The Girl with Two Faces Read online

  ***

  I got some looks on entering Marie’s room and explained with one of the most often told lies in the English language after “I’m sorry.” And “I love you.”

  “I got lost.”

  ***

  That night, I composed two letters. One for Luka and the other kids, and one for Everhart. I went through my things on the pretense of organizing. Packing things away into my single piece of luggage, a red suitcase trimmed in brushed steel. I’d put my name on it with a paper label just under the handle. I tucked it under my bunk.

  The next day I spent saying silent goodbyes. I would miss Luka and Marie and the other kids. But some things were more important. I knew they would understand.

  I felt distracted during the show, but I gave it my all. After all, it was Eva’s last show.

  I barely slept that night, and when morning came I was up before everyone to leave the note for Luka, dress and finished up packing. I stopped by the costume trailer for the mask and headed to Everhart’s trailer. I’d expected him to be asleep, but he wasn’t. He sat on the steps of the wooden gypsy caravan, out of costume in brown slacks and a grey sweater. He looked shorter without his top hat and his hair stuck out all over.

  He sipped a mug of something steaming, it smelled like coffee. He didn’t look particularly surprised to see me. “Leaving us?”

  “I got a better offer.”

  “Of course. Rouvelle enjoys poaching. Be sure you keep up to their level. They’ll drop someone who doesn’t perform to par.”

  “Speaking from experience?” I snapped. “I won’t become some washed-out acrobat who’s so bitter he scares off half his talent. I will be better than you ever were.”

  And there it was. My father abandoned me to live with a sadist before I was even born to pursue his damn dreams and he didn’t even last a season. I would do better. I would beat the king of the high wire. I would be the star.

  He laughed, “I suppose you think you know everything about me, don’t you? You’re just a silly little girl who wasn’t even born when I quit the tightrope.”

  “I wasn’t born yet for a lot of things you did,” I snarled. “You’re very good at quitting, aren’t you? Quit the tightrope, quit your family. Quit before your child was even born.”

  “How did you—”

  “My cab is waiting.”

  Before my mouth could betray me further, I ran. I ran to the waiting black taxi and climbed in. It didn’t matter anyway. He would never make up for leaving me with her. He could never be a father. He was just a bitter man who used to be a star.

  ***

  I left Chicago with Rouvelle. I still shared space, but it was just one other girl, around my own age even. A trapeze artist called Susanna. She was sixteen, breasty and drew in a crowd with her pretty face. I resented that a little, but tried to hide it.

  I wasn’t here to make friends.

  Preparations for my big debut came together and practice took me to levels of exhaustion I’d never seen. My trainer, Joseph, expected a lot more of me than Bess ever had. I was going to be the best. My new act would include fire juggling, and a secondary line.

  The net was bigger, to account for the two lines. The newest parts of the act were the ribbons. Two lengths of fabric I would climb up to reach the lines. It required more upper body strength than I was used to, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

  There were risks, juggling fire, but it would prove I was the best, the most daring high wire act in the world. No one had done this before. I would make history. I would be a star. I would burn brighter than he ever had. I still had a bit of time before New York, and I was going to use all of it.

  “Use your stomach muscles, Eva! You have to be able to wrap the ribbon around you to make the climb and get loose!” Joseph—my new trainer—shouted from below me as I got tangled in the ribbon on the way to the second line.

  It was just a trial run, this practice, and as I wiped sweat from my face, I wished we could practice this with the fire too. But that was too expensive. I twisted my legs up and managed to free my middle of the ribbon, pulling up and alighting onto the second line.

  The net was so far down…I didn’t want to die in a fall, but that did seem to be the destiny of us all. You fell, it happened. I couldn’t let that scare me. I would have dress rehearsal soon, a chance to wear the mask again. I itched to wear it even now. The mask would help me focus. I would complete my act perfectly so long as I had it on.

  “That’s better, Eva! Jump on down and we’ll try it again!”

  I gave thumbs-up in acknowledgement—I didn’t have breath to spare for shouting, and took a dive into the net.

