Clown in Hades by Jill Zeller SMASHWORDS EDITION ****** PUBLISHED BY: J Z Morrison Press on Smashwords Clown in Hades Copyright © 2011 by Jill Zeller Cover art by http://depositphotos.com Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Clown in Hades
“We were dead but we didn't notice.” Orphee, Jean Cocteau's Orpheus, 1950.
Mom's cooking killed Dad. Even now the smell of bacon slithered under Ilise's bedroom door as Mom prepared a cholesterol-laden feast of eggs and bacon and buttered toast. On the wall above her bed, as if he had been executed and left as an example, Dad's face beamed in his clown makeup, preserved for all eternity on black velvet. Pulling on her robe Ilise tied the belt around a waistline sweated for and paid for by Orrie's royalties. She hadn't touched bacon in five years. Barefoot, she followed the worn carpet down the hall to the kitchen. In a sweat suit of pink and blue with a jeweled cat on front, her mother stood beside the toaster, waiting for the English muffins to pop. Her breasts pushed out the cat's ears. Her buttocks mounded under the sweat pants. How could Mom let herself go like that? “Hostility, that's what it is, plain and simple. Hatred. Vituperation.” Mom spoke to the radio. She listened to NPR day and night. The cat Chichi lounged on one of the place mats. Orrie would have hated the cat being on the table. Ilise thought of Orrie's long fingers, his hair sweeping her breasts as he raced his tongue down her belly. When was the last time he had done that to her? Not since he started banging that girl who called herself a poet, that neurotic skinny damaged skank. “Want some juice?” A giant glass of orange juice appeared next to the live cat's tail. Mom hadn't washed last night's mascara out of her eyes. “I got up early to make you breakfast.” “Thanks.” It did taste good in Ilise's throat, scraped from wine and crying and the wind through the open window of her car as she drove here last night. “So when is that asshole going to beg you to return?” Mom gave her a sidelong glance as she mashed the eggs trying to turn them over. Ilise would have used the pan to flip them. “I don't know, ma. Maybe this is the end.” “If you'd'a had kids this would never have happened.”
As if her mother knew the wisdom of Gaea. Children solved all the problems of the world. Outside, the gray sky spat rain driven sideways on the bay wind, a wind carrying disquieting fears Ilise couldn't quite name. The photo album lay on the table under the cat; placed there like the family bible, it chronicled the sanctified ruins of Ilise's parents and their life in the circus. Pushing Chichi aside, Ilise opened it and saw her father's curly blond hair and blue eyes, dimples punctured his cheeks —her own features. Beside him stood a slimmer, alluring Mom. Together in their wedding photo, airbrushed with browns and greens, they looked like Greek gods. In their costume photo, Dad in his clown makeup, and Mom in her bareback rider merry widow, they resembled denizens of a faerie world, trickster and vamp. Mom loved to tell the story of how she was dating Antonio when Randy the clown, fresh from clown school, swept her off her feet, so to speak. She was on a rope twirl when Randy somersaulted across the ring beneath her. As she slid down the rope, her foot landed between his legs just missing his crotch. “I'm going up to Freddie's tonight to meet the girls and play cards.” Mom stretched her arms behind her, pulling the ears of the sweat shirt cat onto her shoulders. “Why don't you come with us? You can't sit around here all the time.” Ilise looked at her expensive pedicure. At least she had gotten her hair cut the day before she stormed out of the house. Finding a decent hair stylist in Milpitas was going to be a challenge. “Ma, I'll be fine. Orrie might call.” “Oh yeah, right.” Sarcasm was Mom's refuge. “He's going to call. Listen, Ilise. He is glad to see the back of you. He just couldn't throw you out on his own. Having that girl was just an excuse.” Orrie was good at excuses for his shortcomings. Excuses for not calling. Excuses for standing her up. Excuses for disappearing. But he could honey her up, make love, make her his
queen once more. After all, didn't she get the cars and the money and the clothes? Hadn't he paid for her cooking school? Wasn't he the best lay she ever had? “I'm going to take a shower.” Last night when Ilise was standing on the porch with her suitcase after driving from San Francisco, she could see Mom struggling not to say “I told you so.” She still hadn't said it, but Ilise shuddered to think that Mom now believed her own daughter was a junior member of Mom's bitter club of ex-wives. “I'm not leaving him,” Ilise said as Mom disappeared down the hall. “I'm just taking a break.” It was nearly midnight. Mom had gone to bed. Ilise put on her shoes and went out the door. Orrie did not call today. Ilise emptied the last of the viognier she had brought with her into her glass. She couldn't shake the feeling of entrapment; if she didn't get out of the house and walk the several blocks to the 24-hour Safeway, she would never get home. The night was cold, rain absent, starry night a stern substitute. Ilise wished she had brought her coat. She wished she could decide what to do. It was as if the air of Milpitas had stolen her will. The houses all looked like her mother's house, minivans in the driveways and old hatchbacks on the lawns. Blinds drawn against the monotony of the view. She got to the end of the block and turned left. From under a parked car a cat darted. A dog barked sharply, silenced by a shout. Above, constellations proclaimed their names to her. Orion the Hunter. Scorpio. She was very cold. At the corner she turned right. From here she should see the lights of the red Safeway sign. But the street stretched into suburban oblivion. Ilise stopped, considering how much she had forgotten. How would Orrie find her in this maze of identical streets and houses? She fingered her cell phone in her pocket. She could call and say nasty things to him then hang up, but when she hit his instant dial key, nothing happened. Under the glow of a streetlight she looked at the phone. The battery was dead.
