Entwined

by La Plante, Lynda

  “I’m sorry for all the trouble I cause you, my darling.”

  He smiled, as she poured a glass of wine for him. She was forbidden any alcohol. He took his glass and raised it to her. In the candlelight her amber eyes were as bright as a cat’s. Looking at her now made him feel deeply, horribly sad…This was the Vebekka he had fallen in love with, the young girl he had showered with gifts and flowers until she had succumbed to his charms. She had been crazy, fun-loving, madcap, and willful. She was still all those things, but now, the craziness, the madness, was a hideous constant torment.

  “What are you thinking about, Louis?”

  “How beautiful you look! You remind me of when we first met.”

  The next moment she was on his knee, kissing him frantically.

  “I’m still your favorite baby, I haven’t changed. Please, please take me to bed, carry me into the bedroom, the way you used to, please Louis, let’s pretend this is a honeymoon.”

  He lifted her from his knee. “Eat, finish your dinner.”

  Pouting, she returned to her side of the table. She picked at her food, nibbling on the green beans as she watched him. She slurped some lemonade, trying to amuse him with coy, sweet smiles, smiles that had won him over so many times. Louis wondered how long it would be before she turned on him. He could no longer tell how long the bad spells lasted; all he knew was that this sweet creature would turn, if not tonight, a month, a week, or a year from now into a vicious, violent monster.

  Her eyes narrowed, but she smiled. “Take me home, Louis, please, I’m all right now, it’s over. I know I have said this to you before, but this time I know it’s over. The darkness is gone. I felt it lift in the waiting room at Dr. Franks’s. And Sasha misses me, she needs me to be with her.”

  He drained his wineglass, patted his lips with his napkin. She brought him a cigar, clipped the end for him, and struck the match. “Please, Louis, take me home, we can be together, a family. I really am fine now…”

  He grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. “No, no we stay here, we stay until Dr. Franks has seen you, that’s what we came for.”

  She made no attempt to free herself and he released his hold.

  “Bekka, please don’t do this to me, please don’t…Maybe you feel fine now, but it could change, in the car, on the plane. Please give it a try, if not for yourself, if not for me, do it for Sasha!”

  Vebekka wrapped him in her arms. “I would never hurt my baby, please believe me. Just say you will take me home, I don’t want to stay here.”

  Louis pushed her away. “Sasha is afraid of you!”

  Vebekka recoiled as if he had slapped her. “She is not, I just talked to her on the phone; she is not afraid of me.”

  Louis spun around. “You don’t even know what you do to her! You will stay here, you will go to Dr. Franks. I’ll make you see this through.”

  She cocked her head to one side and smirked.

  “Then you will leave me? That’s why I’m here, you want to get rid of me. I will never divorce you, Louis, not for any of your women, I will never release you. You are mine.”

  The baron ignored her, turning toward Anne Marie’s room. “I’m going to bed, I suggest you do the same…Anne!…Anne!”

  Anne Marie appeared.

  “The baroness is retiring—will you see to her needs?”

  Vebekka swiped at the dishes on the table. “I don’t want any pills, I don’t want that ugly little bitch- near me! I won’t be locked in my room.”

  The baron looked hard at his wife. Her act was coming apart already. He walked into his room and slammed the door.

  Vebekka turned on Anne Marie. “I don’t need anything, especially from you. Go to your room, you plain, ugly bitch…go on, get out of my sight—get those short squat legs moving…you smell! In fact you stink…your body is putrid!”

  Anne Marie paused at the door to look back to the baroness.

  “At least my daughter isn’t terrified of me.” She shut the door quietly.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The baroness’s bedroom was lit by a bedside light. Vebekka threw herself onto the bed, then sat up panic-stricken. Where was her jewelry box? her makeup box?…Finding the boxes comforted her. She carried them to the bed. Then, she gleefully began to make up her face.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Louis’s eyes were closed, but he was not asleep; he knew she was in the room. He felt the covers on his right side lift. He sighed, raised his arm, and she nestled against him. Slowly he turned to look at her.

