A Cold War Adventure
Historical Fiction/Cold War Fiction w/romance subplots
Date Published: 03-01-2026
Publisher: Bim Bom Books
There are no accidents in life, only opportunities wearing different
clothes.”
When the first privately owned Soviet circus arrived in 1990 America as the
Soviet Empire unraveled, its elite performers expected to build cultural
bridges through spectacular shows. Instead, this prestigious troupe faced a
perilous journey through Cold War America.
Circus director Yuri had to navigate treacherous waters where American
mobsters, Soviet agents, and political forces circled like predators. Young
aerialist Anton dreamed of becoming a clown against his family’s wishes, while
forbidden romances and unexpected connections bloomed between Soviet
performers and Americans who saw past the ideological divide. As high-stakes
conspiracies threatened to tear the circus family apart, they had to choose
between the authoritarian chains of home and the uncertain promise of freedom.
As The Ringmaster reminds us, “The best Soviet stories are like
vodka—they burn with suffering, intoxicate with conflict, keep you
stewing in reflection, and yearning for your heart’s desire.” This
genre-bending tale explores whether human connection can transcend
ideology—and whether storytelling can bridge the divides that separate
us.
EXCERPT
Evil Angel lounged against a Hershey’s Kisses lamppost, smirking. “Relax,
Maria. He’ll get his sugar fix soon enough.”
They arrived at the carousel, where lights from hundreds of hand-blown
bulbs reflected off brass poles and mirrored panels, piercing the evening
mist. Evil Angel released a long, low whistle, his eyebrows raised in grudging
admiration.
CJ gestured to the carousel, his voice swelling with pride. “This beauty is
a moving piece of our nation’s history. Thousands of hours went into handcarving
and painting these horses. Five hundred hand-milled pieces run this
masterpiece, and hand-painted Miss Liberties and gilded American Eagles
commemorate our victory in WWI.”
The carousel’s wooden platform creaked beneath their feet as CJ touched
a carved horse’s mane. “Listen,” he whispered. “Every sound tells a story—the
craftsmen who carved these horses, the families who’ve ridden them. Even the
squeaks have history.”
As Raisa circled the platform, she ran her fingers over the glazed black
mane of a galloping circus jumper. The stallion’s muscles gleamed under the
carousel lights, its tail streaming behind like a banner—a frozen moment of
equine grace. Its circus-themed saddle blanket was fringed in bright yellow and
adorned with stars and stripes. Its mouth gaped, as if gasping for air.
CJ pointed out the hand-painted murals by post-war European artisans:
Rotterdam’s bustling port and Bavaria’s idyllic landscapes—snapshots of a world
forever changed. His voice carried the pride of twenty years of stewardship.
Evil Angel rolled his eyes. “Here comes another history lesson.”
“The artists painted scenes inspired by their homelands: a mother and
child, a man with his ladylove, a Bavarian family, and a matador in a bullfight.
With twenty mirrored panels and a thousand hand-blown light bulbs, the
designer spared no expense.”
CJ shook his head. “Today’s merry-go-rounds are made of aluminum and
plastic. Beauty nourishes the soul; expediency breeds indifference. For most
visitors, it’s just another ride.”
Raisa and Stallion studied each panel, pointing out the historical details as
if they were in a living museum.
As they approached a Wurlitzer organ, CJ’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“This handcrafted, self-playing machine is one of only a few military band
organs powered by a hidden steam engine.”
“It’s a Wurlitzer with a hundred and sixty-four pipes, fifty-four keys,
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206
sixteen bells, a trombone, trumpet, violin, and cello, plus a glockenspiel and
wooden flute—rich, like an orchestra. You can’t replicate its sound with a
synthesizer.”
The Wurlitzer’s brass pipes gleamed like a miniature cathedral organ
under the carnival lights. “They stopped making these in the ’50s—modern
rides play CDs.”
Stallion lifted Raisa onto her circus horse, his hands lingering on her waist
as he stood beside her.
As steam hissed from the pipes, the first notes of a Parisian-themed waltz,
“Ekaterina,” floated out—first violin, then piano, and finally the whole orchestra.
The mechanical heart of the carousel ticked beneath their feet, counting down
to magic. 14
Raisa’s circus-trained balance found its rhythm as the carousel stirred to
life—the jumper rising and falling in perfect tempo. With her red heels resting
in the stirrups, Raisa recalled a creaky old metal carousel horse in Leningrad.
Nothing was as extravagant as this. She hummed along with the melancholy
tune, Stallion feeding off her smile.
After several turns, the Wurlitzer picked up the tempo with Shostakovich’s
Second Waltz, and Raisa’s horse cranked up and down in a faster gallop. She
remembered dancing this Russian waltz in circus school.
Raisa looked down at Stallion’s dark, wavy hair and up at his broad chest as
her steed pumped up and down. Their eyes locked. Swaying with one hand on
the saddle and the other on the horse’s neck, Stallion enjoyed the Russian waltz,
though he preferred the Viennese. 15
The Wurlitzer shifted from Shostakovich to Strauss, its steam-powered valves
opening like mechanical lungs. The “Voices of Spring” filled the night air. 16
14 Listen to “Carousel (a French Waltz)”, from composer and artist Ekaterina.
Scan or visit: https://bimbombookclub.com/Ekaterina-Carousel-
French-Waltz
15 Listen to the “Suite for Jazz Orchestra No. 2” by Dmitri Shostakovich
Scan or visit: https://bimbombookclub.com/dmitri-shostakovich-waltz-no-2
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207
As the tempo quickened, Raisa’s horse pumped faster, and her fingers
tightened around the brass shaft as her horse rose and fell. Stallion recognized
the “Voices of Spring” and could no longer remain idle. His hands found
Raisa’s waist, and he swung her side-saddle and lifted her from the horse to the
carousel’s edge.
