Entwined Read online

  He looked up at her, and inched his hat further up his domed forehead, scratching his head. Then he removed the hat and ran his stubby fingers through thick curly hair flecked with gray. The last time Ruda had seen him, it had been coal black. It was the nicest thing about him, his curly hair. She noticed it was dirty now, sweaty from the hat.

  “I said, what do you want, Tommy? You’re not here for a job are you? Not after what happened—they wouldn’t touch you. I’m surprised you can still find circuses that’ll employ you.”

  Kellerman spat into the mud.

  “Isn’t there someplace we can discuss this comfortably? It’s raining, and I could do with a bite to eat…”

  “I’m real busy, Tommy, it’s feeding time, maybe we can meet someplace later.”

  He stared up at her, and his eyes searched hers before he spoke.

  “You owe me, Ruda: All I want is my fair share. I can’t get work, good work. I’m broke, I’ve had to sell most of my props and, well, I reckon you can give me a cut.”

  “Cut of what?”

  “Well, there’s a few ways to look at it. I’m still your legal husband, and I bet any dough your old man doesn’t know that!

  Now you are rollin’ in it, and you’re on the number one circuit, this must be one hell of a contract…and all I want is a part of it, you either get me in on the act…”

  “They’d fucking eat you, Tommy…no way!”

  One of the helpers passed the small alleyway between the cages. He paused. “Excuse me, Mrs. Grimaldi, but the freezers are open. You want to come over and sign for the meat?”

  Ruda nodded. “Be right with you, Mike.”

  Ruda hid Tommy by standing in front of him, and she remained there until Mike had left.

  “Ruda, I need money, I’m broke.”

  She turned on him, snapping angrily. “When have you not needed money, Tommy? If it moves, you’ll slap a bet on it. You owed me, remember? I paid you off years ago, I owe you nothing.”

  Kellerman’s face twisted with anger. “You had no thin’, not even a fucking passport, I got you out of Berlin. Me! I put food in your mouth, clothes on your back. Don’t give me this bullshit, you owe me a lot, Ruda, and if Grimaldi were to know you are still married, he’d hit the fuckin’ roof… I keep my ears to the ground, bitch, I know you took over his act, and I know he’s relegated to watchin’ outside the ring like a prick! And I hear he hates it, he’s still screwing everythin’ in a skirt, so how do you think he’d feel if he knew you never got divorced? I reckon he’d be a happy man, Ruda. Now you tell me how much you owe me? I am your husband, and I got the marriage license to prove it. You got the divorce papers? Huh?…Well?”

  Ruda pawed at the ground with the toe of her boot.

  “Don’t mess me around, Tommy, how much do you want?”

  “Well, you got two options, sweetheart. Make me a part of the act, cut me in, or—-I know what they pay top acts, so I don’t think it’s too much—just give me one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Are you crazy? I don’t have that kind of money, everything I earn goes into the act. I swear I don’t have…”

  Kellerman ran to the front of Mamon’s cage. He pointed with his stubby finger. “Well, sell this bastard, they’re worth a lot of dough, aren’t they? Or sell your trailer, I know how much that’s worth, and I know Grimaldi must be set up. I need dough, I got to pay some heavy guys off, and I got no one else. What you want from me, want me to beg? Fuck you! You owe me!”

  Ruda remained in the narrow alley between the cages. It took all her willpower to contain her anger. “Tommy, don’t stand in front of the cages, they don’t like it. I’ll get you as much as I can, but not dollars, not here.”

  Kellerman leered at her. “That’s not good enough, Ruda. You want me to go over and have a chat with Grimaldi? You can get the cash from the head cashier. You think I dunno how much dough you’re getting paid per show? It was the talk of Paris, so don’t give me any bullshit.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll come to your hotel tonight after I fix the night feed. But only on condition you don’t work here. I also want our marriage license. Is it a deal?”

  Kellerman looked at his watch. “Okay, I’ll go grab a bite. You get me the dough, I’ll give you the license. We got a deal, my love.”

  “Then leave now, I don’t want you yapping to anyone!”

