Lives of the Circus Animals Read Online Free

suddenly, he could breathe again. It was over.
    The applause started, the curtain calls began. Frank remained backstage, playing traffic cop for kids going out for bows. He had counted on curtain calls and rehearsed them, but he did not immediately appreciate the noise out front. It filled the auditorium: a sun shower of approval, a rainstorm of love. The kids stood out onstage openmouthed, delighted to find themselves adored. They began to wave at Frank to join them, first Magnolia, then the others, insisting he share this glory. Frank started out, then remembered Carmen and grabbed her hand. He hauled the startled girl with him into the shower that turned into a waterfall, a cataract. A few people even shouted, “Bravo!”
    Frank was surprised by the old rush of joy. The auditorium was only two-thirds full, but the whoops and hollers and beating hands suggested an audience as big as the world.
    Mrs. Anderson stood by her piano, applauding her cast, taking a few bows herself, then applauding Frank.
    Frank and the kids applauded her. His tear ducts prickled and he told himself, Don’t be a fool. It’s just a school play. This is just the love of parents for their own.
    Yet the high did not pass. He wished he could tell his stars, “Enjoy this now. Remember this. It will never be so pure again.”

4
    T he kids snapped out of their trances and hurried offstage, jostling and steering Frank with them out to the hall. The tuxedoed principal pounced on him there, followed by a mob of parents. Everyone congratulated Frank, and he smiled and nodded and said what a joy it had been to work with Felix or Tiffany or Josh or Elektra while his eyes impatiently scanned the crowd.
    And there she was. She stood against a wall in her khaki trench coat, a briefcase under her arm, grinning like a happy conspirator. She looked lovely and lovable, cool and smart, the source of tonight’s most appreciative laughs. And Frank had seen her naked. That was two whole weeks ago, and they’d only talked on the phone since then, but here was Jessica in the flesh. Frank did not picture her naked now, but a memory of nudity seemed to illuminate her face—crooked smile, sharp cheekbones, short reddish hair—making it more real than any other face here.
    When there was a lull in the storm of parents, Jessie came over, set her briefcase on the floor, and embraced him.
    â€œGod that was good!” she declared. “And smart !” She gave him a spearmint-scented kiss—on the jaw. “You didn’t try to hide that these were children, but used it, made it part of the play. I was in heaven, watching those kiddos do theater.”
    He was tickled that Jessie understood what he’d done, even as his joy stumbled over the fear that she’d come for his play, not for him. He held her against his side. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “I’m even gladder you came. Thank you.”
    â€œI didn’t just like it, I loved it. Everybody loved it.” She pulled out from under his arm to face him. “Even Prager of the Times. Did you know the Buzzard was here?”
    â€œOh yeah. His daughter’s in the show.”
    â€œHe’s got a kid? Poor thing. Still. Even he loved it. He was sitting right in front of me. I gave him a piece of my mind. Oh, not really. I was way too subtle. He’s lucky I didn’t stab him with my pen. When I think of what he did to Caleb’s play.” She laughed at herself. “But I’m telling Caleb about this show. One more night, right? He’d love it. It should bring him out of his funk.”
    Caleb was Jessie’s brother, Caleb Doyle, the playwright, author of Venus in Furs and a new play, Chaos Theory, which had just tanked. Theater was in their blood. The Doyles were not a showbiz dynasty, however, but outer-borough New Yorkers, their background as blue-collar suburban as Frank’s