Courting the Clown (2 page)

The clown waved a hand helplessly. “But―“

“You don’t have to stay long. You don’t even have to perform. Just show up in that costume and play with them for a while.”

“That’s just it!” the clown – Sylvie – wailed. “I don’t know how to play with kids! They scare me. I have no idea how to act around them!”

“I do. I’m an expert in playing with kids. I won’t leave you alone with them for a minute, and they certainly won’t get away with... whatever they did to terrify you back there.”

Sylvie sighed, which he took as a good sign. As long as she wasn’t saying “No!”, he’d consider himself ahead. Now he just had to work his way towards an actual “Yes.”

Sylvie pulled the clown’s nose off her face and stuffed it in the oversized breast pocket. The rubber bands left red marks on her cheeks, and apparently it hadn’t been comfortable as she kept rubbing at the red streaks. She was pretty, he noticed distantly. He might as well have been living in a monastery for all the adult female companionship he’d enjoyed recently, but he still noticed.

Her nose was almost as red as the plastic one, but her face was elfin, and from what he could tell, her eyes were almost as blue as his daughters’, and slightly slanted. He found himself wondering what color her hair was under that dreadful wig. In the red and green glow of the fairy lights, it was impossible to tell from the few loose strands, but he guessed she was a brunette.

“I’m very sorry that your daughter is having problems, Mr. Falcon. And I’m so sorry they’ve lost their mother and you’ve lost your wife. That’s terrible. I wish I could help. But I’m just not what you need. You want to hire a clown – despite current appearances I’m not one.” She pushed ineffectually at the wall in an effort to stand up. “Damn, am I frozen to the ground or what?”

“You’re exactly what you need.” He held out a hand, and she yanked off the oversized glove and grabbed it, scrambling to her feet with his help. Her hand was icy. He didn’t let go right away and held on tight when she tried to pull her hand back.

He couldn’t let her go.

She was the next stepping-stone in Lana’s journey back to a happy, secure childhood. He set his jaw and tightened his hold on her hand. If that left a pint-size footprint on Sylvie Farrell’s back, so be it.

“Mr. Falcon?” He felt her cold hand twitch inside his, try to work itself loose. “My hand back, please? Or did you plan on abducting me to your daughter’s birthday party?”

She’d read his mind. “Nick. Call me Nick. Sorry.” Her hand dropped abruptly to her side as he released it, and he almost chuckled when he saw her put both hands behind her back. Probably a smart move. He wasn’t used to being this aggressive, but desperate times did call for desperate measures.

“You can’t hire me,” she repeated. “Seriously. I’m not a regular clown, you see. No clown university or anything. No polka-dot diploma.” She rubbed her face where the marks from the rubber bands still hadn’t faded. “This red nose is borrowed and doesn’t even fit me.”

“But―“

“This was a total accident. I never should have been here in the first place. I never should have been stupid enough to put on this costume. I should have realized it was all part of Susie’s little scheme. Besides...” She lowered her voice and looked in the direction Lana had vanished to. “If your daughter is having some psychological issues, she’s probably better off with a therapist than a clown.”

“She’s seen therapists,” Nick bit out. “She’s done it all. She’s seen play therapists and music therapists and art therapists. She’s buried action figures in sandboxes, punched dolls and acted out our family dinners with teddy bears. She’s had her drawings interpreted and been instructed to tell stories about the little puppy and the mommy dog who went away.” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, reliving the frustration of the last year. “If you ask me, she’s seen too many therapists. It hasn’t helped much.”

“I’m very sorry,” Sylvie said.

Nick wasn’t in the mood for apologies, excuses or commiserations. He just wanted a simple yes. He stepped closer to her, wishing he could do as she’d suggested and kidnap her to the party. When she inched backwards and looked past him, scanning the front yard anxiously, he reined himself in. No need to come across as half-crazed, even though he was getting there, day by day, nightmare by nightmare. He stepped back and flashed her a carefree smile. “You don’t stand a chance of making a run for it,” he warned her with a crooked grin. He gestured at her costume. “I would catch you by that donkey’s tail pinned to your butt.”

