling air across her skin. Something warm and damp fell onto her skin, but she was too numb to even wonder what it was.

He finally rose from the bed, and for several moments the trailer was filled with the familiar sounds he always made when he changed from his costume into his work clothes: the thud of his boots hitting the floor, the faint rustle of sequins as he removed his red sash, the rasp of the zipper on his jeans. An eternity passed before she heard the door close behind him.

* * *

The growl of a tiger met Alex as he left the trailer. He stood outside and gulped the air. The colored lights shone and the pennants snapped, but he was unable to see anything except the obscene red welt that marred her fragile skin. Tears stung his eyes and his lungs burned. What had he done?

He moved blindly across the grass to the tiger" s cage. The performance was still going on inside the top, and the backyard was deserted except for a few of the clowns, who gave him wide berth.

His timing had been off all night. Why hadn't he ended the act right away? He should have signaled Digger to send in Misha and brought the whole thing to a close. But he'd been too caught up in rage. Instead, his pride had demanded he do one more trick to try to redeem the performance. One more trick, as if that would make everything all right again.