Honey Moon (47 page)

"Did you leave it under your bed?" the little girl asked. "I left my Lite Brite under my bed."

"Uh—no, I don't think so."

"In the closet?" another child offered.

She shook her head, conscious of the clown's arm clamped around her shoulders.

"In the bathroom?" said a little boy with a lisp.

She realized they weren't going to let up on her, and she blurted out, "I—uh—I think I left it at the

Dairy Queen." Now where had that ridiculous notion come from?

Patches's arm dropped from her shoulders, but instead of helping her out, he sounded distinctly skeptical. "You left yer princess crown at the Dairy Queen?"

He clearly wasn't going to make this easy. "It—It was giving me a headache,"

she said. And then, a bit more firmly as her sense of pride poked through,

"Crowns do that."

"I wouldn't know. I only wear me pirate's scarf." She waited for him to give her a way out, but instead

he said, "I 'card a rumor about princesses and wicked spells."

"You did?"

"It came to me on good authority."

"Is that so?" She had begun to relax a little.

"I 'eard that a wicked spell on a princess can be broken if the princess in question . . ." He winked at the children. "... kisses a 'andsome man."

The boys groaned and the girls giggled.

"Kisses a handsome man?"

"Works every time." He began to preen for the children, tidying his wig and smoothing his painted eyebrow with his little finger. The children, anticipating what was coming, laughed harder.

His mischief was contagious, and she concealed a smile. "Is that so?"

"Bein' a charitable person and all. . ." He dusted the seat of his pants. ". . . I've decided to offer meself

fer the job."

With comic lechery, he leaned toward her, his mouth outrageously puckered.

She almost laughed. Instead, she studied his pursed lips for several beats. Then she looked at the children and rolled her eyes. They giggled, and the sound filled her with a glow of pleasure.

She turned back to the clown. "A kiss?" She said the word as if he'd suggested cod liver oil.

Patches nodded. And with his mouth still puckered said, "A big smacker, Princess. Right 'ere." He

pointed toward his painted lips.

"From a handsome man?" she inquired.

Still puckered, he flexed his muscles and preened.

She looked back at the children, and they laughed harder. "A kiss from a handsome man, huh? Well,

all right, then."

Stepping past him, she approached a little boy with chocolate-brown skin and a leg cast. Bending down, she offered him her cheek. He blushed, but dutifully planted a quick kiss there. The children hooted at

his embarrassment.

She straightened. Patches's painted smile had stretched like elastic over his face. And then the noise died down as all of them waited to see if the kiss would work.

She went very still in the time-honored manner of a princess shaking off a wicked spell. Gradually, she widened her eyes until they were huge with wonder.

"I remember! I'm from . .."
Where?
Her muse deserted her. "I'm from Paxawatchie County, South Carolina!" she exclaimed.

"That's right here, Princess," a child with a lisp said.

"Is it? Do you mean I'm home?"

The children nodded.

"Do you 'member your name?" one of them asked.

"Why, I do. My name is—Popcorn." It was the first word that came into her head, inspired, no doubt,

by the smell drifting into the lounge from the small kitchenette next door.

"That's a dumb name," one of the older boys observed.

She stood her ground. "Princess Popcorn Amaryllis Brown from Paxawatchie County, South Carolina."

The clown's blue eye twinkled in the white face paint. "Well now, Princess Popcorn. Since you've remembered yer name, maybe you'd 'elp me give out some Christmas presents 'ere."

And so she helped him distribute the presents he had brought, which turned out to be expensive hand-held video games. The young patients were delighted, and as she laughed with them, she felt lighthearted for the first time in months.

Finally the nurses appeared to lead the children back to their beds. Patches promised to stop by their rooms to see each one of them before he left.

When they were alone in the lounge, he turned away from her to pack up his tricks. While he gathered up his lasso and stowed it in the bag he had brought, she waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. She bent down to pick up one of the balls he had dropped. When he turned back toward her, she held it out.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked quietly.

She had expected him to sidestep her question, but, instead, he looked thoughtful. As soon as he began

to speak, she realized why.