  It took all his willpower not to push her away. Her face was hideously streaked, like a clown’s. He tried to keep his voice steady. “What’s that over your face, Bekka? What are you doing?”

  “Your clown, don’t you remember? When we were in New York that time? How we laughed at the little midget, the little clown…”

  She slid off the bed and fell to her knees, bouncing up and down, pulling at her face grotesquely. He sat up, looked at the clock, then back at his wife. She jumped up on the bed, rolled on top of him, giggling and tickling him until he held her tightly.

  “It’s one o’clock in the morning, I’m exhausted, this is crazy.”

  She looked downcast. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think this is a very funny thing to say!”

  He sighed. It was as if she were balanced on a high wire; if he said the wrong word, made the wrong move, she would fall. He could contain himself no longer; his body shook as he wept.

  Vebekka held him as though he were a child, soothed him, quieted him.

  Louis had taken a mistress within months of the birth of his first son, and he had continued this pattern throughout the marriage. He told himself that he needed it because of the anguish Vebekka caused him, and yet she could still make him want her like no other woman he had ever known.

  She whispered for him to forgive her, then asked again if he loved her. He could feel himself giving in, too tired to protest. She rested her head against his shoulder, her lips inching upward toward his.

  Her feather-light touches to his cheeks, his ears, his temples, began to arouse him.

  “Don’t do this, Bekka, please don’t.”

  “Let me make love to you, please, Louis, I know you want me.

  Her hands unbuttoned his pajama top, then pulled it from his body. She began to kiss his nipples.

  “Bekka, listen to me, it’s over between us. I will always take care of you, I promise you, but…”

  She untied the cord of his pajama bottoms, easing them over his buttocks, caressing, never stopping her sucking, kissing, licking until she eased herself to her knees. He moaned.

  “You see, Louis, you do want me!”

  Suddenly she sprang off the bed, and smiled at him. He drew up his pants to hide his erection—and she laughed a soft, low, vicious laugh. “You’ll never get rid of me.”

  She twisted the handle on his door, and she was gone.

  He felt wretched, sick to his stomach. He didn’t follow her, not this time.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Helen Masters had covered her head with a pillow so as not to hear them, and yet hours later, even though she knew Vebekka had left Louis, she was still unable to sleep. She got up and went into the main suite to get a brandy. As she began pouring from the decanter, her heart almost stopped. There was Vebekka, hideous makeup smudged over her face, curled up by the window—like a broken doll. Her eyes were staring into the darkness beyond the windowpane.

  Helen touched her shoulder gently. “Come to bed, you’ll catch cold, come on…Vebekka!”

  Helen tucked the quilt around her. “Do you want a hot drink?”

  Slowly Vebekka turned her head, tears streaming down her face. She whispered, “No, nothing, thank you, Helen.” She was gazing straight ahead, as if listening for something. “There’s something here, can you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” Helen asked.

  “I don’t know…I don’t know, but it
’s here, it’s taking me, Helen. It’s taking me over.”

  Helen felt Vebekka’s brow; she was sweating. “Do you need Anne Marie to give you something to help you sleep?”

  “No. Please, take me away from this place.”

  “I can’t, this is for your own good. It will all be all right, you’ll see.

  Vebekka clung tightly to Helen. “Something takes over me, Helen, I have to leave, please talk to Louis, tell him I must go home.”

  Helen embraced her. “There’s nothing here, try and sleep.”

  Vebekka whispered: “We have done something terrible.”