  Kellerman grinned. “Eh! There’s guys here that’d cut my throat if they saw me, so I’m gone…but you’d better turn up, you got until midnight.” He scrawled on a card the hotel and phone number, tucking it into her pocket, smiling. Then he perched his hat at a jaunty angle and departed.

  Mike was already sorting out the meat for the midday feed. He used a hatchet to slice the meat from the bone, and a carpenter’s sledgehammer with a short handle to crack open the carcass. Ruda collected the large trays, carefully tagged for each cat. They weighed the feeds, placing the trays in readiness for the cages. She wore a rubber apron; blood covered her hands and arms. Like Mike, she wielded the knives and hatchets like a professional.

  After they washed off the blood, Ruda said, “You can grab a coffee, Mike, I’ll do the next feed. What time have they allocated the arena for us?”

  Mike handed her a carefully worked-out schedule showing when the main rings would be available for her to rehearse the act.

  Ruda looked over the sheet, frowning. “Have the new plinths I ordered arrived yet?”

  “I think so, but until everyone’s settled, I can’t get to the delivery trucks. They’re all parked out at the rear.”

  She swore under her breath and snapped, “Go and check, I’ll need them tonight, we’ve no time to mess around!”

  Ruda fed the cats herself, as she always did. That way she could monitor their diet and see if they had any problems. After the feed, she helped the boys sweep and wash down the boards.

  It had been a long journey. Ruda’s helpers retired to their trailers exhausted. None of them had ever been able to keep up with her; she seemed to have unending energy and stamina; she was stronger than most men, and had high expectations. Anyone not prepared to give one hundred percent was fired on the spot.

  Until now she had not allowed herself to concentrate on the Kellerman problem. She was so engrossed in her thoughts, desperately trying to think what she should do about her first husband, that she virtually moved on automatic pilot. She had been so anxious to leave Kellerman that she had never considered divorce, but she had always consoled herself that no one would ever know because when she married Grimaldi, Kellerman was in jail. He wouldn’t know, and Luis would have had no reason to suspect she wasn’t divorced. Now she knew what a stupid mistake she had made. For Luis Grimaldi to find out now that they were not legally married would be very dangerous, especially since Ruda was poised to make her move and take over the act. Ruda and Grimaldi were partners, everything split fifty-fifty, but they were at loggerheads. Only the act tied Ruda to Grimaldi; the act that she had built up. Ruda was planning to draw up new contracts to increase her share to 70 percent of the proceeds. After months of bitter quarrels, she felt Grimaldi was ready to sign. But what if he were to discover she wasn’t legally married to him and had no legal hold over him at all? The act was still in Grimaldi’s name; every contract she signed was in his name, it didn’t matter that everyone knew she had taken over. The act was still his.

  Ruda dragged her boots over the iron grill outside the trailer steps, inched them off and stepped onto the portable steps in her stocking feet, and opened the door. She carefully placed her boots just inside, and then hung up her raincoat.

  The trailer was spacious. Her large bedroom was off the central sitting room, while her husband’s was off the far end by the kitchen. Ruda showered and washed her hair. Wrapped in a robe with a towel around her head she went into the kitchen. The coffee pot was still warm, and she poured herself a cup of the thick black liquid, then sat down with the mug in her ha
nds.

  The walls of the trailer were hung with framed photographs of herself, of Grimaldi, and of the various animals and circuits. Her eyes rested on the large picture of herself. It was the new poster, the first time Ruda was the main attraction of a circus. The fame of Schmidt’s was worldwide; she was at the pinnacle of her career.

  The coffee tasted good, bitter, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth. Her big, mannish hands were red raw, the skin rough, the nails cut square. She wore no wedding ring, no jewelry. Slowly she removed the damp towel, and her hair uncoiled in a wet dark twist. When it was combed back from her strong, raw-boned face, strange deep red scars were evident on her temples. They looked like burn scars, as if someone had held a red-hot poker to either side of her head.

  Ruda often aggravated the scars, because she had a habit, when she was thinking, of rubbing her forefinger over them, as if the feel of the smooth scarred skin comforted her. She began to do that now, worrying about Kellerman, wondering what she should do—what she could do—all the while staring at the picture of herself. In the photograph, surrounded by her lions, she looked powerful, invincible. At stake were not only her career and her partnership, but also her life. And no one was going to take it from her. No one had a right to take it away.

