Just then, Sangria rushed past them. She barely avoided colliding with Amandine as she dove inside and slammed the door so hard that it shook the entire trailer.
Just then, Marmi emerged from her tent and beckoned to the bewildered dressmaker. Amandine promptly jammed her journal into her pocket and hurried over with René not far behind.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I am impressed,” Marmi said. “You took an angry girl in her underwear and in one night turned her into a... I don't know what she is, but I want to see more.”
Marmi sipped her rooibos tea and looked Amandine over from her short, messy curls to the stockings bunched around her calves.
“If you continue to produce similar results, I would like you to work closely with Coronado on the new show. However, that will have to wait until we stop. For now, all of us must prepare to move right away.”
Marmi gave René a nod and returned to her tent to pack.
“Ç’est génial!” René lifted his hand like he was going to pat Amandine’s shoulder, but he changed his mind mid-gesture and wiped his hair back instead.
“That doesn’t sound at all bad.” Amandine frowned at the red trailer again. “Though I wonder what got Sangria all worked up. I’d better check on her.”
“Right.” René rubbed his hands together. “We have to get going in about twenty minutes. You don’t have to worry about much. Just make sure all of your things are inside the trailer and somebody will come hitch you.”
He laughed nervously, gave a small wave, and jogged off towards Coronado’s truck.
Inside the trailer, Sangria was sitting calmly at her vanity. She glanced over at Amandine and resumed wiping off her dramatic makeup with a damp cloth as if nothing was wrong.
“You’ve changed clothes already,” Amandine said, noting her roommate’s belted black dress.
“Well, I can’t strut around in my costume all day,” Sangria sighed, wringing out her washcloth. “We have to move.”
“Did Marmi like what you showed her?”
“Oh yes.” Sangria poked through the cosmetics spread out on the vanity. “In fact, she asked me to consult with Mister Coronado about finding a role for me to play in the show when we stop.”
“That’s great news!” Amandine clapped her hands. “It’s exactly what we wanted! You had me all worried, acting all serious like that.”
The contortionist ignored her and sketched in her eyebrows. “Can you do me a favor?”
Amandine wasn’t sure why Sangria wanted to avoid the subject, but she let it go for the time being. “Sure. What do you need?”
“Could you please go get my breakfast while I finish getting ready?”
“Of course!”Amandine scooped up the Japanese bowl sitting by the stove. “Anything for the star.”
She left Sangria blushing so deeply, that her cheeks nearly turned purple.
“Bystryee! Bystryee!” Piotr shouted at the others who had come late for breakfast. “Hurry up and eat! The Frenchman says we only have fifteen minutes until we move.” He seemed to be in no rush himself, however, as he casually swept oats and coffee grounds from the kitchen table.
Carmelita was helping herself to seconds when Amandine trotted over to the campfire.
“Armandina!” she exclaimed. “I am so glad you’re staying on with us. Come meet my husband.”
“Amandine,” she corrected her gently. People often mispronounced her name, but she enjoyed this particular variation. “It’s a French name, though I think the Spanish version is just lovely, too.”
“Ai, French, French and more French,” Carmelita complained. “French everywhere and not another soul who can speak Español.”
“No one, darling,” said the person at her side. “Except for you, me, your brother, and Juan.” He extended a hand in Amandine’s direction. “I haven't introduced myself yet. I’m Nick Thatch, the Half-Man. You’ve already met my wife.”
Amandine shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Or do you prefer ‘ma'am?’”
Nick laughed in an exaggerated baritone. It was true, even when he wasn’t performing, one half of him was considerably more feminine that the other. His right side looked strong and handsome, like the American soldier in the recruitment ads, with short brown hair, half of a mustache, and muscular definition. His left side had much longer hair in half of a victory roll, a shaped eyebrow, and hairless limbs.
“I am entirely a gentleman, despite what my trailer says.”
“Your left side is very pretty, though,” Amandine gushed, already excited by the idea of designing a costume for Nick.
