Courting the Clown

by Cathy Quinn

  “Ah, a volunteer.” Susie nodded knowledgeably. “They never learn, and get an amateurs to dress up, thinking it’s no big deal. Ridiculous! Being a Santa or a clown is not for sissies. It takes a lot of guts and a lot of training to do it well.”

  “Susie, you’re not helping.” Helen gave her cousin a sharp jab with her elbow. “Sylvie has a gig in an hour, remember?”

  “Yeah,” Sylvie said dejectedly. “I should probably start getting dressed. “And you’ll help me with the make-up too?”

  “No problem,” Susie chirped. “Looking forward to it.”

  “I’ll just watch,” Helen said, getting comfortable. “This should be fun.”

  Sylvie groaned. “Great. That makes two of you.”

  The phone rang, and Susie sprang into action, jumping into the tiny office to take the call.

  “Start with the costume, remember!” she called, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “Else you’ll get the paint all over it, and our cleaning bill is bad enough as it is.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sylvie grumbled, ambling to the costume rack. Clean clown costumes hung there, side by side with Santa costume, and assorted other garments. “Let me show you,” she told Helen. “The ugliest clown’s costume in the entire world!”

  She flipped through the clown side once, then again.

  Oh, no.

  “Disaster!” Sylvie screeched, and Susie came running.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She gestured at the rack. “The clown suit! My clown suit! It’s gone!”

  “Your clown suit?”

  “The one I wore last time. It had orange and pink polka dots. I need that one. I have to wear that one!”

  “Damn.” Susie flipped through the costumes, double-checking. “I’m sorry, but it’s definitely not here. On of the others must be wearing it.”

  “One of the others? Who could choose pink and orange polka dots? It was by far the most horrible costume you have! And it was bleeding dye all over the place!”

  “Hey, I picked it out myself,” Susie said, offended. “I thought it look really cheerful. Like a clown should!”

  “You painted a tear on my cheek, remember? I was a sad clown.”

  “It was all part of the master plan. The tear made a nice contrast to the joyful message the costume sent.”

  Sylvie almost flailed her hands in panic. “What do I do? I have to be there in two hours. A little girl is waiting for me. Her entire future happiness may depend on my being there. This is a matter of life and death!”

  “I’ll check in the back,” Susie said, swiveling around. “Just in case. Maybe it has just come back from the cleaners.”

  “Hurry!”

  Helen stood up and put her hand on Sylvie’s arm. “Hey! Snap out of it.”

  Sylvie slid down in the chair her cousin had vacated. “Sorry. I’m letting her father’s mania effect me. Of course this isn’t a matter of life and death.”

  “What’s the big panic? There are plenty of other costumes here.”

  “Yes, but Lana wanted this one.”

  “ Didn’t she want you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if it’s really me she wanted, or just a clown wearing that exact outfit.” Sylvie groaned. “It was probably the costume. I mean, I doubt she’d even recognize me out of it. I know her father didn’t.” She opened one eye and checked out the remaining clown suits. There were yellow and pink stripes. Green and purple plaid. All sorts of option. Would Iffy the Clown still be Iffy the Clown without her pink polka dots?

  Susie returned, shaking her head. “Sorry. It’s gone.”

  “Don’t you have some kind of an emergency beeper for your staff?” Sylvie asked. “Can’t you call the suit-stealing clown back?”

  Susie blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” Sylvie muttered forlorn. “Damn. What do we do?”

  “I’m sure another suit will be fine. Now hurry up and pick one,” Susie said authoritatively. “Then we can get started on the make-up. Helen, hand me the orange face paint!”

  * * *

  Her watch said two minutes past four when Sylvie knocked on Nick’s door, wearing that other clown costume. This one would probably be leaving yellow and blue stains on the t-shirt she was wearing beneath, and was quite possibly a tribute to Sweden. This time she was wearing a plastic raincoat to avoid any dye accidents. Nick’s coat had been ruined. It currently served as a nice comfy mattress for her cats – and she’d have to use a sizable chunk of her first paycheck to buy him a new one.

  There was no reply to her knock, and the grumpy lion on the doorknocker stared at her. There was vague noise from inside. The party must be in full swing already and they might not have heard her tentative knock. She took a deep breath and pushed the bell.

  “Coming,” someone yelled from inside. Sylvie braced herself. This was it. She closed her eyes and sent up a quick prayer that Lana’s attachment had been to Iffy the Clown regardless of color coordination. Her fragile performer’s ego wasn’t quite up to being booed off.

  Nick was looking harassed as he pulled the door open. He was wearing faded jeans and a black knitted turtleneck that clung to his shoulders in a rather distracting way. Fortunately, the effect was spoiled by a pink and gold crown was sitting lopsided on the very top of his head, obviously intended for a smaller cranium. She bit her lip to keep from grinning too widely.

  He just managed to send her a smile, then winced as there was a breaking sound from within. “Hi. Come in.” He pulled her inside and closed the door on the icy wind, then rushed inside. Sylvie had just taken off her raincoat when he was back, still wearing the crown. “Sorry about that. No lasting damage done.”

