As time passed and the babies grew bigger and stronger, the real world began to re-enter our lives.
No Limit had finished the final edits that Sara had asked for, added the titles at the start and end of the movie, and were gearing up for an early release. They seemed confident, but we’d learned that production companies make an art out of looking confident even when they know that they’ll be peddling a piece of shit. Not that I thought Sara’s work would be bad, but she was freaking out with nerves.
She’d barely slept the night before the first screening for teams from No Limits, KTM and the rest of us. Public screentests were scheduled to start next week which, we were told, would be the real test.
When I saw the number of people crowded into the small screening room at No Limits head office, I began to appreciate how many people had worked on the movie. For so long, it had felt like Sara operating alone, but there were a ton of technical people that she greeted as we walked in, then marketing employees, many of whom she’d been emailing but hadn’t met, and twelve people from KTM including Cassie Christie.
Sara hadn’t allowed any of us to see the final edit, and that included me. She said she wanted to see my real reaction when I was watching it. I called bullshit on that—she was just really scared. But I didn’t say anything. I’d realized that relationships are built on honesty and carefully selected lies: both were important, both had their place.
Besides, I’d seen a few pieces of video and thought it looked damn good, but I was nervous because she was. I wanted it to be amazing for her sake. She’d worked so hard. But as Michaels was fond of saying, Even assholes don’t plan to make a bad movie. Talking of assholes . . .
Michaels came over to shake hands with us and kiss Sara on the cheek. He didn’t linger, which was just as well.
Peanut and Dove had both been fed earlier in the hope that they’d sleep through the whole event. I wasn’t holding my breath, but that was the plan.
I also suspected that if the sound engineer turned up the volume on the surround-sound, it might possibly drown out the noise of two screaming babies, or a military heavy-lift helicopter taking off, which was a similar volume. Possibly.
But I was wrong about the music. As the opening credits scrolled down the screen, the music was gentle, almost introspective, definitely not what I’d been expecting. Unlike most of these types of adrenaline movies—stunt movies—instead of pounding rock music, she’d used something , filming in slomo, making it seem almost balletic.
The first shot was of Kes sailing through the air, and it wasn’t until the focus pulled back that you could see his motorcycle floating across the screen, six feet below him. It looked fucking amazing, totally jaw dropping. For the first time, I could really see what the crowd saw when we performed.
I glanced down at Sara’s face, watching her biting her lip, one hand on Peanut sleeping beside her. Even in the half-light of the movie theater, I could see the tension, the nerves.
I squeezed her hand, then turned back to the flickering light.
When the title came up on the screen, I smiled.
She’d called the movie, Legends: Dancing on Air.
The first shot after the title was as we were suiting up for a show, with close-ups of our faces through the visors, footage of us mentally preparing before an event, getting in the zone. She’d made us look kind of scary, really intense, as if we were soldiers about to do battle. Intercut with that were clips of us horsing around after, and getting into a water fight.
I remembered that day. Sara and Aimee had both gone for routine checkups and everything had been good. I’d been so damned relieved and happy, and that showed in every shot.
But there was something else, too, with so many close-ups on my body and tatts, it was almost pornographic, the way the camera lens traveled over my body.
I glanced across at her and raised an eyebrow, she winked at me, but she was blushing, too.
“Something for the ladies,” she whispered.
I cringed in my seat as the camera followed a trickle of water down my bare chest when I drank deeply from a bottle, then wiped my mouth with my arm and tipped the rest over my head, shaking my hair like a dog. All close up—all in slow motion.
“I love that scene,” Sara said, her lips against my ear. “It’s so freakin’ hot!”
“Are you pimping me out?”
Mock indignation colored my tone, but Sara just grinned and winked at me.
“Pays the rent.”
The other guys got almost an equal amount of skin time, and I heard Aimee snickering in the row in front and murmuring something to Kes that made him grin at her.
There were also shots of us doing yoga, on the trampoline, and some amazing footage of Kes fire-breathing at one of our bonfires, and then throwing knives. He was with Ollo, and I felt a sharp pain in my chest when I saw his wise old face, smiling with pleasure at his carnie family.