Turning back she went the other way, thinking she would find the main drag, but she stood on a curving street of houses like her mother's. Trees held up bare arms to the sky. Clouds tumbled overhead, breathed over the stars. “God dammit, where the hell is it?” Ilise turned another corner, following a curving avenue. A car drove past, but she was afraid to flag it down. The smell of juniper huddled a parking strip stung her nose. She always hated that smell. Walking rapidly, her chest tight, she came to where the street tee'd into another one. Turn left. Which ever comes first, Mom's house or Safeway, I'll be safe somewhere. Another block, another turn, running, her thighs tingling with anxiety, she rounded a corner and saw the house, her fancy car, brand new, nearly out of gas, parked in front of the green stucco. She let herself in, breathing heavily. How stupidly weird, forgetting where the main street is. The house smelled of the pizza they'd had for dinner, or rather Mom had; Ilise ate mushrooms and green onions and sun-dried tomatoes off her slice, leaving the mozzarella and crust for the garbage can. She must be losing her mind. Going down the hall she fell onto her bed and stared at the slate sky, pricked with random stars. Then she got up and plugged in her phone. The next morning Ilise heard her mother talking loud as if she were on the phone. The bathroom mirror told Ilise she looked like roadkill. The shower was like snow, burning her skin, shoving her self-pity down her throat. When she got to the kitchen sitting at the table was a man in a Hell's Angels t-shirt. His goatee and clean skin made it hard to guess his age. 25 going on 45? A denizen of the local Harley shop? “Hello,” he said, taking in her short kimono. Either her mother had a lover twenty years younger or she was already setting Ilise up with a date. Ilise looked at the clock. 2:17pm. “Is that the time?” she said to the coffee maker, and it blinked agreeably at her.
“You slept in a bit.” Mom opened a cupboard, brought down a can of Folgers. No wonder the coffee tasted like cat piss. “This is Herc. He lives next door. He's going to help me with the trim around the back door.” “Oh, great.” Relief went through her like a knife, twisted inside the next moment. “Ma, who were you talking to on the phone?” Her mother squinted. “Oh, that was Orrie. He wanted to know--” “Why didn't you wake me?!” Ilise's voice pounded in her ears. “I wanted to talk to him!” “Maybe I'd better go get my stuff.” Herc pushed back his chair. Mom laid a hand on his shoulder. “Now wait a minute. Finish your beer.” Her voice took on a kind, sweet tone. “Orrie just wanted to know where the electric screw driver was. He knew you'd used it on the new kitchen hardware.” Ilise sagged against the counter, turned her face away from Herc, held his beer bottle in front of his face. Damn that Orrie. She was going to drive over there and use the electric drill on him. Mom poured tablespoons of coffee into the filter. “Oh, and he asked for my address. Seems he wants to come over to talk.” The counter dampened under Ilise's fingers. She shifted her feet. “Did you give it to him?” Her mother gave her the same withering look Ilise had seen her give her father all the times he dared to doubt her. “What do you think?” “I honestly do not know. I never know what amuses you to tell the man I am married to and the man you explicitly detest, as you told him at our wedding.” Ilise looked at Herc. “I recall her exact words: 'young man, your hair is too long and your car is too expensive and I'm sure your dick has been in places even a dog wouldn't go, and if you do anything to hurt my daughter I will be at your door with scissors and a scalpel and you will sing soprano the rest of your life.'”
