by Amanda Davis
I felt my way along the wall of the truck and fumbled with the latch. Lights had gone on in trailers all the way down the hill, but near the hay truck it was dark. It took me a minute to get my bearings. I could hear a crowd and as I came around towards the animal trucks, I saw people huddled together with flashlights, murmuring.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying had happened and didn’t want to draw attention to myself by asking. I crept towards the edge of the crowd. Knew he was a pervert, someone said. Takes one to know one, someone else answered, and there were a couple of appreciative snorts. That’s terrible, a woman said. You guys are terrible. He’s dead. Don’t you have any respect? There was another response that prompted more twittering but I didn’t hear it.
I heard sirens.
I couldn’t have run faster if I’d expected them. One minute I was near the mass of people and the next I was tucked safely away in the hay, and even though I knew they’d probably come for the dead man, whoever he was, I couldn’t help thinking that they might be for me.
“Go to sleep,” I heard. It was the fat girl. She pulled me back to where my blankets were. I climbed back into them and lay there, my eyes wide open, hearing the slam of police car doors and trying not to breathe too loudly.
“Go to sleep,” she said again. This time she smoothed the hair from my forehead and stretched out beside me.
“This was so stupid,” I said. “I thought Charlie would know what to do…”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
I curled up away from her. “We didn’t have a plan,” I said. “We didn’t have any idea at all.”
TEN
I BARELY slept, tossing and turning until well after I could see light through the high vents. Finally I drifted off, only to wake to the sound of scraping and a fresh breeze. I sat up and scared the bejeezus out of a tall man with a pitchfork. “Holy shit,” he said. “Oh Holy Christ.”
The night before seemed like a dream. “Do you know what time it is?”
“About ten,” he said. “You missed the yellow flag if that’s what you’re wondering about, but they might give you coffee anyway if you ask nice.”
I thanked him and pulled on my boots one by one. My tattoo was still tender and the other ankle still swollen. I left the blankets but collected my other things and climbed down from the truck. It was a fine bright morning but I was groggy and dense. I cracked my back and limped towards the cookhouse, purple backpack in tow.
I managed to get a cup of coffee, which did a little bit to clear my head. Soon enough I was deeply engrossed in filling my garbage bag with half-eaten candy bars and empty popcorn cartons.
Sometime before lunch Elaine sent for me. She was smoking on the makeshift porch in front of her silver trailer when I got there. “Come here,” she said. “How’d you sleep? How’s the Hotel Straw and Bale?” She gave a little laugh.
“It was fine,” I said. “I slept okay. Though I guess I woke up in the middle of the night when—”
She stopped me with the palm of her hand and motioned me to follow her inside. She sat behind her desk and I took my spot on the bench. “So what’d the bigmouths around here tell you?”
“Nothing. No one told me—”
“All right,” she said, using her stub of a cigarette to light another one. “Tell me this: how do you feel about animals?”
“Fine. I mean I like them, I guess.”
Elaine blew smoke in a stream above my head. “Well, we have a problem. A very big problem. And it looks like you’re our solution.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her feet on the desk, and studied me. “Remember the guy who showed you how to work the door to the hay truck?”
I nodded.
“That’s Jim Brewer. He’s our elephant trainer. Lovely man. Been with this show nine years. I guess you made a good impression, because he suggested you. Anyhow, I don’t see as where we have much choice after what happened.”
“What exactly…what did happen?”
“I’ll level with you,” she continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I’m not sure you’re up to it. It’s not easy work and this place is no kindergarten. But I can’t lose another hand. I’ve got a sudden hole in the schedule that strands the show in this godawful town for three extra days. I was already down a costume assistant, a midway attraction, and a groom due to some previous unfortunate circumstances that the loose lips around here will probably tell you all about.” She exhaled a thick column of smoke and I had to concentrate not to cough. “After last night, I’m down another. Anyway, you’ll report to him today and we’ll see how you do.”
