Ruda rinsed out her mug and placed it on the draining board by the small sink, and she suddenly realized she was not alone in the trailer. She moved silently toward Luis's bedroom; a low orgasmic moan make her step back. Then she heard her husband gasping, his moan louder, louder until he sighed deeply.
Ruda remained standing by the bedroom door, wondering which of the young girls was being serviced — it was more often than not one of the eager starstruck grooms. Grimaldi earmarked these young girls virtually on arrival at the site. In his heyday he wouldn't have looked in their direction, but now he fucked what he could still dazzle.
Ruda sat down on one of the comfortable cushioned benches and lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift into rings above her head. She heard a soft girlish laugh, and looked in the direction of the bedroom, wondering if they were about to start over again, but then the clink of glasses and the low voice of her husband asking for a refill made her think she should remove herself since they could both be coming out. She half rose to her feet.
"I love you."
Ruda raised her eyebrows; poor little whore.
"When will you tell her?"
Ruda sighed; the stupid little girl didn't know that she was more than aware of these affairs. She thought to herself, "Well? Answer her!"
"I'll discuss it tonight, after the show, she'll be too busy beforehand." Ruda could tell by the slight slur in Luis's voice that he had been drinking.
The girl's voice rose to a whine: "You said that days ago, you promised me... if she doesn't care about you, why wait? You promised me, Luis, you promised."
"I'll discuss it tonight, sweetheart, I give you my word..."
Ruda decided she had heard enough. She was about to open the main door of the trailer and slam it hard, so they would know she was there, when she was stopped in her tracks.
"The baby won't wait — I want you to promise me you'll tell her tonight, ask for a divorce tonight, promise me?"
"Shit!" Ruda pursed her lips. The bloody tart was pregnant!
Grimaldi's voice grew a little louder. "Come here, look at me, Tina, I promise you we'll talk tonight, okay? But it's feeding time now, I can't talk it over until tonight, she's gonna have to rehearse, it's not the right time."
Ruda walked out of the trailer, stuffing her feet into her old boots. What was another bloody Grimaldi brat? But could this one turn his head? He was over sixty. Could this one make his warped, drink-befuddled mind take some kind of responsible action? The timing could not have been worse. If Grimaldi was to discover he was not legally married, maybe he would, out of sheer perverseness, think about marrying this tart.
Ruda's mind began to spin. Grimaldi was old, he was feeling bitter and jealous of her success, he had been relegated to nothing more than an observer of the act. A child coming now could give Grimaldi a sense of power. Would this bitch give her husband the strength to confront her?
Shoulders hunched, Ruda sloshed through the mud, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Rage made her whole body stiffen, and the cats picked up on it. As soon as she reached the perimeter of their cages, they began to growl, pacing up and down, heads low.
The cages had to be driven undercover. The rain was pelting down, and the big animal tent had been erected; all the animal trailers were being moved into the covered arena, each having a delineated site within the tent. Ruda climbed on board the tractor with the first caged wagon ready and Mike gave her the signal to drive it in.
Ruda wheeled the tractor around, hitching and unhitching each cage, her arms straining.
Not until all the cages were secured and positioned in their allocated space did she relax. The large heaters were on full blast to ensure that the tent and grounds were kept dry and warm. All the tarpaulins from the tops of the cages were removed, laid out flat, and rolled up in readiness for the next journey.
When she at last returned the tractor to the parking lot, she started checking the equipment trucks to make sure that all her props had arrived. Then she had to check out the show cages: Each one weighed a ton, but they had to be carried and stacked. She lifted and stacked along with her boys until the sweat ran down her face.
Time was now short. She had to be ready for her rehearsal period; each act had its specific rehearsal time, and if she was not ready she would lose hers. The new plinths and pedestals were still in their wrappers. Ruda helped the workers heave them down from the truck and roll them into the practice ring. They were reinforced steel-framed leather-based seats and stools for the cats, ranging in height with reinforced interlocking frames; some were barrel shaped, some used under the ends of the planks. Each section had to be stacked for easy access and quick setup. They ranged from three feet to forty feet high, and they were very heavy.
Ruda was stripped down to a T-shirt. Sweat glistened on her face and under her armpits as she drove herself to work harder than any man. Her boots were caked in mud, her big hands covered in old leather gloves as she used wire clippers to uncover the first plinth. Standing back to view it, she swore loudly, then ripped off the second and third covers. The plinths were correct in measurement, and exceptionally well made, but she swore and cursed louder than any of the men as she pointed to the leather seat base. She had given the specific colors to be used: red, green, and blue. They were as she had instructed — but they were too bright, too primal, and the gold braid too yellow.
Ruda had just completed unwrapping the last plinth — stacking them side by side, all the covers and wires removed — and was standing hands on hips in a fury, when Grimaldi made his appearance.
He stood over six feet tall, and had thick black curly hair, very black since he dyed it regularly. His once exceptionally handsome face was bloated now from age and excessive drinking, his dark eyes red-rimmed, but he could still turn heads. He was wearing high black polished boots over cords, and a Russian-style shirt, belted at the waist. He reeked of eau de cologne; Ruda could smell him before she saw him.
"We got a problem?"
Ruda snapped that indeed they had, and it was all his fault.
"All you had to do, Luis, was give the colors for the plinths and you fouled that up — look at them, they're far too bright, I'm gonna have to use the old ones when I link up the pyramid formation. Look at the fucking colors, too bright. I want our old ones."
Grimaldi shrugged. "You can't have them. I sold them in Paris. These are okay, they'll get used to them. What's the panic? A few rehearsals, they'll get used to them."
Ruda turned on him. "It's not you in the ring with them, Luis, it's me — and I'm telling you, those colors are too fucking bright!"
Ruda's face was flushed with fury. Luis knew, probably better than anyone else, the danger new equipment always presented. Even a different-colored shirt worn in the show could disturb the cats; they hated change of any kind. Although they accepted Ruda's old rehearsal clothes, they seemed to know instinctively when she wore a different stage costume and they could act up. They had to be given time to accept the changes, and two days, Ruda knew, was not long enough.
Ruda glared at her husband.
"Get the old ones back, Luis, and get them by tonight!"
His eyes became shifty; he hated to be spoken to in that way in front of the workers. "I said I sold them. Just work through the act, they'll get used to them. I can't get them back from Paris in time for the opening."
Ruda kicked one of the plinths in fury. "Just do what I ask, Jesus Christ! It was the only thing you had to do and you fouled it up!"