"Well, now, Princess. Corky musta taught me to juggle not long after we sunk the Jolly Roger."

Not only had he deliberately misinterpreted her question, but he had retained his identity as Patches. She shouldn't have been surprised. When Eric was in character, he stayed that way. She didn't stop to examine her sense of relief.

She only knew that she felt safe talking with this pirate clown, and she didn't feel at all safe with Eric Dillon.

"You said his name was Corny," she corrected.

"There were two of 'em. Twins."

She smiled. "All right, Patches. Have it your way."

He had packed up his props and now he turned toward the door. "I'm gonna visit some of the older kids now, Princess. You want to come with me?"

She hesitated, and then she nodded.

And so Patches the Pirate and Princess Popcorn Amaryllis Brown spent Christmas afternoon visiting the children on the third floor of the Paxawatchie County Hospital, dispensing comfort, magic tricks, and video games. Patches told all the older boys that she was his girlfriend, and Princess Popcorn Amaryllis said that she most certainly was not. She said that princesses didn't have boyfriends; they had suitors instead. And that none of those suitors were clowns.

Patches said the only suit he owned was the one he was wearing, but he'd buy a new one if she'd give him a kiss. And so it went.

That afternoon, she heard something she had not heard in months. She heard the sound of her own laughter. There was something magical about him, a gentleness that drew in the children and made them feel free to clamber on his lap, to tug at his legs, a mischievous charm that let her set aside her grief if only for a few hours and wish that she could crawl into his lap, too. The thought brought her no pangs of guilt, no sense of disloyalty to Dash's memory. After all, there was nothing at all wrong with wanting to embrace a clown.

It was nearly dark when they left the hospital. Even then, he did not set aside the character of Patches.

As they walked across the parking lot, he continued to flirt outrageously with her. And then he said,

"Visit the kiddies with me later this week, Princess. We can try out this trick with daggers I been thinkin' about."

"Would it happen to involve using me as a target?"

" 'Ow'd you know?"

"Intuition."

"It's perfectly safe. I 'ardly ever miss anymore."

She burst into laughter. "No, thank you, you rascal."

But as they reached his van, her laughter faded. When he climbed inside, this pirate clown would disappear, and he would take the princess with him. She felt just like all the sick children who had called out to him not to go. She thought of her empty trailer and the harsh, grim-faced man who shared the park with her. The soft, wistful words slipped out before she could stop them.

"I wish I could take you home with me."

She heard the briefest hesitation before he set down his bag and said, "Sorry, Princess. I promised me mates I'd go on a raid with 'em."

She felt incredibly foolish. In an attempt to recover, she clucked her tongue.

"Carousing on Christmas night, Patches? You don't have any shame. And I was going to fix a real dinner, for a change."

There was a short silence. For the first time that afternoon, the clown seemed to lose some of his cockiness. "Maybe I'll—I could send one of me mates over instead. To keep you company."

His reply was a dash of cold water. It also made her feel vulnerable. She looked quickly down at the

toes of her shoes. "If his name is Eric, I don't want to see him."

"Don't blame you," he replied without a lost beat. "Bad piece a work, that one."

Silence fell between them. The parking lot was quiet and the night clear. As if compelled, she lifted her chin and gazed into the clown's white face. Her brain knew who resided behind the makeup, but it was Christmas, the night ahead was long, and her heart stepped across the boundary of logic.

"Tell me about him," she said softly.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and said dismissively, '"E's not a subject fit fer the tender ears of a princess."

"My ears aren't all that tender."

"Just watch out for 'im, that's all."

"Why's that?"

"Yer too pretty, doncha see? Threatens 'im if 'e thinks a woman might be as good-lookin' as 'e is. Vainest man I ever knew. Doesn't like anybody sharin' 'is mirror space. First thing you know, 'e'll be stealin' yer 'air rollers, and walkin'

off with yer makeup mirror."

She smiled, suddenly glad that he wasn't being serious. But then his brow puckered beneath the red eyebrow, and she could feel him growing tense.

