Courting the Clown

by Cathy Quinn

  She found herself in an intimidating marble foyer with fancy leather couches, huge impressive paintings on the walls, and a grand piano prominently displayed in the center of the room.

  What? No fountain? What was a foyer without a fountain?

  “Good morning! Can I help you?”

  A smiling receptionist waited behind a huge counter, and Sylvie hurried towards here. “Good morning. I’m here for a job interview with Nicholas Falcon.”

  “ Job interview with Mr. Falcon personally?” the receptionist asked with a brow raised.

  Obviously that was unusual. “Yes,” she said decisively, hoping she was right. “Mr. Falcon, 10 o’clock.” She re-checked the card he’d given her, but there was no clue there. Just the date and time. He hasn’t mentioned a personnel office, had he? He’d said “they” would talk. Or course it could have been some sort of corporate “we”.

  “Of course. Mr. Falcon’s office is on the top floor,” the receptionist said, pointing towards the elevators. “Just go straight up and you’ll get to his offices.”

  Sylvie thanked the woman and walked into the mirrored elevator. Top floor? Was this entire building a part of his business? This was not helping her peace of mind.

  She sighed, and all around, dozens of her sighed, too. They did this on purpose. They put mirrors in all the elevator walls with the sole purpose of lowering a person’s confidence. She peered anxiously at her face, almost expecting to see the remains of the clown make-up despite the one bath and two showers she’d taken since then. The elevator door slid open, and she took another deep breath before walking out. Back straight. Head held high. Confidence. That was the key.

  “Nicholas Falcon’s office?” she asked another receptionist was sitting at a desk just outside the elevator, guarding a big mahogany door.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Sylvie Farrell. He’s expecting me.”

  The woman clicked a few keys and stared intently at her screen. “Farrell? I’m sorry, I don’t see you here. Are you sure this was today?”

  Damn. Should she be at the personnel department? Or had he forgotten all about her already?

  “Are you sure?” Sylvie handed Nick’s card to the receptionist. “Ten o’clock appointment.”

  The woman took her card. “Yes, it’s his handwriting.” She glanced at Sylvie’s face, then back at the screen. “Iffy?” she asked. “That’s his ten o’clock appointment. Mr. Falcon entered it into the computer himself. Would that be your.... nickname?”

  Sylvie groaned. Relief or irritation? She wasn’t sure which to pick. “Yes. That’s me.”

  “Of course. He’s in another meeting now. Have a seat, please, he should be right with you.”

  Right with you. That phrase was obviously relative as fifteen minutes passed before a small group of people left the office and Nick’s assistant finally ushered her in.

  It was a large corner office with huge windows overlooking the city. Under piles of paper, she could just see that the desk was gleaming mahogany – almost the same color as Nick’s hair, she noticed. The room wasn’t neat. It was filled with all sorts of junk, from books and magazines stacked on tables and shelves, to electronic parts scattered everywhere.

  Nick was standing by his desk, bending over some files, but he looked up as he heard the door close behind her. Suit and tie, neat and perfect. No glistening snow in his hair, no five o’clock shadow, and he didn’t have a child or two clinging to him. He looked different. Very different.

  But just as good, damnit.

  He stared hard at her for a minute, without the least sign of recognition, his expression serious and slightly bemused. “Hi there,” he said. “Iffy the Clown? Is it really you?”

  Sylvie shook her head. “Even your receptionist calls me Iffy. I prefer Sylvie, but yes. It’s me.”

  Nick grinned. It was a slow sunrise that woke the butterflies in her stomach from the hibernation she’d forced them into. “Sorry. The girls talked about you all evening, so I’m still thinking of you as Iffy.” He strode forward and held out his hand. “Hello again. I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you look like behind the mask.”

  Sylvie took his hand, and resisted the impulse to twirl around to show him she didn’t have a donkey’s tail stuck to her behind. “Your coat,” she blurted out. “I forgot to give it back to you, but I guess it was for the best because it was covered in stains from the costume. It’s at the cleaners. They weren’t sure if they’d get all the dye out, but if they can’t, I’ll of course replace it. We should know tomorrow.”

  Nick shrugged dismissively. “It’s just a coat. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I do worry about it,” she insisted. “I’m not in the habit of ruining other people’s clothes.”

  Nick smiled wryly. “Well, I’m not in the habit of blackmailing innocent people, so I guess we’re even.” He sat down behind the desk. “Have a seat, Sylvie. You’re here – so I assume we still have a deal?”

  Would he let her back out now?

  She stared at him for a moment, then decided not to tempt fate. She did need this job, and she’d pretty much resigned herself to the clown job. And Lana’s eyes...

  “Yes. If you still want me, of course.” A blush crept up on her as she realized what she’d said, although Nick hadn’t seemed to take any notice. Of course there was nothing to take notice of, unless his mind was in the same gutter as hers. “I mean, if you still want Iffy at Lana’s birthday party,” she clarified just in case, “I’ll do it.”

  “Yes.” Nick nodded. “We do want you. Lana will be thrilled to have you there. We’ll all be thrilled.”

  “Well, then... Good. Our deal stands.”

