Freakshow, what a shitshow this novel has turned out to be. :D I couldn't figure out how to get past one particular issue while writing it, so I started picking at a plot thread and the whole damn thing unraveled on me.
So I present to you the new first ROUGH draft chapter of Freakshow, now in first person. I think it's a better way to get into Olivia's head.
Oh that's right, she's Olivia now. And Eduardo is Orion now. These are some of the crazy things that have changed. :D But everything else for the first little bit is essentially the same!
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Chapter One
The sun hit my
face like a steel-toed boot to the teeth. I yawned, rolled over, checked my
clock and saw that I was late for work.
And quickly
remembered I didn’t have a job. Not since
last week. So technically I was late for job hunting, and me not being an early bird meant that I rarely got the
worm. I immediately resolved to try harder at this employment thing. Starting
right now…well, as soon as I woke up completely.
I rolled off my
futon and stood up, stretched and sniffed my armpits. Today smelled like a good
day for a shower.
It had also been
a week since I’d caught Jason and Becs in his bed. I checked my phone and saw
the inevitable texts from the two lying fuckers who had betrayed me.
I hadn’t realized
how much I’d depended on my best friend Becs until she was gone. And I hadn’t
realized how much of a distraction Jason had been until he no longer filled the
empty spaces in my life, my head and my bed.
I was lonely,
horny, and starting to worry about my money situation. There was a reason I
didn’t like getting up in the morning.
I had a quick
shower, shaved my legs and pits, and scrubbed my itchy head until it almost
stung. Being stingy on soap and shampoo sucked, but I couldn’t afford to waste
much these days.
The cut on my arm
was healing nicely at least. I could still remember the look on my office
manager’s face when she caught a good look at exposed muscle and dripping
blood. I’d been fired…sorry…let go in
record time. Most places at least tried to wait a few days to fire me after a
brutal injury or the realization that I was different.
I half-heartedly
picked at the scab and wondered how long I could fight my life. How long could
I try to force myself into places I clearly didn’t belong? How did people in
extreme circumstances manage to survive? I liked to believe that if I were in
one of those situations I would fight to survive. Or maybe at some point my
body would convince my mind to give up on itself. To give in, let the
inevitable happen.
Is that what I
was doing now? Giving up? I certainly hadn’t been looking that hard for work,
and had just paid my rent yesterday. I had a small amount left in her savings. That
gave me a solid month to survive before I had to be moved out or find
employment.
Sometimes it felt
as though my body simply convincing my mind to give up. I should have, by all
means, given up years ago. The day I was born really.
I’d come into the
world with congenital analgesia, the inability to feel pain.
As a baby I’d
chewed through my own tongue a few times, bitten my lips almost completely off,
and broken bones more than once or twice.
My parents had
been killed in a car accident when I was thirteen, and I’d been raised by my
older sister who had been nineteen at the time. She hadn’t spared one chance to
let me know how much of a burden I was, or how terrible it was that I was even
alive.
My sister had
blamed me for our parent’s death even though logically I’d had nothing to do
with it.
I’d left home at
seventeen, never finished high school and never went to college in spite of my
love of reading and an uncanny ability to retain information.
I’d moved from
Moose Jaw to Vancouver and had ended up in Richmond a few months back.
I was now in my
twenty fifth year and was completely, utterly, devastatingly directionless.
I had nobody;
even Becs who had followed me from Saskatchewan was lost to me now after
screwing my boyfriend. If only I hadn’t walked in on them, the image wouldn’t
be burned in my mind and I might be able to forget and potentially forgive.
Becs at least.
Jason, in all
honesty, wasn’t a big loss in the grand scheme of things, but losing Becs cut
me deep.
Still, I had to
be honest, I’d dropped my guard with Jason. I’d been lulled into this strange
world where he didn’t think of me as weird. I’d believed that he bought my act
and thought of me as normal.
His words had
rung in my ears every day since the break up, that he needed a woman who
enjoyed sex.
How could I enjoy
something that I couldn’t really
feel? I liked sex, I just didn’t seem to have the ability to lose myself to it,
release the stubborn grip my body had on my mind and let myself sore into
orgasmic oblivion.
My doctors had
always insisted that the pain and pleasure connection shouldn’t alter my sexual
gratification, but what the fuck did they know? They weren’t connected to my
pussy, and quite frankly, it seemed as dull as the rest of her skin.
Imagine trying to
live your life with a layer of bubble wrap covering your body, I was like a
walking sensory depravation chamber. It got to a person after a while, and
right now it was really getting to me.
This is why I did
stupid shit sometimes, to feel. To
feel anything.
This is why I was
covered in tattoos, brands and ritualistic scars. Not my face, thankfully,
never my face, but from my neck down I was a piece of art. Or just a piece of
work. It depended on how one looked at me.
I had piercings
too, shit. I got talked into piercing
my clit a couple months ago. I had hoped
it would help me feel something when Jason
was pounding away on top of her, but it hadn’t changed a thing.
I’d have to take
it out and throw it away, to forget the asshole.
My nipples were
done too, but years ago, when I was still
in high school. Those were purely aesthetic, I loved the way they looked when I
was naked, and I loved the hint of barbells poking through my business attire.
Business. God I needed a job.
I settled down on
the laptop and cruised the job seeker websites. I’d apply for anything, but the
economy was down and it was an employer’s market. I was competing for
secretarial positions against people with MBAs and degrees from universities
back East, and I hadn’t even graduated.
Scrolling past scam
after scam and every job I’d already applied for, a brightly coloured graphic
at the bottom of the page caught my eye.
I clicked on it
and was taken to an external website, some kind of circus. I was about to close
it when the words, “Help Wanted” flashed across the header.
I clicked it, why
the fuck not?
Cirque des Curiosités was
apparently a freak show of some sort, a good old-fashioned house of horrors
kind of place. I’d heard of it somewhere, I had a vague recollection of a
newscast or a flyer. It was something like Cirque
du Soleil but with more of society’s outcasts instead of athletic beautiful
people performing impossible feats of skill.
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 toonies and decided to go crazy on
and 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
her. 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 her hands shoved deep into my 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
her nose on the back of my arm, catching a look of disgust from a dog walker
with a 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 her 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, she might think I’m homeless given my current
attire.
I walked to the
ticket booth and was greeting 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 her. “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 her 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 whom she’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 her façade and
glean how broken she 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 her coffee.
“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
her.
I smiled shyly
and said, “Hey, you 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 late thirties, but I couldn’t tell. 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. Overall, he
was pretty hot, but he made me feel wary.
“Liv, pleased to
make your acquaintance,” Orion said with the slightest hint of a Spanish
accent. It added to his overall exotic quality and gave me a strange a little
chill up my spine when he said my name. He added, “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 her 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 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
going to work for time we’re in town and bail on us when we leave.”
I felt her 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 her 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, but I had to admit, I’d felt the slightest electric jolt when he’d
said it with that sexy accent.
I still couldn’t
help thinking that he was a dangerous man though, 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.