  Helen went rigid, dear God—had the woman hurt Louis? She eased Vebekka from her arms, tucked her in, sat with her until she was quiet, and then ran to his room. Louis was sleeping deeply. Makeup covered his pillows, his face. She shut the door and leaned against it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Vebekka could not sleep. It was almost two-thirty. Dread slowly began to envelop her, a dread she was incapable of describing. Her feet felt leaden, and a terrible weight slowly began overwhelming her body—a deadly white substance that left only her brain to fight the terror of the whiteness inching toward it, only her willpower to keep the creeping mass at bay. She could not call out, could not move; it trapped her arms, constricted her throat. It took all the energy she could conjure to replace the whiteness with brilliant colors and force the colors to cut across her brain: bright primal reds, greens and sky blues. Each color was like an electric shock, shaking her, swamping her with such intense violence she became exhausted, had to give in, had to let the mass consume her. While sinking she caught a glimpse of a girl in a white frilly dress, little white socks and black patent leather shoes, a little girl holding a doll in her arms. She was so far away. A white gloved hand pulled a dark curtain, hiding the child, and darkness descended. She heard a soft, persuasive, voice whispering for her to remember, remember the colors. The gloved white hand began to draw the heavy curtain back again, inch by inch, but what lay hidden behind it filled her with such terror that she gave in to the darkness.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hilda was the first person in the suite that morning to see Vebekka. She was lying on the floor, catatonic, staring into space.

  Hilda called frantically for Anne Marie, the baron, and Dr. Masters. Dr. Masters was the first to appear and told Hilda she would not be needed that day. It was not until she was on the bus heading for home that what had occurred that morning began to have an impact on her. Distracted, she got off the bus a stop early.

  As she waited for the next bus, she decided she would walk instead, and prepared to cross the street. It was then that she saw the brightly colored poster: Schmidt’s Circus was appearing in West Berlin.

  Hilda moved closer, and stared in disbelief. The poster showed a massive lion’s head. Below it was the defiant face of a woman with wild hair; a woman with wide, daring, amber eyes, THE WORLD’S MOST FAMOUS FEMALE WILD ANIMAL TRAINER, RUDA KELLERMAN—award-winning act straight from Monte Carlo!

  For a moment Hilda could have sworn that the woman in the ad was Baroness Vebekka Marechal.

  Chapter 3

  Ruda Kellerman stepped down from her trailer. The sky was overcast, with rain falling lightly. Ruda drew up her raincoat collar and tightened her belt. Her black boots barely showed beneath the long trench coat. She wore a man’s old cloth cap and her long hair was braided. She carried a small riding crop and was tapping it against her leg as she strode toward the Grimaldi cages.

  There were sixteen tigers, four lionesses, five lions, and one black panther. The animals were three or four to a cage, except for one lion, Mamon, and the panther, Wanton, who each had his own. Ruda had, as always, supervised their unloading from the circus train. Now she was making her second inspection of the morning, her eyes noting each animal with a piercing stare of her wide amber-colored eyes.

  The tigers were very vocal now; occasionally, she stopped as one or the other called to her. She pressed her face to the bars, blowing a kiss.

  The purring sound was so loud it was like a rumble, but there was no sound from the smallest cage in the semicircle, the cage that housed Wanton, her young panther. Ruda called out to him, but kept at arm’s length as he sliced his paw through the bars, his sharp claws always ready to lash out against anyone passing close. Wanton was the smallest cat, but one of the most dangerous, and Ruda glanced upward to check that the tarpaulin over the top of his cage was well battened down. She checked to make sure that there was no loose rope for Wanton to leap at, and possibly hurt himself.

  Ruda moved on to her babies, her lionesses. The rain was heavier, and she snapped orders for her helpers to keep the tarpaulins on all the cages until it was time to move the cats into their sheltered quarters. Hearing her voice, the lionesses pressed their massive bodies to the bars, and each one received a rub on the nose. Ruda spoke softly, knowing they would be restless for some time. They always were when they arrived at a new site.

  Ruda ran her crop along the bars of the next to last cage, and three of her prize babies, the fully grown male lions, loped toward her, their massive heads bent low, their paws too large to reach through. These lions with their full manes never ceased to touch a chord inside her; they were kings, magnificent killers, and she admired the sheer force and power of their muscular bodies. Their straw needed changing. She turned angrily to one of her helpers, snapping out the order to prepare the clean straw.

