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“That was amazing,” Anne said breathlessly outside the theatre, as she watched the twinkling streetlights. Phillip took hold of her hand.
“It was amazing to see how much you loved it.” He thought back to the first time they had gone to the theatre—when they didn't even make it inside. His heart still hurt remembering how Anne's face looked after his parents spoke of her that way.
Devastated.
But not anymore. Now her face was bright with joy, lamplight reflected in her perfect eyes.
“How could I not love it? Romeo and Juliet might be my favorite play of all time.” She placed her slender hands over her heart, looking up at the stars. Phillip smirked. “That wouldn't be because it's the one you saw with me, would it?”
She pushed his shoulder playfully. “You've got nothing to do with it.”
Then, her eyes fluttered, and her lashes brushed her cheeks. “The ending, though…it's so sad.” Phillip could only nod. Romeo and Juliet had never been a particular favorite of his—it was just the only offering the theatre had this week. Tonight changed that.
They basked in the starlight for a moment, fingers interlaced as the chill February air whisked tendrils of Anne's curls out of her updo. If Phillip had to pick a moment to stay in forever, it would be this one—this, or that night they flew atop the rafter beams together. Or, about half an hour ago, when Anne was leaning over the side of their private box, desperate to see as much of the stage as she could.
Phillip cleared his throat, puncturing the din of other couples walking, along with the occasional clop of horses drawing a carriage.
“Is it alright if we stop by the circus for a minute? I made some notes for my show tomorrow, and I left them in the stands…but I'd like to look them over before I go into the ring in the morning.” Phillip wasn't used to morning shows. Usually, performances took place at night. But tomorrow wasn't a usual day. Tomorrow was the day that P.T. Barnum returned to his role as ringmaster, the role he originated, for a special, one-night only offering.
So, Phillip was doing a morning show.
“‘Course. It'll give me a chance to mark the new dance number anyhow,” Anne answered.
Phillip loved it when Anne danced. She had more grace than a Baroque painting, more sparkle than a chandelier drenched in Swarovski crystals. When Anne danced, Phillip hated to blink.
Soon the big top came into view, its white and red pinstripes velvet against the deep sky.
“It'll just take a second,” he told her as he parted the canvas with one hand, letting her step through before him, with their hands still clasped together. It was strange to see the circus quiet; no members of family in costumes every color of a rainbow, no marvelous feats to behold in awe.
As Anne stayed in the ring, Phillip jogged up to search the rows for his notepad. No, not in the first…or the second…what about the third row…
No notepad, but…
A pair of feet? Phillip looked up.
If all those bar fights hadn't dulled his ability to be startled by anything that wasn't a fist flying to his face—then, he would have jumped.
There was Barnum, chewing on the end of a pencil, eyes crinkling in thought.
“Looking for something, Phil?” he asked, and Phillip noticed the notepad dangling from his fingers. “Thanks,” he said, taking it. Afterwards, he looked at Barnum more carefully.
“You look tired.”
Barnum sighed. “I am tired.” He rubbed at his eyelids.
“Then why aren't you at home sleeping?” Phillip raised a curious brow. “You have to take care of yourself, you know. I don't think I have to remind you of how sick we all just were. Everyone except you.” Last week was the most fun Phillip ever had being sick—honestly, he was a tiny bit grateful for the bout of influenza that had swept the circus. He and Anne got to cuddle in bed for five days while being served Charity’s green pea soup.
The inventor of the title ringmaster stretched his arms high above his head. “Maintenance bills rest for no man.”
Maintenance bills?
For maintaining what? They worked out of a tent.
“...You're doling out bonuses again, aren't you?” Of course P.T. Barnum was staying up late to deduce how the circus could turn a profit worthy of its fame, all while the troupe was rolling in money.
“Not sure where you'd pick up an idea like that,” he said, but the upturned corners of his mouth gave him away.
“None for me, thanks—give mine to Anne.” Phillip was by no means poor, and he no longer had much of a taste for wealth. At least, not wealth in the traditional sense. Wealth now was the pink in Anne’s cheeks when he complimented her during dinner, the cold tip of her nose on a winter night like this one. Her arm bumping into his while they walked.
And show nights. So bright and warm he still barely believed they were real. Phillip had a home now, and the old kind of wealth was irrelevant.
“You ready to go?” Anne asked, her breath somewhere sweet between warm and cool on the back of his neck. “With you? Yes, always yes,” he answered. And he knew it was sappy. And he didn't care.
“Goodnight, you two. I'll see you tomorrow,” Barnum said with a twirl of his pencil, the same kind of twirl he did with his cane during night shows.
“Goodnight, Barnum.” Anne smiled, and Phillip almost forgot to say goodnight as well, because all he wanted to do was keep looking at her.
The next day, Phillip sat in the stands watching rehearsal for the special performance. The ring looked so different from here. When he was inside its bounds, it was an entire world for him to discover, reshape, every night that he came to know the troupe and the animals better and better, until they were all extensions of himself.
From here, he was on the outside of that world. Just not the same.
