Roman Circus

Excerpt

Prologue

Monday, I dashed out of my apartment wrapped in a towel after my shower to get the newspaper. My cat, Cat, closed the door, locking me out. I was late for work.

Tuesday, my office computer crashed. Unfortunately, I had neglected to back up my work for a while—I think it was a year. My boss was not happy.

Wednesday, the Number Ten bus flattened Cat. After corpse retrieval and burial arrangements, I arrived late for work.

Thursday, my car died. I had to take the Number Ten with all its horrid memories. I was late for work.
Friday, I got fired.

Saturday, Eric, my boyfriend of two years, broke up with me after he decided he still loved his college sweetheart, Bruce.

Sunday I picked up the classified section of the newspaper and saw this ad:

Life treating you badly? Ready for a change?
Run away with us. Come join the circus.

So I did.

Chapter One

Monday morning my fingers were slick on the phone and the breakfast coffee gurgled in my stomach. I had to dial three times before the call went through. I took a deep, calming breath and listened to the phone ring. I was either embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, or I'd wind up as a bag lady—maybe both.

"Hello." The voice was gravely, deep and very masculine. My creative mind conjured up the image of a tall, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes, dressed in a red ring master's coat, carrying a whip. A butterfly of excitement fluttered in my chest.

"Yes, my name is . . . ."

"Hold on, hold on, the friggin' phone's ringing off the hook."

The line went dead and calliope music filled my ear. Before I could identify the melody, he spoke.

"Yeah, okay, what?"

"Uh, the ad in Sunday's paper, I'm applying for the . . . ."

"You're applying for the job, yeah, yeah. How much do you weigh?"

"Ah . . . ." The words stuck in my throat. How on earth did he know I was on a diet?

"Come on, come on; don't be shy, how much? I gotta tell you, if you're one of them skinny women under three-hundred and fifty pounds, we can't use you."

"Three . . . ." Sweat dotted my forehead and I automatically reached out to stroke Cat until I remembered. I wiped my hand on the nubby fabric of the couch instead. "The ad I read didn't say anything about being, f—Ah, heavy."

I heard the rustling of paper and the man let loose with a string of very creative curse words, some of which I'd never heard before.

"Sorry, I forgot we got two ads running: one for an advance publicity person and one for a fat lady."

Publicity? My mind took a short vacation while he babbled on. Publicity for a circus, how hard could that be? I could give up my apartment, travel to all kinds of exotic locales, buy a new car, and meet the man of my dreams. The rusty voice intruded on my fantasy.

"Friggin' phone's been ringing off the hook, but you're the first one for the advance job. Didn't realize there were so many porkers in the world. Can you come in for a meeting today? We borrowed an office to do the interviewing, one on the first floor with wide doorways, if you get my drift." His rusty laugh sounded like pebbles in a tin can. "I can't friggin' think straight here." More rustling of paper and he rattled off an address in downtown San Diego. "Can you be here at one o'clock?"

"Yes, of course." I couldn't find anything to write on so I scribbled the address in the coffee table dust.

"What's your handle?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry, professional habit. Name, what's your name?"

"Harmony Jane Jones."

He was quiet for so long, I thought he'd hung up.

"Are you shitting me?"

"No, unfortunately I'm not." I silently cursed my parents for my weird name, again.

"Okay, kiddo. I'll see you at one."

"Wait! What's your name? How will I know you?" But already dead air filled my ear. Well, he sounded very tall, and with that deep masculine voice, probably handsome. My nerves jangled at the thought of meeting the man.

I used the rest of the morning to take a bath, paint my nails a ladylike pale coral, do hair, makeup and then took an hour to pick out the perfect outfit. That posed a problem. Just what did one wear to impress the owner of a circus? Pale white make up? Big red shoes? I needed help, but all my friends were working and I hadn't yet told my mother about my temporary unemployment situation. She'd had to bail me out of too many sticky situations, so I wanted to try and find a job and save her the worry. I finally settled on a classy periwinkle Donna Karan suit I'd picked up at Nordstrom's Rack two years ago.

The trolley took me to within a block of the office building and got me there fifteen minutes early.

I found the place with no trouble, pulled back my shoulders, slapped a smile on my face and marched into the office. The outer lobby was empty, so I poked my head into the only open doorway.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

"Take a seat, I dropped my friggin' pencil. Ah, here it is." A head popped up from behind the desk, but not too far. The man's chin was even with the desktop. Bushy eyebrows squatted above eyes the color of soot. He had a fat cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth and a pencil stuck behind his ear. The cigar smelled like burning tires. My eyes started to tear and I only hoped my black mascara wouldn't run.

"Well, you certainly ain't the fat lady so you must be Tranquility." With a whoosh he plopped into the swivel chair behind the desk and I realized he wasn't going to get any taller. He was a dwarf, midget, sheesh, what was the politically correct term anyhow? Oh, right, little person. Well, this was a circus, after all.

"Actually it's Harmony, Harmony Jones."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He twisted his head to look up at me. "You're a big one, ain't ya? Take a seat, sweetie and let's palaver."

"I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."

"That's 'cause I didn't throw it." His cackle pounded against my eardrums. "The name's Zander."

"Is Zander your last name or your first name?"

"Yes." The corners of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin and he wiggled his big ears at me. I decided to ignore him and stop his fun right away.

I wobbled across the room on my four-inch heels and sat in the leather chair opposite him. It made a farting noise when I landed. I hid my embarrassment by pawing through my purse and pulling out my resume.

"Now, Zander, as you can see . . . ."

He waved away my resume with short, stubby fingers. "Don't matter. You're a good-looking gal, seem smart enough, so if you want it, the job is yours."

Alarm bells clanked in my head. This was too easy, way too easy. I opened my mouth to decline then I remembered I had to pay my rent by the end of the week, my car payment, insurance, credit card and cell phone bills were sitting unopened on my desk. Before I had a chance to ask questions, Zander mentioned the salary and hooked me.