Sylvie stared at him for a minute, then she laughed, a surprised but musical sound. She grabbed the bulky seat of her costume and yanked it sideways, trying to reach the safety pin holding the tail in place. “I guess I was lucky they didn’t draw blood when they pinned this on me.” She grimaced as she worked on loosening the pin, both hands stretched behind her back. “You know, I almost believe you would abduct me. This is really a big deal to you, isn’t it?” Her hands slipped on the pin and she cursed. “Damn. My hands are so numb from the cold.”

“Yes, this is a big deal. The biggest deal. Lana is one of the two most important things in my world.” He stepped around her. “Let me help.” He crouched down and unfastened the safety pin. The tail didn’t come off, and he absently checked for another pin but that had her slapping his hand away, yelping and leaping away.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Nick looked down into the snow and sighed at himself. “I’m sorry. The tail is still stuck, I was just trying to find the other pin.”

Her face looked suspicious, cracked paint and all, but she presented her behind to him again, pulling on the fabric so it billowed away from her body. “The other pin is there,” she pointed, “but I can’t get a hold of it.”

Nick nodded and quickly removed her tail, relieved that she didn’t think he’d been groping her on purpose. He stood and handed it to her. “I don’t know what it is, but for some reason you reached Lana. Do you know how long it’s been since she’s said she wanted something? She needs you!”

“She does not need me! I’m not even a real clown, Mr. Falcon.” Her voice had turned pleading. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? “Let alone a therapist-clown! I have no idea how to behave around kids, and absolutely not kids who... kids with... issues.”

“Lana turns seven next week. She hasn’t wanted to hear her birthday or Christmas mentioned. Last year, we had a party for her. We invited a few kids, had a pink cake, she got a huge pile of gifts.” He shrugged. “She didn’t want birthday cake, didn’t even want to open her presents. She just stayed in her room, in her bed, hugging her teddy bear.”

Sylvie’s face looked sympathetic. But not sympathetic enough. “I’m very sorry―“

“I thought it would be the same thing this year. She didn’t want a party. Didn’t want to make a wish list. She hasn’t wanted to hear her birthday even mentioned. So I thought we’d just have a quiet day at home, just the three of us, hoping she’ll at least agree to blow out the candles on her cake. But now Lana suddenly wants a party, and guests, and it’s all because she saw you.” He stared at her, trying to bore the importance of this into her with his eyes. “Don’t you understand how important this is? It’s her future happiness at stake. This could a major turning point for her. You could literally save my little girl’s life, Sylvie.”

She was wavering. He could see it in her eyes. Her mouth opened, and he willed her to say yes.

But no.... “There must be other clowns...” she pleaded.

Nick shook his head. “She wanted you. Name your price.” God knows, he could afford it. He’d pay her a year’s salary for this if he needed to. Anything. Rationally, he knew he was probably taking this out of proportion, but it felt real and urgent.

Sylvie was staring at him. She wasn’t saying no, again a major triumph. She was tiny, he realized. The costume made her look bulky, but the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

“Please?” he repeated.

Sylvie looked away and yanked the wig off. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders, wavy and shiny brown, perhaps auburn, although it could be a trick of the multi-colored lights. She opened the zipper on her costume and stuffed the wig into it. Sighing, she shoved both hands repeatedly through her hair. “My hair is looking dreadful, isn’t it?” she mumbled.

“It’s looking fine.”

“No it’s not. Any more than the rest of me. I’m a mess.” She shook her head and pushed her hair away from her face. “Anyway, about your situation... again, I’m not a trained clown, Mr. Falcon. I’m not used to children, let alone children with psychological problems.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t even like children much. I’m sorry to say that to a parent and you probably think I’m a horrible person, but it’s the truth. Nothing personal. They just make me terribly nervous. I was a total disaster back there.”

“Call me Nick,” he told her again. “You don’t have to like my children. Just be there.”

Sylvie hesitated. He felt like shouting a victory cry, as she was obviously on the verge of saying yes. She took a deep breath. “Well, if this is really so important--” she started.

“Daddy!” came a shout. A bedraggled Emily came running through the snow towards them, Lana tottering after her.

“Oh, no,” he heard Sylvie whisper, confirming his suspicion about the identity of her torturer. When he turned his attention back to her she was taking a step back. She stumbled, and before he could catch her, she’d fallen backwards into a heap of snow. She didn’t seem to notice. She was busy staring at Emily with a look of utter terror. Damn. All his hard work down the drain.