  ***

  The dress rehearsal went perfectly. The tickets had sold out. The seats were filling and I sat at the mirror, staring at the mask over my face. I felt calm. I felt ready. It was finally my time to shine.

  ***

  The Ringmaster’s voice rang out over the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages. It is Rouvelle’s pleasure to present the most daring tightrope act in these United States. The Sultana of fire and blade, hailing far from our shores; Zora and her walk of death!”

  My costume reflected this new persona. My pants bagged at the ankle and my shoes were pointed. My fiery red hair was explained on the posters and any skin was covered in dark make-up. The spotlight marked me and I waved at the excited fans in regal fashion. I waited for silence before starting the climb up the ribbon to the first line.

  A few tricks caught their imagination, hanging upside down and spinning around the ribbon with a twist of muscles. First and foremost was showmanship. I made it to that first line and slid onto it with a handstand that turned into a slow cartwheel. At the center of the line, a stage hand started tossing me the torches, and as I had in practice, I managed them beautifully.

  With a bit of devil-may-care, I dropped the torches and jumped for the second ribbon near the end of the first line. This was the chanciest part of the act by far. I really did not want to miss.

  And I didn’t. The fabric was slick in my hands, but I managed to lift my legs up and wrap the fabric around them. As I started up it, I looked down at the crowd to swing, arms free of the ribbon and just my legs to hold me.

  I knew it was impossible to see anyone in particular from this height, in this light, but I swore I saw Everhart and his top hat. I shook my head and pulled myself up to the second line.

  My transfer to this line wasn’t nearly as smooth, to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. The same hand was ready to start tossing me knives, but then, I looked down again. I thought then that I saw Luka, and Marie and Mick and Jake but—

  “Evelyn!” Someone, someone called my name. It reminded me of Everhart without the bitterness.

  I shook my head and took the first knife to start the second part of the act.

  “Evelyn!”

  It was my name. No one had used it in so long…

  But it was Zora now, what did it matter?

  Except it did matter.

  As I made to catch the second knife, I paused to let if fall. What was I doing? I didn’t even like the tightrope. Why was I doing this? I felt suffocated. It was like the mask was smothering me, trying to get inside me.

  I tried to scream but I couldn’t. My limbs moved on their own, jerky at first—as if on strings. But then with all the grace I possessed. I closed my eyes, but the mask didn’t need my eyes. It only needed my body. Weeks, months of thoughts came back to me. When had I ever wanted the spotlight? All I wanted, all I ever wanted was for him to see me. For him to know me.

  The mask clung tighter and as the knives alighted from my fingers with a deftness I didn’t remember having, I tried to shake it loose. The sweat from the heat of the lamps loosened it , but it would not come free. I had one chance.

  I had to fall. I had to break the mask.

  It took everything I had, but I managed the misstep.

  But my hands found the ribbon. Mask or reflex, I co
uldn’t be sure.

  The lights were so bright, so white. Behind my eyes…it was like a dream I entered. A white room full of the echoes of applause. In that room the mask was gone, but there was another girl there. Her hair was long, red and flowing down her back. She turned, and I caught horror behind my lips. Her face was the mask. She wasn’t wearing it; it was a part of her.

  “What’s wrong, Eva? Don’t you want to be star?” Her voice, it was the same nasty little voice that yelled at Marie. The same voice I heard over and over again in my head. Telling me to push higher, go further.

  “Not like this…I don’t want this. I want to go back. I had a family, friends. Now what do I have?”

  She laughed, “You have me. What else do you need? With me, you’ll be a star. You will shine brighter than any performer ever has.” She stalked towards me, placing cold hands on either side of my face. “You don’t need a family. You don’t need anyone but yourself, and me.”

  “That’s not true,” I shook my head, backing away from her. “I want to go home! I don’t want this!”

  “If I let you go, you’ll fall—and you’ll die. I guarantee it.”

  “I don’t care. I won’t live like this.”

  The smile turned into a snarl. “I will not let you throw away everything we’ve worked for!”

  “I will not be your puppet!”

  “Then die.”

