Coronado tried again to get him to open up. “Speaking of the city, I feel like I can finally show my face in public again. I never could have imagined that something so sharp and comfortable could have come from a bag of chicken feed. I can hardly wait to see what our little dressmaker does when she gets her hands on some real material.”
He glanced over to check his reaction. René usually lit up whenever Amandine came up in conversation, but this time he didn’t respond at all. Coronado tried the last thing he could think of. “We all will certainly miss her when she goes.”
René huffed and reached for the radio.
“...and now a word from our sponsors! Do you tire of being relentlessly persecuted for expressing your own beliefs? Do you think that it's wrong to use food to buy your obedience? Is red your favorite color?”
“The pirate station?” René said in surprise.
Coronado shrugged and tapped his ash out of the window. “Not everyone can be as passive as you, René.”
“Then join the rebel ranks,” DJMA exclaimed brightly. “You don't need a gun. You don't need to fight at all! All you need to do is stand up for what this country used to believe in. You used to have rights, so fight for them in any way you can. Raise your own food and share it with the needy. Do not attend the Freedom Festival. Spread the message on your very own pirate radio station. Tell our President Alexander Fairchild exactly where he can stick it! Stand beside all-American heroes like Tall-Me and Cleo. Turn red today!”
“Change the station,” Coronado said through his cigarette, his eyes illuminated by headlights in his mirror.
“Absolutely not.” René crossed his arms. “I want to know what’s so interesting about this guy that he’s even got you—”
“It's just a recorded message. They play it all the time,” Coronado said sternly. “Change the station and turn the radio off. The police are following us again.”
René snatched up the side-view mirror and angled it towards the road behind them. Just as Coronado said, a familiar Interceptor appeared a few yards from their bumper, matching their speed and making no attempt to pass.
“Their lights aren't on,” the illusionist said after a while. His gaze darted from the road to his mirror. “They're not stopping us.”
“That's because they're watching us,” René said uneasily. “Do you suppose...?”
The truck in front of them moved off of the main road and Coronado turned to follow it. The Interceptor slowed and stopped just past the turn, watching as they dipped behind a hill and fell out of sight into the darkness.
René gripped his chest and gasped; he didn't know how long he hadn't been breathing.
“Relax, friend,” Coronado said. In truth, he wasn't so calm himself, and his stiff voice betrayed that. “We're almost to camp.”
René adjusted the side mirror until he could see the trailer. The girls must have been sleeping because every window was black.
“I wonder if Marmi saw them,” Coronado grumbled. The pavement ended with a hard bump and soon the rough trail led them to their new campsite. “Dios mio, what is that woman thinking? A costume made of solid gold isn’t worth the trouble this girl will bring down on our heads.”
They assumed their usual parking formations, except Coronado now kept his truck hitched to Sangria's trailer. The illusionist cut off his engine and stayed put in the dark cab for some time, shaking as he lit another cigarette.
René fell silent once again.
Morning soon fell upon the new camp. Marmi had a knack for picking excellent spots to stop and this one was no exception. It was a wide, flat clearing surrounded by red oaks a short distance from a straight stretch of river. There was plenty of room for the group to finish painting the set, rehearse, and settle in for awhile.
The twins made a hearty skillet dish for breakfast to strengthen everyone for the day of work ahead. After eating their fill of potatoes, sausage, and eggs, Amandine and Sangria left their trailer together, dressed to go to town.
Amandine couldn’t find any sign of René. It had been a whole day since they last spoke, and she already missed him terribly. She wanted to invite him to town. She wanted to share a soda or perhaps browse a used bookstore together, but mainly she wanted to shake the nagging feeling that he was suddenly avoiding her. Something didn’t feel right. She sensed a tension in the camp that was so heavy, it was almost tangible.
She found Coronado first, climbing out of his truck with a crate full of chemicals. Amandine trotted over, but she hadn’t even begun her greeting before he cut her off brusquely. “René's not here. I don't know where he went, but I imagine it has to do with the tremendous amount of work he has on his plate.” He kicked the doors shut and glared at her. “You had better stop wasting time with him and get to what we hired you to do.”
