Freakshow Page 2

  I wanted to close the page and pretend I’d never seen the employment ad, but something compelled me to stay. I had always tried so hard to be normal, to find normal work, why not take a chance and dive into the world of Freaks? I read the details of their request; they were looking for everything from concession workers to security...to performers.

  As much as I wanted to earn more money for performing, there was no way in hell I’d ever get out in front of a crowd and dance around or whatever the fuck they did.

  Besides, my freak was a little more hidden than the rest. To the naked eye, I appeared almost normal, which is why I could usually camouflage myself long enough to work in a respectable job.

  This time it seemed it was the bad economy, not my condition that was getting in the way of me being hired. Not to mention my general malaise and overall lack of enthusiasm when filling out applications. Somehow it seemed to translate over the internet and scare potential employers away from me.

  I half considered begging for my old job at the paper company back, but just couldn’t stomach the disgusted looks on everyone’s faces when they looked at me and saw dripping blood. If only I had paid more attention washing the dishes in the break room and hadn’t sliced my arm open on a broken glass, I might still be working and still convincing myself I was in love with Jason.

  Would that have really been the better option?

  Fuck it. I decided to submit the world’s sketchiest application, just to fulfill my recent commitment to apply for every legitimate job I came across. I didn’t even know if I’d spelled my own name correctly on the application, I’d been in such a hurry to get it over with. I might have just applied as Liv Yark instead of York, but hey, it was a submission.

  After sending off a couple more, one for a Wal Mart greeter out in Coquitlam, and one for a golf ball collector at a driving range down the road from me, I flipped the laptop shut and looked around my tiny bachelor apartment.

  I started to calculate the shit I could sell in order to make the rent next month. Sadly I didn’t have much, nothing more than a couple hundred bucks if folks were being generous.

  Even my laptop was an old, clunky thing that still ran on a ten year old operating system. My phone was nice, I’d splurged on the latest iPhone when it had come out, but I needed a phone number for employers to contact me.

  I fished around my loose change jar and came up with a couple bucks and decided to go crazy, maybe buy a small coffee and a medium cone at McDonalds.

  Right? Crazy, out of control, somebody break out the shopping police.

  I walked the fifteen blocks to McDonalds, had my treat and wandered around the shopping mall watching people richer than me spend money I would never have on shit I would never want.

  I was chilling out in front of a fountain that displayed repeating coloured patterns of water when my phone buzzed.

  It was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

  Can you come in tomorrow at nine? We’re setting up next to BC Place.

  I was thrilled to finally get a bite on a resume, but could not place the number for the life of me. I wrote back, Sorry?

  Is this Olivia Yark? This is Eloise from the Cirque. You just submitted an application.

  Oh shit, I had spelled my own name wrong. But they must be desperate. That could work in my favour. If they were in Vancouver for more than a couple weeks, I could use them for a paycheque to bridge the gap between this and a real job.

  Sure thing, I’ll be there at nine.

  Come to the ticket tent, the red and blue striped one. Ask for Orion.

  Will do, thanks.

  I slid the phone back in my bra and felt a small buzz of excitement. After all the resumes I’d sent out, I finally had a reply. I might just be able to afford to live after all.

  *****

  I walked the short distance from the SkyTrain station to the tents set up under the viaducts near BC Place Stadium. I’d always loved this area, it was a former industrial space getting crowded with overpriced high-rise apartments and specialty food markets. But it still had a feral feel to it, with impromptu skate parks and graffiti everywhere you looked.

  My knee-high army boots clicked on the sidewalk and I had my hands shoved deep into my thrift store Edward Scissorhands hoodie. As I didn’t really want this job, I’d said fuck it on my wardrobe choice. They’d hire me or they wouldn’t, and given the nature of the organization, it probably didn’t mean shit to them if I dressed a little outside the corporate box.