Muscle memory took over: his right hand grasped her left, their fingers
intertwined, her hand curling over his shoulder. With his free hand on her
back, he led her into a waltz. Raisa’s spine straightened, each instrument joining
the symphony like another dancer entering their spinning world. The Viennese
tempo spun them outward as the carousel sped up.
They swung gracefully in swift circles against the carousel’s rotation,
defying physics with every spin. The platform’s momentum battled their steps,
threatening to hurl them outward as they twirled inward. Laughing breathlessly,
their hearts pounded as they resisted the carousel’s centrifugal force. Their
synchronized steps kept them balanced on the edge of a spinning world, aware
that any movement could fling them off the ride.
Each turn showcased years of dance training: her flawless arabesque, his
confident lead, their shared rhythm. Their bodies remembered steps learned
in different worlds—his in UCLA’s dance studio, hers in Moscow’s circus
school.
Evil Angel conducted an invisible orchestra while Good Angel desperately
clung to the brass pole, her apron fluttering, muttering Italian prayers.
Beneath the platform, hand-milled gears meshed, their precision
concealed by carved panels. Each revolution sent the dancers gliding past
mirrors, their reflections multiplying into infinity. The hand-blown bulbs
illuminated their dance in amber and gold, while starlight glimmered in the
horse’s glass eyes.
As the gears clicked faster, their waltz matched the acceleration—onetwo-
three, one-two-three—until the painted horses and chariots blurred into
streaks of gold and crimson, galloping at Cupid’s hand. Keeping pace, Stallion
and Raisa moved with a precision that only trained bodies could achieve.
16 Listen to “Voices of Spring Waltz” composed by Johann Straus
Scan or visit:https://bimbombookclub.com/voices-of-spring-johann-strauss
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208
The world contracted to essential points—her hand in his, shared breath,
perfect timing. Their finesse showed in every effortless turn. Everything else
faded, disappearing into their locked gazes.
Memories flickered through Raisa’s mind—rigorous training, the thrill
of dancing to forbidden Western records. But this was a magic she had never
known: raw and free, unfettered by state-approved choreography.
Evil Angel marveled at how one would be flung off the ride if the other let
go. He clipped his cigar: “An unusual predicament for a budding relationship—
let alone a first date.” Nothing he said could distress Good Angel—she was
enchanted, dabbing the corner of her apron against her teary eyes.
Steam rose from the Wurlitzer as the last notes of Strauss lingered. The
carousel’s spin slowed like a music box winding down. Evil Angel straightened
his tie; Good Angel blew into her hanky, while dust motes danced in the soft light.
Still immersed in the waltz’s rhythm, Raisa’s red heels found solid ground
as Stallion’s hands steadied her waist.
As they caught their breath, CJ led them on, his voice softening. “Back
then, the waltz shocked society—it was the first dance where men and women
held hands. They called it The Forbidden Dance. Churches condemned it as
sinful. Religious zealots threatened composers and instructors with death.”
“The Times of London wrote, ‘The waltz involves the voluptuous intertwining
of limbs and close compression of bodies, in ungodly violation of ladies’
decency and morals.’ Fathers were warned against exposing their daughters to
such a contagion. In the end, though, the teenagers won the day.”
Evil Angel tugged on Good Angel’s apron. “Wasn’t that what happened to
Elvis?”
CJ shook his head in admiration. “Wow! I think you both deserve some
chocolate. Follow me to Hershey heaven.”
Night settled deeper over the park. The string lights cast warm pools of
light, while shadows thickened between them as they headed to the Chocolate
Emporium. A breeze carried the sweetness of chocolate and candy floss from
nearby confectionery tents.
CJ led them beneath a massive neon sign that flashed: ‘Hershey’s Chocolate
Emporium.’
The emporium rose before them like a temple of chocolate. Raisa’s eyes
widened as she took in the lavish displays, a stark contrast to the bare shelves
and endless queues of Moscow’s government-run stores.
Floor-to-ceiling candy chutes dispensed bite-sized samples—Kit Kats,
About the Author
Cliff Lovette is a father, storyteller, and dog lover living in Sandy Springs,
Georgia. For over 40 years, he practiced entertainment law, serving as Senior
Vice President at LaFace Records and representing artists including Usher and
Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes. His passion for bridging historical divides led him to
co-produce a groundbreaking reconciliation event between descendants of
Buffalo Soldiers and Lakota Native Americans. In 1990, when Bobby
Liberman—road manager for the first privately owned Soviet circus
touring America—became his client, Cliff discovered the true story that
inspired this debut duology.
Contact Links
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TikTok: @ringmaster606
YouTube: @TheRingmaster-n7y
Purchase Links
Author’s Edition
books.by/bim-bom-books
The Author’s Edition comes with:
• Signed bookplate
• Digital circus poster
• Charter Bim Bom Book Club Membership
• Exclusive access to “Rabbit Hole” chapters
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