I swallowed. “I’ll report to Jim?”
“To Jim,” Elaine said. “That was his new groom we lost last night.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Can I ask what happened?”
“I do not want to get into the details of it,” she said. “He was a job-in. Sam found him in Tennessee I think. If you must know, he molested one of the horses. We wouldn’t have stood for that, but it doesn’t matter because that horse kicked him in the head and killed him. Now let’s move on.”
She slapped her palm on the desk and sat up straight, then leaned towards me and punctuated her words with her cigarette. “You are a very lucky girl, arriving just in time to capitalize on our misfortune. If you do, in fact, turn out to be a sign from God that this tour isn’t going to be a disaster, we will find that out. For now, you’ll work extremely hard and in return you will have food and a decent place to stay for a few more days—something a little more luxurious than the Hotel Straw.”
She smiled. “We’ll see how you do with the tasks you’re given. If you work hard, if you blend in with the Fartlesworth family, then when we move on, it is possible that you could come with us. If you continued to do well, then after a few months we would talk salary. Understand?”
I didn’t know what to say. I realized I’d been holding my breath.
“Miss Cabinet?”
“Yes!” I said, and grinned so hard I thought my face might split in half. “Sure.”
“Now let me ask you this, Miss Annabelle Cabinet.” She squinted at me. “What exactly are you running from? You were seen ducking out of sight when the police came around last night. What are you afraid of?”
I swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, missy. If you want to stay here you will tell me your real name and who you’ve run away from. And if you give me any trouble while you’re here, any reason not to trust you, any cause to worry about my people because of you, anything at all, then you’ll be off with the cops faster than you can say shit.”
“And, one more thing.” She leaned in close and pointed the burning tip of the cigarette at me. “I don’t like to be made a fool of. If you lie—if I find out you’ve lied to me—and I always find out, I’m very good at that—you’ll have more than just the police to worry about. Am I understood?”
I nodded. “You are understood.”
“Good. Now what is your name and where are you from?”
I took a deep breath. “Faith,” I said. The word felt funny, tasted funny. “I’m Faith Duckle from Gleryton, North Carolina.”
“And what, exactly, did you leave behind?”
“A mess,” I said, finally. “And my mom.”
“All right, Annabelle,” she said, and stood up to shake my hand. “Welcome aboard, hon. This is how I came to this life. I ran away when I wasn’t much older than you and made a go of it. We’ll soon see what you’re made of.”
Elaine had me sit on the porch and wait for Sam. I could not believe the conversation that had just taken place, any of it. I could not believe that I might have a chance to go on with them. And I did not know what I would have done otherwise. I stood and smoothed my sweater.
Just then, Sam marched past me and knocked on the door. Elaine answered it. She indicated me with her cigarette. “Annabelle’s going to groom for Jim and take over for what Y
ael was doing for Benny, okay? You can put her where Yael was—Wilma’s trailer, right? Tell Wilma I’ll take care of the money for now. Annabelle’s with us on trial. Show her where she needs to go. I’ll see you later.”
She shut the door and Sam turned to me with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Come on,” he said.
He led me back towards the hay truck, around to the other side of the big top where there were more vehicles. He rapped on the side of a brown Winnebago, but no one came out and he cursed under his breath.
I strode along beside him, into the big tent where an older man spreading sawdust waved at us, and then out again. Finally he told me what I was going to do.
I was to muck out Bluebell’s and Olivia’s stalls every day for Jim Brewer, the elephant trainer, and I was to make sure that they had fresh water and food. Every day. Make an elephant unhappy and we’ll all be unhappy, I was told. I was to muck out the show horses’ stalls and do whatever I was told by any of the animal trainers. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was to help out in the costume trailer.
“If you handle those jobs,” he said, looking past my elbow and into the distance somewhere, “and providing everyone doesn’t hate you or think you’re an annoying idiot, then you’ll help with teardown when we move again.”
