Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
“ K eep your legs pulled in tighter, Patrick! That’s better — the motion is smoother the closer you can hold the tuck. Now try it again. Mario, mark your position. And go!”
Ilya watched with a critical eye as the pair began the move again, with Patrick curled up around himself, hanging from Mario’s hand as they circled a short distance above the floor. Then, at his verbal command, Patrick extended his legs and arched his back. This was where Patrick’s time on the silks allowed him to shine, and Ilya could find no fault with his form.
They were into the second week of practice, and he’d realized after he’d found Mario using the straps alone that he probably needed to throw his new performer some kind of bone. Mario had gone through the first week showing nothing but patience with Ilya’s demands and Patrick’s struggle to master the strength moves, but the fact was that Mario could have just as easily sat out the entire week, because he didn’t need the practice on the basics. No doubt he was chafing inside at being kept mostly grounded as Patrick tried to catch up, so Ilya had decided to let the pair of them try flying together. Maybe that would let Mario feel like he was accomplishing something other than simply wearing himself out for someone else’s benefit.
Mario made the pair moves look simple as well. He could hang by a single arm from the loop of the straps, while using his other hand to grasp Patrick’s and lift him smoothly and effortlessly from the ground. Thus they went through some of the easiest parts of Ilya’s choreography, which would see them as two winged creatures in a garden. Patrick would represent light, and Mario would represent darkness, and the choreography would go from playful to more sinister as a simulated night closed in. The show designer had already come up with stunning costumes for the routine, and the two men would also have photo-reactive paint on their skin. At a certain point, the theater would go almost completely dark, and the audience would only see the two performers by the glowing paint they wore and the special lighting that would be used.
“Again!” he called, and ran them through the moves once more. Now that Patrick had the sequence perfected, Ilya let his gaze return to Mario.
He couldn’t help but remember the sick feeling he’d experienced when he’d stepped out of his office, drawn by the faint sounds of someone out in the gym, and had come upon Mario high in the air without a spotter or any safety precautions at all. It was a nightmare that had haunted his dreams since it happened.
He honestly couldn’t think of many times he’d experienced that level of fear, compounded by the fact that he didn’t dare make a sound that would distract Mario and possibly cause him to fall. Ilya still found his mouth going dry every time he thought of it, imagining Mario plunging toward the ground, the sickening thud as he hit. There would have been nothing he could have done, no way he could have saved Mario — just like he couldn’t save Derek.
For a moment, the faces of the two men were overlaid in his mind, and Ilya shook his head to banish it. He didn’t want to imagine Mario’s eyes cold and dead the way Derek’s had been, the light and life gone from them forever.
“Ilya? Hey, Ilya! Is something wrong?”
He looked up to find Patrick and Mario staring at him, both wearing expressions of concern. Mario still dangled from the strap, but Patrick had dropped to the ground. As Patrick started toward him, Mario dropped lithely behind him.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he grumbled, annoyed to have been caught with his attention not where it should have been. “I was considering what sequence to put you through next, that’s all.”
Mario and Patrick exchanged a look. “What do you want us to do?”
“For the moment, I think we can end with weights, since that’s still a necessary part of training. For both of you.” Ilya shrugged when both Mario and Patrick sighed. “Then cool down. Tomorrow we can add a new sequence. Now go!”
Patrick walked away, but Mario stayed behind, looking pensive.
“Was there something you wanted to say?” Ilya asked, raising a brow at Mario’s uncharacteristic hesitation.
“Something I wanted to ask, actually. If you were serious about your offer to spot me, that is. I just wanted to find out when it might be convenient for you?”
“Whenever,” Ilya replied with another shrug. “I rarely have plans in the evenings, unless a management meeting is called.”
Mario looked surprised. “Well, if it isn’t a bother, would tonight be okay with you?”
“If you wish.” Apparently, the practice Ilya had put them through hadn’t been enough for Mario, but at least the boy had the wit to take Ilya up on his offer and not do anything foolish again. “After the trapeze finishes practice, we’ll rig the straps there. It’s where you’ll end up practicing eventually, once you and Patrick are ready for the bigger moves.”
Mario smiled, his expression brightening. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Seven, maybe?”
“Seven will work,” Ilya acknowledged. “Now quit delaying and get back to work.”
Mario gave him a cheeky salute before hurrying off after Patrick. For his part, Ilya needed to focus on his duties and stop letting his imagination get the best of him, so he went to his office to do paperwork as a distraction.
Unfortunately, the reports on costuming, set design, and cost analysis of the various show elements he was in charge of didn’t make the time go any faster. But eventually the clock crept forward, and Ilya rose from his desk and headed out.
The building had grown quiet, save for clanks from the weight room, which always seemed to be occupied almost 24/7 in the run up to a new show. As he got closer to the trapeze area, he saw Mario was already there and had set up the straps and pulled crash mats into place.