Herc choked on his drink of beer. Anger painted Mom's cheeks scarlet. “I never said any such thing. If he told you that he's a worse cocksucker than your father, and that's a comparison I wouldn't wish on Saddam Hussein.” “Why did I ever come back here? I have enough money in my purse right now to stay at the Four Seasons for a week.” Ilise stomped toward the kitchen door, her bowels turning to water. As she walked out she heard her mother's voice. “If you want to know, ungrateful progeny of a clown, I told him my address, and he said he would drive down tomorrow.” From the living room she heard Herc telling Mom he had to go to the hardware store for screws. “Wait a minute.” Ilise ran to catch him. “Can you give me a ride to the Safeway?” He waited while she dressed. Yoga pants, tight tank top and hoodie. She half-expected to see a Harley in the driveway, but a pickup—little wheels, hugging the ground— squatted next to her car, which she was afraid to drive until she got some gas. She slid into the front seat. The car stank of cigarettes, and Herc pushed in the lighter as soon as he started the engine. “You're married to that rock star guy, right? The one who gives out all the free tickets to his concerts?” Herc looked into the mirror next to Ilise as he started to back out. “I have one of his CDs, I think.” “Uh huh.” “I think I saw your picture in the paper with him one time.” Herc eased the pickup out into the street. “You know your Mom is pretty proud of that. Even though she pretends to hate the guy, she has all his CDs and a box of clippings with your pictures in it.” Ilise said nothing. Her mother might detest Orrie, but she thought Ilise had married a more successful asshole than she had. Tears stung as she thought of how hard Dad had tried, and if he went out with women during the years before he died, what was the harm? Ilise caught herself forgiving Dad for doing to Mom what Orrie was doing to her. Her mother never forgave.
She would get a salad at the Safeway deli and stay away from Mom for an hour or so. But as they reached the end of the street Herc's engine quit. He coasted to the curb and turned the key, depressing the pedal. The pickup was dead. Battery, Herc lamely proclaimed, after opening the hood and jiggling wires. Something kept her in this suburban labyrinth from which she would never escape. Was it Mom's wretched indignation, Ilise's private disgrace? The cold sun provided no answer. Ilise walked back to her mother's house, did her nails, ironed her clothes, made dinner using whatever was in the kitchen: chicken, salsa, olives, curried couscous. Her mother thought it was strange but delicious. As long as she was trapped here, she may as well do something about it. In a box near the entrance to the crawl space, Ilise found her father's make-up kit. Taking it to her room, she opened the box and pulled out the paints and a collar he had worn with a distorted paisley tie. A fuchsia wig. She tried them on before the mirror, colored her face as white as an icy moon trying to outrun clouds skimming across the bay. She needed to add a necklace and a garish floral housecoat to her costume. Getting into her car in her clown makeup, she backed out of the driveway. She night have enough gas to make it. After midnight the Safeway staff should not be surprised to see a half-dressed clown walk through its doors to buy flowers and a mop head and a t-shirt proclaiming I love Milpitas. As she drove the rain splashed on her windshield and the wind exhaled on her. The tight fear in her gut loosened a notch. As she turned the corner a cat ran in front of the car and she felt the heart-sickening bump. Slamming the brakes, stalling, she opened the door and leaped out. An orange form streaked away and vanished under a parked car. Getting on her hands and knees, Ilise saw the cat crouched angrily, hissing. It appeared unharmed but shaken. Satisfied it was all right, Ilise got
into her car and drove back to her mother's house, expectation of a night running around as a clown shattered. She felt as if she were drowning and Orrie stood on the shore, watching. She slept badly, up early. Orrie was coming today. Water puddled the yard and street. The clipped boxwood front of the house supported the branch of a nearby eucalyptus. She made the coffee strong—at least it was tolerable that way. Dressing carefully, she was buoyed by the thought of Orrie on his knees, distraught, sleepless, half-drunk with sorrow at her leaving him. She could still make it to the store for the floral housecoat before he came. She was writing a note to her mother when she heard a voice calling from the bedroom. Her mother lay on the bed, curled in blankets, her face pale. “I think I have the flu,” she said, her voice hoarse from vomiting. “Will you stay with me?” Ilise's heart sank like a stone. She needed to get to that store, somehow. It had become the goal of the Sierra Madre, a mountain of gold, but instead she stayed to make her mother weak tea and toast. Mom ate two bites then struggled to the bathroom