“Teardown?”
He sighed with great exaggeration. “Take. This. Show. Down,” he said like I was an annoying idiot. “We’ll climb that mountain if we come to it. Come on.”
Everything was happening so quickly, so easily that I worried it was going to backfire, that I was going to screw it up. My trusting Elaine with a big part of the truth meant only one thing: I had to be perfect and invisible all at once. Or else.
We found Jim Brewer a few hundred feet from the animal trucks with Bluebell and Olivia.
I’d never seen elephants in real life. They were both enormous, each a gray mountain with sharp white tusks and huge floppy ears. One stood by the truck, digging through a bale of hay, using her trunk to delicately sweep piles into her enormous mouth. The other watched us, her trunk swinging side to side. Standing beside her, Jim Brewer’s head only reached the top of her leg. From there her shoulder was an enormous hill of leathery skin in many shades of gray. I had an urge to reach out and touch her. Just then there was a rumbling noise and the elephant shoved out several heaps of what my job would revolve around. Each was larger than my head and very fragrant. I looked at Jim and Sam and smiled as best I could.
“…take her to Wilma’s,” Sam was saying. “She’ll do whatever you need, but she’s First of May, and how. You’ll have to teach her. And I couldn’t find Benny, so make introductions when you can.”
Jim Brewer nodded. He was blond and tanned and had a sharp little goatee, which he tugged on now. “After the show, luv, I’ll show you some basics and we’ll see how you fare.” His British accent was crisp and melodic.
They both stared at me until I realized they were waiting for some kind of response.
I cleared my throat, discombobulated. “Thank you,” I said, and turned a foolish red.
Sam shook his head and we were off again, back to the green trailer under which I’d stashed my stuff the day before.
“This is Wilma’s,” he said, staring at the sky, so he didn’t have to look at me. “You met her yesterday. This is where you’ll sleep. It also happens to be the costume trailer for the show changes, which means you’d better not be in here during the show. You should be busy with other things anyway. So. Do what Wilma tells you and stay out of her way.”
He took a deep breath and rapped on the door. Wilma answered. “Well, if it isn’t the little runaway,” she said.
“This is Annabelle,” Sam almost mumbled. “She’s taking over for Yael on a trial and Mom wants her living with you. She’ll take care of the money. Um—”
“Hi, hon!” She turned to me, all sweetness and light. I felt myself blush. “Come on in.”
“She has to—”
Wilma put her hand out. “You,” she said firmly. “May leave.”
He wilted, visibly, and I almost felt sorry for him. But as soon as he’d disappeared I exhaled and realized I’d been holding my breath.
Wilma motioned me inside. The trailer was different from any of the others I’d seen. It was larger, for one thing, and brighter. There were lights and mirrors everywhere, and costumes in pinks and reds and oranges and blues and greens—all shapes and sizes. Every inch of the trailer seemed to explode with glitter and rhinestones, shimmer and shine.
Instead of a kitchen, this trailer had wigs on stands lining an entire wall, like a decapitated chorus.
“Welcome, Annabelle.” Wilma leaned against a rack of clothes and crossed her arms. “I’m glad to have company again. It’s been a little lonely since Yael left.” She considered me critically. “Pants aside, you look like you’ve been wearing the rest of that outfit for a while. Is it all you have?”
I nodded.
“Well, you don’t want to muck in the only clothes you have, right?” She disappeared into the back. “Come here,” she called, and I followed. Past all the trunks and racks, I saw bunk beds in the far right corner.
Wilma opened a trunk, then closed it and slid it off another with a bang. This she opened too, then considered its contents with her hands on her hips.
She turned and looked at me again and I felt her taking measurements. “Maybe this,” she said, yanking out something pink, and then she shook her head and threw it back in favor of a blue work shirt, which she rejected for a dark green padded jacket. She pulled out a pair of jeans and two gray T-shirts and something red. A sweater? I couldn’t be sure. And some long underwear, and a tank top and a pair of pale blue shorts.