There were shots of Bo playing with our helmets and clinging to Kes’s back while he rode his motorcycle across the back lot at Pomona, and even some of Socrates as he peered owlishly into the camera’s lens, making everyone laugh.
Then the scenes moved onto stunts from the show and the music changed to a sharp flamenco. The shots were so good, so acute and close up, that it was unlike any aerial stunt footage I’d ever seen, and that made it stand out. It was pure theater, it was pure carnival.
The bikes seemed to hang in the air, even when the movie was playing in real-time speed, and I gotta say, with the extreme angles she’d used, it really did look as though we were dancing on air.
And there was the carnival in all its grit and glory. You could feel your hands rubbed raw as the roustabouts pulled on tent ropes, you could smell the fried foods and taste the funnel cake, you could feel the two-stroke fuel flowing through the throbbing bike engines.
You could see the sweat on our faces, the challenge and fire in our eyes as we performed handstands, parallel jumps, criss-crossing leaps where timing was everything, standing on the handlebars and flying through the air, sailing in the sky, although in reality it was only seconds. You could see every detail of the bikes from the gleaming chrome, 12 bars and sub cages to oil, sand and dirt.
As the final credits rolled, the team from No Limits were on their feet clapping and yelling. Sara slunk down into her seat, equal parts pleased and embarrassed.
The house lights snapped on and Seymour Michaels stood up at the front of the theater.
“I’ve got one word to say to you all,” he shouted. “Sundance!”
Yeah, not what I was expecting, but the No Limits employees seemed to understand.
“What’s he talking about, babe?” I asked Sara.
Peanut chose that moment to wake up and demand to be held, so I plucked him out of his carrier and bounced him on my shoulder.
“The Sundance Film Festival,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “They’re talking about taking my movie to the largest independent film festival in the whole US!”
I was so proud of her. So damn proud. I pulled her up, keeping one hand firmly around Peanut and kissed the hell out of her. Peanut didn’t appreciate being squashed between us and let out a screech that made us both wince.
Kes was laughing, his arms around Aimee and Dove; Tera and Tucker were making out in the back row; and Luke and Zach were surrounded by No Limit staff, smiling and laughing. Seymour Michaels swooped in to kiss Sara, keeping one eye on me as I frowned at him.
“You’ve got a very talented young woman there, Zef,” he said. “Hang onto her.”
“I intend to,” I said.
For the rest of my life.
Then a young kid entered carrying an enormous bunch of flowers in every imaginable color and presented them to Sara.
“Oh wow! These are so beautiful! Who are they from?”
She plucked the card and read out the words that I’d dictated to the florist over the phone.
To the beautiful woman who has brought color into my life.
Congratulations! I love you.
She blushed and looked up at me.
“Thank you, they’re gorgeous. But what if the movie sucked?”
“I knew it wouldn’t.”
“But it might have!”
“Well, in that case, I guess the flowers are because I’m apologizing for my bad behavior later.”
She laughed, her eyes shining, and I thought, Yes, I want to hear that for the rest of my life.
I thought about the whole day later as I lay awake that night, Sara breathing softly next to me. We’d gone home and made love silently as Peanut lay sleeping in his crib, watched over by Socks, who dozed with one eye open.
In the digital age, why do we still dream about running away to join the circus? What is it that pulls at our imaginations? Is it like Ollo used to say, sawdust and stardust? Or is it something in our blood? Something that calls to us, the open road, the stars in the sky, the audiences who find magic in what we do?
Maybe it’s all of that.
I’d been down as low as a man could get: addicted to alcohol and drugs, selling shit that fucked up people’s lives, spending time in prison with the dregs of humanity, evil fuckers . . . and men like me who’d taken a wrong turn in life.
It’s not easy to claw your way back up, but the carnival had done that for me, given me a second chance in life.
And now I had everything I could want, which isn’t so much as it turns out. I had my friends and family; a woman who loved me, despite all my flaws and failings; I had a son that I’d lay down my life for.
And I had the carnival.
Life was good.