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Spotlights chased the sparkling blur of spandex and ponytails tumbling toward the flaming pit below. A split second more and surely the inferno would devour her. A muscular man swung past dangling from a trapeze, and snatched her by the wrists. Applause erupted from the hushed crowd with the ferocity of a raging volcano. The ovation passed through striped tent walls, rumbled over scarecrows guarding neighboring corn fields, and startled a woman up to no good. Alison struck her head against a rusted trailer hitch. She gulped curse words down her throat as pain drilled through grey matter between her ears. Mumbled words echoed from the ringmaster’s megaphone, again working up the crowd. Faded posters plastered on the sides of dark trailers billed the circus as the greatest spectacle on earth. She wanted to hit at least one more trailer before she called it quits. After the show, the carnies would pack up and move along. They should be halfway to Kansas City before anybody noticed anything missing, or so she hoped. She double-checked her surroundings before creeping up to the door of a small trailer with darkened windows. Cool autumn breezes carried tempting scents of roasting popcorn. Childhood memories laced with colorful balloons and stuffed animals projected their imagery against the backs of her eyes before they were blinked away with a tear. She didn’t have time for that shit now. The score needed to be huge. It could be cash or anything she could swap for cash in a hurry. The viscous rumors that painted carnies as notorious drug users, so far proved themselves true. Alison managed to fill her pack half-full with weed, meth, and bottles of pills she couldn’t pronounce, but knew she could sell. She only needed enough money for a bus ticket and two months’ rent. Hollywood was an expensive Babylon to offer her soul up to, but she would rather take her chances scrounging on the golden coast than grow fat and rot away in some hayseed town. She flicked out a switchblade, and made quick work of the lock with steady hands, even though her heart thundered against her ribs. She cracked the door, listened for movement on high alert, ready to make a run for it if things turned bad. After slipping inside, she closed the door behind her with a soft tug. A quick turn of the deadbolt added an extra layer of warning. Alison crouched in darkness haunted with scents of stale cigars and spilt cheap beer. She clicked on a flashlight, reminding herself to keep the beam low, and quickly cataloged everything the beam illuminated. Dog-eared circus posters yellowed with age. Dishes piled high in a small steel sink. Torn labels from around the globe covered a heavy wooden chest. The next sight twisted her guts into knots. Her blue eyes darted around the treasure scattered across the antique vanity crammed into the small space. Emotions wrestled whether to laugh or cry. Her brain needed to gather more evidence before it could come to some agreement with what her heart already knew. A candy tin filled with fine brushes, crumbling makeup sponges, Escort Tunalı and twisted tubes of greasepaint sealed the verdict. It could only belong to one of the most beloved, yet often feared, circus entertainers. The treasure drew her closer, entrancing her with resurrected dreams lost so long ago. Before she realized what had come over her, she rolled back the wheeled stool and seated herself. Her fingers plucked a round, red nose from a collection housed inside a cigar box. She shined her light across the rows of exaggerated hats and colorful wigs dangling overhead. The foam nose, carefully balanced between her fingers, regained her attention. Her eyes locked upon her reflection in the tarnished mirror. The desire to smear colorful paint over her lips overtook her thoughts. Vapors rising from caked layers of rubber cement smelled sweet as candy when she squeezed the nose over her own. Ever since she was a child, Alison had dreamed of becoming one. She tried it a few times, had a costume and all. Dressed up for birthday parties and endured kicks to the shins from bratty kids, made twenty bucks here and there. She even mastered twisting balloons into animal shapes, although blowing them up was always a bitch. Her so-called friends had teased her non-stop, called her Alley Clown until they bludgeoned her dreams to death with their cruelty. She finally drove to the edge of town with tears streaming down her cheeks and dumped her dreams down a well over by the Hanson’s farm. Alison snapped herself back from agonized recollections. A pair of white gloves somehow appeared on both her hands. How did those get there? Any memory seemed to escape her. The lock rattled, snapping her head toward the sound. Icy panic flooded her veins. Her legs sprang her ass off the stool even though there was no escape. “Shit,” she gasped. The door swung inward. Terror gripped her within its silent shroud. Every heartbeat constricted her throat. She was trapped, powerless to do anything but watch the tall figure clamber inside. A dim light clicked on overhead. Her eyes locked onto his. Black slits glared from the centers of blue diamonds. A squeak escaped through her lips. The clown’s puzzled face melted into darkness as Alison blacked out. # A hand slapped her face. Alison’s eyelids fluttered open. She found herself lying on a stiff mattress with her feet propped on a pile of dirty laundry. “Where am I?” she mumbled. Her head throbbed. Everything was a blur. “You’re in my place.” Authority saturated the man’s voice. “And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to know what you’re doing here. You scared the shit out of me.” His chiseled features floated into focus. White makeup was still smeared through his five o’clock shadow where he didn’t have a chance to wash it away. Smoky mascara streaked around his eyes. His handsome looks were not what she expected to find hidden behind greasepaint. “Well, I’m waiting, or maybe you’d rather explain it to the cops.” “Well, I…” Her drifting eyes spotted her backpack tossed ulus escort against the foot of the bed. It appeared zipped tight. Hopefully he didn’t look inside. “Were you trying to rob me?” He rubbed makeup away from his cheek with a stained cloth. “No, I…” “So what are you doing in my trailer?” She paused before taking a deep breath. “I was going to rob your place, but…” “But what?” “But then, I noticed you’re a clown.” “What? Do you have something against clowns?” “No, no. Actually, I love clowns. I always wanted to be one, I just…” “Well, you look pretty good for one.” He chuckled. “Nice nose.” “What?” Her hand flew up and her eyes crossed. She was still wearing the nose and gloves. “I kept them on you, thought it was funny.” He chuckled again. “So what’s your name anyway?” “Alison.” Her cheeks blushed as she ripped off the nose. “So, Alison, are you feeling all right? You took quite a spill there.” “I think so. You know, I really ought to be going.” She leaned over to snatch her bag. “Wait.” He gently pressed her down with a strong hand. