That evening while everyone else warmed up, Amandine was assigned to sell tickets. She put on her nicest mint green dress, wrapped her hair up in an ivory scarf, and sat at a folding table with a little cash box. People started arriving just before the sun set, and the line grew steadily while Amandine counted change, ripped tickets, and pointed the guests over to where the Russians were selling peanuts and popcorn. Snacks in hand, couples and families filled the long benches in front of their humble outdoor stage.
In the midst of this rush, Amandine tried to hide her surprise when a group of officers cut to the front of the line. She recognized the Inquestor right away, and his presence scared several people back to their cars.
She recovered her smile. “Lovely to see you again, officers. It will be a dollar and forty cents for your tickets.”
“Miss Stewart,” Carver said in a sing-song, disapproving tone. He leaned forward on the table, chin propped up on his hands. “When we last met, you neglected to tell me that your mother was imprisoned for treason, robbery, and brutal acts of violence against the NAR.”
Amandine felt pinned by all of the faces that now stared at her. Defensively, she replied, “My mother may be French, but she's no rebel. Maman could sing 'Death Before Betraying My Home So Good to Me' sweeter than anybody you hear on the radio.”
Carver laughed; he didn’t buy it.
“What’s my mother got to do with me, anyway?”
“Well, when you withhold crucial information like that, it makes you a highly suspicious character as well.” He stared at her as if she were a child caught scribbling on the walls. “I don’t know how you managed to avoid getting a red window on your papers with a record like hers. I don’t know how you squeaked past the replacement home and rehabilitation programs either. It all strikes me as terribly—” His gaze drifted to someplace off in the middle distance before snapping back to hers. “—Convenient for you.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” Amandine said coolly. “I just make costumes for a traveling show.” She saw another couple leave the line, and she knew she had to end this conversation before she lost any more customers. “Why don’t you four enjoy the show on me?”
“What's this show all about?” Carver asked with genuine curiosity.
“I’m afraid I’m not the best salesgirl,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t actually know because I haven’t seen it myself yet. I understand there will be strong men, acrobatics, magic, dancing…”
The way he was hanging on her every word gave her the impression that he was waiting for her to say something in particular. She took a wild guess. “I hear our contortionist is the most popular act in our freak show.”
Carver laughed and said sincerely, “I like you, Miss Stewart.”
If it wasn’t for the knotted feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her not to trust him, Amandine might have liked him too. He still felt so familiar.
“I like you, so I feel inclined to warn you. You and your little show have just gained my undivided attention.” He leaned in so close that she could smell his chypre aftershave over the camp odor of popcorn and generator exhaust. He lowered his voice to a murmur, and she found the sound to be surprisingly gentle and relaxing.
“You know, inquestors get a bum rap. Contrary to what you might believe, all we need is information. That’s all I want. Just come along quietly and answer a few of my questions. We can go someplace private, maybe get a cup of coffee. We can be alone. Say the word, and I’ll call off these gorillas.”
He gestured to the trio in blue behind him who were fidgeting with anticipation. Amandine began to understand that all it would take was a single command from the Inquestor, and she could do nothing to resist them. She dropped her eyes and gripped her cash box as if it could somehow protect her. Carver noticed that even though Amandine had her head down, she was watching René test the stage lights from across the crowds. The Inquestor rested one hand on his mirror-bright pistol. “Come with me and we don't have to bother your friends.”
Amandine felt the knot in her stomach tighten. She thought of harm coming to René, whose worst crime had been to extend a little kindness to her. I have to be brave, she told herself. If I want to help maman, from now on, I must be brave.
During her darkest times when fear began to close in, Amandine maintained her optimism by counting her blessings and letting their collective positivity beat back despair. Fortunately, she had a lot to be glad for. She thought of how she hadn’t felt hunger in days. The Russians made delicious meals and always pushed second helpings on her. She thought of the smile that cracked through Sangria’s tough exterior when she saw her new costume. She thought of her beautiful new dishes and sewing machine. She thought of René.