“What size shoes?” she called over her shoulder and as I said eight, she mounted another trunk and dug around the shelves overhead, pulling down boxes and extracting boots. “Where did I put those socks?” she muttered.
She stopped and turned around.
“Hey,” she said. “Why don’t you take your coat off. Throw your bag on the top bunk there, huh? Stay awhile.”
I did what I was told.
I liked Wilma, but I was quiet and careful, wary that I might do something to fuck it all up and thrust myself outside those gates again, searching and searching. I held up the clothes she’d found, and most of them seemed like they’d fit. The jeans were a little big but looked comfortable and I was excited to trade in my filthy tights and garbage-stained work pants. I asked Wilma if there was any clean underwear too, but she just laughed.
“Most of the folks around here don’t wear it,” she said. “So that would be a no.”
I blushed deeply. Wilma showed me where to shower and told me that, despite Sam’s admonition, I was welcome to hang out in the trailer during the matinee as long as I stayed on my bed out of the way.
“There are a lot of people in and out of here during a show,” she said. “And believe me, you do not want to cross their paths.”
When I was clean I pulled on the jeans and a gray T-shirt, climbed up on the top bunk, and immediately fell sound asleep.
I woke to the light touch of a hand on my arm. I opened my eyes to a metal ceiling, a metal wall. I turned towards the hand and blinked hard at Wilma before I remembered who she was.
“Annabelle,” she said gently, and I realized she’d been calling me for some time now.
I nodded, struggling to emerge from a puddled dream world where people I knew—Jenny Sims, Missy Groski, and Mr. Feldman from school; Angelique and Marybeth from Clark’s; Hilton and Cookie from Berrybrook—surrounded me shouting loud, indecipherable things.
“Hello,” I managed, my voice creaky. “Are they coming in now?”
“Who?”
I had meant the matinee performers, but as I said it I looked beyond her shoulder and saw the dark sky outside the trailer. Had I missed reporting to Jim Brewer?! I sat up fast and conked my head on the ceiling.
“Ow!”
“Ow,” W
ilma said, touching her own head. “You have to be careful of that.”
I scrambled down from the bed, hit the floor, and stumbled, my feet as prickly and strange as if they’d never been used. Wilma had exchanged her fiery dress for a tight black turtleneck that made her breasts look pointy, and a wide blue skirt with fuzzy sheep leaping across its bottom.
“What time is it?” I said.
“It’s late,” she said. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year?” I shook my head to try and clear it. “The people,” I said, “I missed the people?”
“You missed some people, yes. Both shows and Victor and Mina hanging out after—they’re on the trapeze. He catches.”
She walked towards the front of the trailer while she spoke and I tripped after her.
“—I wouldn’t have woken you, but I thought you should eat something so you don’t wake up hungry later. I always wake up hungry when I haven’t eaten, and you’re in a strange place and wouldn’t know where to find anything…”
We had come to the tiny table in the front. All the sewing debris on it had been pushed aside and in its wake was a paper plate overflowing with potato chips and an enormous sandwich, with a can of ginger ale at its helm.
“Jim Brewer,” I said. “What about Jim Brewer? Sam told me to—”
Wilma stuck her hand out like a crossing guard. “Hey, I took care of it.” She gave me a funny smile and then shook her head. “Jesus, either you’re really conscientious or Elaine pumped you full of the fear of God. Just chill out. Don’t worry. You report to Jim first thing in the morning.”
I thanked her profusely and she gestured for me to sit down. I wouldn’t have said I was hungry before, but in front of that sandwich my mouth flooded and my stomach moved angrily. I tried not to gulp.
Wilma settled herself across from me, stealing a chip now and then. She told me her full name was Wilmadine Esther Genersh, she was the second of six children—four boys and two girls—of the Genersh family, a clan of high-wire artists. She’d grown up in the Fartlesworth Circus, but never performed.