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” “Yes, I’m sure. Sorry for bugging you. I’ll get out of here now.” Shame bowed her head as she walked toward the door. She grabbed the handle and twisted. “So, you really wanted to be a clown?” “Yeah.” She glanced behind, with one foot dangling out the door. “Before you go, tell me what really stopped you from doing it.” She surveyed where the dirt path wound through the trailer camp before vanishing into the field. A huge part of her wanted to leap from the steps, run through the towering cornstalks, and disappear into the night. She knew it was foolish to utter another word; he could have called the cops already for all she knew. “Well,” she looked up at him, “I always had a problem lining things up.” “Get the fuck out of here!” His laughter exploded. Her eyes bulged from the shock of his outburst. “Are you serious? I mean, you’re a girl, and a cute one at that, so I figure you would be good with makeup. Do you know how long I had to practice putting on whiteface until I didn’t look like something out of a horror movie?” Alison shrugged. “I always had a problem with that, too.” “Oh, there are some simple fixes for that.” “Really?” “Yeah, if you want, I could give you some pointers.” “You’d do that for me? Why?” “Why not? Set your stuff on the kitchen table.” “Um, okay.” Uncertainty clouded her judgment. She glanced at the dirt path a final time before stepping back inside and shutting the door. Part of her still wanted to run. Allison set her backpack on the table as instructed. Fluttering nerves pushed for her to check and double check the zippers. The clown walked towards his dressing table and flicked on a switch. Yellow filaments sparked to life within vintage bulbs lining the edges. “Here, catch!” He tossed a large jar of cold cream at her. Her fingers juggled it around, nearly dropping it, before finding a grip. “Rub some of this on your face. It makes the white go on much easier.” yenimahalle escort bayan She unscrewed the cap, dipped her fingers into the cool, slimy cream, and rubbed it into her skin. She tried her best to study every move the clown made while setting up his supplies. “Here, sit on the stool.” He patted the old cracked cushion. “All right.” Alison took a seat and stared at herself in the mirror as if she were a stranger. What am I really doing here? she thought. “Okay, turn towards me.” He held up a wedged makeup sponge dabbed with white. “First thing you need to do, make sure you always use a good sponge.” She leaned toward him as he brushed makeup across her face with short strokes. Her eyes focused on his dark eyebrows curling with concentration. “So, what’s your name?” “Bubbles.” He never broke his stride while dabbing white over her nose. “No, I mean, your real name.” He dropped his arms, leaned back, and smiled. “Sorry, everyone around here calls me Bubbles. My real name is Michael.” “Well Michael,” sitting this close allowed her to take in every one of his striking features, “thanks for the help.” “You can call me Mike. Now, just hold still. Close your eyes, but not too tight.” She lowered her eyelids yet she could still see his face. His warm voice infused her bloodstream with morphine-like euphoria. The faint scent of his sweat, masked by spray-on cologne and old cigars, lingered over her palette, putting her further under his spell. Textures from different brushes caressed her eyelids and flicked her lashes. His hand brushed against her leg, which rushed tingles through her core. Alison opened her eyes when requested. She focused on his lips moving with further tutorials, but the words never reached her ears. She lost herself in deep study, examining every fleck of color in his green eyes while he worked. She found herself counting every microscopic detail of his perfect lips, still stained with red from his earlier performance. Her eyes grew heavy and rolled toward the mirror just in time to witness the last of her face disappear beneath white makeup. “For the colorful parts, use a good brush. Hey, are you paying attention?” “What?” She snapped from his spell and blushed when she met his condescending stare. “Sorry, I’m listening. Use a good brush for the colors, got it.” “That’s right. Use long, steady strokes.” He selected a well-worn brush, and dipped the tip into light purple paint before aiming the bristles with a steady grip. “Hold still.” “You got it.” The features of Michael’s face tensed when he touched the brush above her eye. Warm, steady breaths washed down her neck, permeated the lace of her thin bra, and bristled her nipples. Her line of sight glided across his dark stubble, followed the angle of his jaw, watched his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. A few dark ringlets peeked up from the neck of his white T-shirt. His pectoral muscles flexed with slow, hypnotic rhythms while creating his art. He next selected a fine brush and twirled it within a darker shade of violet. Alison smiled at him before he began tracing details around her eyes. She observed her reflection from the corner of her eye. The tip of the brush painted a thin eyebrow over her new white flesh. When it touched her again, a craving woke from deep within her. Her gaze wandered back to Michael.
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