It was easier than she'd expected. Jokertown's streets weren't crowded. The one or two jokers she encountered up close seemed as nervous around her as she was around them, and gave her a wide berth.
Just down the block from the clinic, in a large, fenced asphalt lot, she heard shouting and laughing and the sound of wood smacking pavement. A small group of joker teenagers was playing polo.
Jokers playing polo? The idea seemed outlandish; the two didn't belong in the same universe.
Four of the teenagers had feet that could accommodate roller blades. Of the other two, one hopped on a sort of accordian leg and the other had the hindquarters of a pony, like Dr. Finn's. Then she realized it was Dr. Finn. Curious, she hung onto the fence and watched.
It was clear he way outclassed the kids and was holding back. Of course, his body was perfectly designed for polo. But she was struck by now well coordinated his movements were as he reared and turned, as he raced across the lot, as he bent low and swung his polo stick, and led the chase back across the length of the lot with his tail high and his hooves striking the pavement in a clattering beat: horse and rider in perfect synchrony.
It reminded her of her polo-playing years in prep school, and of the times her Uncle Henry used to take her along on outings with a local group of mentally handicapped lads.
The ball struck the fence near her and the ragged group raced over. They braked several yards away when they saw her, fear and suspicion on their bizarre and twisted faces. Clara averted her gaze. Finn trotted up, out of breath and flushed, looking surprised. He wore a sweatshirt with a University of California at San Diego logo, whose sleeves and neck had been cut out, and a sweat pad over his horse's haunches. Both were stained with sweat.
"Putting in some overtime?" he asked.
"Needed to pick up a few things. I didn't know you played polo. You play well."
"Um. Thanks." A hind leg stamped. He twisted a finger into the frayed neckline of his sweatshirt. There was something quite boyish and Californian about his embarrassment. At that instant it was as if she was seeing Bradley Finn, the man, for the first time.
A man atop a horse's haunches. The impossibility of it rattled her. She had a flashback to that first moment she'd seen him, before she'd known he was a joker. By God, but he was handsome. She'd had a horrible shock when he had come around the counter and she'd seen what the wild card had done to him. But she could see now how functional the combination was. Even attractive.
Her mother had read stories to her from Greek mythology when she was very young, and she'd taken quite a liking to centaurs. When she'd been in her "horses" phase, as a teen, she'd collected dozens of centaurs - paintings, posters, figurines of pewter and crystal.
Feeling awkward, she gave him a nod and moved on. She sensed his gaze on her back.
On her desk, along with the file she wanted, were piles of reports on various administrative hassles she'd have to deal with first thing Monday morning. She leafed through them and groaned.
Labor disputes. A discipline problem among the staff. Piles of funding requests, to replace dilapidated equipment that should have been replaced years before - requests that far outstripped the clinic's paltry budget. A snide letter from one of the Board members regarding a lawsuit by a former patient.
It struck her, heading down the steps from the clinic, that Bradley Finn knew how to deal with all these administrative problems; he'd been wrestling with them for years. He was one joker she couldn't afford to alienate. Not if she wanted things to function smoothly while she was there. She should be delegating a lot of this to him.
It did make things easier that he wasn't physically repulsive. She would imagine him as a centaur straight out of Greek legend. Not a joker, like those pitiful, deformed kids he was playing with. She would trick her phobia.
Starting Monday, she decided, I am going to make a real effort to make nice to him.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
... So, while I do apologize, I know you'll carry on splendidly without my tiny little volunteer efforts.
Joan
The handwriting was lovely. Someone had had the benefit of a fine education. The fluttering, almost tittering tone of the letter made him crazy, and Finn forcibly separated his teeth. The hinge of his jaw felt immediately better.
At first he thought he'd imagined it, so light was the tap on the door. Then it came again, a bit more forcefully.
"Come in."
What entered he hadn't expected. Clara van Renssaeler. Finn started to scramble up out of his oversized beanbag chair, but she waved him down. She then stood, clasping and unclasping her hands, and staring silently at the floor between her feet.
"Would you like to sit down?" Finn asked, indicating one of the two chairs which served as a concession to more normal bodies. She shook her head. The silence continued.
"When did this laryngitis problem first manifest itself?" Still nothing. "You know, it's amazing this effect I have on women. You're not the first woman I've struck dumb."
A dimple appeared in her left cheek. It never graduated to a smile, she had too much self-control for that. Witnessing that human emotion left Finn speechless. And a dimple? He would never have associated Clara van Renssaeler with dimples.
"The Independent Grocers Association came to visit me this morning," Clara said. "A new city ordinance has been passed banning joker owned and driven trucks from exiting Jokertown. And the Teamsters have hiked fees for deliveries into Jokertown."
"Sonofabitch!"
"Who do you think would be the best person to negotiate with them?"
He considered, and tried not to focus on the warm little glow which had settled in his chest. Probably heartburn, Finn thought, can't be a crush. Might be lust. He had a feeling he was blushing when he finally looked back at her. It had been a long time for Finn, and even considering the hot'n heavy had him struggling to keep his dick in its sheath.
"I'd send Cody."
"Rather than me."
"Cody's real good in a locker room setting. You're too much of a lady."
"I'm not sure if we've both been complimented or both insulted," said Clara.
"Complimented. Cody comes across like a sexy comrade, someone you want to storm the barricades with."
"And me?" asked Clara. From the look on her face Finn suspected she hadn't meant to ask the question.
"You're the kind of woman men like to protect. Or fantasize about awakening." And now it was Finn's turn to regret his unruly mouth.
"What does that mean, awaken me?"
"Behind that scholarly nature, behind those tortoise shell glasses, beats the heart of a sexual volcano just waiting for the right man." Finn tried to keep it very light. Another of the Finnmeister's meaningless, randy, flirting remarks.
"Oh."
It was the last response he had expected. For some reason the ridiculous remark seemed to have sent Clara into a deep blue funk. The woman scientist was standing before him. She had that inward, almost blank expression that researchers achieve when faced with some puzzling new germ, or bit of data which has upset their pet theorems. Finn wondered which worldview his sexual banter had undermined.
"I'll talk to Cody," Clara finally said in a small and distant voice.
She left, and Finn had a long talk with his unruly dick, and slapped his mouth around.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
Clara van Renssaeler, Journal Entry, 16 Apr 94
Exciting news! I started the test cultures for my new prototype viruses today. Batch 94-15-04-24LQ is already showing evidence of virulence against the wild card cultures, and little to none against the control cultures.
Don't want to jump to conclusions. Must be patient. Give the culture another few days. But this looks like it!