McMahon sat in the car at the port, watching Pierrot being strung upside down from a mast of a ship on the docks. When that task was completed, he got out of the car and headed toward the hangar. McMahon could hardly be prepared for the group of men he would encounter as he walked toward the end of the hangar, where Pierrot had said he would find Rose.
He passed a clown standing with his skullcap on and his large pants unbuckled, smoking a broken cigar and juggling plates.
There was a clown with his poodle. It was white and middle-aged. You could tell that it had worked long and hard for a living. The clown had a tiny rag that he dipped into warm water to remove the gunk around his dog’s eyes—as if he were removing its clown makeup.
A clown was dressed as a black chimney sweep. He had covered his face with black soot and carried a little broom over his head. Tears made pathways down his dark cheeks.
There was a clown spreading muscle relaxant all over his arms and legs while smoking a cigarette. There was a lot of chain-smoking. The rooms were filled with little clouds of cigarette smoke, as if it might suddenly start to rain.
Another was balancing a stack of ten hats on his head. He had his jacket off, and he wore a fake belly under his suit to appear corpulent and well fed. He was actually very skinny—he could barely afford to feed himself.
Another clown, dressed in a black suit he had bought for a deal from the undertaker, was playing a tiny trumpet. Another was playing the violin, trying to pick up the trumpet player’s tune. Another clown appeared to levitate an inch off the ground.
One clown, who had his hair pulled into triangles on the top and sides of his head, began singing inscrutable words in a low and magnificent voice.
They were all babbling in gibberish. There was no universal clown language. Every clown spoke his own particular tongue and had his own odd dialect. One sounded like he had a piece of electrical tape over his mouth. Another spoke as though he had something hot in his mouth. Their speech varied from sounding like a record played backward to a bicycle horn being honked. McMahon felt annoyed and frustrated. He wished to God they would all just speak English. He tried to ignore them as he walked past.
The huge desk was covered in stacks of paper. And there she was in front of him, sitting on the chair behind it. She looked like a million bucks, wearing a black velvet dress, with a white silk scarf tied in a knot at her neck. It was as though their breakup had not affected her at all.
“How did you finally find me?” she asked.
She was so calm. It was strange how different she now looked. She was older. She had become much more beautiful. He was appalled that she would sit across from him acting as if she were his equal.
“Your husband told me where you were.”
“Where is he?” Rose asked, showing some alarm finally.
“What a ridiculous fool you’ve aligned yourself with.” McMahon’s anger surprised even himself. “I couldn’t believe it when he told me that he had a wife named Rose, and I put two and two together. I mean, in what universe does a lowlife junkie and a man like me share a lover? It’s so fucking ridiculous. It’s a tragedy that makes me laugh. What would you call such a thing?”
“A comedy.”
“No, my darling. This is no comedy. If you actually think that you’re going to have a happy ending with that piece of shit, you are out of your mind.”
“Where is he?”
“You must have had a laugh when he sold me that apple. Your husband owes me. He fucking owes me!”
She was afraid to move her hands or to pick up anything. She was worried that her hands would shake. Her heart was beating too quickly. He was in control now. He had Pierrot. She wasn’t allowed to say what she wanted. She might as well have a nylon stocking tied around her head, gagging her, and her hands fastened behind the chair.
“Pierrot didn’t know about our relationship. He never set out to dupe you.”
“What didn’t I give you? You ruined my life. You ruined my wife’s life. Weren’t you supposed to be friends? Don’t act like a victim. I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you do. I couldn’t walk down the hallway of my house without running into you half-dressed and acting like a dog in heat.”
Rose just looked at him.
“I’m embarrassed for you. I’m embarrassed for myself. It’s disgusting.”
They stared at each other. Full of hatred but with a visceral awareness that they had been naked and carnal with each other.