Enzo insisted we experience The Kingdom Hotel's grandiosity as guests before worrying about performing. Angelo and I immediately packed what little we had in our apartments. The marble steps, arched double glass doors, gold vases of palm fronds, and crystal chandeliers greeted us into the Kingdom's expansive shimmering lobby. I imagined myself as a long lost royal who had finally been brought back to her glittering palace. Our whispers of amazement echoed up the arched ceiling, as did our footsteps. A concierge took our luggage up to the seventh floor where our suites stood side by side. Our rooms were so ridiculously spacious that we ended up practicing in them using our old wooden red board, which we would prop up in the middle of Angelo's room during practice. Often during the mornings, I would lay on the armchair in front of my arched window and listen to jazz on the gramophone. I would sip coffee as I watched the dense fog rolling back to the bay, revealing dozens of automobiles in city streets down below. It was a dream from which I wished I would never wake up.

It rained the night of our first performance. A bad omen. My hands would not stop trembling for the life of me, and I couldn't pin down whether I was nervous or thrilled. Angelo leaned into the bell boy's ear in the elevator and whispered a string of incoherent nonsense, to which the bell boy responded by nodding and pulling down a lever. I watched the walls slide up through the gate as the lift descended past the lobby floor and stopped at a subterranean level. You wouldn't even realize we were underground when the gate opened into a carpeted corridor with floral patterned walls.

Jazz echoed through the corridor, becoming louder with each step. We emerged through a lofty pair of ornate wooden doors and peered over a balcony to a lively scene below– women in frilly shimmering dresses and men in their finest suits swinging and drinking. There were tables around the edges of the room, some on scaffolded platforms. Not long after, we found ourselves in the center of a grand stage with golden light shining over us. For the first time ever, I saw a bead of sweat glimmering down Angelo's forehead as he raised the first knife over his head and swung. We performed the silhouette trace, the arched trace, and finally, evasion. I dodged every dagger, feeling dizzy by the very end. Angelo and I received the loudest ovation we'd ever had.

It was glorious. That was, until a group of older women approached us later at the bar to tell us how they'd seen a similar show at one of the speakeasies in the business district, except the man throwing knives was not as handsome as Angelo. Angelo entertained their flattery, but I could tell he was annoyed at the mention of other acts. Shameless copycats, he called them.

We grappled with the incessant need to stand out. I lost sleep tossing and turning night after night, wishing for a dream or vision to inspire our next act. There was only one truth neither of us could deny— the next act would have to be more dangerous.

***

"I'm going out to clear my head," I announced to Angelo at the doorway of his suite one morning. He rubbed his dark eyelashes in exhausted confusion. I clutched my purse, debating whether to tell him about my plans to finally purchase an automobile I'd been saving up for. I would miss the quaint little trolleys, but having my own motorcar meant I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Instead, I nervously tucked away a curl under my bowed bucket hat. "I shall be back around noon."

Angelo squinted at me. I suppose he was too drowsy to understand. Well! I was in a rush, so I strode down the awfully long hallway towards the lift. I really did need air. As grand as the Kingdom was, it was beginning to get rather stifling.

Just as I was about to turn the corner, I was yanked back by my coat sleeve. I whirled around to face a stern Angelo in his sleeping robe. "Where are you going?"

"Out. I told you." I brushed his hand off. "There's no need for you to tug me by the arm. I could have heard you perfectly fine if you had just called me down the hall."

"Oh my, I didn't mean to startle you," he said sarcastically. "Can't you see, Julia? We need to stand out from those shameless charlatans. There's no time to go out." Seeing as my annoyance hadn't cooled off, he added softly, "I would love to practice with my stunning doll of a target girl. That ok with you?"

I glanced from his pleading eyes to the elevator door, then to my worried reflection on a glossy framed photograph of San Francisco. Here she is. That independent New Woman I dreamed to be, being begged to return to her grinning post where the man will earn more while sacrificing less than she. Here she is, held back from spending the little riches she does earn. Is this really the future the Suffragettes fought for?