  I had to admit, I was feeling pretty desperate though. Maybe that’s why I was in such a fuck it all state of mind. I’d spent the morning going over student loan applications and trying to decide if university would be a good stand in for full time employment.

  I was a little miserable at the moment, the rain matching my shitty mood. I’d scanned the entire University of British Columbia course catalogue and found zilch that seemed interesting.

  In short, I guess I didn’t know what I was going to be when I grew up, and apparently I was already grown up.

  I sniffled and wiped my nose on the back of my arm, catching a look of disgust from a dog walker with ten or so purse dogs yapping on leashes strung onto her arms.

  I stopped at the crosswalk and waited for the light to change. I turned back and saw the dog walker scoop up a mound of shit in a little plastic bag and shove it into her pocket.

  I shot her a look of disgust to match my own, but the dog walker thrust out her chin and kept moving.

  Great, dissed by a shit scooper. I must really look like I rolled out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Or the cardboard box, they might think I’m homeless given my current attire.

  I walked to the ticket booth and was greeted by a huge man stuffed into a striped suit with a black top hat. His face was painted white and he had old school sad clown make up, very subtle but still leaning a little more to the terrifying than the cheerful.

  Sad, murderous clown perhaps?

  “Hey,” I said and he put down his paper to look at me. “I’m here to see Orion about a job.”

  The clown looked me up and down, might have found me lacking as his expression didn’t change. He said, “All the showgirl positions have been filled, sorry.”

  “I didn’t apply for a showgirl, I want concession or tickets.”

  “Okay then you might be in luck. I think our ticket girl ran off with her loser boyfriend last night. She didn’t come in for her shift this morning which is why you have me. Why don’t I take you to see the big boss?” He smiled and stepped out of the booth.

  “Sounds good,” I replied and wondered what the probability was that I’d be taken behind a tent and slaughtered by murderous sad clown dude.

  Probably fairly high, but I guess wasn’t in any state to argue. Besides, who would miss me? Becs would move in with Jason and they’d never say my name aloud again.

  Fuck them both in their goat eyes. I decided I was going with Captain Murdery.

  He turned out to not be so much murdery as super friendly. His name was Carl, he and his life partner Dave worked for the Cirque...that’s what he called it, so score one for me already knowing an inside term. They’d been with the travelling company for over ten years. His partner worked in administration, payroll or something.

  He bought me a tall mocha latte at the concession stand on the way to meet Orion. Who knew? They had a concession coffee bar that rivaled Starbucks. This was nothing like the fly by night carnivals that used to grace my hometown’s rodeo grounds once a year back in the day.

  This was a professional organization, and the cleanliness, the expensive equipment, and the obvious care that went into setting up the Cirque impressed me.

  “So tell me all about yourself,” Carl said as they waited for Orion to show up, “I mean, obviously your life must be rocky if you want to sign up and run away with the circus.”

  “It’s fairly shitty, but it’s not that bad,” I replied, not wanting to divulge too much to this man wh
om I’d just met. I didn’t want him letting them know about my plan to work for a few weeks, then quit when the circus packed up to leave.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll settle in fine around here,” he said, “we need more normal folk, especially young women.”

  “What do you mean normal?” I asked, a little alarmed as if he could see through my façade and glean how broken I really was.

  “Normal, you know, not part of the Freakshow,” he replied, “it puts people off at the ticket booth. They know they’re coming to see something bizarre, but if the first thing they see is our dog faced boy or the Gimp, they won’t come in the front gate.”

  “I guess, but it seems odd if they’re here to see the freaks, why won’t they interact with them?”

  “It humanizes them, makes them too real. It’s easier to sit in the audience and watch them perform, it makes it feel a little less tragic I suppose.”

  “I suppose,” I agreed and sipped my coffee, pondering his words.

  “Holy fuck, I should have painted this smile a little more upturned at the edges. I’m sorry, I’m not usually such a moody prick, especially this early in the morning.”

