She turned in a panic. "Oh God, he's not here to replace me, is he?"
"Don't be silly, you'll see them coming here in droves to get to Ringling's man — get him to see their acts, bribe him, you know the scene."
Ruda brushed her hair, her hands shaking. Luis held out her black shirt, but she pushed it aside, pulling up her tight black jodhpurs. She stamped into the gleaming, polished boots, then she held out her arms as he eased the shirt over her head, careful not to mess her hair. She buttoned the collar. "God, I'm so nervous... this is supposed to be a dress rehearsal!"
"Everyone else is nervous, too, you can bet on it. You look wonderful! Now — make them get on their feet for the next number. You pull it off and we'll be in New York, I guarantee it!"
Ruda checked her appearance, tightened the wide black leather belt. She breathed in deeply, forcing herself to relax. All in black, her hair drawn away from her face, her eyes thick with black eyeliner, she looked like a cat herself, her strong lithe body taut with nerves.
"Okay, I'm ready... how long have I got?"
Luis checked his watch and told her she had plenty of time. All the acts were running over, everyone was playing up to the visitors, pulling out all the stops. She tucked in her shirt, and gave herself a nod of approval. "Okay, I'm ready."
Luis stood back and smiled. "Good luck! I'll be right by ringside. You'll need an umbrella, it's pouring."
Ruda took out a black umbrella and carefully sidestepped the big puddles as she hurried to the ring. Luis ran from the trailer, entering the big tent via the audience flaps. He made his way to ringside, and sat waiting. The clowns were chasing and tumbling after each other, skidding on the plastic floor covering — an electric car burst into flames as they reached the finale. The lights dimmed... it was strange to end in silence; usually the sound of thunderous applause accompanied the clowns, along with shrieks of laughter from the children.
Luis looked up to the viewing box. The Ringling Bros, scout stood with his back to the ring, talking animatedly to someone drinking champagne.
The crew moved like lightning, clearing the props, rolling the floor covering, raking up the sawdust. The ringmaster announced the Polish group of bareback riders, and they virtually stampeded into the ring — twelve of them, wearing brilliantly colored American Indian headdresses, whooping and screaming. The lights followed the riders, picking them out as they formed a fast-moving semicircle. Luis watched his boys getting ready to erect the safety cages around the ring.
Dr. Franks, carrying a small medical bag, waited impatiently by the elevator at the Grand Hotel. He barely gave the bellboy time to open the gates before snapping that he wanted the Baron Marechal's suite. As the elevator ascended, he checked his watch, silently hoping the ambulance would arrive quickly.
Helen opened the doors, and they hurried to Vebekka's bedside.
"She's been quiet for about fifteen minutes."
Franks nodded, and Helen closed the bedroom doors. "She left the hotel, she's been drinking."
Franks felt Vebekka's pulse. "How did you let that happen?"
Helen flushed. "She seemed so well, we were going to dine in the restaurant, and she was dressing — the next moment she had left..."
Franks drew back the bedclothes. "Have you given her something? Anything to sedate her?"
"No, nothing, she was acting up, as if she were having some kind of epileptic fit, and then she calmed down."
Franks took out his stethoscope and checked her heartbeat. "How did she get these bruises?"
"We don't know... we found her in the street."
Vebekka moaned softly. Franks sat on the side of the bed. "Are you awake? It's Dr. Franks. Well, what have you been up to, huh?"
"I went out... I had too much to drink!" She looked past Franks to Helen, and turned away.
"Would you please leave us alone, Helen?"
Franks waited until Helen had left the room, and then he leaned close. "What were you up to?" he repeated.
The baron sat impatiently in a chair, his foot tapping, waiting for franks to come out of the bedroom.
"What in God's name is he doing in there?"
Helen looked toward the bedroom. "They're talking."
The telephone rang and she answered it. The ambulance was waiting downstairs.
Franks came out and closed the door gently.
"The ambulance is downstairs."
He nodded, placing his bag down. "She's sleeping now, she's exhausted."
The baron kept his voice low. "I want her out of here, tonight."
Franks sat on the edge of the sofa. "She remembers everything she did, where she went, even the name of the clubs — Mama Magda's!! Notorious old woman. She remembers, Baron."
The baron pointed to his cheek. "She knew she did this?"
Franks shook his head. "No... she remembers up to the point she was brought into the hotel. Would you like me to look at the..."
The baron interrupted: "Mine is just a scratch, but she bit Hilda's hand. Don't you think maybe you should call whoever is necessary and take my wife away?"
"I am not sure..."
"I am, Doctor. I want her out of the hotel, tonight."
Franks turned to Helen and asked what she thought. She hesitated. "If I hadn't seen with my own eyes, seen how violent she was, how incredibly strong, neither of us could hold her down..."
"I see," Franks interrupted. "You know I hate to put her in a hospital, be it mental or otherwise. I really think some interesting things came out of the session today, and I would very much like to continue."
The baron stood up. "I refuse to take any further responsibility for my wife. If you wish to take her to your clinic, that is up to you, I want her out of here."
"Out of your life, Baron?"
"Yes... yes!"
Franks looked at his watch. "Very well, I will take her. She can stay at the clinic."
He opened his bag and sifted through some papers. "I want you to read these and sign them before you release Vebekka into my charge. This will mean it will be my decision to certify her, if, and only if, I feel there is nothing more I can do. Of course, you will have to cover all financial costs for her to be sent to..."
"Doctor, just give me the papers." The baron took them to the desk and searched for his pen. Franks looked to Helen, raised his eyebrows slightly, and then went into the bedroom.
Vebekka was lying with her hands resting on the cover. She turned to him, and smiled. "I'm hungry."
Franks took her hand. "Vebekka, I am going to take you with me to my clinic. There is no need to be afraid, but I think it will be for the best."
She closed her eyes. "Oh God, what did I do?"
Franks kept holding her hand. "Nothing too bad, but you need to be cared for, need to—" Her hand began to grip his tighter, he was astonished at her strength.
"It's coming back..."
Franks could not release his hand. Her body twisted, he tried to stand, but she was so strong she pulled him down beside her; she was panting, her body began to go into spasm. The pain in her head... she saw them coming again, the bright lights, the colors. Frank wrenched his hand free and ran to the door. He shouted to get the ambulance attendant up immediately, then returned to the bed. She looked at him helplessly, opening and shutting her mouth, unable to tell him what was hurting her... Her hands were shaking as she touched her temples. On and on went the piercing flashes of color.
Franks leaned over her. "Tell me. Tell me. What is it?"
Her mouth was open wide, but her face was frozen with terror, like a mask; the cement was creeping upward, reaching her knees, her stomach, pressing down on her chest. Any moment it would reach her neck, and though she could hear Dr. Franks, could see him, she could not communicate, could not tell him the oozing, thick whiteness was inching up into her throat, suffocating her. Franks saw her eyes glaze over, her hands became rigid. He turned with relief as the attendants arrived with the stretcher.