“And it wasn't just any kiss!” She went for her scrap bag to find something prettier to tie her hair up with. “It was my first kiss.”
Sangria eyed Amandine critically. “It probably only happened because you've got ten miles of leg showing. Ever think about that, Suzie-floozy?”
“Gee, they should have called you ‘the Underpants-In-A-Knot-Freak.’” Amandine stuck out her tongue and threw her old scarf at her roommate. “You can be as sour as you want because nothing is going to get me down today.”
“I’m not sour.” Sangria gave a haughty sniff. “Do whatever you want with René. Sneak over to his tent after dark. Elope for all I care. Just don't let Marmi catch you.”
“Why not?” She unpinned her dress and let the skirt swish down to her knees.
“Because the old prude won’t like it, and there will be consequences. Just ask Margaret what happened when she started fooling around with Ambroise. If you’re lucky, she'll chew your heads off and then keep you separated any way she can devise. If she’s really mad, she’ll kick one of you out.” Sangria dog-eared a page and added in a singsong voice, “Can’t imagine which of you she'd choose.”
Amandine scoffed. She didn’t want to think about Marmi, not when her first kiss still burned like molten gold in her memory. “I actually came here to ask if you want to come with me on a walk,” she said, dismissing her roommate’s scaremongering. “René said they found something at the junkyard, and he needs extra hands to bring it all back. Want to come?”
Surprisingly, Sangria didn't refuse. She put aside her magazine, slipped on a pair of shoes and put on a wide-brimmed black straw hat. “Sure. I was getting bored stiff just sitting here anyway. Let's go.”
The two of them met René, Nick, Glorious, and Coronado at the road just outside of camp. Coronado wasn't surprised to see that Amandine was coming, but he did a double-take when he realized that Sangria had come out of hiding. Neither one of them looked directly at the other.
“Miss Mandy.” Glorious touched the edge of his hat in greeting and showed her some supplies he had gathered up. “I got you some scissors and a few sacks. You're gonna need them where we're going.”
“I can hardly wait to see,” she said, taking René's offered arm. She expected Coronado to remark on their public display of affection, but the illusionist was staring at Nick.
“Perhaps Mr. Holloway forgot to mention it to you, but we’re going to be scavenging in the junkyard. Would you like to change before we go?” Coronado referred to the pink house dress and ladies’ loafers that his brother-in-law was wearing. “Or perhaps you’d rather stay and look after my sister?”
Nick gave the long half of his hair a confident flounce. “My trousers are in the wash and ‘Lita’s taking a nap before dinner. I think my dress is just fine for scavenging.”
“You’re a real keen Sheba, Nick.” Glorious handed him an empty sack. “If you weren’t already married, I'd take you out dancing.”
“Thank you!” Nick beamed and tossed the sack over his shoulder like a feather boa.
“‘If he weren’t already married,’” Coronado muttered. “Estoy rodeado de bichos raros.”
They started off. Glorious made the walk pass quickly with stories about his job as an electrician and nightclub musician. He was so animated, he even had Coronado and Sangria laughing.
“Pop! Wham!” Glorious clapped his hands. “I smelled like Cajun barbecue for days, but I never forgot to wait for the ballast to cool down again.”
“That’s funny because we heard that working for Johnstone was a nightmare,” Sangria said. “But you make it sound like that was the best job of your life.”
Glorious' smile disappeared. “Oh, this was before Johnstone, Miss G. Long before. If I knew then what I know now, I would have run instead of signing on with that monster.”
“I'm sorry,” Amandine said. “We never should have brought him up.”
Glorious was the first to notice that she was fondly pressing René's arm. He winked at his new friend and gave him a discreet thumbs up. “Don't apologize. Nobody could imagine how bad it really was.”
“So, he didn't pay you or what?” Sangria blurted.