  Ruda rinsed out her mug and placed it on the draining board by the small sink, and she suddenly realized she was not alone in the trailer. She moved silently toward Luis’s bedroom; a low orgasmic moan make her step back. Then she heard her husband gasping, his moan louder, louder until he sighed deeply.

  Ruda remained standing by the bedroom door, wondering which of the young girls was being serviced—it was more often than not one of the eager starstruck grooms. Grimaldi earmarked these young girls virtually on arrival at the site. In his heyday he wouldn’t have looked in their direction, but now he fucked what he could still dazzle.

  Ruda sat down on one of the comfortable cushioned benches and lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift into rings above her head. She heard a soft girlish laugh, and looked in the direction of the bedroom, wondering if they were about to start over again, but then the clink of glasses and the low voice of her husband asking for a refill made her think she should remove herself since they could both be coming out. She half rose to her feet.

  “I love you.”

  Ruda raised her eyebrows; poor little whore.

  “When will you tell her?”

  Ruda sighed; the stupid little girl didn’t know that she was more than aware of these affairs. She thought to herself, “Well? Answer her!”

  “I’ll discuss it tonight, after the show, she’ll be too busy beforehand.” Ruda could tell by the slight slur in Luis’s voice that he had been drinking.

  The girl’s voice rose to a whine: “You said that days ago, you promised me…if she doesn’t care about you, why wait? You promised me, Luis, you promised.”

  “I’ll discuss it tonight, sweetheart, I give you my word…”

  Ruda decided she had heard enough. She was about to open the main door of the trailer and slam it hard, so they would know she was there, when she was stopped in her tracks.

  “The baby won’t wait—I want you to promise me you’ll tell her tonight, ask for a divorce tonight, promise me?”

  “Shit!” Ruda pursed her lips. The bloody tart was pregnant!

  Grimaldi’s voice grew a little louder. “Come here, look at me, Tina, I promise you we’ll talk tonight, okay? But it’s feeding time now, I can’t talk it over until tonight, she’s gonna have to rehearse, it’s not the right time.”

  Ruda walked out of the trailer, stuffing her feet into her old boots. What was another bloody Grimaldi brat? But could this one turn his head? He was over sixty. Could this one make his warped, drink-befuddled mind take some kind of responsible action? The timing could not have been worse. If Grimaldi was to discover he was not legally married, maybe he would, out of sheer perverseness, think about marrying this tart.

  Ruda’s mind began to spin. Grimaldi was old, he was feeling bitter and jealous of her success, he had been relegated to nothing more than an observer of the act. A child coming now could give Grimaldi a sense of power. Would this bitch give her husband the strength to confront her?

  Shoulders hunched, Ruda sloshed through the mud, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Rage made her whole body stiffen, and the cats picked up on it. As soon as she reached the perimeter of their cages, they began to growl, pacing up and down, heads low.

  The cages had to be driven undercover. The rain was pelting down, and the big animal tent had been erected; all the animal trailers were being moved into the covered arena, each having a delineated site within the tent. Ruda climbed on board the tractor with the first caged wagon ready and Mike gave her the signal to drive it in.

  Ruda wheeled the tractor around, hitching and unhitching each cage, her arms straining.

  Not until all the cages were secured and positioned in their allocated space did she relax. The large heaters were on full blast to ensure that the tent and grounds were kept dry and warm. All the tarpaulins from the tops of the cages were removed, laid out flat, and rolled up in readiness for the next journey.

  When she at last returned the tractor to the parking lot, she started checking the equipment trucks to make sure that all her props had arrived. Then she had to check out the show cages: Each one weighed a ton, but they had to be carried and stacked. She lifted and stacked along with her boys until the sweat ran down her face.

