"Well," he went on, "there's going to be a street festival, here in Jokertown."
"So I've heard."
"So." He cleared his throat. "You want to go with me?"
Clara gaped, flattening her hands on the desk. Her heart did a tap dance in her rib cage and her mouth went dry. "I beg your pardon?"
He stared back at her for a long moment. Then he tossed his head with a look of irritation. "Never mind. It was a dumb idea."
He wheeled in a clatter of hooves and headed for the door.
"Doctor - Bradley."
His hand was already on the door knob. He didn't turn to look at her. She tried to catch her breath, which had gotten quite short.
"I'd be glad to." It came out quickly, before a more prudent voice could intervene.
He turned then, and the raw, open look on his face made her heart skip another couple of beats.
"So," she said, sliding her reading glasses back on and clearing her own throat. "Where shall I meet you?"
Afterwards, she wondered what the hell she thought she was doing.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
They weren't just wandering randomly. There was order to this wander. They'd hit the May Day block party, eat great hotdogs, then the day would culminate at Joan's and Perry's apartment. Joan would invite them in, and give them tea on her beautiful bone china, and Perry would come in and snuggle with Joan....
And Clara will run screaming, his baser, bigoted self said. You're such a boob.
Was it naive to think that seeing a joker/nat couple would make a big difference with Clara? And what was he after? To get laid? A permanent relationship with a joker-phobic nat?
He had asked her to meet him at P.S. 101 - "Freak U," as it was known to the greater New York school district. He didn't want Clara to have to sit through his "use condoms, avoid dope and booze, and be proud" lecture. In the years when jokers made good human interest stories and the people of the United States hadn't decided to pretend they didn't exist, People magazine had done a feature on him. They had called him the joker Jesse Jackson, a happy, successful and well adjusted joker, busy telling joker youth that they, too, could make it. To some degree Finn agreed with this sentiment, but he didn't for a moment discount his father's money, his white, upper-middle class background. They had played their part in his success. But, liberal cynicism aside, Finn did feel that he could and should offer a positive role model to young jokers.
So each year he went to Freak U, and made a speech, and this year when he looked up into the bleachers, he had seen Clara sitting there, and he realized that she had come early to hear him speak, and his heart had squeezed down tight, and he realized this was going to have to be one hell of a speech.
He risked a quick glance at her long profile as they went walking down the street. "You didn't have to sit through all that."
"It was interesting."
Hardly ringing praise, and the tense tone of voice made him decide not to pursue it further.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"I could eat."
He grinned at her. "I'm gonna take you to my favorite Jokertown restaurant.
They turned down Hester, but Arnie's cart wasn't in view. Jube was, however, sitting in his paperstand reading Premiere and eating peanuts in the shell. A couple of large, mangy and vocal crows were pacing up and down on the pavement in front of the stand calling in raucous voices. Periodically the black, rubbery-skinned joker would toss a couple of peanuts to his peanut gallery.
"Hey, Jube, how's it going?" Finn called out.
"Fucked."
The bitterness incorporated in that single word rocked Finn back onto his hindquarters. "Hey," he demurred. "At least we're not headed off to joker concentration camps any longer."
"No," Jube agreed. "These Sharks probably have something worse in store for us."
Clara changed colors, ending up a dull shade of red. In a slightly brittle tone she said, "You don't really believe in all ... that."
Jube turned his close-set, piggy eyes on Clara and smiled, revealing another two inches of tusk. "Dr. van Renssaeler, I've never lost money overestimating the cruelty and paranoia of the human animal."
Clara looked to Finn. Her turmoil was evident. Quietly Finn said "I didn't believe, didn't want to believe initially. Now I have to." It was hard to force out the words. "I knew Peggy Durand ... in Kenya. Along with Faneuil. He made me an unwitting murderer. I believe everything now."
Clara turned and took a few hesitant steps away. The crows hopped away from her, crying raucously. Jube picked up the magazine, and flapped it at Finn. The crows reacted with sharp cries, and a half-hearted attempt at flight. "We're depressing the lady. Scoot."
"Coming to the block party?" Finn asked as he dug out money for an evening edition.
"I'll be along later. I gotta find my smile again. It's hard to watch everyone trying to have such a good time."
"Jube, they may be working at it, but the result is the same in the end. People have a good time." Finn touched a forefinger to his forehead in a little salute, and he and Clara moved on.
"Sorry about that, he's not usually so morose. Jube's been the jokester of Jokertown for all the years I've been here."
Clara gave an ill defined gesture. "It's all right, you don't have to ... The ... Sharks - "
Finn laid a finger across her lips. "Shhhh. No sad, bad thoughts today."
Clara nodded, determinedly changed the subject. "Shouldn't you be at that party before now? You're one of the organizers."
"Ah, let Dutton hog the limelight. It's his dough that bought the beer. All I did was harass people until they agreed to donate food, and stereo sets, and their classic Beatles collections. Besides, if I arrive before they're partying hearty I'll have to act dignified."
Clara choked on a little laugh, and without thinking Finn tucked her arm beneath his. He tensed for the flinch. It didn't come. He risked a glance at her. Her eyes were focused strictly to the front.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
An hour later he was replete with three of Arnie's kraut dogs. The music of the Lizard King was throbbing down Hester Street, and colliding with Uncle Albert's Genuine Polka Band, and the entire musical smorgasbord was topped off with the fine sounds of Los Blues Guys. The shrieks of children, laughter, the grumble of conversation formed a counterpoint to the music, and overhead a few stars struggled to peep through the light haze of Manhattan.
"You ever been in the Dime Museum?" Finn asked, trying to find a safe topic.
"No." Clara underlined the word with a head shake.
"Want to?"
She pointed to a sign that said SEE HIDEOUS JOKER BABIES. "I don't really have to, do I?" she asked in a small voice.
"Naw, that's just hype. It's mostly wax figures and dioramas, and a couple of Turtle's old shells."
Clara nodded, stood up from her perch on the curb, and brushed off the seat of her jeans. It was very cute - the gesture and the ass. Finn sent stern orders to his dick. It stayed in the sheath. With a lurch and a heave he was on his feet. The sharp motion sent mustard, kraut and dog washing forward, and he belched. Apologized quickly.
"Can you vomit?" Clara asked suddenly as Finn held the door for her.
"Gee, that's an attractive after dinner conversation."
A little defensively she said, "Well, I know horses can't, and that's one of the reasons colic is so fatal. I just ... hoped that wasn't the case for you."
"No, I can promise you I won't die from a belly ache."
"So you can vomit."
"I love researchers, they never let up until they have an answer. Yes, I can vomit, but it's very unpleasant because I have two stomachs. One here." He touched the front of his Hawaiian shirt, and for the first time really acknowledged the small paunch which was beginning to develop. He sucked it in, and reminded himself that forty was approaching, and jogging was a positive thing. "And one here." He reached back, and patted his horse gut with the flat of a hand.