“That one? Yours too?” she asked, not noticing when he held out a hand to help her back on her feet. She pointed at his younger daughter, her hand trembling.

“Yeah. Those are my daughters. Lana is six – seven in a few days. Emily is five.”

“Emily...” Sylvie whispered, her voice a hoarse panicky croak. She scrambled backwards in the snow until her back was against the brick wall. “Emily shoved snow up my nose.”

Chapter 2

Oh, no.

“What?” Nick groaned. Emily was playful, yes, but not aggressive. She wasn’t a bully – or so he’d thought. “I’m sorry. Did she hurt you?”

“No... It was the clown nose,” Sylvie corrected. “Not my real nose, but still... You see, she yanked it off and stuffed snow inside, and then let go, and my nose – my real nose – squashed into the snow... and then I sneezed... so I inhaled... snow up my nose...” She shuddered.

Nick grimaced. He could picture the scene. Emily loved rough-and-tumble play, and the three of them would frequently go outside to play together in the snow. He loved his younger daughter’s exuberance and joy of life – but it did get all of them in trouble regularly.

“I’m really sorry about that. Emily is a good kid, but she’s a bit... spirited. I’ll talk to her. She’ll apologize. I’ll make sure she behaves at Lana’s birthday party.”

“Daddy!” Emily called again. She threw herself at him from a distance and he lifted her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stuck her cold nose in his neck. “Daddy! Lana says Iffy the clown is coming for a visit. Is it true?”

Nick hugged Emily hard and kissed her tiny snub nose, currently almost as red as the clown’s nose, even though she was dutifully wearing her snowsuit and mittens. “Hey, where’s your scarf, Em? You need to wear your scarf when playing outside in the snow,” he chided gently. Emily tended to rely too much on big sister to be her wardrobe manager. When she was on her own, it was a miracle if she played for an hour in the backyard without losing something.

Emily glanced at the clown and smiled a mischievous smile that told him quite a bit about what had happened to the scarf. Poor Sylvie. Had the birthday party been completely unsupervised? Too late, he realized he should probably have offered to help out with the kids, especially since he was the father of one of the more energetic ones. “Where is it, Em?” he asked again. “The scarf? Go get it! It’s your favorite one, isn’t it? We don’t want to lose any more of your clothes.”

“It’s still tied to the tree, with the other kids’ scarves,” Emily explained. “I’ll get it.” She squirmed out of his arms and scuttled back around the edge of the house.

“They tied you to a tree?” he asked Sylvie, who was staring after his younger daughter, her expression still pure terror. “Wow. That’s above and beyond the call of duty, even for a clown. Didn’t anyone supervise this?”

Sylvie looked up at him and nodded, looking as miserable as a clown with running make-up could -- extremely miserable. “Yes. The adults thought this was all part of my program. The kids were certainly enjoying themselves. And since I didn’t even have a program, and had no idea what I was doing... not so much as one fake flower to squirt at them, I didn’t really have a choice but to play it by ear. Their ear,” she added darkly.

“Is it true?” Emily demanded as she returned right away, her red and black scarf in one hand, dragging through the snow behind her. “Is Iffy coming?”

“The kids asked my name after they had tied a scarf over my mouth,” Sylvie told him, still looking warily at Emily. “Apparently that’s how ‘Sylvie’ sounds from behind a scarf. Learn something new every day.”

“Is it true? Are you coming to our house?” Emily asked, as Nick took her scarf and shook it to get rid of the snow. He knew his daughter’s tricks and there was a familiar wicked glint in her wide brown eyes. It probably wasn’t surprising that Sylvie was in shock. Emily was a handful at the best of times, let alone in the company of her very favorite victim – people who weren’t used to kids. He grabbed his daughter’s collar and pulled her towards him. “Come here, brat. You’ll catch a cold, dressed like that.”

Emily leaned sideward to peer around her father while he wrapped the scarf around her neck and adjusted her parka. She never remembered to zip it all the way up. Her coal black curls escaped her woolen cap, and he pulled it better down around her ears. “Are you really coming to Lana’s birthday party, Iffy?” she asked.