“Just around this corner,” Carl says, passing by the window with a girl in tow.
Christ, not again.
Moving quickly and stealthy, I maneuver my giant waistband held up by rainbow suspenders through the door of the Clown Shack and jog after Carl the Creeper, making great time despite the over-sized red clown shoes on my feet.
“Let her go, Carl,” I say, standing over him and giving him my best menacing look.
Shoulders slumped, knowing he got caught, he looks up and tries to persuade me with that award winning smile of his. “Just showing my friend around.”
“Is that right?” I hold onto my suspenders and turn to the girl who is surveying my get-up.
When I heard them walking down the midway, I was in the midst of trying on my new costume, so I’m only wearing red and white striped pants, obnoxious shoes, and a pair of boxer briefs. Thanks to the extended waistband, you can see clear down to my calves. From her perusal of my body, it’s obvious she’s never seen a clown who enjoys a little body building in his spare time.
Clearing my throat to get her attention, I say, “Is Carl your friend, miss?”
Her eyes snap up to mine where I’m whisked away by deep brown irises, so brown, they almost match the color of her pupils. Her hair is just as dark but with deep purple streaks running through it that are only noticeable when the sun hits her silky strands.
The shape of her face and the height of her cheekbones makes my mouth water. She would wear clown make-up well.
She shifts to the side, away from Carl and says, “I don’t know him.”
Glaring back at Carl, I give him a warning. “One more time, Carl, that’s all it takes. The House of Mirrors is not a place for you to take unsuspecting girls. It’s creepy and no one likes it. Now get back to work or I will be sure to personally write your dad a letter about how you’re known as Carl the Creeper out here. I’m sure he won’t be thrilled given your previous indiscretions.”
Without a word, Carl stomps off toward the mirror house where he’s in charge of making sure they are all spic and span.
Turning to the girl, I smile genuinely and hold out my hand.
“Hi, I’m Racer. You must be Millie. I was expecting you for training later today. I had no idea you were coming early or else, I would have at least put a tie on.” I smile and wait for a laugh but instead, she looks around, uncomfortable. Not taking my hand for a shake, I grip my suspenders again and clear my throat. “It’s a little worn down, but at night, it’s pretty with all the lights.”
“It’s not like how I remember it.”
“We’ve had a few bad years, but with this new class of fresh help coming in, I have confidence we can restore Clown Town to its original glory.”
Studying me, she gives me a once over. “Do you own this place?”
I laugh and shake my head, guiding her to the Clown Shack. “No, but I’m invested in seeing this place thrive. Tell me, what were you thinking about doing while you’re here?”
She takes a seat on a bench as I sit across from her, my Hula Hoop bending upward until it presses against the back of the chair. I look over the waistband and we both chuckle. “Give me one second.” I hold up a finger and then remember I’m in a shack, a one room shack. Grimacing, I turn to her and ask, “Can you close your eyes for a second?”
“Not a problem,” she laughs some more.
Shucking my shoes and pants, I put on a pair of cargo shorts and say, “All right, sorry about that.”
Her eyes glance over my chest and a slight blush forms on her cheeks, making her look younger than I know she is.
She’s so damn beautiful.
And she would make one hell of a clown.
“Not a problem,” she clears her throat. “So, I was thinking of being a ride attendant. I’m really good at pressing buttons.” A snort pops out of her before she quickly covers her nose and blushes some more.
That rose on her cheek is damn near perfect.
“Ride attendant? Come on, you have so much more potential than that.”
“Potential to do what?”
Smirking, I turn behind me, grab my clown nose and toss it at her. “Ever think about going into the entertainment business?”
“Be a clown?”
“Of course. Your application did say that you’re outgoing. You have great bone structure and I believe under my tutelage, you would really thrive.”
“But the clowns are the lowest paid in the park.”
“False. They just tell you that so we don’t have people applying to be a clown when they have no business in being one. You can earn triple over a ride attendant.”
“Really?” her eyes light up.
“Yes, but it’s hard work. You have to be dedicated. Can you juggle?”
“No.”
“Can you chuckle by using phlegm in the back of your throat?”
“I don’t think so,” she winces
“Do you know how to put makeup on?”
“Yes,” she brightens up.
“Good, let’s start with that. Sit over here and let’s teach you about classic makeup application Later on, I will show you to your dorm room, but for now, I need to teach you all you need to know. We have a week before the park opens.”
We spend the next few hours going over face makeup, primers to wear so it doesn’t melt off in the summer heat, and how to properly put on a hair net so it’s easier to wear a wig.
I look in the mirror at Millie, she has her hair tied back, half of her face covered in white and red makeup and the other half freshly clean.
“I feel like I’m going to break out from this stuff,” she says, looking at herself in the mirror.
“Nah, you’ll be okay. Turn toward me for a second.”
Her knees knock against mine as her bright and cheery smile faces me.
I’ve been working at Clown Town for every summer since I can remember, whether it was hiding in the Clown Shack while my dad went around bringing joy to the guests, or donning my first pair of rainbow suspenders. This place has been my second home. But for the first time in my years at Clown Town, my attention isn’t on my clown responsibilities. Nope, it’s drawn to the girl sitting in front of me with hope in her eyes and determination in her features.