  “Greetings, your royal highness,” she said, and made an attempt to curtsey. “The jester has arrived. At your service.”

  Nick sighed up at the ceiling and yanked the crown off. “This is nothing,” he said darkly, shaking the glittering piece of plastic at her. “Nothing, I tell you! The trials of a father... I’ve done things you wouldn’t believe. I’ve done things that I wouldn’t believe. Unfortunately the girls both have their own cameras so we’ve got pictures to prove it.”

  Sylvie chuckled. “How bad can it be?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. If there’s one thing I could use right now, it’s stories of someone else making a fool of themselves.”

  “Well -- Emily got a make-up kit for her last birthday. It was from her aunt – my sister Eve -- who worries about a lack of female influence in our household. However, Emily had little interest in using the make-up on her own face, or even on her sister.”

  Sylvie snickered, and he glared at her. “That’s right. Guess who was her guinea pig? That evening I made the mistake of taking out the trash without looking in the mirror first.” He shook his head. “I’m still getting funny looks from the Rileys next door.”

  Sylvie grinned and pulled the red nose out of her coat pocket as he took the coat away from her. She put it on and adjusted the rubber band. “The mind boggles, Mr. Falcon. I’m afraid I can’t even imagine you with eye shadow and blusher. Probably one of those things that have to be experienced first-hand.”

  He scowled at her, and she wisely changed the subject. “The costume I wore last time wasn’t available. I hope that’s not a problem. This was the closest I got.” She grimaced. “It’s even got polka dots, no small sacrifice on my part, let me tell you.”

  “Good. We have a polka dot cake. And more pink stuff than you can imagine.”

  There was another crashing sound from within and Nick swiveled around, almost reminding her of a startled animal. Both hands went to his hair, raking through the already untidy tangle of dark waves. “Aw, hell. Things are... It’s a bit... crazy in here. Come on.” He vanished inside the house, leaving Sylvie to trail apprehensively behind. From the outside, the house looked modest, two stories, but not too big. Inside, everything looked relatively new, f
rom the paint on the walls to the furnishings.

  The living room was... chaos.

  Nick stopped, and tangled his fingers hard in his hair as he looked around. “There are a bit more of us than I had planned... but everything seems fine,” he said, and turned around to her. Sylvie was still staring around, wondering if she was having one of her nightmare.

  Oh, no. This was even worse than the last birthday party.

  Here, Emily ruled.

  “Everything okay, Sylvie?” Nick’s hand was on her shoulder. “It’s kind of hard to see any expression on your face under all the paint, but you have that shell-shocked look again.”

  She recovered enough to gesture at the children. “This you call fine? There are two children jumping up and down on the coffee table. There is a child hanging from the curtains, five feet up. And I do believe three of them trying to dive into the aquarium.”

  Nick looked over his zoo again. “Yeah... okay, so I have a tiny discipline problem. But they’re all accounted for. And relatively safe. And having fun. For a birthday party, that’s good going.” He pointed. “Look, four of them are even sitting nicely, playing with a stuffed animal.”

  “ Nick, that’s a cat!”

  Nick took a second look and groaned. “Emily!” he called. “Let Fluffy go! She’s not a toy and she’s not supposed to wear the doll dresses! They named her Fluffy,” he added to Sylvie. “The girls did it. I didn’t, I swear. I would never name a cat Fluffy.”

  “I see.”

  “I mean it. Fluffy the cat... I wouldn’t do that to an animal. Ever. Especially one as nice as that one. See the aggravation she takes without even unsheathing a single claw? That cat is a saint. I’d never have named her Fluffy.”

  Sylvie nodded, amused at the wretched look on his face. “Don’t worry, I believe you. You’re not a Fluffy kind of guy.”

  Nick sent her a suspicious look, but they were interrupted by a shout.

  “Who’s that?” Emily yelled, scowling, both hands around the unfortunate cat dressed in ubiquitous pink.

  Lana nudged her sister. “It’s Iffy, Em. Can’t you see?”

  Emily’s scowl just deepened. “It’s not Iffy. It’s some other clown.”

  “Is too Iffy,” Lana insisted.

  Emily stared. Then accepted her sister’s verdict. “Iffy is here!” she screamed and shot to her feet, allowing the cat a grateful escape. The girls were dressed in simple dresses, identical design but different colors. They looked adorable, but Sylvie found herself wondering who bought their clothes. Did Nick do that himself, or did a female relative?

  “Oh, boy. I seem to be quite stuck with the Iffy name. I’m only one step up from Fluffy,” Sylvie muttered.

  “They’ve been talking about you all week,” Nick told her, and stepped out of the way of the on-coming throng. “They’re all yours, but I’ll be right here if you need me.” He winked. “Good luck.”

  “Oh, God,” Sylvie moaned and straightened her nose. They were inside, she reminded herself. No snow for Emily to shove up her nose. Nick was here to rescue her from his younger daughter – or anyone else – if the need arose. Things would be fine.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” she said experimentally when the flock stopped two feet away and seemed to be expecting something of her.