I took in a deep breath before returning his gaze. "I promise I won't be gone long."

***

"My robe!" I tried to walk away from the board during practice the following morning, but part of my robe tore off. I cried out when I realized his dagger had pinned my skirt to the board.

"Julia, Julia! It's only a robe," he laughed in relief.

"Oh..." I stared down in disbelief at the frayed edges as anger and fear bubbled within me. I bought this robe. Could he be angry that I returned an hour late the day before? When I looked up at him, I remembered who paid me. It came to me that I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Angelo, and in moments like this it was better to hold my tongue. My frown softened into a lighthearted pout. "But I loved this one. You'll need to buy me two more out of your own pocket, and I get to choose!"

"I can buy you four," he bragged.

I took the knife out and freed the poor piece of ripped satin, and suddenly got an idea. "Wear this."

***

A week later, four guests passed out after watching a blindfolded Angelo throw nine knives around the edges of my body. I had never been more proud, or ever felt more powerful. Just when I felt I could dance on clouds and was enjoying a glass of champagne at the bar, I got dragged down by a pig-headed man who insisted he knew it all.

"I'm no chump!" he declared rather drunkenly. The man could barely stand on his own two feet as he waved his glass around dramatically. "Anybody can do all that when you got a handy contraption that does the job for you. All you do is stand pretty, and all youuu do is pretend to throw the knife. Impalement art is nothing but a parlor trick." His smile was so smug, I wanted to slap it off him!

"I want a show, a real show!" He continued. "Gee, since when did they start letting anyone in?"

"I assure you, it is very real," Angelo said. His voice sounded collected, but I could see the veins in his clenched fist straining.

"Sure it is. Don't worry, I'll keep your secret." The snobbish man winked.

Angelo pushed his cheek out with his tongue in irritation and nodded before grabbing the man's shoulder. "If you're so sure, why don't you stand against the board and let me throw one at you? After all, it's just a trick of the eyes, right? Come on now, don't be scared."

The man leaned away and let out a nervous laugh. "I would, I would, but ah, my wife must be looking for me... She can't handle her liquor well, you know how it is." He patted Angelo's shoulder before scurrying away.

Every night, we basked in the glory of stage lights, echoes of gasps, and standing ovations. Yet, we couldn't stop wondering how many other guests secretly saw our performance as a fake act. Was I really laying my life down just for people to admire my face and laugh about how clever our "contraption of fake knives" was? It maddened me to tears. How much more did I have to give for them to truly respect our fearlessness? My fearlessness?

The woman's thin eyebrows in the bathroom mirror furrowed under short dark curls as she rubbed rouge lipstick over her thin lips. I glared at my image. Here she is, I thought, in this lavish hotel, but she's still not enough. I tossed the lipstick angrily into the sink and gripped the counter. What an ugly color. I'll buy another one later. I sighed and thought about the naysayers' two cents again. If a contraption was what they wanted, a contraption was what they'd get.

***

"The Wheel of Death," Enzo echoed as Angelo and I stood in an empty storage room before the newly made contraption we'd paid workers to make. "It has a nice ring to it." He gripped the neck brace, back brace, handles, and foot peg to make sure they were sturdy.

"All Angelo will have to do is latch me in, spin it, and I'll take care of the momentum," I explained. I stepped on, and Angelo secured me to the board. I laughed as it spun. It reminded me of the fair rides I went on when I was little. A knot formed in my throat as I remembered my parents' smiling faces. It seemed I only made them happy when I was a child. Easily molded. Obedient. Pure. It was best not to think of them now.

"What a deviously terrifying show this will make!" Enzo clapped. "Be ready to present this next Friday night, yes? Yes!"

"Next Friday night? Why, that's not enough time at all!" I cried out. Enzo lifted his eyebrow in disdain.

"No no, please excuse my dear target girl," Angelo laughed while waving my response away. "It's the nerves speaking. Of course we can have it down by next Friday night."