“Shoot, if only that’s all it were,” Glorious replied. “At first, I was the highest paid performer, but he cut off my funds when he figured out that I was sharing it with the freak-acts. Called me a thieving bootlip and said he wouldn’t pay me again until I gave him some new music, but how can a man write when he’s hungry and surrounded by suffering? I stopped trying. Everything I wrote for him was modular with the same ol’ beat, but people seemed to like it all the same. He would use my music most every night and make those poor, starved girls dance. If they didn't dance well enough or if they'd sass him, he'd beat them. He'd sometimes beat them until they broke, then expect them to keep dancing. He'd make them do it, too. He had a wagon full of every kind of drug, dope them up, and send them spinning.”
Glorious paused and watched the way dust settled on his wingtip shoes before he went on. “A lot of these girls were looking out of red windows for one reason or another, if you know my meaning. One of them decided she’d had enough. Said she was leaving, so Johnstone called up an inquestor. Bless her soul, she was tough as nails. She wouldn’t even back down from the inquestor. In the end, Inky shot her right there on the stage in front of everybody rehearsing.” He wiped his brow, but it wasn’t just the late afternoon heat that made him sweat. “You can imagine that we gave up trying to leave for awhile.”
“How'd you get away?” Amandine asked, trying to turn the conversation in a more positive route. “How did you know to come to Marmi?”
Just as she had hoped, Glorious brightened a bit at this question. “The radio, actually. Heard some ham-guys say y’all were close, so I took a gamble and acted quick. I grabbed Polly, loaded my truck, got the tiger— because who's gonna stop a guy with a tiger?— and I sped off in the direction y'all came in. I just looked for the posters. I’m real glad I found all y'all, too, because I was nearly out of gas.”
“We're glad to have you,” Coronado said sincerely. “I was starting to get a little worried about how we were going to pull off our new show. I'm just an illusionist, not a musician. You have a God-given gift.”
Glorious bowed in gratitude.
“How much farther?” Sangria whined, kicking an empty bottle aside and sending it clattering across the road.
René checked their surroundings. “I think we’re getting close.”
“I recognize that bush.” Glorious sprang off of the road. “We're right on top of it. Here it is!”
He held back some branches, revealing an unused path with a grand wave of his arms. Past the overgrowth stood an abandoned, tin-sided building drowning in weeds. Nearly all of the high windows were broken and the sign above the bolted main door was missing several letters.
Nick appraised the place before them while he tied on a calico apron. “This isn’t the junkyard. ‘FREEMAN’S QUALITY FED.’ I mean, ‘feed.’”
The others frowned in confusion, but Amandine knew exactly what this meant. “A feed factory?” she squeaked. “You found a feed factory?”
“I don't get it.” Sangria dropped her sunglasses down to her chin.
“Feed is sold in patterned sacks so that farm wives can turn them into clothes and quilts once they're empty,” Amandine explained. She yanked on the locked door and tried to scramble up the rusty wall to a window. “There's gotta be a treasure trove of fabric in there!”
“I caught a glimpse of it through the window,” Glorious said. “Bolts bigger than you.”
Amandine got a hold on the window, but her legs pedaled uselessly without traction on the wall. She lost her grip, fell flat on her bottom, and René chuckled as he hurried over to help her up.
“Stand aside,” Sangria commanded, taking off her hat and shoes. “Nick, if you'd be so kind?” Nick moved beneath the window, and Sangria climbed up his shoulders, rolling smoothly into the
open window. After a moment, the door unbolted from the inside.
The building was dark and damp where a caved-in corner of the roof let nature inside. Rows of rusted machinery stood silent, and vines grew up all of the interior walls. Any feed there might have been was long gone, either eaten by wild animals or rotted away.
“Packaging is in a room off of the main building to the west,” Glorious said, leading everyone through the darkness. He looked through the window in the first door and cast the portal wide open. “Bingo!”
Amandine darted inside and hopped from foot to foot. “Look at all of this!” she cried, arms outstretched to the bounty before her.
The massive bolts were stacked on a rack against the wall. There was so much fabric, they couldn’t even roll it all back; they would have to cut off as much as they could carry. Glorious handed Amandine a pair of scissors, and she got to work.
By the time she was through, she had twelve large sacks stuffed with yards and yards of calico, gingham, check, floral, and graphic fabrics in all colors. Amandine was so excited, she chattered nonstop during the walk back about what she was going to make for everybody.
