GABE STUDIED ME, clutching a fire extinguisher to his breast. “You’re a specter.” His eyes shone. “Floating in midair. I’ve never seen anyone so breathtaking.”
Ordinarily the gallery’s concrete floors stole the warmth from my feet, but tonight my feet were not on the floor. Tonight I stood atop a three-foot-tall barstool made of metal. On my body was a long-sleeved, floor-length gown with a six-foot skirt that hid the stool. The pattern of the dress was nothing spectacular, a simple white sheath one might mistake for a bedsheet. The material of the dress, however, was as critical as that of the barstool. It was a common cotton, not unlike the bed linens, draperies, and clothing found in households the world over. Highly flammable.
“But what if something goes wrong?” he said, handsome despite the thin sheen of sweat covering his face.
I gestured at the extinguisher.
“I don’t like it.” He tucked his chin. In the rare moments when Gabe felt the need to stand his ground, he avoided eye contact. I had warned him that this automatically put his opponent in a dominant position, but he couldn’t help himself. Gabe was the lamb, not the lion.
The soft fabric of the dress billowed off me. “How fortuitous then that you’re not the one setting yourself alight.” I winked.
He sighed; when up against me, his was always a losing battle. He rummaged through his bag and held up two tubes of lipstick. “Instigator or Caviar?”
I motioned to the black shade, daubed some across my lips, and handed it back to him. “Shall we?” I arched an eyebrow.
Gabe nodded but wouldn’t meet my eye. He set down the extinguisher and pulled a lighter from his pocket. Earlier The Five had placed tea lights around the edges of the room, all that would separate the spectators from me. Gabe walked from candle to candle, holding his lighter to each wick.
When he’d finished, Gabe strode to the circuit box. A few seconds later, the lightbulbs switched off. Darkness consumed the gallery but for the glimmering tea lights. One could be forgiven for finding the space romantic, at least until the action began. I stood stock-still on my stool, a nine-foot-tall grim reaper dressed as a cherub with black lips.
“Break a leg.” Gabe’s whisper rippled across the room. I blew him a kiss. He headed for the door.
A few minutes later the audience entered, invading the space like ants on a picnic blanket. Most of the faces were new; The Five had been hard at work these past months. I had worried that as they reached their thirties, they would tire of our mission and politely cut ties with me. On the contrary, their resolve never wavered, though one of them had married and two more were dating each other. They had all acquired day jobs, but this was their true calling. I was their vocation.
Two figures strode toward me. One of The Five held a camera with a glowing red light on her shoulder. The other was Gabe. He picked up the fire extinguisher, had insisted he be the one to hold the salve. “I’m right here.” He pulled the lighter from his pocket once more. “You sure?”
I ran my fingers down the bodice of the dress. A shame to waste it. I fluffed the skirt a final time, then settled my arms at my sides, letting them dangle, feigning nonchalance. I was ready and willing to do whatever it took to enlighten my followers.
“Now,” I said.
Gabe stepped toward me. The lighter clicked when he flicked it open. A tiny blaze illuminated the fright on his face. He, the antipode of fearlessness, crouched and held the lighter to the back of the skirt until the white cotton caught. The spectators gasped. All they had known coming in was the show’s title: Madame Fearless Presents . . . Aflame. Perhaps they had seen the intentionally vague marketing posters. Perhaps they had their suspicions. Perhaps they now regretted buying their tickets. It was too late to turn back, for all of us.
As the flames inched closer to my untouched skin, I did not scream.
When at last they took me, I wanted to.
* * *
? ? ?
MY EYES FLUTTERED open. One of The Five stood in the corner of the room, aiming her camera at me. An oxygen mask covered my nose and mouth.
“She’s awake,” the camerawoman said.
I moved my gaze in the direction from which she was speaking. Sleeping in the fetal position across two chairs, next to my bed, was Gabe.
The air around me reeked of failure. We were in a hospital.
The camerawoman nudged Gabe awake. He leapt to his feet and leaned over me. “If you need anything at all . . .”
I closed my eyes.
* * *
? ? ?
SOMETIME LATER I opened them again, struck by the monotony of the act. Open and close, open and close, over and over until they failed to open one final time.