Fly With Fire (3 page)

The
music reaches a crescendo as the swing lowers once more into Hell. The
audience, silent, remains transfixed as all goes quiet and dark. The lights
come up. The audience roars.

“Intermission. A bright spotlight follows as Trollie,
a red and black faced demon, pedals his unicycle across a cable. Bursts of
flame shoot up at his bottom as he stops and starts occasionally jabbing a
trident at the flames in frustration. As soon as he has subdued one flame
another blasts against his bottom.  The audience laughs.

“You are sooo beautiful my queen of Hell. Come to my
room tonight. I’ll make you burn!” Claude grazed his fingertips down the side
of Mo’s skin tight leotard. She looked at him through lowered lids. The show
had been a phenomenal success. Nothing, almost nothing could dampen Mo’s mood.
Except Claude’s idiocy.

“I’m sorry but I never sleep with someone who’s broken
up with me before I even knew we were going together. I don’t believe in the
triumph of hope over experience and all that…crap. Let’s take our last bow and
get out of this hell.” He took her hand and after kissing it with a look that
said he knew better, raised it high. They bowed while roses and other tokens
landed on the stage. They spread their hands to include the other performers in
the applause. The crowd cheers and applauds over and over. Finally they are
able to make their exits.

“Mo,
Mo! Here.” Misha had gathered an armload of roses from the stage. He held them
out to her. He looked down shyly.

“Thank
you, Misha, that’s very thoughtful.” She took the roses and pressed her face
against them. She gave him a smile and turned for the dressing room.

“So
you play with Misha now. And you accuse me?” Claude’s normally jovial face had
taken on a stern air. His blue eyes were hot with jealousy.

“You’ve
been ridiculous enough for one day, Claude. You didn’t find me half dead from
suffocation on his chest. Let’s just let it go. It’s a dead end.”

She
turned away and was startled when he grabbed her arm. “No woman walks away from
me”.

“Wanna
bet?” She jerked her arm away. He reached toward her but was interrupted by
Roddy. He gave Claude a sharp look.

“Bellisimo!
Bellisimo! My beautiful Queen of Hades! Excellent! Great job, Claude.” But his
friendly tone didn’t match the stern warning in his eyes as he looked at the
Frenchman.

“Wonderful
performance, Monica,” Luciana put in without warmth. “Claude, your role is
almost as important,” she gave him a smile like a cat toying with a mouse. He
gave her a look Rodrigo took no notice of but Mo would have described as
lethal.

“Wonderful
show my lovelies. We celebrate tonight with the Mayor. The Mayor of Chicago
will be at the party!” Roddy’s glorious mood is untarnished. He knows Mo can
and prefers to handle herself.

“I
was thinking I might skip the party; long day. I was…” Right away she knew it
was wishful thinking.

“No,
no, no! You no skip party for you. You are the star!” Rodrigo smiled avidly
with a sweep at his comb over. The mayor of Chicago wants to meet you! Not me,
not Luciana! You, the star!”

“Not
even Claude,” contributed his wife.

“Of
course he wants to meet Claude!” Roddy smoothed his mustache with a roll of his
eyes.

“You
can count on me, Roddy. For the good of the company. I will go to change.”
Claude stalked off. Mo noticed Lu’s eyes follow him.

Roddy
congratulated everyone. From stars to riggers he reminded them of their
importance to the success of that night’s show. Luciana smiled graciously
avoiding Mo’s eyes.

“You
go get ready, Mo. The Mayor await your entrance.” Roddy offered Luciana his
arm. Lu gave Mo a once over, her lips twisted with annoyance.

The
bustle continued as performers shed their garb and their makeup. Mo took a long
hot shower scrubbing the heavy makeup and the glitter off her face. With a
towel around her head, she donned a terry bathrobe. It felt good to be clean
and cool again. The lights in the arena were hot, the tension hotter, “Just add
fire,” she said to herself. She rubbed moisturizer on her skin, essential after
the scubbing her skin had needed. She saw the sparkle of glitter in her hair.
There was always some no matter how much you rinsed. At least one sparkle in
her hair, on a lash, on her chest. She was rubbing her hair with the towel and eyeing
how dry Ling’s hair was. Mo’s dryer had arrived broken so she waited to borrow
the contortionists’.