While Amandine was planning, Sangria lagged behind. The contortionist dropped her heavy sacks on the ground and stopped to take a rock out of her shoe when Coronado’s shadow hovered over her.
“I can carry all of this,” he said gruffly, adding her bags to his own.
She said nothing, not even a word of thanks. Walking side by side, the two returned to camp in silence.
Amandine was never so happy as when she was sewing. At first, she faltered with uncertainty because it felt as if an important part of her had withered away from disuse. She didn’t realize how confined she had been doing simple repairs and alterations until she was once again set free to create. The moment she laid her first cut pieces together, her hands remembered their old skill, and she guided the sewing machine with confidence.
For weeks, the dressmaker worked tirelessly at her machine which she would set up in some shaded spot near where the men were working. While Nick oversaw construction of the set, Glorious and René worked on a strange musical instrument. It was about eight feet tall, as wide as a sofa, and required more electric and mechanical parts than a car. It made the most terrible, loud buzzing noise, but Glorious assured everyone that it would be an incredible, show-stopping invention worth waiting for. They just needed to be a little patient.
Sangria had no patience, but it had nothing to do with the machine. The moment Amandine unloaded her textile plunder from the feed factory, Sangria hounded her for dresses like the magazine photos she’d shove in her face. Sangria whined, threatened, and outright demanded that she make her clothes first, but the dressmaker wouldn’t budge from her schedule. Amandine prioritized the people with special physiques because many of them had gone years, if not their entire lives, without clothes that fit.
Day by day, Sangria’s despair grew as the fabric supply dwindled. It finally came down to the conventionally-shaped people in camp, and she had a pretty good idea how she ranked among them, especially after weeks of torment. In an act of desperation, Sangria tried the last thing she could think of: she tried to be kind.
It started with little favors. Sometimes she would help Amandine press her fabric or offer to get her meals for her. If Amandine didn’t need any help, Sangria made feeble attempts at small-talk and in doing so, she discovered that they shared an interest in dance music and adventure movies. Whenever Amandine needed to go into town, Sangria started going with her without asking and even helped her get ready. She showed her how to put on makeup and fix her hair in rolls, something René was very quick to notice.
As she gave Ambroise’s completed suit jacket a final press, Sangria realized that she hadn’t thought of her own dresses all week. When the suit was delivered and Amandine detailed everything Sangria had done to help, the contortionist had to bite her lip to hide her smile. Perhaps spending time with Amandine wasn’t so bad after all.
Just as Sangria thought about how she could bring up her dresses again, she awoke one morning and discovered something odd. Amandine’s suitcase, which took up a lot of space on top of the dresser, was missing. Sangria threw on her kimono and poked around. Amandine’s old clothes were still in the drawers, but her sewing kit and personal effects were gone. She slinked out of the trailer towards the fire. She knew if anybody would know the comings and goings of camp, it was the Russians. She crept up to where they were preparing dutch-oven bread and had to clear her throat several times to get their attention.
“Good morning,” Sasha said, feigning surprise at her appearance. “Our humblest apologies. We’re fresh out of lox for your eggs benedict.”
Sangria frowned. “I’m looking for Amandine.”
“Why? Lose a button?”
“No,” she growled. “Her suitcase is gone. Have you seen her?”
“Nyet,” Piotr replied. “She’s usually up early working on the clothes, but she never skips breakfast.”
Sasha made a show of scanning the camp. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen René all morning either.” The pair of them shared a curious look, then started giggling and muttering in Russian.
“What? What is it?” Sangria demanded.
“I was cleaning up dinner last night, and I saw that Amandine was counting her savings by the fire,” Piotr said.
“And Chitra told me two days ago that René asked for one of her gold rings in exchange for fixing the suspension on her trailer,” Sasha added. “Maybe our handyman ran away with our dressmaker.”
“Eloped?” Sangria’s face fell. “Why would they elope? Why now?”
“Good question.” Sasha poked the fire with a stick. “Who could have put such an idea into their heads, I wonder?”