His hostility made Sangria gasp. “Now you see here!”
“It’s okay, Gia.” Amandine tugged her by the elbow. “He’s right. We need to get started right away, and I really want you to come with me.”
Sangria stared down Coronado until he returned to his business with a huff. “Jerk,” she muttered as soon as he was out of earshot. “Insufferable ass!”
Amandine bit her lip; something was definitely wrong. She thought that maybe a little space would help everybody get themselves sorted, so she hurried to get her budget from Marmi and the last of Glorious’ notes.
Glorious was firing up the electropolyharmonium on a low power setting, one better suited for rehearsals, while the dancers led the others in warm-up stretches.
“Miss Mandy! Miss G! Going shopping in the big city?” he asked cheerfully. Amandine was glad to see that at least he was unaffected by the pressure.
“Just to the closest fabric store,” Sangria complained. “I don't know if I’ll ever get the chance explore Nieuwestad proper.”
“Well, you be safe and have fun,” he said, pulling some papers from Big Polly's bench. “I won't keep you. You've got a long walk ahead of you. I hope my last couple of notes are clear.” He handed them to Amandine with a wink. “But I really hope you're able to let loose and get creative.”
“Thanks, Glorious.” Amandine scanned the notes before putting them in her coat pocket. “Have a good rehearsal. We'll be back soon.”
“Before or after lunch?”
“I’m not really sure.” She shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
He pointed at Sangria. “Miss G needs to rehearse with us, too. She is the star, after all.”
The contortionist was taken aback; she didn’t think Glorious was serious about giving her a central role in the show. With a tiny smile, she said, “I suppose I might, if I’m not too tired.”
Amandine and Sangria walked for nearly an hour before they arrived at the fabric store. It was a brown brick building near the edge of town with high, half-moon windows crowning the upper stories above the wide, open storefront. No sooner had the door bell announced their arrival when suddenly Amandine was hit by a distinct smell that made tears burn in her eyes before she even understood what was happening. Uncontrollable emotions bubbled up with every familiar breath of dust, cotton fibers, and dye. She choked. She never expected that stepping over a threshold in New Jersey would take her eight hundred miles and almost ten years back to Cold River, South Carolina. Amandine half-expected to see her mother ordering the stock boys around or her father bent over the cutting table.
“Hey.” Sangria noticed her burst of emotion with a frown. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” Amandine turned her face up and blinked rapidly. If she couldn’t hold her tears back, maybe gravity could. “It’s just… the smell of this place. All the cotton and dye. It reminds me of maman and dad. It reminds me of home.”
“Nostalgia?” Sangria sighed and rolled her eyes. “Thank goodness. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you express anything less than ‘total exhilaration,’ and I got a little worried.”
“Has it ever happened to you?” Amandine asked, dabb
ing her eyes with her wrist. “Have you ever been hit with a really specific smell that took you back home?”
Sangria smiled. It was a thin, wry expression, but Amandine was glad to see that it was happening more frequently nonetheless.
“One time really stands out,” she said. “The girls found a dance studio that we were free to practice in, and I thought, ‘hey, this is a rare opportunity, maybe I’ll join them.’ The second I smelled the cigarettes, sweat, and rosin, I was eight years old again, standing at the barre while Madame Gniewek corrected my posture with a stick.” She took out her lacy handkerchief and handed it to Amandine. “I did an about-face and locked myself in my trailer for a week.”
The shopkeeper was happy to show them to the sort of fabric Amandine was looking for. As she followed him down the aisles, she let her fingertips bounce across the edges of the bolts until she felt the whisper of a familiar, delicate crepe. She paused. It was unmistakably Master Elegance fabric and she closed her eyes against the painful pinprick in her heart.
“Button.” Will Stewart checked his wristwatch and beckoned. “This way. Keep up.”
