Leonie by Elizabeth Adler Page B

his program, linking names to faces, and in some cases bodies, checking to see what his rivals were up to. Of course, his was a classier cabaret than the Internationale, and more subtly presented. He always had excellent singers and he had the best chorus line in Paris. He was here to see Léonie Bahri—he’d noticed her last week when he’d dropped in to catch the previous show and he’d recognized her as the girl from the train—and, of course, she’d looked as spectacular as he had known she could. He’d like to use her in his next show if he could lure her away from the Internationale.
    The horse, powdered to perfect whiteness, was waiting in its box by the stage, fidgeting nervously as the orchestra pounded through the first tunes and the dancers dashed on and off the stage on cue. Léonie could hear the audience laughing at Loulou’s song and the applause for her as she finished and began a second number.
    The dancer who was to play ringmaster eyed the horse warily as it whinnied and kicked out its back legs, scattering the stagehands.“I’d be careful with him if I were you,” she advised. “He’s not used to the lights and the noise.”
    Léonie patted his neck, stroking his nose gently, and the horse rolled an eye at her. “He’ll be all right,” she said sympathetically; she knew how he felt. Loulou came off the stage and Léonie went across to congratulate her, leaving the horse stomping his hooves in the straw. “Here,” said one of the stagehands bringing over a bucket of water, “drink this, you stupid animal, maybe then you’ll feel better.”
    “They’re a terrific audience tonight.” Loulou smiled, pleased with her success. “You’ll have no problems, Léonie.”
    The pretty ringmaster stalked the stage cracking her whip as the “beasts” of the circus cavorted around the ring—long-legged girls dressed as leopards and tigers, ponies and zebras. Real little dogs in neck ruffles somersaulted over their backs and clowns in baggy pants and red noses did handstands and backflips along the catwalks.
    De Courmont watched Rupert as he applauded, joining in the fun, bending his head to listen to the whispered comments of Marla, whom Gilles had again seated next to Rupert.
    The pretty white horse was next, trotting in neat circles, lifting his feet gracefully to the music, tossing his silvered mane and rolling his eyes like a pony in a fairy story as the audience applauded admiringly. To a fanfare of trumpets a masked girl strode into the ring, sensational in silk tights and satin breasts. There was a whistle of approval from the balcony as she cracked her whip, tossing her head so that her plumed hair flashed with silver to match her horse’s tail. Such marvelous hair, thought Caro, and such legs; she stared closer. No, it couldn’t be, could it? “That must be Léonie!” whispered Alphonse. It was Léonie! So this was what she had been doing, this was why she was always so busy in the evenings! But why hadn’t she told her? And why hadn’t Rupert told her? Rupert’s eyes were fixed on Léonie. Had he known? She turned quickly to look at de Courmont. Had he known? Was this why he had brought them here? His eyes were not on the stage, not on Léonie. De Courmont was watching Rupert intently. Caro could tell by Rupert’s tense expression that he hadn’t known. Léonie had kept her secret well—from everyone but de Courmont; she’d be willing to bet on that.
    “It’s Léonie.… It’s Léonie, Caro’s friend from the party.”The whispered name flashed around their group and de Courmont settled back into his chair, a smile on his lips. “You knew,” whispered Caro.
    He shrugged. “I thought it would be a nice surprise if you saw your little protégée doing so well. Look, she’s going to begin.” Caro turned to Alphonse and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. What was he up to? Alphonse shrugged; he didn’t know. She stole another look at Gilles—his eyes were on Rupert, who