Mario looked up at his approach, somehow hearing his soft footfalls. The young man smiled, his face lighting up in apparent anticipation. He dropped the mat he’d been pulling over and straightened, and Ilya was struck, not for the first time, with the strength and power of his body.
“I had the head rigger check everything,” he told Ilya, who was glad that his safety lecture had been taken seriously. “He even set up the remote control for the rigging, if you wouldn’t mind elevating me.” He gave Ilya a hopeful smile, green eyes wide with appeal, which Ilya did his best to ignore.
He should have known that Mario would use having him there to his own advantage, but there was really no reason Ilya shouldn’t do it. At least he could have control over how much Mario did and how fast.
“Very well.” He looked at Mario sternly. “I know you are a professional at your carnival, but we’ll play by my rules here. I want to discuss what moves you are doing before you do them.”
“That’s fine,” Mario replied easily.
While Mario warmed up, they discussed what moves Ilya would allow and in what order. Since there were things Mario would have to learn eventually anyway, Ilya decided he might as well throw in some of the Capriccio choreography to see if Mario could deal with it.
What Ilya didn’t expect was that Mario could perform magic.
Seeing Mario on video or even at his audition hadn’t prepared Ilya for watching the young man in person. He’d been too distracted by his fear that Mario would fall the last time he’d watched him fly, so he hadn’t paid attention to how Mario could appear as if he was actually soaring like some winged creature. It seemed effortless, and he looked so free that for the first time since Derek’s death, Ilya’s heart yearned to experience that freedom for himself once again.
Every move Mario made was perfection, and Ilya was stunned that a man so young had moves that he wasn’t certain he or Derek could have performed when they were at their best. The sequences Ilya had explained to Mario were from his initial vision for the routine, not the ones he was scaling back to accommodate Patrick’s skills. Seeing his vision come to breathtaking life was both a wonder and a pain, since he knew Patrick wouldn’t be able to match Mario, and so no one else would ever witness what Ilya was seeing now or be able to share in his wonder and awe. Or feel the need that burned like an empty ache in his chest.
Mario completed the sequences Ilya had given him, and Ilya lowered the rigging so that Mario could drop to the ground. Here, Mario pushed the boundaries Ilya had set. He spun himself up the straps so that he could dismount by flipping rapidly around his center before releasing the straps and spinning in a piked position to land almost effortlessly. Given the crash mat below him, Ilya decided he couldn’t really berate him for the minor act of disobedience.
Ilya couldn’t let Mario see his true feelings, so he simply nodded. “You performed that well.”
Ilya could almost feel the pleasure Mario radiated, since he obviously knew he’d done far better than “well.”
“Thanks for that,” Mario said, reaching for a bottle of water he’d placed to one side of the space. “That was fantastic choreography, better than anything Paul ever came up with for us. I don’t remember it from Phantasma, though.”
Since it would not be in Capriccio anyway, there was no reason Mario should know where it came from. Besides, it wouldn’t do to risk driving a wedge between Mario and Patrick if Mario, for all his seeming maturity, eventually grew to resent his partner for not being as good as he was. Perhaps it had been foolish to share the choreography with Mario in the first place, but Ilya had wanted to see at least some small part of his vision in reality. And perhaps, one day, he’d be able to find someone else as talented as Mario who could bring it fully to life.
But until then, he needed to continue with the tools and talent he had to work with. “It’s just something I’ve been toying with,” he said. “Perhaps it’ll end up in a show one day, but not this one.”
Mario looked disappointed. “Well, thank you for letting me do it. I think it’s great.”
Ilya felt the impulse to reach out and smooth away the frown line from between Mario’s eyes. It was stupid, and he held himself firmly in check. These moments of wayward attraction to his subordinate performer couldn’t be allowed to get out of hand. The show needed Mario, and Mario needed Ilya to get both him and Patrick into performance readiness. Even if Ilya had any desire for another relationship, it would be sheer folly to get involved with someone where the power dynamic was so unbalanced. Besides, Mario had to be a decade or more younger than he was; the gulf between them was far too wide for Ilya to cross.
“Thank you.” Ilya inclined his head to acknowledge the compliment. “Do you feel more settled now?”
“Yes,” Mario sighed, but it seemed to be a sound of contentment rather than longing. He smiled ruefully. “I should get back to my apartment and get some sleep before tomorrow. Thanks again, Ilya. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, but it’s my job,” Ilya replied.
“Of course.” Mario straightened, and his smile seemed to dim. An odd tension seemed to stretch out between them for a moment, before Mario bent to pick up a towel from where he’d left it on the floor. “Good night, Ilya.” With that, he turned toward the locker room, his footfalls soft on the padded floor.
Ilya watched him go, wondering why he felt as if he’d said something wrong. He needed sleep before tomorrow as well, but from the way his mind was whirling, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to numb his mind with work, and, given the way things seemed to grow more complicated, rather than simpler when it came to this show, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time, either.