speaking in his clown voice to Michael.
"What's the matter? Is you scared of old Mister Bubbles?"
"Be better if Mister Bubbles stepped back a little," I
said.
Julie focused on me over Michael's shoulder. "What happened?"
"Mister Bubbles put Michael on the pony."
Julie stared at me, hugging Michael, patting his back.
Rosie continued to bark at Pepe.
"Mister Bubbles?"
"The clown," I said.
"He put Michael on the horse?"
"Yes," I said. "Pepe the pony."
Julie turned her head slowly toward Mister Bubbles. "You
dumb fuck," she said.
"Nice language," Mister Bubbles said, "in front of the
children."
"Fuck the children," Julie said. "Take your fucking pony,
and get the fuck out of here."
"Hey, lady, you hired me."
"Out," she said, her voice soaring, "get the fuck out."
I got a hand on Mister Bubbles's arm and led him away.
Pepe the pony came with him. He took no notice of Rosie, whose barking
had settled into a low steady growl.
"She owe you any money?" I said.
"She got no business talking to me like that," he said.
"I'm sure Pepe was shocked," I said. "Have you been paid?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, pardner, then I think it's time for you and Pepe
to mosey on down the trail."
He wanted to say something cutting, but it's hard to be
cutting when you're standing around in a rental clown suit, and I think
he realized that. He gave it up and took Pepe and headed for his truck.
When I put Rosie in the front seat of my car, and went
back to the party, it was over. One of the mothers was explaining to Julie
how Michael was just overtired, and everyone had really enjoyed it, and
thanks for inviting us. Julie had disentangled Michael enough so that she
could stand and say good-bye. He remained wrapped around her leg. There
was a gathering of children, a strapping of car seats, a slamming of car
doors and in a while it was just Michael and me and Julie. I went to Julie's
garage and got a trash barrel and brought it back and began to clean up
the cake and ice cream and paper plates. Julie sat down on one of the folding
chairs that tilted clumsily on the uneven lawn and began to cry.
"I don't blame you," I said.
The crying turned to sobbing.
"Don't you hate parties?" I said to Michael.
He stared at me silently.
"I always did," I said.
"I can't do it," Julie said. "I try so goddamned hard
and I can't do it."
Michael was no longer crying. He was very silent, standing
beside his mother.
"Nobody can." I said. "It's not your fault, it's not Michael's.
It's the way things work."
"Other people can have a damn party," Julie said.
"Not many," I said. "And you might not want to trade the
skills you've got for the skills that make good party givers."
"I just wanted him to have a party like other kids." Michael
was very silent.
"In your enthusiasm for blaming yourself," I said, "you
want to be careful that you don't spill some blame onto anyone else."
Julie raised her eyes and looked at me and then looked
at Michael. She hugged him to her and talked and sobbed simultaneously.
"I love you, honey," she gasped, with the tears bubbling
through her voice. "Mommy loves you."
I could see Michael's face over her shoulder. He didn't
look as if he entirely believed her.
CHAPTER 13
I found her at 1:15 in the morning on Dalton Street behind
the Prudential Center, handy to the big commercial hotels and the Hynes
Auditorium. She stood near the curb just up from the motor entrance to
the Sheraton, wearing white short shorts and heels and a sequined yellow
tank top. Clever outfit. She smiled automatically when I pulled in to the
curb. When I got out the smile went away, and she began once again to look
up and down the street.
"Millicent Patton?" I said.
She stared at me and didn't say anything.
"My name is Sunny Randall," I said. "I'm a detective.
Your parents asked me to bring you home."
Without a word she turned and started running down Dalton
Street toward Huntington. Not wearing fuck-me shoes, I caught her in about
ten steps. I
"What's the matter? Is you scared of old Mister Bubbles?"
"Be better if Mister Bubbles stepped back a little," I
said.
Julie focused on me over Michael's shoulder. "What happened?"
"Mister Bubbles put Michael on the pony."
Julie stared at me, hugging Michael, patting his back.
Rosie continued to bark at Pepe.
"Mister Bubbles?"
"The clown," I said.
"He put Michael on the horse?"
"Yes," I said. "Pepe the pony."
Julie turned her head slowly toward Mister Bubbles. "You
dumb fuck," she said.
"Nice language," Mister Bubbles said, "in front of the
children."
"Fuck the children," Julie said. "Take your fucking pony,
and get the fuck out of here."
"Hey, lady, you hired me."
"Out," she said, her voice soaring, "get the fuck out."
I got a hand on Mister Bubbles's arm and led him away.
Pepe the pony came with him. He took no notice of Rosie, whose barking
had settled into a low steady growl.
"She owe you any money?" I said.
"She got no business talking to me like that," he said.
"I'm sure Pepe was shocked," I said. "Have you been paid?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, pardner, then I think it's time for you and Pepe
to mosey on down the trail."
He wanted to say something cutting, but it's hard to be
cutting when you're standing around in a rental clown suit, and I think
he realized that. He gave it up and took Pepe and headed for his truck.
When I put Rosie in the front seat of my car, and went
back to the party, it was over. One of the mothers was explaining to Julie
how Michael was just overtired, and everyone had really enjoyed it, and
thanks for inviting us. Julie had disentangled Michael enough so that she
could stand and say good-bye. He remained wrapped around her leg. There
was a gathering of children, a strapping of car seats, a slamming of car
doors and in a while it was just Michael and me and Julie. I went to Julie's
garage and got a trash barrel and brought it back and began to clean up
the cake and ice cream and paper plates. Julie sat down on one of the folding
chairs that tilted clumsily on the uneven lawn and began to cry.
"I don't blame you," I said.
The crying turned to sobbing.
"Don't you hate parties?" I said to Michael.
He stared at me silently.
"I always did," I said.
"I can't do it," Julie said. "I try so goddamned hard
and I can't do it."
Michael was no longer crying. He was very silent, standing
beside his mother.
"Nobody can." I said. "It's not your fault, it's not Michael's.
It's the way things work."
"Other people can have a damn party," Julie said.
"Not many," I said. "And you might not want to trade the
skills you've got for the skills that make good party givers."
"I just wanted him to have a party like other kids." Michael
was very silent.
"In your enthusiasm for blaming yourself," I said, "you
want to be careful that you don't spill some blame onto anyone else."
Julie raised her eyes and looked at me and then looked
at Michael. She hugged him to her and talked and sobbed simultaneously.
"I love you, honey," she gasped, with the tears bubbling
through her voice. "Mommy loves you."
I could see Michael's face over her shoulder. He didn't
look as if he entirely believed her.
CHAPTER 13
I found her at 1:15 in the morning on Dalton Street behind
the Prudential Center, handy to the big commercial hotels and the Hynes
Auditorium. She stood near the curb just up from the motor entrance to
the Sheraton, wearing white short shorts and heels and a sequined yellow
tank top. Clever outfit. She smiled automatically when I pulled in to the
curb. When I got out the smile went away, and she began once again to look
up and down the street.
"Millicent Patton?" I said.
She stared at me and didn't say anything.
"My name is Sunny Randall," I said. "I'm a detective.
Your parents asked me to bring you home."
Without a word she turned and started running down Dalton
Street toward Huntington. Not wearing fuck-me shoes, I caught her in about
ten steps. I
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