Beyond the Curtain

01 | rule 47

RULE 47: WHEN THE AUDIENCE IS WATCHING, YOU MUST SMILE AT ALL TIMES.

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"Cash or card?" I displayed my signature customer service smile. Having perfected the correct amount of cheek-to-teeth ratio in my contractually obligated smirk, I knew for a fact my smile could placate most—if not all—customers who frequented my booth.

On the other hand, after being shown, through vast picture evidence, my smile in such circumstances never quite reached my eyes. It was cheery and inviting, but it did lack a certain warmth that not even the most lucrative of paychecks could light within me.

For most customers, the power of such a smile went far enough.

However, the man staring across from me, eyes blank, was not one of those customers, clearly.

The corners of my cheeks began to ache, but I pushed the pain aside as the red-nosed, middle-aged man threw several bright red tickets in my direction. In throwing the tickets my way, his gaze never left the countless trinkets—fake werewolf nails, furry wolf pelts, fake silver jewelry—set up at my booth.

When I was not center stage performing my well-practiced circus routine, I was either tending to my booth or prowling the circus in an attempt to both hype up customers for my future performance or convince them to take part in the many spoils the circus had to offer.

Inhaling sharply, I smoothed down my small apron that was filled with cash from earlier transactions. Arching my shoulders, I made sure to enlarge my smile while I said, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't accept these tickets."

He finally glanced up from the table to meet my eyes. His fingers tightly latched around one of the werewolf nails closest to the hand-carved price tag. "But I bought them here." His entire face was void of emotion as he loudly chewed on a splintering toothpick.

"Yes." I nodded my head, biting my lip. "But they're only redeemable for rides or games. Were you not informed? If not, I can get my ma—"

My heart fluttered in my chest. Offering to get my manager, who really was not just my manager but the owner of the entire circus at large, was a line I sometimes threw out to customers and circusgoers alike to satisfy them. Usually, it never went any further.

Otherwise, I would be the one paying the price for disrupting Miss Nymphadora for such trivial matters. On the off chance someone did take me up on my offer, I usually scrounged the circus grounds for one of Miss Nymphadora's right-hand henchmen before resorting to bringing the circus' namesake into the conversation.

With every fiber of my being, I hoped the man, who had proven to be difficult enough already, would not take me up on my offer.

"—What the fuck," he interrupted, blinking hard while his mouth hung slightly ajar. "This is fucking ridiculous."

He began fervently muttering to himself, each word more indiscernible than the next. Unable to understand what he was saying, I took a precautionary step back, putting as much space between us as possible. Trying to gather his tickets to return to him, he startled me by bolting upright, green eyes bulging.

In the blink of an eye, he fished the rest of his tickets out of his pockets, threw them at me once again, and made a break for the exit with some merchandise clutched in his grubby hands.