  Nick smiled. The colors of his tie matched his eyes. Was that why he’d bought it? No, a man probably wouldn’t think of such things. She bet a woman had bought him the tie. Someone who appreciated what the hypnotic effect of dark blue depths of his eyes did to a woman.

  Well, either that, or his mother.

  “Excellent,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately my early meeting ran late, so we don’t have much time. Let’s see what kind of a job we can find for you. Did you bring your CV?”

  She dug her CV out of her purse and handed it to him, nervously watching as he flipped through the few pages. She had plenty of skills, she told herself. And plenty of experience. She was first and foremost a musician, but she’d been working so many different jobs the last few years. She was pretty much ready for anything – except working as a children’s entertainer.

  But then, as Susie had reminded her, she had no idea what kind of a job this man would be offering her. The building or the office hadn’t given her any clues yet. “Mr. Falcon, I realized that I’d forgotten to ask what kind of business you’re in.”

  His brows drew together as he glanced up quickly before flipping to the second page. “Call me Nick. I thought we were already on first name basis.”

  She debated telling him that if he intended to keep calling her Iffy, she’d much prefer Miss Farrell. Or even “hey you”. Pretty much anything other than Iffy. “If you’re going to be my boss I don’t think it’s approp--.”

  “Nick,” he insisted. “And as for my business -- we have a multi-layered operation. Invention, production, wholesale, retail. We pretty much see our products through from creation to the consumer.”

  “I see. That’s very unusual today, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. But it’s working for us, so far.”

  Sylvie glanced around at the electrical parts strewn around the office. “What kind of products are we talking about?”

  Nick was distracted, flipping through the last pages of her CV where she’d listed all the multiple part-time and freelance jobs she’d held lately. Then he put the pages down and leaned back in his seat. “So, you’re a musician?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Starving Artist in the flesh,” she quipped.

  “Hard to get a job?”

  She shrugge
d. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. The hard part is finding something steady and reliable. I had one, but the place went bankrupt just a couple of weeks ago. And it’s not the best time of the year to be out of a job.”

  “Do you teach?”

  She froze. “If you’re looking for a piano teacher for your daughters...”

  Nick chuckled. “Don’t worry. Not right now. I’m just curious. I’d have thought musicians could always fall back on teaching during tough times.”

  “Yeah, I could always get a job teaching, but well – as you know already, I find children rather intimidating. I do give lessons to adults sometimes, but nothing beats a safe steady paycheck. I’m renting now, but I’d like to save up for a deposit on my own place.”

  Did he need to know all that? No, he didn’t. She was babbling. A sure symptom of being nervous.

  Nick nodded. “A worthy cause. Well – I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of openings for musicians.”

  “I realize that. I’m not picky.” She gestured at her CV. “As you can see, I have plenty of experience with different jobs. I’m a fast typist. It’s a different kind of keyboard from the piano, of course, but the principle is pretty much the same.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Interesting. Can you type Beethoven’s Ninth?”

  Sylvie leaned her head to the side and pursed her mouth. “I don’t know about that, but I could certainly try Fűr Elise.”

  Nick chuckled. “I’ll have to take you up on that some day.” He tapped his fingers on the desk and glanced out the window. “Actually, we could offer you a position playing live music in one of our stores for the holiday season, if you’d like. But it would only be for the holidays, and maybe around Valentine’s Day or other special occasions.” He flipped a page. “But I see you’ve got plenty of office experience too. So if you wouldn’t mind dividing your time between playing when we can use live music, and office work or retail at other times, that would be a pretty steady job.”

  “That sounds fine. A part-time music job is more than I was hoping for. As I said – starving artist.”

  Nick smiled. “Okay.” He pushed the CV across the table toward her. “You’re hired. When would you like to start?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “After lunch?”

  She blinked. “Uh, sure. No problem.” She glanced at her watch. “Assuming I have time to get there. What kind of a store is this? And where is it?”

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to be on my way. The store is called R&R. It’s located just around the corner, so you have plenty of time to grab lunch before you start. I recommend the deli on the ground floor. Report at R&R just before 1 o’clock. Ask for Mary. Doris – my assistant -- will call her and tell her to expect you. Mary will show you the ropes.”

  His buzzer sounded and he stood, grabbing a briefcase from behind the desk. “Sorry to cut this so short, but I’m needed across town and must rush.” He picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to her. “These are the terms we’re offering you. Take a look, and if you approve, we’ll have it signed and sealed tomorrow. Okay?”

  Okay, indeed.

  Nick was a fast mover. He vanished out of the office in a flash, and had disappeared by the time she made it out into the hallway. The receptionist was on the phone, one hand holding a pen and moving furiously over a pad as she muttered a series of “yes.” She looked up and gestured at Sylvie to wait.

  Then she hung up and smiled. “That was Mr. Falcon,” she said. “He tells me you’re a new recruit and that he’s putting you straight to work.”

  Sylvie blinked. “Wait a minute. He just walked past here, but he called you to tell you about me?”

  Doris chuckled. “Mr. Falcon doesn’t like wasting time. He frequently storms out of here and then calls me during the elevator ride.”