“Pardon me.” Amandine looked up at Carver again, and her smile returned with all of the radiance her memories carried. “I’m very sorry, Inquestor, but I have work to do, and then I must be on my way. I’m afraid I can't go with you.”
At first Carver tilted his head in confusion. He glanced over his shoulder at the officers behind him, then laughed in a resigned, hopeless way. “Well, how do you like that? We will be watching you very closely, Miss Stewart.” He rummaged in his pocket for change and slid it across the table. “All of you.”
“Enjoy!” Amandine ripped four tickets and waved.
“You chuckleheads owe me for the show,” she heard Carver say to the others as they went to stand at the back of the audience. “Go buy me a popcorn and see if they got cherry cola.”
Why would NAR agents be after me? Amandine thought. She felt very serious while she sold her last tickets. I haven’t done anything wrong. An administrator bought my house, for goodness' sake. If I were in some sort of trouble, wouldn't he have said something?
She was startled from her thoughts when Marmi appeared behind her and pressed her painted hand to her shoulder. She was dressed for the show in voluminous robes decorated with rich embroidery, tiny bells, and stacks of fine jewelry.
“The police have returned,” Marmi said suspiciously.
Amandine closed up the cash box and exhaled all of the tension she had been hiding from the last guests. “Yes, and I’m afraid it’s my fault. They said they suspect me of trouble because my mother was a criminal—”
She paused, knowing full well that Marmi would be within her right to abandon her if she told the whole truth. She couldn’t lie. She suspected that Marmi could see right through her if she tried, anyway.
“—And now they suspect all of you, too.”
Marmi studied the officers and after a while, her face wrinkled in perplexity. “Odd. I can’t make sense of what the Inquestor wants.”
“Ma’am?”
“He wants you, that much is clear, but only as a means to get at something else…” Her voice trailed off, and she blinked rapidly. She looked from Amandine to René and then to the stage where she knew Sangria was preparing to play. Composing herself once more, Marmi put on a reassuring smile.
“Don't worry about the police for now, child. You just watch the show and start thinking about our costumes.” She patted Amandine's cheek before getting into position behind the audience.
The stage lights dimmed, and Marmi moved up the center aisle while emotive violin music began playing from someplace backstage. She swayed as she walked, one arm carrying the bulk of her costume, the other moving gracefully before her. She turned when she reached the stage, humming and mumbling to the music before suddenly pointing to a man in the front row.
“You, sir! You're a carpenter,” she declared.
The man glanced around, hoping that she was pointing at another carpenter sitting nearby. “That's right.”
“You are worried about your livelihood,” Marmi went on. “You brought your children out with you tonight because you didn’t want them to worry too.”
The little girls sitting on either side of him looked up at their father. He rubbed their twin braids and smiled sadly.
“Do not des
pair! Fortune will soon return and it will manifest in the form of a…” Marmi paused and waved her hand in front of her face as if to dispel some invisible fog. Finally, she laughed. “I hope you aren’t superstitious! It will manifest in the form of a broken mirror. Watch for the signs, and your financial troubles will be over!”
The audience murmured in puzzlement.
Marmi pointed at someone else. “You, madam! You lost your man in the war. He wrote a final letter to you that was never sent. It is with his personal effects, held by a trusted comrade.” She shut her eyes tightly and concentrated. “His name was... Clay?”
The woman gasped. “Yes! George Clayton! That was his best friend!”
“Find the man, and you will have your husband's last words to you.”
The woman wept, and audience applauded again with more enthusiasm. Marmi bowed deeply, dropping her armful of weighty costume. “My name is Madame Marmi, and I bid you welcome. What I have just shown you is my gift of Infinite Sight. I see all: the past, the future, the living and the dead. It is but a taste of the wonders you will see here tonight, brought to you by some of the most skilled artists of the world!”