With a brush in my hand, I wipe some white under her eye and then sit back. “There, you missed a spot.”
She pauses, doesn’t look in the mirror and doesn’t turn away. Instead, she stares up at me, her eyes searching mine. Does she feel it too, the pull between us?
“Um, I think you have a booger hanging out of your nose.”
Instinctively my hand goes to my nose where I wipe quickly, smearing my makeup all over my face in mortification. From the side, she buckles over and laughs while holding her stomach. Cute girly giggles pop out of her mouth, the kind of giggles I can’t be mad at. Looking in the mirror, I search for the offending booger but don’t see anything.
“Did I get it?” I turn back to her but all she does is continue to laugh. “Millie, this isn’t funny.” I chuckle myself.
She waves her hand in front of her face and then points up to a sign above the mirror.
Under no circumstances shall you itch your face.
“Looks like you’re not much of a clown,” she laughs some more. “You can’t even remember the number one rule.”
“There was no booger, was there?” I ask, my hands on my hips. She shakes her head at me, still laughing. “That’s it.” Without giving her a warning. I dip my fingers in the makeup, reds, greens, and purples gracing the tips, and swipe my hand across her face, decorating her entire face with a colorful arch.
Her shocked expression ceases her laughter. “Did you just unwelcomely paint my face without my permission? A clown’s makeup is sanctioned from the rest of the world.” Mirth laces her voice as she repeats the rules I taught her.
“As an instructor, I don’t need permission. I do as I p
lease.”
Her lip quirks to the side in defiance right before her fingers dip into the paint and then swipe across my chest. Looking down, I take in her art work.
“You just painted my nipple.”
“No I didn’t!” she answers, a little embarrassed.
I glance back down at my chest and then up at her. “Last time I checked, I didn’t grow a purple nipple.”
Looking to the side, an obvious lie about to pop out of her mouth, she says, “Maybe you gave yourself a purple-nurple without your knowledge. Who knows these days.”
“You think my nipples are that desensitized that I wouldn’t notice if my own hand was giving it a purple-nurple?”
“Possibly. Could be those suspenders you wear. All that chafing over those rosy nubs, could have taken out all the sensitivity in your nipples. But that’s not for me to decide, they’re your nipples.”
I smirk. “That they are and I can tell you right now, I didn’t give myself a purple-nurple.”
“But can you really be sure about that?” she questions me.
Grabbing her hand, I bring it up to my eyes and look at the purple covered tips then turn them to her. “Exhibit A. Purple fingers.” I bring them to my chest and swipe them slowly across, over my nipple in the exact spot where she swiped, and I will tell you right now, just from the slow movement of her fingers over my nipple, those puppies are NOT desensitized. Nope, it’s like a straight shot of pleasure down to my dick.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Exhibit B, matching finger prints.”
Mouth slightly agape, eyes burning with wonderment, her fingers glide over my skin again, this time, running the length of my pectorals rather than diagonally. Her eyes look up at mine and I see it, right there, the yearning.
Despite the make up on our faces and our fingers and the fact that she met me while I was wearing a Hula Hoop around my waist, I yank on her arm and pull her on my lap as her breath catches in her throat.
Her half made-up clown face stares at me just as I grip the back of her neck. I give her a second to protest, to say making out in the Clown Shack was not on the top of her list of welcoming to Clown Town, but she says nothing, so I move the last few inches so my lips are touching hers.
She’s tentative at first, feeling me out curiously with her lips until finally, her hands grip the back of my head and her tongue shoots forward into my mouth with a type of urgency I’ve never felt in a woman before.
Whether it’s the clown makeup, the feel of my muscles under her fingertips, or the Ronald McDonald shoes, she’s excited to be sitting on my lap, matching every stroke of my tongue with hers and hell if I’m going to stop her.
So far, this summer in Clown Town is turning out to be the best.
Chapter Three
Millie
I shouldn’t be doing this.
That’s what I think.
But what I do is pull Racer’s made-up face closer to mine, swirling our face-paint together as our lips mesh.
Holy shit.
I’m kissing a clown. In a clown-shack. In Clown Town.
Is the world upside down, or is it just me?
I find my senses somehow, because Racer’s hands are already working their way up my ribcage, and I leap off his lap. I stand on the other side of the room, half panting.
“I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m here to work. Not make out with clowns.”
“You’re a clown now,” he points out, and his clown mouth is lopsided now, a grotesque red slash, aiming at his ear. “Surely you don’t want to work for Carl the Creeper? He’s the supervisor for the ride attendants.”
Agh. I think about Carl’s slimy face and suddenly, being a clown doesn’t sound half bad. Particularly, Racer.
I can see him, really see him, beneath the clown makeup. He’s hot. And he’s got a body that goes on for miles of rippling muscles. Who knew clowns were built like that?
“Where will I be staying?” I ask, careful to stay on my side of the room. I can’t trust my ovaries right now. They have a strong influence over my will-power and right now, well, they’re quivering.
