The show itself is hard to explain, but in general, it’s a celebration of water. There is no real plot, per se, nor is one necessary. “O” is a stunning display of athletes, acrobats, synchronized swimmers, divers and mythical characters, all of whom perform on a constantly changing liquid stage.
The program described the music as “haunting and lyrical, upbeat and melancholy”—and they weren’t lying, it was superb. For me, the blend of music and choreography enhanced the beauty and spectacle of the experience. Sure, I’d seen other circus acts that impressed me. But I’d never made an emotional connection with the performers before. But here, sitting beside Callie, watching “O,” I found myself caught up in the performers’ world of grace, strength and art. And loving every minute of it.
There are seventeen acts in the show, no intermissions. I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Callie several times, but each time her face showed less expression than Joan Rivers after a Botox treatment.
Until the seventeenth act: “Solo Trapeze.”
That’s when I saw Callie’s right hand tense, ever so slightly. I turned to look at her and saw her—not crying, but tearing up. Then, amazingly, a single tear spilled over the edge of her eyelashes and traced halfway down her cheek. She didn’t notice me staring, didn’t make a move to wipe it dry. More than nine million people have seen “O” in this theater, but none were moved more than Callie. I know, because I’ve seen her in dozens of situations that would have made the toughest guys cry. Add all those events to this and you get a total of one tear.
I opened my program and noticed the girl on the trapeze was the alternate. There was something familiar about the name.
And then it hit me.
It was Eva LeSage.
I’d never met Eva, but Callie used to guard her back in Atlanta for Sensory Resources. You get attached to the people you guard, and you like to see them succeed in life. Callie was proving to be far more sentimental than I’d ever known her to be. On the other hand, she hadn’t so much as frowned while killing Charlie and his friends a few nights ago, so it was unlikely she’d be mistaken for Mother Teresa anytime soon.
After the show I said, “There are six Cirque du Soleil shows playing Vegas.”
“So?”
“So that means tonight, five hundred performers will be walking the Strip—all of them limber enough to have sex without a partner.”
She gave me a curious look. “Anyone can have sex without a partner.”
“Not
“Thanks for the visual.”
We climbed into our waiting limo and headed to the Encore Hotel. We had dinner reservations at Switch.
“Did you get anything else out of the show?” Callie said, “aside from the sexual dexterity of the performers?”
“It’s probably the best show I’ve ever seen: synchronized swimmers, acrobats, Red coated soldiers with powdered wigs riding on flying carousel horses, world-class high divers, contortionists, a man so deeply involved with his newspaper he continues reading it after bursting into flames…”
“Anything else?”
I smiled. “I was particularly impressed by the solo trapeze artist who made her debut tonight. The understudy from Atlanta. Eva LeSage.”
Callie studied me a moment before saying, “When did you figure it out?”
“Not till the very end.”
“You think she’s good enough to get the lead?”
I shrugged. “I’m not qualified to say.”
I looked at Callie and sensed she needed to hear some type of personal validation from me. Something honest, from the heart. I dug deep.
“For me, Eva had a delicate, ballet quality that went beyond special. She wowed me tonight. It was like watching poetry in motion.”
“Poetry in motion,” Callie repeated. Her voice had a wistful quality about it.