“I know the way, dad. I’ve never been lost in here,” young Amandine replied. She tucked the edge of the peach fabric back into the bolt before running after her father. “I was just looking at some of the new stuff.”
“One day you can look until you're sick.” He pushed his fingers through her curls, making them stand on end. “After a day like today, I'm certainly tired of it.”
“You can't be tired of fabric,” Amandine said, evading him long enough to fix her hair. “It's our life.”
“No,” Will replied. “It's my life. Mine and your mother's. You don't have to be anchored to this if you don't want it. Everything here will one day be yours, and it has always been my intent that you use it to build the sort of life you want for your future family.”
She thought for a moment. “But I don't know anything else.”
“Well, you're still only a little girl. Wait until you’re a teenager and you know everything.” He pressed her to his side while they walked down a long, bright aisle of bolts. He let her go when Will’s assistant found them and he traded his apron and measuring tape for his briefcase, hat, and jacket.
“But I like it here.” The assistant snuck Amandine a caramel with a wink and hurried off just as quickly as he appeared. “I like the store, too.” She pouted at Will who still didn't seem to believe her. “I can be a dressmaker just like you. I caught maman snooping in my sketchbook, and she said I was showing some real talent.”
“Your mother is right. You do have talent.” Will adjusted his fedora. “At your age, I couldn't even thread a needle.”
Caroline appeared at the end of the row in a smart gray suit, waiting impatiently for them. “At your age, you still can’t read the time. Dépêche-toi! We’re late for supper. Anita will be furious.”
“Nice to see you too, Caroline of mine.” Will gave his wife a quick kiss on the lips, hoisted his giggling daughter under his arm like a cask, and started into a brisk trot. “Come on. We need to hurry and act very pathetic because we can’t have Anita threatening to quit again. I don’t know what I’d do without her fried chicken.”
Amandine came out of her daydream when her stomach growled. Thinking about their cook brought her back to reality, standing in the middle of an aisle and hugging a bolt of shocking red silk. She looked for Sangria and found her next to the cutting table, gaping at the stacks of shining fabric that spilled out of their bolts like gems. The shopkeeper was carefully measuring and cutting while a stock boy added more bolts to the pile.
“I can’t believe Marmi was squirreling away this kind of money for costumes,” Sangria said with wonder. “I thought if she had her way, she'd have us all in bed sheets like she wears.”
Amandine glanced over the shopkeeper's shoulder to get a look at the tally he was keeping. Setting the red bolt down with the rest of the fabric, she checked the envelope Marmi gave her. She swallowed hard. It wasn't nearly enough money. It would barely cover a few more yards of calico.
“Are you ladies going to a ball?” the old man asked, grasping his shears with tremoring hands. Once the blades touched the fabric, they slid with the steady guidance of a skilled professional. “A special Freedom Festival celebration, perhaps?”
“You got it.” Sangria rubbed the edge of an embellished striped material, only for the shopkeeper to strike her knuckles with the handle of his scissors. She recoiled and pouted.
“Good,” he said. “When a couple of country girls start buying all of my good material, I certainly hope they aren't using it to piece a quilt.”
“How'd you figure we’re country girls?” Sangria grumbled, rubbing her hand.
“It's the feedsack dresses.” He put his scissors in his apron. “Don’t get me wrong. They look mighty fine. I hope you get the same lady to make your ballgowns.” He winked at Amandine and totaled up her purchase.
Amandine reached into her coat for money, searching for the hidden space at the edge of the lining under her left arm. She widened the gap with her fingers until her hand could fit, then she plucked out several bills that were tacked inside.
“That’s not Marmi’s money,” Sangria said suspiciously. “Her bills are always wrinkled from sitting in that drawstring purse.”
Amandine showed her the envelope that contained the costume budget and Sangria scoffed at what she found inside. “I knew it. Marmi didn’t give you beans.”