“My husband does very well for someone who isn’t really a freak,” Carmelita said. “He was discharged early into the war and traveled around as a handyman for hire. He found our fire one night and asked for work. We already had René to do the fixing, of course, so the girls and I got creative and dressed Nico up like this. Now he’s one of our most popular freak-acts after Sangria.”
Nick shrugged his shoulders in a way that said, “That’s just how it is.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, sir,” Amandine said. “But you’ll have to excuse me. I need to get Sangria her breakfast before we go.”
“Sangria and Antonio are the two biggest egos in camp,” Nick warned. “Don’t let either one of them boss you around.”
Amandine started back to her trailer, but she paused to watch Coronado’s truck fly across the clearing in reverse. It struck the red shepherd’s hut with a bang and rocked it violently from side to side.
Sangria’s head popped out of the window. She was already well into a colorful, metaphoric curse, but when she realized that it was Coronado’s truck that hit her, she disappeared back inside again.
René hopped out from the driver’s seat and sucked air between his teeth as he inspected the damage. Coronado looked as unhappy as ever, smoking on the passenger’s side.
“¡Ten cuidado! ¿Qué sucede contigo?” he scolded him. “Eyes on the mirrors!”
“Sorry.” René hitched the trailer. “That was a bit closer than I thought.”
All at once, Amandine understood Sangria’s odd behavior. She had seen her mother moon around the house before she was arrested, and the way Caroline clammed up when confronted looked exactly like what Sangria was doing now. This new knowledge made Amandine grin to herself, and she waved to the surly illusionist.
Unsurprisingly, Coronado only grunted in reply.
Amandine climbed inside and set Sangria’s food on the vanity. “Are you alright?” she asked, kneeling to help pick up her scattered makeup.
“Perfectly fine.” Sangria put everything away in their drawer. “Just a little confused. Mister Coronado doesn’t usually hitch me.”
“René was driving,” Amandine said helpfully. Once everything was cleaned up, she retrieved her sewing kit from her belongings and climbed up onto her top bunk.
“Well, that explains everything,” Sangria exclaimed, collapsing on her bed with her breakfast. “That idiot Frenchman has been skipping around the camp like a fool in love. It’s as if you were the last girl in the world.”
“I thought he seemed rather keen on you, despite your hostility,” she replied and heard Sangria sputter her oatmeal below. “But... do you really think René likes me?” Amandine felt her face go hot. “That would be marvelous.”
“Don’t get all excited,” Sangria growled, composing herself. “I don't know anything about that. All I know is that yesterday I see him leave to do the shopping, acting like his usual insufferably boring self, and the next thing I know, he’s fawning over you and telling everyone to go out of their way to make you feel welcome.”
“How sweet of him,” Amandine beamed. Once she made sure that Sangria wasn’t looking, she pulled her envelope of cash from the inside of her dress and ripped the lining out of her father’s jacket. She stitched several bills at a time to the inside of the coat, hiding her work beneath several incomplete quilt blocks. If Sangria looked up at w
hat she was doing, all she would see was that Amandine was making good progress on a colorful quilt top that she intended to give her mother upon their reunion.
“Get over yourself,” the contortionist said coldly. “René's a wolf. The only reason he’s behaving this way is obviously because he feels sorry for you. Though I suppose it's only natural. A wolf has to eat, even if all he can catch are shrews. I mean, it's not like he could be with any of us.”
Amandine knew what Sangria was trying to do. The contortionist might have consented to share sleeping space, but that didn’t mean that she suddenly liked their arrangement. After all, she had her costume and her place in the new show. There was no reason to keep Amandine around, so she doubled her efforts to drive her away. What Sangria couldn’t have known was that she was about to get a taste of the infamous Stewart stubbornness, because Amandine had resolved to stick around and conquer her roommate with kindness.
“Why couldn’t René be with any of you?” Amandine asked patiently.
