Chapter 4 Cleo
CLEO
Gosh, I love the holidays!
How lucky am I to get paid to wear fun costumes, sing to children, and make them happy?
As I twist red-and-white two-hundred-sixty balloons into a candy cane for the little girl who requested it, I call out to the young crowd, “Hey, what do you call a reindeer who won’t stop farting while you’re talking to him?!”
“Rude-olph!” about five kids shout out.
“Ruuuude!” I shout back at them. “Just kidding—I’m the one who forgot to say please and thank you.”
“Hahaha!” says the only little person who thought that was hilarious. He is holding a Frosty the Snowman cookie, and when he pushes his glasses up, he gets frosting on the metal bridge. I make a mental note to tell him when I’m done performing. I don’t want to embarrass him.
I hand the candy-cane balloon to the little girl and pull a kazoo out of the pocket in my skirt.
“What do Christmas carolers sing when they’re feeling gassy?
!” I ask my captive audience. “‘Silent But Deadly Night!’” I hum the first four notes of “Silent Night” into my kazoo, making the final note resoundingly fart-like.
The crowd goes wild!
And that’s how I segue into a really fun Hollywood-version of “Here We Come A-Caroling” with my ukulele.
“Here we come a-caroling, beneath the palm trees green!
Here we come a wandering, in flip-flops and sunscreen!
Headshots and auditions too, and a callback just for you!
May your agent call to book you for a film in the new year!
May your agent call with good news in your ear!
Not your rear!”
I sing four more delightful verses and strum a big finish to ecstatic laughter and applause from kids and guardians alike.
It’s the bespectacled little boy with curly brown hair who is the last to stop clapping. Well, he’s not clapping so much as he’s holding a cookie in one hand and slapping his thigh with the other hand.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “I just have one more question for all of you, and then I’m going to take a little break before twisting some more balloons for you wonderful people… What did Santa major in when he studied at Oxford?”
I get blank looks from the kids.
“Chrismaths!” I tell them.
Crickets.
That one’s a thinker.
A few kids finally groan, but the curly-haired boy with glasses laughs wholeheartedly, like it’s the funniest, cleverest thing he has ever heard.
I really like him a lot.
“Okay, I’m going to take a water break, and then I’ll meet you all back here in ten minutes!
” I gesture at my entertainment station in the living room, which consists of a wireless clip-on microphone and Bluetooth speaker, props bag, small folding table with snowflake-patterned tablecloth that I sewed myself, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, business cards, rolling cart filled with plastic storage bins, and a tip jar that’s wearing a Mrs. Claus dress and apron—also sewn by yours truly.
A few kids drop twenty-dollar bills into the jar, and while I always feel a little guilty accepting tips from children, I do realize their parents were given a heads-up to provide their kids with tip money for “the song and balloon lady” in the e-vites.
So I do appreciate that they’re actually giving the money to me instead of spending it on Pokémon toys or contraband candy.
I remember to turn off the mic and speaker, which is something I have forgotten to do more than once, and boy, was it memorable for the kids at those parties when I got on the phone with my ex-boyfriend!
Gracefully chugging about half a liter of water, I finally notice the bespectacled boy slowly walking over to me.
“Good afternoon,” he says, nodding politely. He is so sweet in his private-school uniform, minus the jacket. He’s so formal, I feel like he should be wearing a bow tie and a handkerchief in his shirt pocket or something.
“Well, good afternoon to you, sir!” I put my water bottle down and lower myself so I can talk directly into his little ear. “Hey, you got some cookie frosting on the bridge of your glasses. You want me to help you clean that off?”
“Oh, gosh darn it,” he mutters, with a new cookie in one hand and a cup of hot cocoa in the other. “Yes, please.”
I pull his glasses off his cute face and use a wet wipe to clean the frame. “What’s your name, if I may ask?”
“It’s Paxton,” he says. “I very much enjoyed your show.”
“Well, thank you so much! There’s more to come.” I slip the cleaned glasses back onto his face. His sapphire-blue eyes are beautiful and a little bit alarming on such a young face. They remind me a little of someone that I try not to think about…
“If I may ask,” he says, and then he remembers to finish chewing his last bite of cookie. “Pardon me…”
While he finishes chewing, I grab another wet wipe and clean his frosted fingers for him.
“Oh, thank you,” he says. “Can you play at a party tomorrow night?”
“At night? I have a party at lunchtime, but I am free in the evening, actually. What part of town?”
“Brentwood. At a house. My mom’s house. Where I live sometimes. I can pay cash,” he says, as if he’s made a lot of deals before.
“Cash would be perfect—thank you!” I don’t usually accept bookings through children, but there’s just something about this one. He’s so earnest, I can’t say no.
“Oh wait, um, will your husband or boyfriend be coming too?”
“Well, no. Unless I meet someone special and we get married tonight or tomorrow morning—I mean, it could happen.”
“I still want you to come to the party even if that happens.”
“Oh don’t worry—I would never bail on a job because of a guy.
That’s sort of the opposite of my thing.
How long will you need me there? Let me give you one of my business cards.
” I reach over to grab one of my cards from the table and show him the QR code.
I feel like I should explain that it’s a QR code to him, but kids today are basically born knowing what those are, I think.
He’s holding his cup of hot chocolate with both hands as he drinks, and when he finally lowers the cup, he has a whipped-cream mustache above his upper lip. “From seven thirty until bedtime?”
“Your bedtime or mine?” I reach for another wet wipe.
“Yours, I guess.” He takes the wet wipe from me, and I take his empty cup so he can wipe his mouth.
“Got it. I’ll prepare a couple of hours’ worth of material. Will there be guests of all ages at this party?”
“Yes. Babies and my grandparents, even.”
“Oh wow. Well, I’ve got material that’s fun for the whooooole family!”
“Yeah,” he says, looking around for a place to put the used wet wipe.
I take it from him, and he follows me over to the snack table.
The mother of the birthday boy waves for me to join her in the kitchen, so I put my hand on Paxton’s little shoulder and say, “I have to go talk to Joshua’s mom for a minute, okay?
But after my next set I’ll get more information about your party. ”
“Okay, Miss Cleo. Thank you.” He holds out his hand.
“Oh my goodness,” I say, shaking his hand and curtsying. “You can just call me Cleo—thank you.”
“I really enjoyed your fart jokes,” he says, as if he’s telling me he learned a lot from my TED Talk.
“I very much enjoyed sharing them with you.” Gosh, this kid is great. I wasn’t planning to sing it today, but I’m going to perform “Last Christmas I Gave You My Fart,” just for him.