  The children stared at her for a bit, then Emily started giggling. “Iffy the Clown thinks she’s Santa!” From the back of the room, Nick was standing with his arms crossed. He grinned and gave her an encouraging nod. Sylvie took a deep breath. The kids were laughing already. Lana was smiling. Everything would be fine.

  Chapter 6

  Nick was true to his word and watched out for her, drawing the kids attention away from her, organizing games where she was just one of the group. And when he sensed she needed a break, he distracted the children by bringing some presents into the room.

  Lana opened them, with diligent help from her little sister. One of them turned out to contain a children’s karaoke machine, pink and all. It was a huge hit with the little girls, although the birthday girl herself preferred to watch rather than take part. Sylvie watched them with amusement, not suspecting a thing until she saw the way Nick was looking at her.

  Uh, oh.

  She moved to a prudent distance away from the kids and the new machine, and Nick followed, leaning against the wall and grinning at her. “It’s going pretty well, isn’t it?” he remarked. “I think you’re a natural at this.”

  She made a face at him. “Yeah, right. Pardon my suspicious nature,” she added, “but did you by any chance have an ulterior motive in buying your daughter a karaoke machine?”

  He looked innocent. All of him, except a distinct twinkle deep in the blue of his eyes. “What do you mean, an ulterior motive? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Sylvie leaned back against the counter and gave him her best teacher’s stare. She might not be teaching children, but adults could be recalcitrant pupils too, so she’d picked up a few tricks along the way. “The look on your face tells me you had an ulterior motive.”

  Nick shrugged. “I got her several presents. This one is from my store. I was wandering around the store looking for inspiration – and there it was.”

  “When exactly did this wandering take place?”

  “A couple of days ago,” he confessed.

  “I see. Perhaps, after our little talk, where I just happened to mention that my cousins had planned to torture me with Karaoke.”

  “Well, I suppose your time line is correct, councilor. Yes.”

  Sylvie gestured dramatically. “The prosecution rests its case.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I see. So you had no plans of suggesting to the girls that perhaps it was time for Iffy to take the mike?”

  Nick’s eyes were wide and innocent. Just like Emily’s eyes had been, just before she’d used her scarf to tied her to a tree. “Absolutely not!” He put his hand on his heart. “Would I do something so... wicked and malicious and underhanded as that?”

  Sylvie nodded. “Uh-huh. I rather suspect you might.”

  “You wound me. I had no such plans.”

  “Oh really?”

  His eyes glinted. “Absolutely not.”

  “Hmm!”

  “I know my girls,” he continued smoothly. “They are perfectly capable of coming up with that idea all on their own. Probably sooner rather than later.”

  Sylvie bit back a curse, just because there were little ones around. She was learning. “I knew it!”

  “Decided on a song yet?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “They will make you do it.”

  “I can say no.”

  Nick shifted his weight and cast a father’s glance over the mob of children. Everyone seemed accounted for so he relaxed again. “Why not? This is good practice.”

  “Practice for what?”

  “You did say your cousins would make you do this sooner or later. Now, which is better for your debut: a pub filled with people, or just a bunch of little girls?”

  “ Little girls and you!”

  “Iffy!”

  The inevitable call came. Sylvie closed her eyes and groaned. “No...”

  “Iffy, it’s almost your turn!” Emily lifted the microphone high. “Come on! First me, then you.”

  “As you can hear, the girls are going through an Abba stage, so that’s a safe bet if you want to be a hit.” He looked up and down her yellow and blue costume. “You’re even dressed for the part.”

  “Abba?”

  Nick shook his head. “Don’t look at me! It’s their grandmother’s fault.” The music rose in volume, attracting their attention. Nick chuckled proudly. “Just look at her!”

  Sylvie looked. Her soon-to-be enthralled audience was jumping up and down while Emily danced around, mangling the lyrics to Dancing Queen. What she lacked in pitch and accuracy, she made up in enthusiasm and sheer volume. Sylvie resisted the impulse to cove
r her ears with her hands. Soon she’d be the one... jumping on top of the coffee room table with a pink mike in her hand?

  Nick strode through the small crowed and lifted his daughter off the table. He mouthed a reprimand, but it didn’t break Emily’s stride. She ended the song in style and curtsied. Nick chuckled as he returned to Sylvie’s side.

  “She’s taking dancing lessons,” he said fondly. “The curtsey is about all she’s mastered yet – she doesn’t work well in a group yet. But it’s adorable, isn’t it?”

  “Now you!” Emily yelled, her cheeks red with excitement. Lana was clapping her hands together, one big smile. What an incredible change in the child.

  But even that wouldn’t justify what was about to happen.

  “Here!” Emily thrust the microphone towards her. “You just hold it like it’s an ice cream and sing instead of eating it,” Emily said knowledgeable.

  “No...” Sylvie took a step backwards, staring terrified at the pink and purple microphone. The little girls started jumping up and down, clapping their hands. To her horror they were soon chanting “Iffy! Iffy! Iffy!” Lana pressed the button and started the soundtrack. The pink mike was forced into her hand.

  Nick was grinning as he handed her a pink brochure. “The lyrics are here,” he told her. “Have fun!”

  “Nick...” she whined. “Help me!” Could she faint? She’d like to faint just about now.