I’m not going to be able to—
Oh my God, I need to—
I turn my head and hurl the unfortunately varied contents of my stomach onto Nell.
THERE’S A HIDEOUS scraping noise. Then the blackness above me is broken by a sliver of light.
Kinko peers in at me. “Wake up, sunshine. Your boss is looking for you.”
He’s holding a lid open. All of which starts to make sense, because as my cramped body realizes my brain is open for business, it soon becomes clear I am stuffed into a trunk.
Kinko props the lid open and walks away. I work my bent neck free and struggle into a sitting position. The trunk is in a tent, surrounded by rack after rack of vibrant costumes, props, and vanities with mirrors.
“Where am I?” I croak. I cough and try to clear my parched throat.
“Clown Alley,” says Kinko, fingering some paint jars on a dresser.
I lift an arm to cover my eyes and notice it is clad in silk. A red silk dressing gown, to be exact. A red silk dressing gown that is wide open. I look down and discover that someone has shaved my genitals.
I snatch the edges of the gown together, wondering if Kinko saw.
Dear God, what did I do last night? I have no idea. Nothing but scraps of memory, and—
Oh God. I threw up on a woman.
I struggle to my feet, tying the dressing gown. I wipe my forehead, which feels unusually slick. My hand comes away white.
“What the—?” I say, staring at my hand.
Kinko turns and hands me a mirror. I take it with great trepidation. When I raise it to my face, a clown looks back at me.
I POKE MY HEAD out of the tent, look left and right, and then streak across to the stock car. I am followed by guffaws and catcalls.
“Whooeeee, look at that hot mama!”
“Hey, Fred—check out the new cooch girl!”
“Say, honey—got plans tonight?”
I dive into the goat room and slam the door, leaning against it. I breathe heavily, listening until the laughter outside dies down. I grab a rag and wipe my face again. I rubbed it raw before I left Clown Alley, but somehow I still don’t believe it’s clean. I don’t think any part of me will ever be clean again. And the worst part is that I don’t even know what I did. I have only snippets, and as horrifying as those are it’s even more horrifying not knowing what happened in between.
It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea whether I’m still a virgin.
I reach inside the dressing gown and scratch my stubbly balls.
KINKO COMES IN a few minutes later. I’m lying on my bedroll, my arms over my head.
“You’d better get your ass out there,” he says. “He’s still looking for you.”
Something snuffles in my ear. I lift my head and bang into a wet nose. Queenie leaps backward as though launched from a catapult. She surveys me from a distance of three feet, sniffing cautiously. Oh, I bet I’m just a medley of smells this morning. I drop my head again.
“You want to get fired, or what?” Kinko says.
“At this point, I really don’t care,” I mumble.
“What?”
“I’m leaving anyway.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I can’t answer. I can’t tell him that not only have I disgraced myself beyond belief or redemption, but I have also failed at my first opportunity to have sex—something I’ve thought about pretty much constantly for the last eight years. Not to mention throwing up on one of the women who was offering and then passing out and having somebody shave my balls and paint my face and stuff me into a trunk. Although he must know at least parts of it, since he knew where to find me this morning. Perhaps he was even involved in the festivities.
“Don’t be a pussy,” he says. “You want to end up walking the tracks like those poor bums out there? Now get on out there before you get yourself fired.”
I remain inert.
“I said get up!”
“What do you care?” I grumble. “And stop shouting. My head hurts.”
“Just get the hell up or I’ll hurt the rest of you, too!”
“All right! Just stop yelling!”
I drag myself upright and throw him a dirty look. My head pounds and it feels as though lead weights are tied to each of my joints. Since he continues watching me, I turn toward the wall, keeping the red gown on until I pull my pants up in an effort to hide my hairlessness. Nevertheless, my face burns.
“Oh, and a word to the wise?” says Kinko. “Some flowers for Barbara wouldn’t go amiss. The other one’s just a whore, but Barbara’s a friend.”
I am so flooded with shame my consciousness flickers. After the urge to faint passes, I stare at the ground, sure I’ll never bring myself to look anyone in the eyes again.
THE FOX BROTHERS train has been moved off the siding, and the hotly disputed elephant car is now hitched directly behind our engine, where the ride will be smoothest. It has vents instead of slats and is made of metal. The boys from the Flying Squadron are busy tearing down tents—they’ve already dropped most of the larger ones, revealing the buildings of Joliet in the background. A small crowd of towners has gathered to watch the activity.
I find August in the menagerie tent, standing in front of the elephant.
“Move!” he screams, waving the bull hook around her face.
She swings her trunk and blinks.
“I said move!” He steps behind her and thwacks her in the back of the leg. “Move, goddammit!” Her eyes narrow and her enormous ears flatten against her head.
August catches sight of me and freezes. He drops the bull hook to his side. “Rough night?” he sneers.
A blush prickles up the back of my neck and spreads over my entire head.
“Never mind. Get a stick and help me move this stupid beast.”
Pete comes up behind him, twisting his hat in his hands. “August?”
August turns, furious. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. What is it, Pete? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“The cat meat is here.”
“Good. Take care of it. We don’t have much time.”
“What exactly do you want me to do with it?”
“What the hell do you think I want you to do with it?”
“But, boss—” says Pete, clearly distressed.
“Goddammit!” says August. The vein on his temple bulges dangerously. “Do I have to do every damned thing myself? Here,” he says, thrusting the bull hook at me. “Teach the brute something. Anything will do. As far as I can tell, all she knows how to do is shit and eat.”
I take the bull hook and watch as he storms from the tent. I’m still staring after him when the elephant’s trunk sweeps past my face, blowing warm air into my ear. I spin and find myself looking into an amber eye. It blinks at me. My gaze shifts from that eye to the bull hook in my hand.
I look back up at the eye and again it blinks. I lean over and lay the bull hook on the ground.
She swings her trunk across the ground in front of her, fanning her ears like enormous leaves. Her mouth opens in a smile.
“Hi,” I say. “Hi, Rosie. I’m Jacob.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I extend my hand, just a bit. The trunk whooshes past, blowing. Emboldened, I reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is rough and stubbly and surprisingly warm.
“Hi,” I say again, giving her an experimental pat.
Her windsail of an ear moves forward and then back, and the trunk returns. I touch it tentatively, and then stroke it. I am entirely enamored, and so engrossed that I don’t see August until he comes to an abrupt stop in front of me.
“What the hell is wrong with you people this morning? I should fire every goddamned one of you, what with Pete not wanting to take care of business and you pulling a disappearing act and then playing kissy-face with the bull. Where’s the damned bull hook?”