5. Colton
COLTON
After Tessa and I finished watching the aerial performance, and my jaw was scraped off the ground, she whisked me away for introductions to the heads of the other departments within Cirque.
A month later and I don’t think I can take in one more piece of new information without my brain just turning itself off completely.
Never in my life did I think I would need to know that there are different types of feather boas. And apparently, if you order the wrong one, people get pissed.
I check in once or twice a week with the different departments for project updates or changes being implemented, including the seamstresses, the chefs, the waitstaff, and the security team.
The club is only open on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.
But for the crew, you work every day except Sunday, the rest of the week devoted to rehearsals, prop set up and adjustments as needed for the weekends shows.
After the first few days, I realized no one had shown me where my desk was, a question I asked Sadie during a run-down of the camera placement, earning me a maniacal laugh and a pitying shoulder pat. Her only advice had been to make sure my shoes were comfortable.
It was some damn good advice.
I haven’t stopped moving since the day I first walked through those doors.
Ironically, the person I see the least is Harper.
The most demanding thing she’s asked of me is to pick up her dry cleaning every week.
When I asked Sadie if her sister is always so easygoing, she stared at me blankly before realizing I wasn’t being sarcastic, saying it’s most likely because I’m still new.
She flounced away from the conversation, promising that once I’ve finished learning the ropes, Harper and I will have much more one-on-one time.
She didn’t even attempt to hide the glee in her voice, evidently very happy about all the time her sister and I will be spending together. Hopefully, Harper is too.
Every morning, after a failed attempt to check in with Harper, I’m dismissed and sent to join Marcus, the head of performance art, for the group warm-ups.
We’ve gotten into a comfortable routine by now, Marcus pulling one performer aside each day to introduce themselves and tell me about their craft.
Marcus was quick to welcome me to the club, offering a firm handshake and a clap on the shoulder while he regaled me with tale after tale of his tightrope-walking days.
I spend large parts of my day watching Marcus direct rehearsals while he tells me about the items that frequently need to be replaced and preferred brands for each of the performers.
While Harper’s schedule and needs are my top priority, a part of this job is being the go-to person for all the little things, so she can focus on the club’s bigger needs. Meaning that I need to know…everything.
The rest of my day is usually spent staring at Harper’s closed office door, sending employees and guests in and out all day for meetings, but rarely getting to spend any time in the space with her myself.
I wonder what she’s like in those quiet moments between visits when she can take a moment for herself.
If her shoulders relax a fraction or if she indulges in a favorite vice like her sister does with candy.
But Harper might need something a little stronger than Sour Patch Kids to take the edge off on the hard days.
And that’s what I’m doing when Marcus’s deep voice knocks me out of my fantasy. Imagining a relaxed Harper leaning back in her chair, heel-clad feet resting one over the other on her desk, skirt riding up her thighs… I close my eyes, clawing to stay here a little longer…
“You missed the step again. You keep going from your left foot into the bend, and it needs to be from your right,” Marcus instructs one of his performers with the same flat tone he’s used the first six times he gave the same instruction.
Unfortunately for me, the seventh time did the trick, pulling me back to the present.
I refocus my gaze away from Harper’s door and back to the man I’m supposed to be shadowing.
He's just standing there, calm as ever. No disgruntled anger slipping into his instruction.
Not even a drooping of his shoulders when the song restarts, and the performer once again turns from the wrong foot.
A man who is quick to laugh, kind in critique, and sparing with discipline is not who I expected to run the tight ship of Cirque performances.
“I know, I’m sorry, I really will get it,” they huff out through clenched teeth. He tells them to take a break and grab some water before turning his attention to me.
“So, do you see now why people are dying to work here?”
It takes all my willpower not to glance back towards Harper’s office. Have I been that obvious? Am I just one of her many admirers? Should we start a support group, get matching shirts…
He must mistake my embarrassment for confusion as he claps me on the back and starts to rattle off different benefits employees of Cirque get.
He tells me about the stipend that each employee receives for massages and body work each month, discounts to high end spas and barbershops, and where to find the binder of menus for nearby restaurants to order from if you end up working late.
“Yeah, I looked through all the financial statements for the club last week with the in-house accountant so he could tell me where to send all the reimbursement forms for when the employees turn in receipts…” I trail off as he cocks his head and waits for me to finish.
“You know you’re part of that, right? You’re staff now,” he says it so confidently, surprised he needs to tell me I work here.
The feeling is mutual. It hasn’t quite hit me yet that I’m not just a bystander but an active part of this world.
Some part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Harper to decide I don’t know what I’m doing and send me on my way.
Without waiting for my response, he continues, letting me know about the gas reimbursement if I need to run an errand for Harper, and the gym downstairs that I can use whenever I want.
“I’ll show you the gym downstairs, and you already know where the showers are. Your key fob for the building will work after hours on the back door that goes directly into the gym, so you can still use it even on days the club isn’t open.”
“Thanks, trying to squeeze a quick workout in my crappy apartment gym when I get home hasn’t been working out so well.
I can only seem to fit about fifteen minutes of actually working out in before it closes for the night since I’ve been getting there so late,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“She does sleep, right?” I ask. He lets out a deep rumbling laugh as he takes in my pained expression.
“You trying to impress her by staying late?” he asks, the wide grin telling me he already knows it’s the reason I keep staying well past normal business hours.
“And failing miserably. First, I tried to get here in the morning before her, showed up early every day that first week with coffee, just to walk in and find her sitting behind that giant desk, already typing away with a coffee half finished,” I confess.
Even on the days I can’t find her right away inside, her car is always the first in the parking lot and the last to leave it.
Maybe she sold her soul for the ability to never need sleep.
There is no way someone who works as tirelessly as she does should look as put together and stunning every morning without fail.
“Oh, you’ll never beat her here. She works out in the morning at the ass-crack of dawn before anyone else even wakes up,” he says, giving me a look that suggests I should find another way to earn those brownie points.
Before I can ask what constitutes “ass-crack of dawn”, one of the performers interrupts to ask Marcus for the key to the costume closet. Apparently the staff who normally set up the private rooms are off trying on new costumes that just came in.
The private rooms of Cirque that offer dances and more intimate experiences are one area that I still need to learn the ins and outs of.
“Where is Ben? He should have already unlocked it by now?” he asks the newcomer.
She shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, hand still held out, waiting for the key to the closet and an end to this interaction.
“Fallon, where is Ben?” he says again, calm as ever as he folds his arms across his chest. Not even pretending like he’s getting her what she’s bouncing on her heels waiting for.
“He isn’t here,” she answers quickly. “I don’t know where he is, I just know he isn’t here, and I need to open the closet so people can fill the private rooms for later before I move on to the next task and forget entirely,” she waves her hand dismissively.
“Also, I’m supposed to show this one the private rooms so he can take over those duties as well.
” She throws a thumb my way before holding her hand back out to wait for the key she requested.
Marcus exhales slowly, his barrel chest shifting with the movement before he fishes the key from his pocket and drops it into her waiting palm. “Come get me the minute he gets in.”
“I don’t think I will need to do that,” Fallon says in a small voice, looking over Marcus’s shoulder at the figure trying to shuffle his way to the back dressing rooms without being seen.
“Ben!” Marcus calls, not even turning around from where his eyes are fixed on Fallon’s retreating form, as she takes tentative steps backward to avoid what will most likely be an unpleasant interaction.