“He’s the youngest guy in camp. All of the other women are in their thirties or forties.”
“You aren’t thirty or forty.”
“I’m twenty, and I wouldn’t touch that greasy idiot with a ten-foot pole.” Sangria shuddered and lowered her voice to a whisper. “In any case, it just isn't that way with us. Everyone is like a family. It could never be, and to even consider it—”
“But what about Nick and Carmelita?” Amandine interjected.
“Nick was an outsider. Carmelita has been with us for as long as her brother Antonio has.”
“Well then, what about you and Mr. Coronado?” Amandine asked, flipping the conversation on its head. Even without seeing, she knew right away she’d found another one of Sangria’s many sensitive spots.
“You and your incessant questions!” Sangria stood to glare at her, and Amandine made a show of examining a completed quilt block, back to front. “What do you think you know about that, anyway?”
“Oh, it just seems that you are very tough to everyone here, even to Marmi, but not to Mr. Coronado.” Amandine pretended to find a mistake in her stitching. Lightly, she added, “You were happy to let me sleep outside until he showed up.”
Sangria sat down again in silence, though there was a lot of noise coming from outside. Engines were starting, Marmi’s tent was thrown into the back of a truck with a whump, and the Russians were arguing about who’s turn it was to drive.
When Sangria spoke again, her voice had grown very small. “It couldn’t be, because he doesn’t pay any attention to me.”
“Sure it could.” Amandine closed up the jacket with a lightning-fast whip-stitch. “You two are pretty similar. You’re both assertive, talented performers, and you like to wear a lot of black. The only little difference is your age.” She giggled. “I mean, he looks old enough to be your father.”
The contortionist growled. “The age difference doesn’t mean anything, only that he’s much more worldly and experienced than any other dumb boy.”
Amandine suspected that she was talking about René again, but she chose not to challenge that remark. “It looks like he will have to start paying attention to you if Marmi wants you to be in the festival show with him. You just have to let him know that you’re interested.”
“It would not be appropriate because of his wife, Estefania,” she answered evasively. “Rumor has it that something terrible happened to her in Moscow. Antonio was headlining an international tour when it happened. Carmelita is the only other person who knows about it, but she hasn’t told a soul. I heard it was so awful, she shut herself away and ate and ate and ate... that's how she got so big. She was traumatized! Anyway, if it upset Carmelita that much, it must have devastated him.”
“You need to spend more time on the sunny side of the street.” Amandine tied off her thread and hung over the edge of the bunk like a monkey. “You’re in the show now. You can spend more time with your sweetie. Things are already looking up.”
Sangria choked on her coffee. “Wait a minute! I never said I was sweet on Antonio!”
Amandine rolled her eyes and pulled herself back up into her bunk to put her things away. “Whatever you say. My dad really liked the handkerchiefs maman embroidered for him. Maybe you can try that for Mister Coronado.” She pictured it with a smile. “You can sew ‘A.C.’ with a little dove on it.”
There was a knock at the door. “Are you ladies ready to go?” René called out.
Amandine hopped off of the bed with her hands clenched tight to keep them from shaking. “We’re ready!”
René took a step back when she opened the door, taking in her modest but attractive appearance. “Pardon my surprise,” he said tenderly. “You look...very pretty.”
Sangria made an exaggerated gagging noise.
“I am sorry.” He bashfully kicked a rock away from the bottom step of the trailer. “That was a bit bold of me.”
“Not at all.” Amandine beamed. “Really. It was a nice thing to say.”
“I came here to ask you if you’d like to do something fun.”
“Absolutely.” Even if René asked her to help him peel a thousand potatoes, Amandine knew she would still enjoy every moment.
“You bonehead,” Sangria snapped. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
René chuckled. “She’s right. It’s a little dangerous.”
Amandine waved the notion away. “That’s what makes it fun.”
“Parfait,” he said. “Follow me.”