Amandine stopped listening because a pickup truck pulled into the lot and shined its headlights right at her. She shielded her eyes until he shut off the engine, and a man carrying a suitcase hopped from the cab.
A straggler, she thought, reopening her cash box as he strode towards her.
He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties with dark eyes and skin the color of gingerbread. His smile was perfect and genuine and everything about him, from the way he spoke to the way he moved, had a rhythm to it. It was as if he danced to a music that played only for him.
“Evening, cher,” he said in a rich southern accent. “What’s your name?”
“Amandine.”
“I knew a girl named Amandine back in school. Everybody called her Mandy, so that’s what I’m gonna call you.” He tipped his hat. “How do you do, Miss Mandy? My name is Glorious Holloway.”
The girl giggled; even his name was musical. “You're late for the show, but there is still room in the back. Thirty-five cents a ticket.”
“As much as I love a good performance, I’m not actually here to see the show.” He drummed his fingertips on his suitcase in a rapid cadence. “I’m looking for Madame Marmi. Is she around, by any chance?”
Amandine pointed to the stage where Marmi was presenting the twins for the opening act. “She's performing right now, but I can let her know you want to see her.”
Glorious jingled his keys in his pocket and glanced back towards to road. “No, don't trouble her. I think I'll buy that ticket after all and speak to her after the show.”
Amandine ripped a ticket for him and with another tip of his hat, he went to join the audience.
Now that her job was done, Amandine moved quietly around the cluster of trailers where the freak-acts were putting the finishing touches on their old costumes. Margaret was helping Carmelita get her jewelry on, while Tiny Greg stood on a stack of boxes in order to brush out the pelt of thick black hair on Juan's back to give him a wild, ferocious appearance. Nick turned from side to side in front of a long mirror, primping his feminine half. Amandine knew she wouldn't see René. It was his job to make sure the show ran smoothly, so she didn’t want to interrupt him. Instead, she sought out the concession stand to grab a sack of popcorn. Salty snack and notebook in hand, she scaled a trailer to get a good view of the stage.
Sasha and Piotr didn't have a costume. In fact, they looked the same as they always did, just with a little bit of clown makeup. Their fire-juggling and acrobatic act was fast-paced and exciting. They thrilled the audience from their very first stunt, and the applause never seemed to stop.
The second act featured Jean-Claude’s strong-man act. He wore a worn-out singlet that might have been a bright red and white stripe once upon a time, but it had faded to a dingy brown and gray. His act was paced a bit slower, and he did some flexing synchronized to the music before he lifted several audience volunteers on a plank across the shoulders.
“Man, oh man, I can barely lift myself out of bed in the morning, let alone four ladies and a fat guy.” A voice from behind Amandine made her jump. Glorious was standing on the ladder, and he waved. “Sorry to startle you. Might I join you up here?
Amandine looked for Marmi, but she was nowhere to be found. “I don't really think you're allowed.”
“May I stand on the ladder, then?” he asked. “That kitty-coat and his thugs are making me awful nervous. I’d like to try and stay out of their way.”
“I know what you mean. They worry me, too.” Amandine thought she might feel better with a little friendly company. “Sure, you can come up. The view is pretty good up here.”
He climbed up and sat beside her, smiling gratefully when she offered her popcorn.
The dancers came next. Amandine wished she could hear the music from her vantage point because their movements were incredible. Their dance contained elements of ballet, traditional Indian dance and fluttering scarves in large, sweeping movements. Their costumes were in dire need of an update, and Amandine spent the majority of the act making quick notes and sketches. Glorious, on the other hand, was riveted by the performance, and he tapped his knee in time to the music in his head.
After the ladies, Ambroise had an interesting wild-man act where he danced in a grass skirt to a pounding drum beat. By the time he reached the end of his performance, he had swallowed swords, spit fire, and finished with a war-cry, holding two flaming swords aloft to thunderous applause.