"The truth is, Princess . . ." He pulled a key from his pocket and fit it in the rear door lock. "I think yer need to stay as far away from 'im as yer can. Seems like you've 'ad enough trouble in yer life—wot with that wicked curse and everything—without addin' to it. 'E's got a ice cube for a 'eart, that one."

She thought of the children clamoring for his attention, the hugs he had given, the comfort he had offered. Some ice cube.

"I used to think that was true," she said stiffly, "but I don't believe it anymore."

"Now don't you turn soft on me, Princess, or I'll 'ave to go against me better judgment and give you

some advice."

"Go ahead."

He leaned against the back of the van and met her eyes unflinchingly. "All right. You were smart to take 'is money for one. The bloke's so rich 'e won't miss a penny. And you need to do wot 'e says about yer career. 'E won't steer you wrong there, and you can trust 'im." He pushed one hand into the pockets of his baggy trousers. "But that's all yer gonna get from 'im. 'E's not good with fragile people, Princess. 'E doesn't mean to 'urt 'em, but it always 'appens."

She was the one who looked away. "I shouldn't have. That night in the bathroom—I was tired, that's all"

"It wasn't a smart thing to do, Princess." His voice grew husky. "Yer not the kind of woman can take somethin' like that lightly."

"Yes I am!" she exclaimed. "That's exactly how I took it. It didn't mean anything because I'm still in love with my husband. And he would have understood!"

"Would 'e?"

"Of course. He understood about sex. And that's all it was. Just sex. There was nothing wrong."

"That's good, Princess. Then you don't 'ave anything to regret."

It should have been true, but it wasn't, and she didn't understand why.

He gave her a gentle smile and climbed into the van. "So long, Princess."

"So long, Patches."

The engine started immediately, and he pulled out of the parking lot. She watched as the van turned the corner and disappeared. In the distance church bells softly chimed. Above her head the stars popped out one by one.

Grief settled over her in a great heavy cloud.

27

Eric appeared at the door of her trailer that night. He wore black jeans and a dark jacket over a charcoal-gray sweater. His long hair was windblown, his single eye just as mysterious and unrevealing

as the black patch that covered its mate. A creature of the night.

He hadn't visited her trailer since he'd moved into the Bullpen, and the belligerent set to his mouth indicated that he wasn't going to ask her if he could enter. Instead, he stood outside glaring at her as

if she were the interloper.

She was ready to make a nasty comment when she was struck with the irrational sense that the pirate clown would be disappointed in her if she didn't offer hospitality to his friend. The idea was crazy, but as she stepped back from the door to let him in, she reminded herself that everything had been crazy that fall. She was living in a dead amusement park, building a roller coaster that led to nowhere, and the only person she had been happy with was a one-eyed pirate clown who wove magic spells around sick children.

"Come in," she said begrudgingly. "I was just getting ready to eat."

"I don't want anything." His tone was equally hostile, but he stepped inside.

"Eat anyway." She pulled a second plate from the cabinet and ladled out a chicken breast for him along with a generous serving of rice and one of the rolls she had defrosted from the freezer. She set a place for him opposite hers at the small table and sat down to eat.

Silence fell between them. The chicken tasted dry in her mouth, and she picked at her food. He ate mechanically, but rapidly enough that she knew he was hungry. She found herself searching for some microscopic dab of clown white that he had missed when he showered, or a tiny speck of rouge at his hairline, anything to link him with the gentle, playful clown, but she saw nothing except that hard mouth and those darkly forbidding features. His transformation was complete.

He pushed back his plate. "I've been in touch with your agent, and I've had some scripts sent to me. I'm going to make a decision about your first project soon." His voice was brusque and businesslike, without even the slightest trace of the clown's humor.

She gave up any further attempt at eating. "I'd like a little say in this."

"I'm sure you would, but that wasn't our agreement."

"You didn't waste any time."

"You owe me a lot of money. I want you to know up front that I'm not going to chose a comedy, and that the part won't bear any resemblance to Janie Jones."