  I was about to let him know it was fine when a male voice boomed over my shoulder, “Bullshit, Carl. You’re always moody and you’re mostly a prick!”

  “Ah, Olivia, I’d like you to meet Orion,” Carl said and motioned to the tall, elegant man behind me.

  I smiled shyly and said, “Hi, most people call me Liv.” He held out his hand and I shook it. There was something about him, an immediate vibe that sent my body buzzing.

  He was over six feet, probably in his early forties, but I couldn’t be sure. He had an ageless quality about him, but his black hair was silver at the temples. He had deep, dark eyes and he was wearing form fitting black slacks and a white t-shirt. His body was extremely muscular, but lean and athletic, not bulging. He was an attractive man, but something about him set my nerves on edge, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly.

  “Liv, pleased to make your acquaintance,” Orion said with the slightest hint of a Spanish accent. “Please excuse the less than formal attire, I have been attending our morning staff meeting. We don’t generally dress in costume for those occasions.”

  I glanced and raised my eyebrows at Carl who was in full costume. He caught my look and said, “I was training somebody this morning, full face was required.”

  “I didn’t mean–” I started to say but he cut me off.

  “It’s okay, I know you were wondering why I was in full regalia while dear Orion here is running about the place half dressed. Let me just say that you don’t want to see me half dressed, darling. It’s not a pleasant sight. Orion though, roooowr, am I right?”

  I blushed and glanced at Orion. He was watching me intently, his gaze unreadable. I suddenly felt like a mouse in front of a hawk, like he was ready to pounce. It wasn’t necessarily a sexual sensation, but more that I was a lesser creature in the presence of one who was above and beyond me.

  “Never mind Carl,” Orion said and motioned for me to follow him, “let’s go to my office and we’ll discuss the position.”

  Carl smiled, raised his eyebrows, mouthed the words, “Good luck”, turned and left. I trailed behind Orion, following him to a monstrous RV parked a short walk from the staff concession.

  “Wow, this is really nice,” I said once we were inside. I was a bit in awe at how fancy the place was but tried not to gape. It was nicer than any house or apartment I’d ever lived in. He motioned for me to sit and I settled in at the kitchen table. All I saw were marble countertops, hardwood floors, several doors down a long hallway, leather sofas and a gigantic flat screen TV mounted in the living room.

  “This is my home. I travel with the Cirque ten months of each year. The other two months we’re back in Quebec working on new routines for the following year. I like the comfort,” Orion replied.

  “It’s nicer than anything I’ve ever had,” I laughed and ran my hand along the wooden table. It was teak, or something like it, not that I knew anything wood, but it was definitely better quality than my own shitty pressboard kitchen set back home.

  He smiled back and said, “Okay, let’s go over the position, the pay and what we expect from you.” He pulled a thin file folder from a briefcase he had on the bench next to him. I saw, “Oliva Yark” written in scrawled red felt marker at the top.

  “York,” I blurted and pointed at the file, “it’s actually York.”

  “Oh,” he replied and looked at the folder, “I wonder why they put Yark?”

  Of course I knew why, I’d spelled my own name wrong on the application, but was too embarrassed to say. “It’s a common mistake,” is all I could think of and hoped he’d drop it after he corrected the spelling on the folder.

  He did, and we spent fifteen minutes going over the basics of being a ticket taker at the front of the show.

  It seemed easy enough, paid better than my last job and came with perks, like free entry to the Cirque, staff housing, and a ten-dollar daily voucher for the employee cafeteria. I was sold the moment he mentioned free food.

  When we shook on it, and I agreed to come in the next day for training, he looked me right in the eye with his intense, penetrating gaze and said, “Now promise me you’re not planning on leaving the moment we’re done in this town.”

  I felt my face go red hot as if his gaze could seek out the lie I was telling. But I managed to stammer my reply, “Of course not. I plan on staying with the Cirque as long as you’ll have me.”