“You
know, I just don’t like the way it transitions. When I come back out to hell I
have to do that quick change. The intermission doesn’t work. We need to rework
this. Roddy agrees but home office says do the intermission. Claude is becoming
a pain in the ass.” Mo frowned into the mirror.

“Well,
you’re the Queen of Hell. Your hero is the Devil. What do you expect? Besides,
front office ought to know by now that they need to leave those decisions to
Roddy and the production designers, with Roddy being the final word. But they
just don’t get it.” Ling was bent over so her short hair hung down from the top
of her head and waved the dryer over it, shouting to hear herself. “It’s been
so successful so fast they all think they’re geniuses up there. Where would
they be without Roddy?” She bounced up and looked at Mo with disgust. “God, we
need to lose the lion sniffing me. It’s creepy.”

“Takes
one to know one, Ling. A genius, not a creep.” Mo talked loud over the dryer.
Deb smoked a cigarette illegally while Mo frowned at her in annoyance. “But
your work was perfect, Ling. You must have great empathy with snakes. I just
don’t think it flows. This new production designer needs to work the bugs out.
New show. Always stuff. I just wish we’d worked it in a smaller venue first.
Are you almost done?”

“Sorry
Mo, Deb’s next. You’re after her. I’m going downtown Monday, wanna go?”

 “I
don’t…”

    “It’s
Chicago, Mo. They have hairdryers and everything. They also have about a
million single men.” Ling handed the dryer to Deb and ran gel through her short
hair to spike it up.

“Even
though there’s not a show Monday, you know Rodrigo likes to practice every day.
A million?” Mo rubbed an ankle.

“Don’t
blame Roddy. You’re the one who doesn’t know what to do if you’re not in the
air. A million single men, Mo. A statistical fact.” Mo smiled at how often Ling
created statistics out of thin air to suit her purposes. “The greater area,
anyway. Let’s go. I’m sick of hotel rooms and I wanna have some fun while I’m
here.” Ling ran black liner around her delicate black eyes so they became the
eyes of a gothic vixen. Which in fact she had tattooed on the pulse point of
her neck. “Gothic Vixen.” Mo laughed at the incongruity. Ling for all her devil
may care bluster was as sweet as they came. Her gothic alter ego a put on. Not
that she couldn’t party when the stage lights went off.

“You
want to have fun where ever you are. Don’t you wear enough of that for the
show?” She asked Ling who just stuck out her tongue and hissed. “

“So,
you and Claude done?” Ling assessed her makeup.

“Yeah,
show’s over.” Mo waited patiently while Deb blew the dryer at her curls. “It
was just a couple dates, Ling.” This she said a little defensively at Ling’s
probing gaze. “You thinking on Claude?”

“No.
I did ‘im the first week I was with the show. He’s a player and nothing wrong
with that but even I try not to mix sex and work. Mostly. But you should have
at least done ‘im. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun ya know. I’ll
see you at the party. Hurry it up, Deb, for Chrissakes!”

 Mo
finally got the dryer and took her time with it since she was the last in line.
She swept her thick, raven hair into a side ponytail while everyone shimmied
into their various evening dresses, leather pants or minis and wandered out. Mo
just wanted to go to her hotel room and get a good night’s sleep.  “An
hour, I will stay one hour,” she promised her reflection, slipping into a mid
thigh BeBe silk dress. The turquoise blue complimented her clear, pale skin,
the fitted bodice her athletic body. She brushed mineral makeup on her face,
added a dab of mascara and considered the job done.

As
an afterthought she decided on a deep red lipstick. It was a party after all.
 “Karen would be proud of me.” She slipped into her new beaded kitten
heels and grabbed her clutch. It was almost eleven. The hall was dim and quiet.
She heard the noises of the cleaning crew in the auditorium. It took a moment
for her to orient herself towards the back exit. Her heels clicked on the
concrete walk. Everyone seemed to be gone. Did she miss the last shuttle?
Wasn’t there an exit sign? Wait, was it back there? Did she get left? Shit.
Should she go back to the auditorium?