Coronado had the final act, and Amandine looked forward to this above all. He made birds appear out of thin air, lit small flames using René’s new trick, and he even made Ludmilla vanish with a wave of a cloth and reappear instantly in the center of the audience. His magical performance was very good, but it didn't have the breathtaking impact she thought he wanted.
Marmi emerged from behind the stage curtain once more and thanked the audience for their attendance. She promised more excitement in the freak show and private fortune-tellings for only a dime more.
Glorious clapped as the show came to an end. “No intermission?”
“This is the intermission,” the girl explained. “Sort of. I think the freak show is an optional tour.”
“I like that idea.” Glorious climbed down the ladder first, then offered his hand up to Amandine. “My last employer would parade his freaks out on stage, and it would often send ladies with delicate sensibilities into convulsions of terror.”
Amandine wanted to ask Glorious about his last job, but she knew it was none of her business. “I think you can talk to Marmi now,” she said. “I’ll ask and see if she has a moment before she starts her readings. Follow me.” She beckoned, leading him around the crowd to Marmi's tent.
Marmi granted her permission to enter and turned from her vanity in surprise when she saw a strange man follow her seamstress inside. Amandine made hasty introductions. “This is Mr. Glorious Holloway, ma’am. He came in after the show started and said he wanted to speak with you.”
“Welcome,” Marmi said cautiously. “Amandine, the hem on my red gown has come loose. Please repair it.”
The seamstress wasn’t certain if the gown really needed repair. She didn't even have her sewing kit on her, but she quickly understood Marmi's request to mean that she wanted her to stay in the tent as long as a stranger was around. She obediently went to inspect the dark, heavy fabric while she pretended not to listen.
“Thank you, Madame Marmi,” Glorious said, removing his hat. “I know showtime is a busy time for y'all, so I'll be short and to the point.”
Marmi settled into her folding chair and lit her pipe, her eyes fixed on the visitor.
“I’m from Istrouma, down in Lou’siana. I was an electrician by day and a jazz piano player by night when Mr. Cornelius Johnstone offered me a load of money to play music for his shows.”
Marmi's hard expres
sion lit with clarity. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the sole reason Johnstone’s shows are achieving any measure of success.”
“My reputation precedes me.” Glorious bowed with a half-smile. “Well, you might have also heard that working for Johnstone is the pits. I don’t want to take up your time with the story of why, but I heard whisperings that Johnstone was looking to get his droppers to rub me out. I wasn’t too keen on a road-side dirt-nap, so I have come to offer you my services as a musician, electrician, entertainer, stage-hand, whatever you need, in exchange for some protection from that man.”
“You must think I am a fool.” Marmi frowned. “Johnstone is cruel, but he’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t kill his golden goose.”
“He would if he got his hands on a machine that could play my music for me.” Glorious gently set down his suitcase and knelt to open it. Marmi arched an eyebrow at the peculiar mess of wires, switches, and tiny glass bulbs that protruded from it. “She may not look like much now, but this is Polly. She was going to be my costar in a musical act that’s gonna change the way the NAR listens to music. She was going to win Johnstone the big prize at the festival, and he was willing to kill me for her.” Still kneeling, he pushed the case towards Marmi’s bare, painted feet like a devotee making an offering to a goddess. “Let me travel with you, madame, and on my honor, Polly is yours. Let me finish building her, and she will sing you to salvation.”
“If you’re so sure that your device will win, you ought to just could just enter in the festival by yourself,” Marmi said.
Glorious reached inside his jacket and held out his identification. His photo was framed with a red bar.
Marmi glanced at it once and reevaluated him. “You didn’t get that stringing lights in Istrouma.”
“No, ma’am. I got that for daring to play jazz in N’Aurelian. As Johnstone was fond of reminding us, those red windows meant that we were all one phone call away from the backseat of an Interceptor.”
Threadbare- The Traveling Show Page 11