  “Good girl,” he said and looked me up and down, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I felt like I’d just accomplished something, getting his approval like that. Good girl, like I was a fucking dog. He smiled at me and I felt stupid for taking offense. He probably didn’t mean anything by it.

  And yet I couldn’t help thinking that he was a dangerous man, one I should probably avoid once I started work tomorrow.

  But who was I kidding, I loved risk and walking on the wild side. I’d probably seek him out, as surely as my name was Olivia Yark.

  I smiled to myself at my joke and hopped on the Skytrain home, suddenly aware of the fact that I had something to look forward to for the first time in weeks. Months even.

  I just wished I had somebody to share it with.

  Chapter Two

  “Leave your purse in your locker and pick one of the red jackets that will fit you,” Joanna told me and pointed to a closet of identical red suit jackets with long tails, Ringmaster style but sequined along the lapels.

  Joanna was babysitting me, showing me the ropes until I could handle taking cash and selling tickets at the front.

  Joanna was in her mid-twenties, give or take a couple years, had thick blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. She also happened to have a very curly, well-groomed beard.

  I had tried to avoid looking at it when we’d first met, but Joanna had immediately addressed it, gotten it off the table.

  “I have a beard, get over it,” Joanna had said, “look now, touch it, ask questions, but then let it go, okay?”

  “Okay,” I’d said, touched it lightly and decided to stop thinking about it. This proved more difficult than one might assume, but I was doing a fairly good job at hiding it.

  “Should I try one on now?” I asked and stepped towards the closet.

  “It doesn’t matter to me, there are always a bunch of jackets, there will always be something for you to wear.”

  I decided to forgo dressing up and followed Joanna to the staff concession.

  “Your meal voucher is on file, just swipe the employee card the guys in security will give you. If you don’t use up your ten dollars each day, you can roll it over to the next day. If you don’t use it by the end of the month, you lose it. Understand?”

  I tried not to stare at all the employees milling about, getting food, eating it, chit chatting like there was absolutely nothing wrong with them. I realized several of them
were staring at me as well, grouped together and whispering.

  “Understood,” I said, and forced myself to make eye contact and smile at a young man with a gigantic forehead. I assumed he had a form of Macrocephaly. I’d met a girl with it back in the day when my entire life was a revolving door of children’s hospitals and charity fundraising drives.

  “Listen,” Joanna hissed, “you’ll eventually get used to us Freaks, but until then, just keep your eyes to yourself, okay? We are the bread and butter of the entire show, without us you wouldn’t have a job. So nothing but absolute respect, one hundred percent of the time.”

  “Understood,” I repeated and looked over Joanna’s shoulder to find something, anything, to lock my gaze on.

  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted what might be the most incredible looking man I’d ever seen. I snuck a direct gaze and wasn’t disappointed. He was tall, leanly muscled with a confident ease about his posture that immediately drew me to him. I loved asshole men, and he looked like the supreme, with the cocky tilt to his head, and his easy, arrogant smile as he flirted with the girl behind the counter. He turned to me, as if feeling the weight of my gaze, and smiled.

  I was lost for a brief moment, unsettled by the strange attraction I felt. His eyes were dark and endless, his thick, black hair pulled back in a knot on the top of his head, and his arms were covered in intricate, colourful tattoos. He had a hungry, wolfish look to him.

  He also had a smirk on his face, as though he knew my secret thoughts and could feel the lustful heat radiating from my body. I glanced back to Joanna and winced at the other girl’s look of disgust.

  “Seriously? I tell you not to look at the Freaks, and you pick the boss’s son?”

  “Who is he?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

  “Cairo,” Joanna said, “Orion’s only son. Cirque royalty.” Her tone suggested I was an idiot, an outsider who would never be privy to the inner workings of life in the show. She was right; I didn’t care who he was, or who his father was, or anything about him. I just knew he was the hottest man I’d ever seen, and he’d smiled at me.