There
was a sound in the dim light behind her. A door creaked. She thought she heard
a breath sucked in. Fingers crawled up her spine and caught in her throat.
Goosebumps ran along her arms. There was the door. She sighed with relief
feeling foolish. Suddenly a man stepped in front of her. She startled and took
a few steps backward with a squeak.

“Ms.
Whitman, I’m Zack Burnham, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Mr.
Burnham. Oh. What can I… do you have something to write on?”

“Sure.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and presented a tiny tablet and pen.”

“To
Mr. Burnham” She looked at him. She couldn’t see him very well in the dim
light. “Zack.” She wrote briskly. “Ah…’All the best.’ There you go.”

“Car’s
outside.” He grasped her elbow but she pulled away.

“Now
look, Mr. Burnham…”

“Ms.
Whitman, I’m to escort you the restaurant. Mayor’s orders.”

“Escort?
Mayor? Who are you?”

He
flashed a badge. “Detective Zack Burnham, Chicago Police Department.”

    A driver held the door to a
limousine. She nodded and climbed in with what dignity the tightness of her
dress would allow. He settled in beside her with a scan at her left hand. She
wore no ring. Not everyone wore their wedding band. He closed the door. “Good
joke, Mr. Burnham. Big fan, huh?”

“I
did see the show. From the Mayor’s box. Great job but I’m glad the fire
department is ready and waiting.” He could smell a light citrus scent. He
wondered if it emanated from her hair.

“We
thought we’d try to avoid a second ‘Great Chicago Fire’.” Mo fidgeted with her
clutch. Why didn’t someone tell her about the mayor sending a limo? Served her
right if the guy took off with her.

“Well,
this is Greendale. I think Chicago’s pretty safe, being a few miles away.”

“What
are you doing here, Detective? You’re a Chicago cop? Mayor Tyler. I get it.
Well mighty kind but nobody told me. For all I knew you could have been a
kidnapper.”

“In
which case, you’ve made my job pretty easy for me.” His face was in shadows.
The lights of the traffic only gave her a glimpse of a strong chin.

“Is
this a gravy job for you or did you pull latrine duty.”

    “As
latrines go…” His deep voice had a bit of gravel in it. It sent a shiver along
her skin even seconds after he stopped speaking. They pulled into the front of
the hotel. She still hadn’t really gotten a good look at him. He opened the
door and reached in to assist her.  His hand was large and strong. He
loomed over her. Not so frightening now, but she wished she could see his eyes.
The light was behind him. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were. He
offered his arm. The doorman was at the ready. Overdressed people filled the
upscale restaurant and nightclub where the party was being held. He guided her
to the large, elegant room where she breathed a sigh of relief at seeing
familiar faces. There was Roddy, beaming at her and waving her toward himself
and she guessed, the great Mayor of Chicago.

“Momo,
Monica Whitman, meet Mayor Tyler. He loved the show, eh Senor Mayor?” Roddy’s
Chihuahua eyes beamed proudly at Mo.

“Well,
Burnham, you finally got the star to us. And even more beautiful up close. You
had me scared for a moment, Ms. Whitman. Fire is such a dangerous thing to play
with.” Tyler is dapper for a barrel shaped man. His tux cut to flatter his
large frame. He’s probably in his late fifties but his eyes have a mischievous
twinkle that give them a youthful look. Mo can’t help but feel he raids the
cookie jar plenty.

“Detective
Burnham assures me Chicago isn’t the tinderbox it used to be. And we have no
cows in our show.” She kissed Roddy’s cheek while the group laughed. She caught
the detective’s eyes. They were green. Green with golden flecks and she noticed
a darker green rim around the irises. With reddish brown lashes a little thick
in a sharply boned square face. He was maybe early thirties. He had a five
o’clock shadow that only added to the rugged handsomeness. He wasn’t handsome
in the manner of Claude. But he was attractive in a manly rather than a pretty
way. His hair was reddish brown matching the lashes and brows. She noticed his
even white teeth as he chuckled at her joke.

    Mayor
Tyler cut Zack an annoyed look. “Well Burnham, you can wait at the bar. Have
yourself a pop. I don’t think I’m in any danger from Ms. Whitman.”