Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
POLLY
“It’s a bird!”
“It’s a plane!”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “It’s a penis, you morons.”
Drags to Riches by Ann Richter
Narrated by Nikki Martin
“M ommyyyyy! The goat’s chasing me!”
I charged after the little goat who was chasing Ryla around our backyard, nipping at her pretty rainbow birthday dress.
“Shoo! Shoo!” I grabbed the little menace and carried it over to the makeshift pen, plunking it down with the rest of the escape artists. It bleated, displeased with being recaptured.
Ryla’s birthday party had been going well, until the goats from the petting zoo started escaping like tiny Houdinis. How they were getting out, I had no idea. It was bad enough that they pooped little pellets all over our backyard, but every time the kids got near them, they’d not only eaten the corn feed the kids held out, but tried to inhale the kids’ shirts as well.
“Everyone!” I shouted to the party guests that were mingling on the stone patio and around the pool. “Until we have the goat situation under control, please move inside the house!”
I strode over to the guy in charge of the petting zoo. “I don’t know what you have to do, but if these goats manage to get out again and eat any of my guests’ clothing, not only will you reimburse them for the damage, but I will be getting a full refund, you hear me?”
The punk, who was wearing earbuds, continued looking at his phone like I wasn’t even talking.
“ Do you hear me?” I snapped my fingers in front of his face, feeling like I was ninety-five and poking him with a cane.
He finally glanced up at me, eyes hazy. “Bet.” I caught a vague whiff of marijuana.
Huh. Perhaps he knew Clarice.
At least Ryla looked like she was having a good time. We started the day on the right foot when she actually let me wrangle her hair into two French braids without any screaming. She skyped with Giselle without any tears, and Max didn’t immediately go to his room once the guests arrived, even though I’d made the rule that he was allowed to go into his room during the party if he needed a break. Leah had awoken bright and early and was my saving grace all day. She offered to keep an eye on my kids during the party so I could manage the guests, taking that worry off my mental plate. About a half hour before the party started,Sam from the Jack of All Trades company I'd hired to organize the party’s entertainment arrived with the petting zoo . . . and that’s when things started to unravel.
Just as the first guests arrived, Sam got an emergency call and had to leave. Then, the unseasonably hot summer weather started to make everything melt, so we had to move all the food inside. After that, a cry erupted from a little girl near the games area when a little goat started nipping at her untucked shirt from behind. Within the next five minutes, all the goats began to make their move, acting like convicts in a jailbreak, looking for any fence weaknesses.
Ensuring that no one except the goats and their wrangler were outside, I shut the sliding porch door and turned around . . . to absolute chaos.
I had planned for an outdoor party, and now the kids were running around the kitchen as though they’d never been inside a house before. Walking into the living room, things just got worse. The kids were using the toys I’d intended for outside use—large bouncy balls, foam airplanes, Hula-Hoops—like they were in a rage room.
Ding-dong! I heard the doorbell chime as Ryla shouted, “Mom! Can we open the Silly String?” from across the room.
“No!” I shouted back over the chaos, then heard the doorbell again.
Rushing to the front door, hoping against hope it was the magician coming to salvage this party, I opened the door and gasped, jumping back and slamming it shut. Heart thundering in my chest, I hesitantly opened the door and peered outside, half wondering if it was a figment of my imagination.
Nope. Not my imagination. There, standing in between the stone pillars of the front porch, was a clown.
He looked like every other clown that haunted my dreams: white face paint, creepy ruby-red smile, red ball nose, and rainbow wig. The clown wore a yellow suit with white polka dots and looking down, I saw the ensemble was complete with large red clown shoes. He wasn’t speaking, just staring at me with wide eyes.
I leaned slightly to the side, peering around him, then looked behind me—we were alone. This didn’t appear to be a prank.
“Are you here for . . . the party?” I held my breath, fearing the answer. I distinctly remembered emailing Sam and asking for a magician— no clowns . I think I’d even underlined it.
The clown didn’t reply. Was this one of those creepy clown mimes?
Frowning, I tried again. “I’m Polly Alberton. My daughter's sixth birthday party is today. I had requested a magician. Were you hired by Jack of All Trades?”
After one more pause, as if I’d chugged a quarter into a game slot, the clown opened their mouth and pointed at me.
“Right you are! Nice to meet you. I am Kent the Clown!” His voice was exaggerated, like a DJ of olde. “And I’m ready to amaze the birthday girl and all of your guests. I’m the master of magic tricks, the bringer of balloon animals, and the maker of your child’s dreams come true!”
And then he did a little pose, complete with spirit fingers.
So, not a clown mime, then.
Though, perhaps someone I shouldn’t bring near children . . . at least not until I asked for ID.
I'd just opened my mouth to ask for said ID, when an authoritative voice came from my left, up the front walkway.
“Polly?”
In horror, I turned to see my father, Judge Alan Alberton himself, walking toward us. Wearing a crisp shirt and black slacks, he was eyeing me and the clown. Hard.
“Father!” I exclaimed, painting on a smile wider than the clown’s. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
He stopped a few feet from the clown, giving him one more long look, then turned to me. “I received an invitation in the mail.”
He had? How could he have . . . Jeffrey. I’d sent him a mock-up of the invitation last week to ask if I could have a petting zoo in the backyard. He must have sent it to the judge.
My father’s gaze continued to move between me and the clown. “The invitation didn’t say anything about clowns.”
Yeah. No shit.
“Didn’t it?” My voice was high and tight. “This is Ryla’s birthday surprise. She LOVES clowns. Carlos here”—
“Kent,” not-Carlos murmured.
—“KENT!” I said loudly, correcting myself, “is the uh, minister of magic and the baker of balloons!”
Nope. That wasn’t it.
“The kids are going to love him!”
Keep going, Polly! In for a penny, in for a pound!
“Ryla will be thrilled to see you!” I lied. “Please, come inside.” Realizing I’d been twisting my earring, I dropped my hand to my side and stepped back, waving my father inside. It should be troubling how easy the lies came to me, but I’d spent a lifetime lying to this man. He practically harrumphed and strode past me.
“The refreshments are in the kitchen!” I shouted after him, wide smile in place. My smile fell immediately after turning to find that the clown had also begun to make his way inside.
“Not so fast!” I hissed, stepping in front of him as he was about to cross the threshold. I put my hand to his stomach, effectively blocking him. I almost reared back because his abs were rock hard.
Apparently, this clown went to the gym.
Shaking off the weird thought, I took a quick glance behind me to make sure the coast was clear, then glared at Carlos the Creeper, lowering my voice.
“Look, Carlos,” I started, then seeing the clown open his mouth, I shook my head. “I mean Kent. Whatever your name is. If you were hired by the company, great. I wanted a magician, but who the hell cares. I’m only letting you in the house to save face with my father. If you scare or hurt anyone, including but not limited to my children or any other child here, I will cut your balls off with a razor and feed them to the goats out back, you got me?”
The clown’s face went slack. Satisfied, I stepped back, removing my hand from his washboard abs, and nodded.
“Fantastic.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “Party’s through here.”