Now you are rollin' in it, and you're on the number one circuit, this must be one hell of a contract... and all I want is a part of it, you either get me in on the act..."
"They'd fucking eat you, Tommy... no way!"
One of the helpers passed the small alleyway between the cages. He paused. "Excuse me, Mrs. Grimaldi, but the freezers are open. You want to come over and sign for the meat?"
Ruda nodded. "Be right with you, Mike."
Ruda hid Tommy by standing in front of him, and she remained there until Mike had left.
"Ruda, I need money, I'm broke."
She turned on him, snapping angrily. "When have you not needed money, Tommy? If it moves, you'll slap a bet on it. You owed me, remember? I paid you off years ago, I owe you nothing."
Kellerman's face twisted with anger. "You had no thin', not even a fucking passport, I got you out of Berlin. Me! I put food in your mouth, clothes on your back. Don't give me this bullshit, you owe me a lot, Ruda, and if Grimaldi were to know you are still married, he'd hit the fuckin' roof... I keep my ears to the ground, bitch, I know you took over his act, and I know he's relegated to watchin' outside the ring like a prick! And I hear he hates it, he's still screwing everythin' in a skirt, so how do you think he'd feel if he knew you never got divorced? I reckon he'd be a happy man, Ruda. Now you tell me how much you owe me? I am your husband, and I got the marriage license to prove it. You got the divorce papers? Huh?... Well?"
Ruda pawed at the ground with the toe of her boot.
"Don't mess me around, Tommy, how much do you want?"
"Well, you got two options, sweetheart. Make me a part of the act, cut me in, or — I know what they pay top acts, so I don't think it's too much — just give me one hundred thousand dollars."
"Are you crazy? I don't have that kind of money, everything I earn goes into the act. I swear I don't have..."
Kellerman ran to the front of Mamon's cage. He pointed with his stubby finger. "Well, sell this bastard, they're worth a lot of dough, aren't they? Or sell your trailer, I know how much that's worth, and I know Grimaldi must be set up. I need dough, I got to pay some heavy guys off, and I got no one else. What you want from me, want me to beg? Fuck you! You owe me!"
Ruda remained in the narrow alley between the cages. It took all her willpower to contain her anger. "Tommy, don't stand in front of the cages, they don't like it. I'll get you as much as I can, but not dollars, not here."
Kellerman leered at her. "That's not good enough, Ruda. You want me to go over and have a chat with Grimaldi? You can get the cash from the head cashier. You think I dunno how much dough you're getting paid per show? It was the talk of Paris, so don't give me any bullshit."
"I'll see what I can do, and I'll come to your hotel tonight after I fix the night feed. But only on condition you don't work here. I also want our marriage license. Is it a deal?"
Kellerman looked at his watch. "Okay, I'll go grab a bite. You get me the dough, I'll give you the license. We got a deal, my love."
"Then leave now, I don't want you yapping to anyone!"
Kellerman grinned. "Eh! There's guys here that'd cut my throat if they saw me, so I'm gone... but you'd better turn up, you got until midnight." He scrawled on a card the hotel and phone number, tucking it into her pocket, smiling. Then he perched his hat at a jaunty angle and departed.
Mike was already sorting out the meat for the midday feed. He used a hatchet to slice the meat from the bone, and a carpenter's sledgehammer with a short handle to crack open the carcass. Ruda collected the large trays, carefully tagged for each cat. They weighed the feeds, placing the trays in readiness for the cages. She wore a rubber apron; blood covered her hands and arms. Like Mike, she wielded the knives and hatchets like a professional.
After they washed off the blood, Ruda said, "You can grab a coffee, Mike, I'll do the next feed. What time have they allocated the arena for us?"
Mike handed her a carefully worked-out schedule showing when the main rings would be available for her to rehearse the act.
Ruda looked over the sheet, frowning. "Have the new plinths I ordered arrived yet?"
"I think so, but until everyone's settled, I can't get to the delivery trucks. They're all parked out at the rear."
She swore under her breath and snapped, "Go and check, I'll need them tonight, we've no time to mess around!"
Ruda fed the cats herself, as she always did. That way she could monitor their diet and see if they had any problems. After the feed, she helped the boys sweep and wash down the boards.
It had been a long journey. Ruda's helpers retired to their trailers exhausted. None of them had ever been able to keep up with her; she seemed to have unending energy and stamina; she was stronger than most men, and had high expectations. Anyone not prepared to give one hundred percent was fired on the spot.
Until now she had not allowed herself to concentrate on the Kellerman problem. She was so engrossed in her thoughts, desperately trying to think what she should do about her first husband, that she virtually moved on automatic pilot. She had been so anxious to leave Kellerman that she had never considered divorce, but she had always consoled herself that no one would ever know because when she married Grimaldi, Kellerman was in jail. He wouldn't know, and Luis would have had no reason to suspect she wasn't divorced. Now she knew what a stupid mistake she had made. For Luis Grimaldi to find out now that they were not legally married would be very dangerous, especially since Ruda was poised to make her move and take over the act. Ruda and Grimaldi were partners, everything split fifty-fifty, but they were at loggerheads. Only the act tied Ruda to Grimaldi; the act that she had built up. Ruda was planning to draw up new contracts to increase her share to 70 percent of the proceeds. After months of bitter quarrels, she felt Grimaldi was ready to sign. But what if he were to discover she wasn't legally married to him and had no legal hold over him at all? The act was still in Grimaldi's name; every contract she signed was in his name, it didn't matter that everyone knew she had taken over. The act was still his.
Ruda dragged her boots over the iron grill outside the trailer steps, inched them off and stepped onto the portable steps in her stocking feet, and opened the door. She carefully placed her boots just inside, and then hung up her raincoat.
The trailer was spacious. Her large bedroom was off the central sitting room, while her husband's was off the far end by the kitchen. Ruda showered and washed her hair. Wrapped in a robe with a towel around her head she went into the kitchen. The coffee pot was still warm, and she poured herself a cup of the thick black liquid, then sat down with the mug in her hands.
The walls of the trailer were hung with framed photographs of herself, of Grimaldi, and of the various animals and circuits. Her eyes rested on the large picture of herself. It was the new poster, the first time Ruda was the main attraction of a circus. The fame of Schmidt's was worldwide; she was at the pinnacle of her career.
The coffee tasted good, bitter, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth. Her big, mannish hands were red raw, the skin rough, the nails cut square. She wore no wedding ring, no jewelry. Slowly she removed the damp towel, and her hair uncoiled in a wet dark twist. When it was combed back from her strong, raw-boned face, strange deep red scars were evident on her temples. They looked like burn scars, as if someone had held a red-hot poker to either side of her head.
Ruda often aggravated the scars, because she had a habit, when she was thinking, of rubbing her forefinger over them, as if the feel of the smooth scarred skin comforted her. She began to do that now, worrying about Kellerman, wondering what she should do — what she could do — all the while staring at the picture of herself. In the photograph, surrounded by her lions, she looked powerful, invincible. At stake were not only her career and her partnership, but also her life. And no one was going to take it from her. No one had a right to take it away.