“...And then I'll go here, and you can—”
“I can go here, and do my High C…” Lettie was talking with Barnum, going over choreography for her rendition of the latest popular song. With Anne marking moves in the back of the ring, her elegant leg sliding across the sand, he found it hard to pay attention.
“And then I can, uh…I can—” Barnum’s voice was strained, and before Phillip could think about why, the ringmaster crumpled to the ground.
At first, Phillip thought it might be a new dance move.
But then Barnum didn't get up.
“Oh my Lord,” Lettie gasped as she tried to help him to his feet. But he waved her away. “—I'm—I’m okay, I'm okay,” he insisted, still not getting to his feet. “Is it just me, or is it warm in here?” Now that Phillip had raced into the ring to see Barnum up close, he could tell the man’s brow was drowned in sweat. He looked horribly ill.
“You look horribly ill, Barnum. Just awful,” he remarked. Barnum scoffed—even that action had him trembling slightly, probably with fever chills.
“Thanks,” he sputtered.
Once Palvos and Constantine had carried him to the stands, and Lettie had brought him a blanket, Phillip finally released his sigh. “Guess that influenza caught you after all.” He paced, small clouds of sand going up in his wake. “So where do we go from here? There's no time to put together something new. We could just do the same choreography, but with me instead—”
A fit of coughing overtook Barnum, punctuated by ferocity. “No way in hell. I still want to do the show, just, not tonight, for…obvious reasons.”
Phillip shook his head. “We’ll just have to figure something else out, then. But first, we’ve got to get you home.”
“Not in this state. It'll worry Charity and the girls.” Barnum took a labored breath. “How ‘bout let's wait til I can stand? In fact, how ‘bout we just wait ‘til they get here, then they can watch you do something and I can sit with them.”
An impish grin pulled at Phillip's mouth. “People will notice you're sitting, P.T. And if people see you, they're going to want to talk to you.” He imagined the circus turning into a flash mob.
“We’ll sit off to the side, and I'll tell them all they're welcome to have a word with me after—unless they're Mr. Bennett, of course." Barnum winked and tried to chuckle, but another coughing fit stopped him.
“Okay, I guess. And I also guess we can do a repeat performance of the morning show.” But that still left the question of what to do right now. They didn't need to rehearse a show they’d just performed.
No one said anything for a moment that felt very long.
“Come on, you know how I hate being bored,” Barnum said with a roll of his head from side to side. Phillip also hated boredom—hence the notebooks full of plays that had littered his room in the family estate before Anne. There must be some way to fill the time, the silence.
Phillip watched Anne shrug her narrow shoulders.
...That’s it!
“I have an idea.” He ran to his briefcase. For Phillip, it had been quite a productive morning of writing, poring over a play he knew quite well—and reimagining it. One last once-over, and it should be ready.
“Now, you may not like it,” he told Barnum in short breaths, on his way back to the stands, “but you can’t really storm out if that's the case.” With a smirk, he doled out the papers. “For you,” he said, brushing Anne’s fingertips as he gave her a booklet. “And we’ll need a few other people as well.”
After assigning the roles for the play, he stood with Anne in front of Barnum. “What is this?” Anne asked. Phillip smiled. “Your favorite.” Slowly, Anne turned the pages of her booklet. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered, her cheeks pink.
“Well, shall we start?”
Anne cleared her throat. “Two houses, both alike in dignity…”
“A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet,” Anne recited later, Phillip watching her. Now he couldn't imagine anyone else playing the part of Juliet, couldn't remember the name or the looks of the actress they had watched for three hours the night before. It was blasphemy, he knew, but he had to disagree with Shakespeare. There was actually much in a name. No word felt so wonderful to say as Anne’s name blooming warm from his throat, then leaving his lips like a sigh of relief.
Soon they were nearing the end. Phillip kept his gaze on Anne intently. “I…” she squinted at the paper. Her thick brows drew together, making a little pinch mark at the top of the bridge of her nose. So lovely.
“Phillip, this isn't the right line.” Finally, he let himself smile.
“I know.”
Realization took hold of her features. “Phillip, you rewrote the end—”
“Shhh,” he said, coming closer and touching a finger to her lips. “The others don't know.”
Anne took a deep breath, then another. “Romeo, I…I love thee more than the sky, the wind, the earth beneath my feet.”
“Somehow I love thee more than even that, my Juliet.” With that, Phillip kissed Anne gently. Instead of taking a sleeping potion, Juliet declared her love once more—and instead of drinking poison, Romeo took Juliet by her slender hand and led her to a wagon under the cover of the stars. But you wouldn't know that, because Phillip's script book fell from his fingers to join Anne's on the sand of the ring. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth.
Lettie and Dog Boy cheered but he didn't care. When he pulled back for a breath, Barnum was beaming. The man who had wondered why people would want to watch other people talking was gazing at them in rapt concentration. Because these were his people.
As Phillip kissed Anne again, he decided that he would be more than alright with staying in this moment forever, too. Any moment with Anne, when they both felt this much joy, would be much more than alright indeed.