  Time was now short. She had to be ready for her rehearsal period; each act had its specific rehearsal time, and if she was not ready she would lose hers. The new plinths and pedestals were still in their wrappers. Ruda helped the workers heave them down from the truck and roll them into the practice ring. They were reinforced steel-framed leather-based seats and stools for the cats, ranging in height with reinforced interlocking frames; some were barrel shaped, some used under the ends of the planks. Each section had to be stacked for easy access and quick setup. They ranged from three feet to forty feet high, and they were very heavy.

  Ruda was stripped down to a T-shirt. Sweat glistened on her face and under her armpits as she drove herself to work harder than any man. Her boots were caked in mud, her big hands covered in old leather gloves as she used wire clippers to uncover the first plinth. Standing back to view it, she swore loudly, then ripped off the second and third covers. The plinths were correct in measurement, and exceptionally well made, but she swore and cursed louder than any of the men as she pointed to the leather seat base. She had given the specific colors to be used: red, green, and blue. They were as she had instructed—but they were too bright, too primal, and the gold braid too yellow.

  Ruda had just completed unwrapping the last plinth—stacking them side by side, all the covers and wires removed—and was standing hands on hips in a fury, when Grimaldi made his appearance.

  He stood over six feet tall, and had thick black curly hair, very black since he dyed it regularly. His once exceptionally handsome face was bloated now from age and excessive drinking, his dark eyes red-rimmed, but he could still turn heads. He was wearing high black polished boots over cords, and a Russian-style shirt, belted at the waist. He reeked of eau de cologne; Ruda could smell him before she saw him.

  “We got a problem?”

  Ruda snapped that indeed they had, and it was all his fault.

  “All you had to do, Luis, was give the colors for the plinths and you fouled that up—look at them, they’re far too bright, I’m gonna have to use the old ones when I link up the pyramid formation. Look at the fucking colors, too bright. I want our old ones.”

  Grimaldi shrugged. “You can’t have them. I sold them in Paris. These are okay, they’ll get used to them. What’s the panic? A few rehearsals, they’ll get used to them.”

  Ruda turned on him. “It’s not you in the ring with them, Luis, it’s me—and I’m telling you, those colors are too fu
cking bright!”

  Ruda’s face was flushed with fury. Luis knew, probably better than anyone else, the danger new equipment always presented. Even a different-colored shirt worn in the show could disturb the cats; they hated change of any kind. Although they accepted Ruda’s old rehearsal clothes, they seemed to know instinctively when she wore a different stage costume and they could act up. They had to be given time to accept the changes, and two days, Ruda knew, was not long enough.

  Ruda glared at her husband.

  “Get the old ones back, Luis, and get them by tonight!”

  His eyes became shifty; he hated to be spoken to in that way in front of the workers. “I said I sold them. Just work through the act, they’ll get used to them. I can’t get them back from Paris in time for the opening.”

  Ruda kicked one of the plinths in fury. “Just do what I ask, Jesus Christ! It was the only thing you had to do and you fouled it up!”

  Luis began to pick his teeth with a matchstick. “I’ll call around. What time do you rehearse?”

  Ruda was walking out of the tent. Over her shoulder she shouted for him to check the board. Luis noted they were not on until later that afternoon, so he joined a group of men going off to the canteen.

  Alone in the trailer, Ruda paced up and down. She opened the safe, counted the money kept for emergencies, and noted that Luis must have been dipping into it. She slammed the safe closed. There were about fifteen thousand dollars left. She then checked her own bank balance. In her private account she had fifty-two thousand dollars. She rubbed her scar until it pained her, then began to open drawers in her dressing table, feeling under her clothes for the small bundles of dollars she kept for minor emergencies. Like a squirrel she hid small stacks of notes in various currencies and denominations, but no matter how she searched and calculated, she did not have one hundred thousand. The more she mentally added up the amount, the more her fury built. This was hers, every single hard-earned cent was hers, and that little bastard felt he had a right to it.

  The cashiers said they could give Ruda an advance on her salary, but not until after lunch when they would go to the bank. Grimaldi would have to sign the release form, but if she came back at three they would have the money in dollars as she had requested. Ruda smiled, and shrugged, then said she’d changed her mind. She was smarting with the thought that she needed Grimaldi’s signature for an advance on her own wages.