So Far, So Good       kip williams

Casey was so mad at her he didn't care if she snuck out. She thought he was asleep before leaving for the Alibi. She also thought he couldn't hear her. She'd been wrong about a lot, lately. And he had been mad at her, a lot.

He stayed tucked under the covers pretending to be asleep when she came home. The thing that gave him away was the plug in his ear and the gray wire running to his SilverTone 8 Transistor portable AM radio, hidden beneath the blanket. It was a good one. Dad had given it to him. One of the guys teased him about the black sticker on the back that said, "Made in Japan", but he knew it was a good one. He played with it every night and was always getting stations from far away. He had one from Oklahoma City on, right now and he knew that was a long way. He didn't like country music but it was loud and there was no static. The commercials were funny, too. What he liked most was not being able to hear the stuff going on in the living room. She'd brought somebody home again. That really ticked him off.

They were making so much noise it was hard not to listen. Like moving furniture, with the davenport screeching across the linoleum. He didn't know exactly what his mother was saying, but it wasn't right. Usually she'd be making silly jokes and laughing too loud until they moved to her bedroom. Something else that sounded like Billy Murphy's German Shepherd playing tug-of-war.

Casey had gotten into dutch by peeking, before.

"How rude," his mom said in a slurred voice, "spying on me and my guest."

She tried swatting him that time, but was too drunk and barely touched his bottom as he ran back to bed, He was trying  hard to stay in bed, minding his own beeswax, this time. They were making so much racket his curiosity finally got the better of him. He slipped out of bed and down the ladder carefully, opening his bedroom door just a crack. It was hard for him to see what was going on but man, they were making a lot of noise. A man's voice muffled under the music in his ear. His mom sprawled on the sofa but it was weird. He could see tattered scraps of her shirt and dress dangling over the cushions, a skinny cowboy-looking guy leaning over her, his left arm across her shoulders pinning her down. The open palm of his right hand pressed against her mouth. Casey wondered how she could breathe.

He was kneeling, his left foot on the floor and his right knee up on the couch, with his Levis pulled down around his boots. He had skinny little white chicken legs and a shiny BB butt, rocking back and forth. Casey pulled the earplug out, letting it dangle down around his calves so he could listen.

"Oh yeah, little slut. You like that, don't you? Sloppy wet whore," he was saying, his head held high, not even looking at her. Like he wasn't talking to her. "Lucky bitch, I'm gonna leave some stew in there for you to clean up."

Mom's panicked eyes caught Casey's, tears spilling out. He knew  she'd be screaming. without that guy's hand. He, paralyzed in the open bedroom doorway, began shouting as loud as he could. He didn't even know what he was saying. It startled the cowboy, but he didn't stop. Just looked over his shoulder at the boy, without missing a beat. Finally, he shoved extra hard and stopped rocking, saying, "There you go, baby."

Casey stopped screaming when the cowboy stood and reached to pull up his pants. As calm as could be, he threaded his leather belt through the large silver buckle and cinched it tight, while mom and Casey were motionless, both crying softly. The only other sound in the room was the pinpoint of music, dangling by Casey's leg.

With a grin on his face, he strolled to the little boy in his Batman pajamas, leaning over to snatch the earplug and stuff it back in his ear. He squeezed Casey's shoulder so hard he wanted to collapse. Then turned, walking out the front door without looking back.

 It was still on, but Casey couldn't hear the radio anymore.

To say it was 'close quarters' is an understatement. A small staging area directly below the hatch and everybody had to be ready to go up as fast as they could. It was the only way the gag worked. Time it just right and it looks to the shills like everyone is pouring out of the tiny little car. If anybody is off even by second, you risk exposing the opening. About the only thing that could go wrong with the Tiny Clown Car gag, short of the dog or one of the clowns dying, stuck in the opening. It had happened. He had stories to tell.

No hitch here, except for her. She was part of the gag. He was a professional. They both were. He knew this kind of thing could happen before getting involved with Minnie. The circus is a small world. If something doesn't go right, you might have to live with it for a while. Again, they were pros. Breaking up did not mean they stopped being clowns. No longer a clown's clown, maybe. He had done that, all right. Hadn't been as much fun as he expected. Clowns aren't a faithful bunch, by and large.

Fourteen clowns had already gone through the trap door. He heard the audience laughing louder as each did their "Free at Last" posture, bursting through the tiny car door. He paused, closer to the ladder, hands grabbing the rung just above shoulder height, and looked up to get his timing right.

He was staring straight up Minnie's skirt, peering right at her red and white striped pantaloons. His pantaloons. She insisted on wearing polka dots until they hooked up and he convinced her how much better stripes were on her. Especially in the over-inflated tire roll. Loved that gag. After they shopped in the clowns store in Sarasota, where he bought these as a gift, she looked great doing that one. Never better, when she rode it over the top, legs spread wide and did her butt drop in the dirt. Like a million bucks. Even she admitted he was right about that one.

They started the climb, as each of the remaining clowns went for a bigger laugh than the one coming out before. He was on the verge of tears, waiting his turn. Wait. He was a clown, for Christ's sake

"Act like a professional, Paulee."

Minnie looked down at him over her shoulder when he said that, trying to figure out what was happening.

"What did you say?"

A little more defensive than she intended but there were still some bad feelings after she caught him skulking around Mr. Wiggles trailer, that night. It was weird, you know? How was she supposed to feel?

The clown  ahead of Minnie was out, sending her scrambling up the final rungs before Paulee could answer.  He heard the pennywhistle blasting on the P.A. and imagined her tumbling and rolling as she made her reveal.

Which is where he broke every rule in the book, remaining stationary on the ladder when he should have been directly behind her, near enough to press his cheeks against her red tights and imagine her massive shoes at the end of his cot. He couldn't do it. Watching her perform was breaking his heart. Couldn't make himself continue with this exit and let them get on with the routine.

He stood, head upturned, his grease-painted face awash in the arena lights streaming through the open hatch. Then Minnie's face appeared, staring down. He knew her well enough to guess she was doing the bewildered "how many of us are stuffed in this car, after all?" act for the shills up top. At the same time, she was trying to figure out what the holdup was. Why was he botching the skit?

He folded the fingers of his gigantic right glove with his left, sculpting a most expressive bird of the white fabric and raised it above his head to be sure she couldn't miss it. Then, stepped down from the ladder and walked away.