  ***

  I was falling, hands, arms, legs…nothing would respond to me. Someone shouted, but I couldn’t see anything but the light. But out of the light swept a blue blur that grabbed hold of me and swung me to the safety of the net. They supported me in a bow after helping me out of the net to be bustled into a dressing room—I think it was mine.

  The vision through the mask was shrinking. It was getting harder to breath.

  “It’s the mask,” Luka’s voice came from my left.

  “It won’t come off!” I managed to cry, staggering away to my dressing table. I could see the mask girl laughing in the reflection of the mirror. I collapsed into the chair and managed to move my arms up to unknot the ribbons. Even with the ribbons undone and hanging free, the mask was stuck tight.

  “We’ll have to break it, John,” Luka said.

  “Without hurting Eva?”

  “I can try.”

  That wouldn’t work. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. But before I could protest—I’d never been hit so hard in my life. But it didn’t hurt—at least my face didn’t hurt. My back hurt where it slammed into the edge of the counter.

  I shook my head, reaching up, nails digging at the edge of the mask. It hurt, but I managed to get my fingers under it.

  I could hear the mask girl screaming in my head. I could hear her…but I didn’t care. She wasn’t going to control my life. Not anymore.

  With a tearing pop, the mask came off in my hands, and I threw it from me. It struck a metal tent pole, breaking in two. The mask screamed once, and then no more. I turned around, slumping over the counter, head in my arms. I started to cry, I couldn’t help it.

  Someone placed an arm around my shoulders. I looked up, into Everhart’s eyes.

  “Evelyn.”

  “Hi.”

  “I am so sorry…I’m going to make it all up to you. I promise.” He kissed my forehead, wiping tears away. “Okay?”

  “Okay…can we go home now?”

  He nodded; taking the blanket Luka was holding out and wrapping me in it. Luka collected the mask fragments and put them in his pocket.

  “Ready?” Everhart—my father, asked Luka.

  The strongman nodded. “Yes. Let’s go before someone comes to investigate.”

  My father picked me up with the same ease Luka had done that night in the rain—but then, it was my father that saved me up on the tightrope. He was wearing blue.

  As we left Rouvelle’s behind, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for catching me.”

  He smiled, the first time I could remember him smiling. “That’s what fathers are for.”

  I buried my head in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt warm. I felt—free.

  ***

  “Evelyn, you’re up next!”

  I gave a quick thumbs up to Luka, who had popped into my dressing room, putting the finished touches on my makeup and standing up. The purple heart on my face looked good with my hair.

  I hurried out of the dressing room and into the ring. I climbed the ladder—pleased with my costume change and its lack of tutu to snag on the ladder—and stopped on the uppermost platform.

  I’d never shared it before, and Mrs. Viglio wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders, “You ready?”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  It was time to fly. Mick was ready in the trap to catch me when I did, his strong arms locking onto mine. The trapeze was about trust.

  And it was so much fun.

  ***

  At the end of the show, we took our bows, and I could feel the energy of the place. It was different. The whole circus was different. Everyone was happier—I was happier. And Everhart, he smiled at the crowd as we said our goodbyes. He’d bought a new top hat—a black one this time.

  When the crowds were gone and the circus went about its preparations for dinner and sleep, I stood in the empty parking area, staring back at the lights of the circus as they started to wink out. The Ferris wheel stopped turning and its lights shut down as well. But then, the trailer lights started to turn on—one trailer at a time.

  “Evelyn! Dinner!” Everhart—Dad—shouted from our trailer.

  “Coming!”

  The lot was empty and strewn with wrappers and popcorn bags. Ticket stubs and bits of candy fluff. It would be cleaned up tomorrow morning though. I eyed the big top and smiled. There, a fabric banner advertising the Viglio’s was waving in the wind.

  The Flying Viglios! Starring the daring Maryanne Viglio and her sons Mick and Richard. Featuring Evelyn Everhart.

  It wasn’t top billing, but I didn’t care about that any more. My dad and I were together, and he was really making up for lost time. I kicked a bit of trash out of my way, an old flyer for Rouvelle, it looked like, and hurried to the trailer.

  Dinner smelled great.

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