“I imagine it was as much as she could spare after getting us this far without performing,” she said with a little hitch in her voice. She took a deep breath that summoned up a little more determination. “I imagine she expected me to ‘mend and make do,’ but I’ve mended and made do for years, and so have all of you. This is no time to cut corners. Glorious says if it goes over well, this show could change your fortunes forever, so we all need to do our very best.” She waved at her blue and pink floral dress. “But I can only do so much with feedsack.”
“Yeah, but what’s it to you?” Sangria asked bitterly. “You’re leaving soon. What do you care if the costumes are made from potato sacks?”
The dressmaker immediately thought of René, who always put the needs of others before his own. She hoped that if the show was successful, Marmi could afford to take better care of him. She pictured him sprawled out across the bench seat of his own truck, reading the latest volume of Rogue Rider, and thinking of her. Amandine would be long gone, but at least her efforts helped to make his life a little more comfortable.
“Marmi took me in on good faith, proving that there is still great kindness left in the world. I intend to pay it back the best way I can.” She reached for the satin and silk bundles, sorting them by project before she placed them in her bag. “Dad told me that this money was for me and my family. Not just for maman,” Amandine pushed the square of fiery red silk and a box of sequins into Sangria’s hands with a smile. “But for my new family too.”
“Oh, can it, you sappy drip!” Sangria blushed and hurried out of the store while Amandine collected her change. As soon as she was outside, curiosity got the best of her, and she held the silk against her fair skin. It was bold and dramatic, like blood on snow. All at once, she could see Amandine’s design, and she knew it would be the most beautiful thing on the stage.
When their shopping was finished, Amandine surprised Sangria by stopping at a cafe where the two of them ate a fried chicken lunch. It wasn't like Anita's back home, but it hit the spot all the same.
“This is fun,” Sangria admitted, generously applying jelly to her dinner roll. “Though I can’t help but wonder why you’re taking me on a date and not your darling René.”
Sangria saw Amandine’s face twitch. Instead of prodding at the nerve like she might have a month ago, she frowned and tore into a chicken leg. “I was worried about that. I warned you he’s nothing but a big, bad wolf.”
“It’s not like that,” she defended him. “No
thing happened. I thought… I thought things were going well, but then he went up to speak to Marmi and… nothing.”
“Maybe Marmi told him to lay off,” Sangria mused while she sucked the meat off of the bone and started picking at another with her fingers. “Maybe she hypnotized him. Why else would he have broke it off with you if you didn’t give him what he was after?”
“Stop it, Gia,” Amandine demanded. “Why do you keep saying René is like that? Do you two have a history or something?”
“Ugh, me and the dirty Frenchman?” Sangria exclaimed. “Don’t make me sick!”
“Why do you dislike him so much?”
Sangria ate more chicken to keep from having to answer right away. When she finally did, her face was curled with disgust. “René is just so... nice. He’s too nice! It doesn’t matter if I tell him to hit the road or call him names, he keeps coming back with that ‘ma chérie’ and that stupid smirk.” She pushed her plate of bones away.“No fellow is ever that nice unless he’s after something.”
Amandine felt glad when her familiar old optimism prevailed. “You know, there’s another reason I don’t think you’ve considered.”
“Yeah?”
“He cares about you.”
“Me?” Sangria’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Why the hell would he care about me, especially after what I’ve put him through?”
“Because he knows you’ve been hurt,” she said gently. “He might not have known exactly how, but I believe he’s sensitive enough to see that the starving girl Sasha found in the alley was suffering badly, inside and out.”
The waiter cleared the empty plate, leaving Sangria to stare at the counter’s laminate surface. The two sat in silence while Amandine finished her lunch, and the contortionist kicked around this new perspective in her head.
She looked up when she heard Amandine’s utensils hit the plate. “Speaking of suffering, it's going to be all blood, sweat, and tears as soon as we get back to camp.” Sangria sighed. “With Glorious in charge, I know we can put this show together... but it’s going to be really hard.”
Threadbare- The Traveling Show Page 18