  “His phone bill must be outrageous.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Doris reached for the phone again. “But time really is money, isn’t it? I’ll call Mary at R&R, and tell her to expect you. One o’clock, he said, does that suit you?”

  “That would be fine. Thank you.”

  Lunch. If she was going straight to work she better get some lunch first. She pushed the button to summon the elevator and quickly glanced at the sheet of paper he’d passed her.

  The offer was more than generous, twice what she would have expected. She stared at the figure offered, and guilt struck so hard she winced. She was being bribed. The man was concerned about his daughter’s mental health, and she was cashing in on it.

  But then he’d said he’d be hiring people anyway. And she’d make a good, reliable staff member. He’d offered this salary, she hadn’t made any demands. And he’d get his money’s worth. It wasn’t as if she were taking his cash and giving nothing in return. She had nothing to feel guilty about.

  She got in the elevator and stared at her mirror image during the ride down – after all there was nothing else in there to look at. Nick sure had been in a hurry to get out of there. Of course he was, she told herself. He had a business to run. Of course he was busy. What had she expected? Where did this distinct feeling of disappointment come from?

  She was just sleep-deprived. And half-starved. She had been too anxious to eat breakfast before the interview and now her stomach was growling. At least it had waited until after the interview, thank God for small mercies.

  Following Nick’s directions, she found a small deli where she could buy a sandwich for lunch. Then when the clock approached one, she started walking towards R&R, wondering what she’d find. Nick hadn’t been clear about what kind of a store it was. Electronics, perhaps, judging from the mess in his office? It seemed a likely guess.

  Not that it mattered. A job was a job, and this was an actual music job. She just hoped their piano was decent. It was always rather painful to play untuned instruments, not to mention stained and sticky keyboards. But she was used to that too. It was just an annoyance, nothing she couldn’t live with.

  If this turned out to be an electronics store – would it be an electric piano? She wasn’t used to those, but she’d probably be able to hammer out decent Christmas music anyway. It would all work out.

  She rounded the corner and immediately saw the store in question. She stopped short, causing a fellow pedestrian to walk straight into her back. She apologized absently, and moved closer, almost hiding behind a street sign as she stared towards the giant store just across the street.

  “R&R” he’d said.

  He hadn’t mention what the letters stood for, and hadn’t directly answered her question about what kind of a store it was. Then he’d rushed her out of the office before she could repeat her question. But she hadn’t suspected a thing.

  She sagged against the street sign, practically hugging it. The store was huge. Three large floors, brightly lit display windows, and it seemed like half the population of the city was going in and out its many revolving doors.

  Robots and Ragdolls.

  She grabbed on to the street sign with both hands, and imagined it was Nick’s neck she was throttling.

  He’d sent her to a toy store.

  Chapter 5

  “Rudolph!” a little girl in a red winter coat yelled, holiday excitement shimmering in her eyes as she jumped up and down, holding her mother’s hand. “Pwease pway Rudolph!”

  Sylvie smiled towards the child and complied – after all, the kid had used the magic word. Despite Sylvie’s recent traumatic experience with red noses, Last Christmas morphed easily into Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It wasn’t quite seamless, but you couldn’t have everything, and her audience didn’t seem to mind.

  This wasn’t too bad. She’d survived yesterday, and this morning had been pretty uneventful too. She was getting to the point of relaxing at the piano, even with half the city’s children running back and forth around her.

  She was probably playing Rudolph for the third time that morning. It was quite amazing how few Christmas songs there actually wer
e when you had to play them for hours on end. And even more amazing how her young audience would request the same three or four all the time.

  The piano was wonderful though. An expensive brand, gleaming and polished, almost new from the look of it. No cola stains, no false notes, no chips and cracks. Thanks to the platform – she had to climb a ladder to get here – it didn’t even have millions of little fingerprints all over it.

  She’d played in stores before, mostly department stores, and in comparison, this was a dream. The acoustics were better than most places, and the platform meant minimal interruptions. Sometimes the kids even stopped to look and listen, their attention drawn away from the lure of the toys all around them. Some would shout requests, and she was glad to oblige – as long as there was a vague Christmas theme. Okay, so it wasn’t a concert hall, wasn’t Beethoven or Chopin, but all in all it could be worse.

  On the downside, she’d already played Jingle Bells so often that she’d probably be hearing it in her nightmares for weeks.

  “Hey!”

  Her fingers faltered, striking the wrong chord and then another one, before she recovered. Very unprofessional, but then her gorgeous boss was standing in the ladder, his head and shoulder clearing the platform, and he still had the strangest effect on the butterflies who’d moved into her stomach. She smiled back at him before she remembered he’d pulled a rotten trick on her, and deserved to be punished.

  She reined in her imagination before it started suggesting suitable punishment and instead greeted Nick cheerfully. Punishment would come later. When he least expected it – and not sooner. It was Grandma Alex’s way. “Good morning, Mr. Falcon.”

  He frowned at her. “Nick.”

  She smiled demurely back at him, didn’t argue, but didn’t acquiesce, either. Nobody else around here referred to him as Nick. Why should she?

  “Time for a break?” he suggested. “How about lunch?”