Quivering ovaries are weak ovaries.
“You’ll be in the Clown House, of course,” he says matter-of-factly, like I should know all the clown rules. Lord, I’m already getting tired of using the word “clown”.
“And that is where?”
I wait while Racer wipes off his rainbow make-up.
“It’s across the park. Hold on a minute, and I’ll take you there. But only after you commit to being a clown. Only clowns are allowed inside the Clown House.”
“Does it contain international secrets or something?”
He laughs, and the smile reaches his green eyes. The mirth turns them hazel, with flecks of gold and amber. God, I’m in trouble. My ovaries love a good pair of green eyes.
“Nah. But we hold top secret meetings in there filled with secrets of the trade. We’d have to kill any outsiders.”
For a minute, I picture all of the creepy clown images I’ve seen in my life… the scary clowns, the menacing ones, and I literally shudder.
Racer nods. “That’s right. Respect the clown. Rule one.”
“I thought rule one was never touch your face?”
He nods again. “You’ve been listening.”
I don’t point out that he’s super confusing as he leads me out of the Clown Shack. I mean, he’s leading me away from all the hanging suspenders and wigs and giant shoes. I’m not gonna stop him.
I stay close to his handsome heels as he weaves in and out of the passageways and the midway.
Along the way, other workers eye me curiously. Old ones, younger ones, creepy ones. Some of them are already made up, some are dressed in ride attendant uniforms, some are with the petting zoo. All of them, though, are curious.
I feel like fresh meat.
Carl’s eyes follow me as I turn a corner, and I feel his gaze on my ass.
Yes, I made the right decision in coming out of my comfort zone to be a clown. I can’t be with Carl. No way.
“Home sweet home.”
Racer stops in front of a building. It’s a dormitory, and the brown paint is peeling. It looks like it’s stood out in the sun for a hundred years and it probably has. One sole window A/C unit seems to cool the entire building, and it coughs and hiccups like it’s going to die.
Uh-oh.
I try to remain calm as Racer leads me inside.
“Right here is the kitchenette,” he tells me needlessly. I can see the fridge and the table and the counter-space with the toaster. “Down the hall here is the bathroom.”
He opens a door to a locker-room like bathroom. It actually has old metal lockers, and a giant shower area in the middle of the room. It smells damp and moldy and has about ten showerheads.
“Is this for men or women?” I ask uncertainly.
“Both,” he grins.
“Charming,” I tell him.
He grins again.
“The beds are back here.”
I don’t like how he says ‘beds’ instead of ‘bedrooms.’
Sure enough, when he stops in front of another door, it’s a room full of twin-beds, at least twenty of them.
“We don’t have our own rooms?” I ask and I feel so naïve all of a sudden. Racer pats my back.
“Did you think this was a Holiday Inn? We all share a room. But you’re in luck. There’s an empty bed next to me.”
He leads me to it, and I heft my bag onto it.
“Feel free to fix your bed up however you like,” he tells me generously. I look around the room. Some have decorative cushions, some have stuffed animals, some have books piled next to them.
Racer’s though, is plain.
So charming.
“Ok,” I tell him.
“There’s a cafeteria,” he tells me. “For meals. I’ll show you that later. For now, you should probably go see Glinda for your paperwork
. It’s time to sign your life away, Mil.”
“I don’t know where to go,” I tell him, and he pats my back again.
“I’ll take you.”
And he does. With his hand on the small of my back like a gentleman, he guides me back through the park toward a little administration building on the edge next to the ticket booths.
“This is where you’ll get your paychecks,” he tells me, pausing by the door. “If you lose your badge, you’ll come here to get a replacement, but I think they charge five bucks for that.”
“Noted,” I tell him. He opens the door for me.
As I walk past him, his hand lingers a moment longer than necessary on my hip, and the heat of his fingers rushes through me, reminding me of our kiss.
I was sitting on that strong lap just a little while ago.
I swallow hard. My ovaries are attracted to him, and the rest of me is, too. God, he smells good.
Get ahold of yourself, Millicent. You came here for money, not a boyfriend.
But good lord, he’s sexy.
He waits for me, his green eyes sparkling.
“Right through here. Glinda runs this place with an iron fist. Get in good with her, and you’ll be golden.”
He leads me through a room with several women, to an office on the far side of the room. He raps on the door once, then opens it.
A stern woman sits behind a desk piled high with files. She’s dressed in a sweater and pearls, and her eyes are just like Racer’s.
Green, with a hint of hazel.
“Mom, this is our new recruit Millicent. Millicent, this is Glinda. She owns the place.”
His mom.
My mouth falls open because leave it to me to crush on the owner’s son.
Glinda stands up and holds out her hand and examines me, and her eyes search mine. Hers are knowing, like she already knows I’m lusting after her son.
That can’t be good.
“Welcome,” she says stiffly. “Racer, you may go. Millicent and I will be just fine.”
He looks over his shoulder at me one last time on his way out, and I feel very very alone as I take a seat in front of his formidable mother.
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