Amandine grabbed her coat, hat, gloves, and sunglasses, and once she’d put everything on, René reached for her hand. Even through her glove, his touch sent an electric jolt throughout her whole body that made her jump in surprise. She snorted loudly with nervous laughter.
“What are you doing, anyway?” Sangria asked René. “I thought we’re leaving. Won’t you be driving?”
“Not this time,” he replied. “Antonio’s pulling you.”
Amandine tipped her sunglasses down and gave her roommate a crafty wink. “Maybe he’d appreciate a little company. You can talk about the show.”
“No!” Sangria barked. “That is, um… that is, I was going to stay here and... practice my embroidery.”
“Right.” Amandine tapped the side of her nose. “Help yourself to my sewing kit.”
With that, they left the contortionist puzzling over a needle and floss.
René put on his beat-up gambler hat and knotted an old bandana around his neck. “After you,” he said, sweeping his arm towards a small ladder attached to the back of Coronado’s truck.
Amandine climbed up to the luggage rack on top. René’s duffel bag made a comfortable cushion to sit on while Coronado’s trunk served as a sturdy backrest. Once he'd helped her up, René knocked on the roof of the cab to let the driver know they were ready to go.
Coronado flicked a cigarette butt out of the window, and the truck began to pull out of the clearing. They were the last in a strange, noisy, and colorful procession. From where Amandine could see, it appeared that only the men were driving, towing the women in their trailers. Marmi’s tent was loaded into the flatbed truck that led the group north.
“Did Marmi say which town we’ll stop at next?” Amandine asked. She wondered how much good her pre-war road map would have done her had she still been traveling alone.
“I don’t know. I don’t think even she knows until we’re there, but she hasn't led us wrong yet.”
The truck rocked and lurched as it climbed out of the wooded area and onto the road. Amandine squeaked when the truck pitched to one side and nearly tossed her off.
“Careful!” René caught her around the shoulders. “You alright?”
“Yeah!” It took every ounce of her control to keep from squealing again.
He released his gentle hold on her and angled his hat against the sun, letting the morning light catch the little trinkets attached to the band. “So I see that Sangria kept you busy last night. How did you sleep?”
“Real well,” she replied. She decided not to tell him about Sangria’s attempt to drive her away. “Her trailer sure is cozy. Which one’s yours?”
“I don’t have one. I keep a little tent outside of Antonio’s truck.”
“He won’t let you in either?”
“Like Sangria, Antonio values his privacy,” René explained with a shrug. “But I don’t mind it. He’s not as unkind as he likes to appear. I get the cab to myself all winter.”
The procession drove through town, and Amandine was thrilled to see Mr. White cleaning the windows outside of his shop. He saw her in the reflection in the glass and turned to wave with his washrag as they passed.
They drove out of sight, and Amandine said wistfully, “In another life, I think I would have been a baker. I bet I could make some beautiful cakes if I only learned how that darned piping bag works.”
“You could, if you wanted.” René folded his arms behind his head and settled in a bit more comfortably. “Why not? Nothing is stopping you. Or did you already have plans after this?”
Amandine shook her head. “Not really. When I was small I knew I’d work for my father, but then he died and our business closed. Then I thought that maybe I could start a new business with my mother, but then she was taken away. Now I just want to free her.” She paused, giving this question some thought. “Perhaps if Nieuwestad is nice, I’ll stay there and open a boutique and a pastry shop.”
“A danish with your dress?” he said, amused. “I like it. I’m sure you can find a market for that sort of thing in a place like Nieuwestad.”
“But what about you?” she asked. “What do you do? Are you only a handyman, or do you have an act too?”
“I just run the shows. I don’t perform.” René chuckled. “I tried a few years ago when we had animals. I wasn’t too bad at trick-riding or sharp-shooting, but I am just not as natural on stage as the others.”
Amandine pictured him in costume, squeezing between the dancers for space at the vanity. “You have a horse?”
Threadbare- The Traveling Show Page 7