“Well, at least shveyachka was kind enough to make us all such nice clothes before she left.” Piotr reached over to smartly adjust the collar on his brother’s gingham check shirt. Sangria bolted back to her trailer and slammed the door shut, but she could still hear the Russians laughing at her.
Glorious spied the exchange on his way to the workspace behind the incomplete set, toting a crate full of scrap. “And they wonder why poor Miss G never comes out but to eat and perform,” he grumbled, dropping his crate between his electric instrument and Amandine’s sewing machine. Rooting around for suitable lengths of wire, he said, “Miss Mandy, the Russians are teasing your roommate again. Do you think maybe you should check on her? See if she’s alright?”
He glanced over his shoulder when he didn’t get a response. Amandine was unpacking the new, store-bought fabric she had hidden in her suitcase when René interrupted her with a kiss. He took her gently by the shoulders and drew her in across the sewing table until their lips touched. With a contented sigh she melted against him, still clutching three yards of gray plaid in her hands.
Glorious crossed his arms and twirled a pair of wire strippers in one hand while he waited. When it seemed that the teenagers wouldn’t stop kissing without an intervention, he yanked Rene away by the collar.
“Mais non!” René whined, reaching for Amandine. She giggled and waved goodbye. “Monsieur, je t’en supplie!”
“Allons-y, hot stuff, tout suite.” Glorious dropped him at his workbench. “Can’t waste the morning fooling around. We gotta get this machine finished.”
“What’s the big hurry?” René took up his tool kit and crawled into the back of the machine. “Marmi says we have until Nieuwestad.”
“Don’t talk to me about what Marmi says!” Glorious pulled a wild tangle of scrap wire into his lap. “If Marmi finds out I let you canoodle with the dressmaker when I’m supposed to be chaperoning, she’ll leave me and this pile of garbage on the side of the road.”
Sangria was relieved when Amandine returned to their trailer that evening bearing a paper parcel of clothes. She was upset that the Russians had fooled her, but her anger soon changed to wonderment when she tried on her new gowns, each one fit
perfectly to her design and color preferences.
“Worth the wait, wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?” Glorious nudged René and Coronado on either side of him when the ladies arrived together at dinner. Everyone applauded, and Amandine made Sangria do a little turn in her new dress.
“Oh, I just adore that collar,” Nick said enviously. He was sitting beside his wife who nodded in agreement while she arranged a napkin around her decolletage. “Those vertical pleats add inches to her. I look like a bean-pole in pleats.”
Amandine hopped her chair close to René and said, “Pleats might not be for you, Nick, but my father taught me that peplums detract from height and also give the illusion of hips.”
Nick sloshed his bowl. “You mean—?”
“She’s making a dress for you too, you pantywaist,” Coronado growled, grinding his fingers into his temples.
Carmelita gasped and slapped her brother with her slipper. “¡Tirate a un pozo!”
Sangria sat down at the table and found that her bowl was waiting for her, already filled with steaming cabbage borscht. When Amandine passed her the bread basket, she murmured, “You know, you don’t have to keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting my supper. Trying to be nice.”
“Wasn’t me,” Amandine whispered, nodding across the table.
Coronado pretended not to hear as he dusted a footprint from his new shirt.
The next week, Glorious and René summoned everyone to a special dinner to unveil their project. Sasha and Piotr wanted to serve something a little different than stew or stroganoff, so Chitra helped them make curry. Everybody wore their favorite new clothes, and Amandine even made herself a party dress for the occasion. She joined the other women at the kitchen table, swapping compliments while they filled their bowls and plates.
They watched as Glorious and René struggled to haul in their invention. It resembled a pipe-organ in both size and composition but it had many more lights, dials, and buttons protruding from it. It was built on wheels for mobility, but the wheels kept getting caught in the soft ground so all of the men came over to help. Tiny Greg appeared first, lifting with everything he had until he was surrounded by the others and completely hidden behind a cover of straining legs. The machine finally came out of the dirt when Jean-Claude joined in, and everyone got it into position before Marmi's tent.
Threadbare- The Traveling Show Page 15