"That's what I like to hear, Mister Angelo. I will leave you both to practice, then."

***

We started with apples. They bounced off my arms the first few days we practiced, with some missing the wheel completely. I don't know when I would be ready for the knives. I could hardly keep from trembling every time I stepped onto the board and willingly let Angelo strap me in. Eventually, his aim improved. I bounced my knees slightly to keep it spinning, and he coordinated his throws with my speed. A week later, we switched to knives. The first two stuck into the board, but the next one bounced off onto the floor.

"Damn it all!" The knives in Angelo's hand clattered to the ground, sending a sharp echo through the storage room.

"Let's just take a break," I gulped. He'd become increasingly agitated over the month. Sometimes, I would wake to find him slumped outside the door of his hotel room humming and murmuring songs. Other days, he'd interrupt our conversations with loud sighs and yawn whenever guests approached us at the bar to compliment my wits and ask about how we come up with the ideas for our shows. "Help unstrap me."

"No," he muttered, running his hands through his face. "We have to keep practicing. We need to get this down by Friday night."

"We can't, it's impossible. Tell him to push the date back one more week, just one more week!"

"No, didn't you hear Enzo?" Angelo said while picking up his knives. "They're expecting a new show!"

"Listen to me, you're exhausted. Your knives won't even hit the board. Let's just take a break."

Angelo slowly turned his head to me before storming up to my face. "No. You listen to me. I don't know where you get the guts to waltz in here thinking you're the big cheese all of a sudden."

"No one. We're equal," I said. The metal was starting to strain my wrists.

Angelo looked me up and down and scoffed. "Is that what you think? Look at yourself, and look at me. You think you can boss me around just because you come up with the ideas? I'm the man holding the knives. I'm the one with skills. Without me, there's no show. You poor, blind little fool. You're just a pretty face who was desperate enough to say yes at the bar all those months ago. If I say we're performing this Friday, then we will perform this Friday."

My breath suddenly hitched. Desperate, yes. A fool, perhaps. Blind? Never. I never felt like I had a choice; it was the streets or the promise of a future, as foggy as the prospects might be. Perhaps I was a fool to stay, but what choice did I have in leaving? I had no way to earn income by my own means, at least not respectfully. And so I dealt with it. I swallowed back the constant dismissals of my worries, I bit my tongue, and I smiled at the compliments and gifts he gave to make sure he could keep me. But now, trapped on this tortuous wheel of death as he laid out his true feelings, I was empty and powerless.

Angelo began to sharpen his knives. "I don't know what you're worried about when all you have to do is stand. It's the easiest job out of the two of us."

"Please," I choked out as my heart raced. "Please, could we take a moment to rest?"

Angelo ignored me. He gripped the edge of the wheel and spun it hard. I couldn't stop the tears from falling. All I could do was sway to keep the momentum going and to prevent it from slowing down and messing up his timing. Like a prayer, I chanted in my head. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. There could be no doubt in my mind. Doubt is deadlier than trust.

***

Friday arrived. I stood like a statue next to Angelo as the lift descended into my heaven turned inferno. My muscles ached, as if they were contorting themselves without my control. I rubbed my arm to soothe my nerves, but flinched upon touching the dark bruise hidden under my gloves from an apple Angelo had thrown a little too roughly. I stared down at my hands. They would not stop trembling. Suddenly, a nightmare image of the crowd in that lavish hall flashed into my mind. Their faces were overshadowed by their top hats and bob haircuts under pillbox hats. Only their shining eyes stood out. They would judge our every move, every minuscule bead of sweat. I imagined every single one of my gasps echoing throughout the grand room and betraying our facade of fearlessness. Soon, I was certain, they would see the truth. We were just two lucky fools from the south side of the city. This night could very well be the final show for this charlatan. I gulped down the knot of fear and disillusionment in my throat and stepped out of the lift.

