From Amanda's Desk-Sneak Peek at New Book

 

​Chapter 1
Indianapolis, Indiana
1904
 
“Remember, seductive dancing is an art form,” Sabina told herself.
That’s what the girls in the show said.
She wiggled and pulled up the tiny sequined leotard over her hips and small, firm breasts.
Oh, how she wished this performance didn’t have to be so provocative. She was mortified. Yet this was burlesque, and the men wanted to see splits, open stances, and skills where females arched their backs, hung upside down, and dropped their clothing.
But Polina was in the hospital, and the responsibility fell on Sabina’s shoulders. If she didn’t please them, they would lose their spot in on the Columbia circuit and go hungry for weeks.
And to make matters even worse, it was an extremely challenging routine. Her sister did it beautifully. Her execution was flawless. She was incredibly strong and one of the best aerialists in the world. But Polina was twenty-seven years old, Sabina thought, not fourteen, and far more experienced.
Someone banged on the dressing room door. “You’ve warmed up long enough. Get out here!” It was her sister’s boyfriend and manager, Arty Sullivan.
Sabina’s heart jumped. It was time. Clipping on her flowing train, she glanced in the cracked mirror.
Her mahogany-colored hair was tied up in a knot, and her brown eyes had kohl on the lashes. She smoothed out the rouge on her cheeks and ensured her red lipstick was even. Stage makeup made her look older, but her slim, straight figure betrayed her youth. To complete her costume, she pulled on her feathered sleeves and exotic bird headdress.
Picking up her wispy train, she opened the door, but Arty stepped in front of her. He was a giant of a man, bald, red-faced, and smoking a cigar. He ran his eyes over her. “They’re gonna gobble you up,” he said with a lewd smile. “They like ‘em young.”
“I hope I can do the routine well,” Sabina replied.
“Bah!” he scoffed, then laughed. “Those guys won’t be lookin’ at the routine.”
He blocked her way, so she would have to brush against him to pass, but a group of dancers dressed as little Dutch girls in white bonnets and clogs distracted him. Their heavy breasts spilled out of their dirty embroidered bodices, and their backsides were bare except for netting. He stepped aside to ogle.
Sabina seized the moment and darted to stage left where an obese performer was just finishing her act. The runway was littered with scarves and cheap jewelry, remnants of the costume she had discarded. Plucking off the last two scarves, she was now only clad in flesh-toned netting. She wiggled her breasts and generous backside and stepped offstage. The men in the audience went wild, hooting and hollering for more.
Sabina felt her heart pounding as she stepped into the rosin box. She would do fine, she told herself. She came from a long line of renowned aerialists in Poland. They were the best in Europe, and this was her life. This was her purpose.
But things were different here in America. The stages could not accommodate the trapeze and tight rope, and people didn’t value aerialists to the same degree. So they performed with a hoop, also called a lyra, and a thin, sturdy rope called a corde lisse. Although these routines were artistic and beautiful, the American audience wanted thrills.
 At first, they had been headliners in Vaudeville, but over time they had been reduced to doing tawdry routines for oversexed men on the burlesque circuit.
Sometimes, Sabina wondered if they should have stayed in Poland. But Polina had insisted they leave after a rift with the family. So Sabina and her younger brother Constantine had accompanied her here.
As the exotic dancer returned for an encore, Sabina went through her mental checklist for the performance: the rigging was solid, even though Arty had rushed her through inspection; the routine, although difficult, was visually stunning; her “windmill” move, a thing of beauty; her drops, breathtaking; the vertical, horizontal, and “miracle” splits, a crowd pleaser; her “man-in-the-moon” on the hoop and “meat hook splits” were stunning.
But could she do them all in one routine? Sabina’s stomach twisted. It would be physically challenging, but she must do it.
Then she recalled the ecstasy of being aloft. For as long as she could remember, Sabina loved to fly. She loved the freedom and the height above the mundane. She was no longer tethered to the earth with all its worries and cares and could soar physically and emotionally above it all, even if it was on an apparatus.
She was infatuated with birds and would sprawl in the grass on sunny days and watch them careen overhead. At night, she would dream of coasting over the rooftops, dipping, rolling, and diving free of all earthly restraints.
But when Orville and Wilber Wright built a successful flying machine, her world changed. She was instantly enamored with aviators and planes. She devoured every article on new technology, daring aviators, and heart-stopping test flights, cutting and pasting them into scrapbooks.
“Hey, you’re on!” the stage manager barked.
Abruptly, Sabina came back to earth. The stagehands had picked up the scarves, lowered Sabina’s hoop and rope and rolled out her camouflaged mat. They had dimmed the lights, and the mysterious music of Saint-Saëns’s Danse Macabre started.
Sabina climbed onto the hoop, rested back, pointed her toes, and opened her arms into the classic cradle position, sending the hoop spinning into a slow ascent. The spotlight flooded her. Her sequins glittered, and her feathers flowed.
The men started cheering.
As she rose, Sabina was no longer worried, no longer scared. She was where she wanted to be.
Dropping upside down, she went into a “star on the bar”. It was beautiful. With her hands free, she pulled off her train and let the wispy fabric float to the floor.
The crowd burst into applause.
Coming up with a surge of energy, Sabina went into a somersault. Then, arching her back, she stretched out into a “mermaid”. Returning to position, she removed her headdress and slowly peeled off her feathered sleeves.
The men stomped and whistled.
After several more drops, she ended the first portion of the act with the difficult “meat hook split”. Hanging by one hand under the hoop, she swung her legs across her body, then brought one foot up to her head. Clutching it with her free hand, she stretched out into a long, straight split.
The men whooped and hollered.
She was doing it! She was halfway through the routine and still strong!
Feeling confident, Sabina grabbed the rope and swung into her corde lisse act.
With ease and grace, she went into the hip lock. Then she arched, hung, and twirled, hands-free. Upside down, she did the splits and prepared herself for the final breathtaking slip-drop. Climbing to the top of the rope, Sabina made her loop, smiled at the audience, and dropped.
Then everything went black.

 

*For a limited time receive the free novelette by Amanda, The Shadow Patriots

---