Clown Girl - Monica Drake [46]
He said, “What up with the noise?” He pulled a pouch of tobacco from his pocket.
I said, “Where’s Chance?”
Herman took rolling papers from the side of his tobacco pouch.
“She was here when I left,” I said. “At the window.” I went into the yard and called her again. Herman followed. I kicked at the weeds.
First Rex, then the chicken, and now Chance was gone? First my folks, and ever since then, my life. Nothing came together. I picked up an empty clay planter and threw it into the grass. The planter broke into pieces. I couldn’t take it anymore. I called for Chance and kicked my way through the broken shards.
“Hey, easy, easy,” Herman said. He sat on the back stairs. “Listen—the dog was going insane. Barking at the windows, scratching at the door. We opened the door, that’s all. She’s a dog, right? She’ll be back.”
He balanced his tobacco on one leg, sprinkled a line in the paper, and rolled it between his fingers. I called for my dog, and my voice sailed out into the neighborhood.
“You want a chance with me, girl?” somebody called back.
Herman said, “Remember when you were a kid? Maybe you had a family dog, you let it out, and it came back.”
“Chance is not that kind of a dog,” I said. “She’s a puppy. She’s a schipperke. She’s high-strung.”
Herman licked the edge of the rolling papers. He said, “The whole world’s high-strung, clowns included, it seems. Chill. The dog’ll come home.”
The thought of searching the neighborhood on my bum leg made me feel weak. I had no help. Where was Rex? If Rex were home, Rex would get Chance back. Rex would stand up to Italia, and Chance wouldn’t be gone in the first place.
I sat on the steps and folded my hands over my calves. I put my forehead on my knees. I had to shut down before I exploded.
Herman ran a hand over my back. He rubbed my shoulder. He said, “Remember how it was back when you had plans, and ambition? The whole art thing.”
I half-turned to look at him from the corner of my eye, his hand still rubbing my back. “I have ambition now. More than ever. I’m working on a plan.” I had Kafka, a vision, a message and a massage. The muscles at the back of my neck gave in to the warmth of his hand.
He said, “I mean artistic ambition, not just financial.”
“I have artistic ambition. I won’t stay a corporate clown for long.”
Herman rubbed my left shoulder. “You sure? Money sucks in the best of the best.”
The best of the best. That was Rex, in my book. And money hadn’t gotten to him yet. Not at all! In fact, he didn’t earn enough to cover the cost of his own face paints. The door clattered open behind us. Herman’s hand fell away from my back fast.
Italia said, “What’re you doing?”
I sat up. Herman looked at me. I looked at Italia. She looked from him to me.
I smiled, put a hand on Herman’s thigh, and said, “Like old times.” Easy buttons to push, I couldn’t resist. OK, it was a bitter moment—I was bitter. I was a bitter clown on the precipice of corporate wasteland. I baited Italia because she let my dog out when that dog was all I had. In a soft voice I murmured, “You’ve always had such strong hands.”
Herman said, “Drop it, Nita.”
Italia said, “Herman?”
He said, “Look, don’t worry. What do you need?”
She ran her nails over the screen of the screen door, with a sharp scritch of sound. “There’s like, some kind of family at the front door, with a rubber chicken…” she said, and made the scritch again.
Herman flicked loose tobacco from his tongue. “Christ.” He nodded his head at me. “They’re yours. Get rid of the bounty hunters, I’m serious, or you’re out on your ear.”
10.
Our Kodak Moment; or, Rexless Behavior
ALL NIGHT I LIMPED THROUGH BALONEYTOWN. I CHECKED every piece of worn tire rubber, pile of old clothes, and cascade of trash, anything that looked like a possible curled dog-body in the dark. As the sun rose I sat on the sagging couch on Herman’s front porch and made a sign: Find My Lost Chance! No tail, no collar. All Black. Knows Tricks. Left-handed, half-trained, full-blooded