Lynda Plante - Entwined

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.

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.