  A young man, who had been with Ruda for only six months, muttered for her to give him a break, he had just arrived himself. In two quick strides Ruda was at his side.

  “Do it now! No back talk!”

  The boy hurried toward the trailer, where four helpers were pitchforking the new hay and sawdust. Ruda made sure every bale was checked out for dampness, and every sack of sawdust was checked for poison, often laid by farmers to get rid of rats. Ruda insisted that the sawdust be sifted by hand.

  Turning to the last cage, she quickened her step. She gave a soft whistle, and then leaned by the side of the cage. Mamon was in solitary confinement, a state he seemed to prefer. Ruda often wondered if he acted up to ensure he was solo; and could do so like none of the others, but then, even his name was unique. He had it when Ruda purchased him. Mamon was moody, uncooperative, a bully, but he could also be playful and sweet-natured. Lions on the whole are family oriented, they like each other’s company, but Mamon was a loner, and he constantly tested her. She liked that.

  As soon as he heard her soft whistle, Mamon swung his head toward Ruda; then he loped slowly to the side of the cage. When she whistled for the second time, he bent down onto his haunches, his nose pressed to the bars, his massive black mane protruding through the rails. As Ruda peered around to him, his jaws opened and snapped shut.

  “How you doing, eh? Want to say hello to your mama?…Eh?”

  Mamon rolled onto his back, and Ruda reached in and tickled his underbelly, but she never stopped talking to him, soothing him, always aware that even in play he could bite her arm off.

  The high-pitched voice that interrupted this scene was like that of a pubescent boy, slightly hoarse, half low, half falsetto.

  “So you got what you wanted after all…”

  Mamon sprang to his feet, all four hundred and ten pounds of him ready to attack. The cage rattled as he lunged at the bars.

  Ruda gripped the riding crop tighter. The voice was unmistakable.

  “You got even taller, Ruda.”

  Ruda turned and snapped. “I wish I could say the same for you, Tommy. What rock have you crawled from under?”

  Tommy Kellerman gave a mirthless, twisted smile. “You’re doing all right for yourself. That’s some trailer parked up front! How much does a trailer that size set you back?”

  Ruda relaxed her grip on the riding crop, forced a smile. This was something that she had expected after all. Ruda had to look down to waist level to meet his eyes. Tommy Kellerman looked very spruc
e; his gray suit and red shirt had to have been custom made, as was his red and gray striped tie. She was familiar with the white trench coat, he wore it as he had always done, slung round his shoulders; he also sported a leather trilby, a hat being the only normal garment Tommy could buy outside of a children’s wear department. Kellerman was a dwarf.

  “That raincoat’s seen some wear!” She tried to sound casual, but her heart was hammering, and she glanced around furtively to see if there was anyone she knew close by.

  “We got to talk, Ruda.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, Tommy, and I’m busy right now.”

  Kellerman inched his leather hat up a fraction. “You didn’t change your name. How come?”

  “I paid enough to use it; beside, I like it.”

  Ruda walked a few steps to the side of the cage, out of sight of passersby. She leaned against the cage, gestured for him to come to her. After a moment, Kellerman joined her. His sweet-smelling cologne wafted up, mixing with the smell of the cats’ urine.

  “Like I said, Ruda, we need to talk. I just got in from Paris, I got a room in the Hotel Berlin.”

  Kellerman had a small leather bag; he dropped it by his tiny feet. Then he leaned against the wheel of the cage, his square hands stuffed into the small pockets, his polished child’s shoes and red socks scuffed with mud.

  “Have you been to my trailer?…asked for me there?”

  He laughed his high-pitched laugh, and shook his head. “No, I came straight from the station. I’ve been following you, I keep on seeing your posters, your face. You are the star attraction. You got what you wanted, eh?”

  “What do you want, Tommy?” Her voice was flat and emotionless.