***

"For what it's worth, I'm awfully sorry you had to see me that way." Angelo held my shoulders firmly after we'd stepped onto the stage. I held my hands behind my back. The curtains were still concealing us from the spectators. "I can tell you're angry with me, darling. I don't blame you. I acted like a bloody deranged fool. Please forgive me?" I stayed silent. "Well, I'm certain the applause after this spectacle of a show will put you in a pleasurable enough mood to forget it all."

"Perhaps it will," I said flatly. Perhaps, I still had wits for one final act. I smiled up at him sweetly. "Oh darling, you were right. I am a poor, blind little fool. But I am not as blind a fool as you!" I moved my hand from behind my back and plunged the knife with all my might deep into Angelo's thigh. He gasped and clutched the bloody hilt, staring at me with wide eyes. I held my head high and stared down at him as he collapsed onto the ground in pain. "You are nothing without your knives. Good luck finding yourself another target girl, I'm through!"

***

"Ladies and gentlemen," Enzo announced into the microphone. "Put your hands together for this never before seen death-defying act! The notorious Impalement Artists Angelo and Julia bring you..."

The audience applauded and cheered as the curtains raised. Suddenly, they gasped and screamed.

"The Wheel of Death!"

Enzo's voice and the audience's cries echoed through the corridor, but became muffled once I stepped into the lift. "Take me up." I ordered. The bellboy obliged.

I tossed my luggage into the back of my automobile and turned the key in the ignition. I assumed their horrified gasps were from the dagger Angelo had to pull out of his thigh. I drove away from The Kingdom Hotel and away from my dreams with an empty feeling in my racing heart.

I checked my mirror routinely to make sure no one was on my tail, only to be met with my reflection hidden under a clean pillbox hat and round sunglasses. I tossed my bloody gloves over the bridge as I drove above the foggy ocean. It's ok, I'll just buy new ones later. I drove on and on until I ran out of gas. I stopped at a remote town to fuel up, only to realize my precious automobile had been stolen. It's ok, I'll buy a new one!

The time never came. The glory days were over after almost every bank in America failed a few months later in a cold September, leaving all the stores closed and boarded up with NO TRESPASSING signs. I'm trapped in a frigid cardboard town in the middle of nowhere. Now, I sit around a small fire with strangers while hugging the same coat I wore the day I left. It now smells of ash and wood.

"My turn! You've hogged up the fire long enough!" An older woman shoves me out of the way. I'm too exhausted to tell her I've only been sitting there for ten seconds.

Sometimes, I'll pass the time throwing Angelo's old knives– my knives, now– at empty cans or pieces of scrap wood propped between rocks. I kept the knife case, all except for the knife I stabbed into Angelo's leg. I wonder what he's doing now. No, I really don't care. I throw knives to relive those glory days, imagining I was the one on the other side, and sometimes to dispel my anger. I've gotten pretty good at it.

Morning comes. I wake when I feel the sun faintly warming my cheek and the ground beneath me. I join the campfire, and a frail hand passes me a piece of bread. I break it and pass the other piece to another hand outstretched next to me. The sun rises only to be covered by clouds a few hours later. I'm envisioning a stage as I launch knives at an abandoned door I found. I outlined the silhouette of a person with the lipstick I ended up trading for cans.

***

"You're awfully good at swinging those knives. What are you, a murderess?" a feminine voice laughs. I turn toward the voice to meet a thin young woman with long black hair. She's too pretty to be here.

"Not quite," I chuckle. She has a beautiful smile. I can see our future now. A stage. Lights beaming down at us. We are alluring, mysterious, and brave bordering on insanity.

My mind flashes back to the spinning Wheel of Death, to that moment I choked back my sobs after pleading for freedom. I think about Angelo and the knife in his knee. A furious heat grows in my chest. I refuse to be restrained. I refuse to be the grinning lady on the board.

My heart races when I realize— I am the hand that wields the knife. I am the most important part of the show. No one will ever be above me.

I look this desperate girl up and down and smile. "You are much too beautiful to wander around parts like these." The young woman turns her face but fails to hide the flustered smile forming on the edges of her lips. What a perfect fool. "How would you like to be my target girl?"