and Ilise listened to her retching. When Mom came back to bed she looked like a corpse. “It's all that shit you eat.” Ilise wiped Mom's forehead and talked her into a few sips of peppermint tea. “Mom, why did you and daddy really break up. I mean, was it because he was messing around?” “He couldn't keep his dick in his pants.” Mom closed her eyes. Pushing a strand of yellow hair out of her mother's mouth, Ilise said, “Did he leave you after all?” Mom's shoulders raised up and down. “Who knows who leaves first? One thing leads to another. Sometimes, you just look the other way. You don't dare look back.” Mom closed her eyes. The rain returned to lash the house and lawn, throwing up a gray screen against the world. In her mini skirt and flowing shirt, Ilise paced the living room. A cloud of fear entered the
house with the storm. Hours dragged, the house darkened, still Orrie had not come. Ilise changed her clothes. The clown suit soothed Ilise. Mom felt better, sipped 7-up. She took in Ilise's collar, fuschia wig, painted eyelashes and cheeks.“You going out dressed like that?” The rain held back as Ilise ran as if the fear-storm propelled her, to the corner where she had hit the cat. It was no longer under the car and the avenue stretched vacantly away, curving to the left. The fuschia wig ruffled in a gust of wind. She stood in the middle of the street, a clown in a big red coat, bound to the asphalt, her father's big clown-shoes on her feet. This place, this abode of evil spirits, teased her mind. As she stood in the street a silver compact came around the corner. At that moment the rain renewed its attack until Ilise's makeup ran and wet seeped through the seams of her jacket. She did not move from her spot in the street. The car approached and slowed. A tinted window rolled down only enough for the driver to speak. “What are you doing standing out here in the street, babe?” Orrie's voice. Her heart tried to take a leap, missed the bar, slid down the rope to the sawdust. “I was looking for something.” “I thought I would never find you. I've been driving around this stupid place for hours, trying to find your mother's house. ” Orrie sounded like he had a cold or started smoking again. “How do you people ever find your way home?” “I can't seem to get out of here either.” She laughed, and she heard him laugh too. “It's as if I'm trapped here forever. I grew up here and it wants me back.” Ilise heard Orrie unlock the car doors. “Get in, babe. I'll take you home.” Ilise didn't move. “My home is in San Francisco. Is that where you're going to take me?” “I love you, Ilise. I don't want anyone else but you.” He sighed and coughed. “I told that girl to get lost. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”
An apology from Orrie. What a novel thing. He pushed open the passenger door, but she didn't want to sit next to him. She slid in the seat behind him. “I'll come back with you, but I don't know what I'm going to do yet.” His hair, pulled back in a sloppy pony tail looked as if he hadn't washed it in days. “Let's have a kid, Ilise. I want to have a kid with you.” The car moved down the street. He turned the wipers on. Ilise looked through the window and saw the orange cat on a front step and as they drove past the door opened and somebody let him in. “I'll think about it. I want to do something else first, maybe clown school.” “I'm afraid to look at you, Ilise,” Orrie said as he drove. She wondered if he remembered the way out of here. “If I look at you, the world will end or something. Isn't that crazy? I should write a song about that.” “You can look at me. I'm a clown, you know.” Ilise touched the back of his head. The car moved slowly through the rain. At the end of the street, the Safeway sign burned through the rain. Night settled on everything, but the street ahead blazed with beauty and sparkle. Ilise's breath stalled in her throat. If they could only get to that glowing midway, she would know what to do. She heard Orrie's voice crack as he talked about what their future. She leaned forward, gripping the back of the seat. What had her mother said? Sometimes you can never look back. Taking out a checkered hankie she wiped the makeup off her face. Rain pounded outside, lights from the main drag wavered in the flood. Orrie stopped the car. “Ilise, I know why I am afraid to look at you.” No, don't! Keep driving! The paint smelled like oil and flowers. Ilise pulled the wig off her head and waited, rooted like the frightened cat, her hand on the door handle. Orrie's head began to turn slowly, a ventriloquist's dummy.
A galaxy of tears revolved in his eyes, or maybe it was hay fever. His glowing eyes were the last thing she saw before she found herself walking through her mother's door, Herc's pick-up in the driveway. She took off the fuschia wig and shook the water out of it. Even if she was stuck here for all eternity, she could entertain the neighbors. Even Hades needed clowns.
If you liked this one, see more of Jill Zeller's work on her Smashwords and Amazon author pages.