Shotgun Nanny (3 page)

The door opened.

And so did her mouth, tongue only partly retracted.

Cool blue eyes, stubborn jaw, brick-wall chest. The guy from Granville Island.
Of
all the joints in all Vancouver, I have to walk into to this one….
She nearly giggled hysterically. Brick wall was looking her up and down, noting the suitcase in her hand. He glanced behind her warily and only then opened the door fully.

“Mark Saunders.” He extended his hand.

He doesn’t recognize me.
Relief shot through Annie. She went into her clown routine in high gear, suddenly thankful for the hot wig, hot suit, hot shoes, heavy greasepaint.

Behind the human wall, a gaggle of young girls gathered, gawking at Annie.

“Gertrude Smell-So-Good,” she shrieked in her Gertrude voice. If that voice was a little more manic than usual, she was the only one who’d know. “Here’s my card!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a big plastic rectangle with her name emblazoned on it. As Mark Saunders reached for it, she squeezed the side, and a jet of water shot into his face. The girls shrieked with laughter—they always did. Nothing made them laugh harder than watching their parents get made fools of.

“Ha, ha.” He wiped his face with his hand, still standing in front of Annie, preventing her from entering. “That’s not the name I was given,” he whispered fiercely.

“It’s my stage name,” Annie whispered back. “Anne Parker is my real name.”

He looked a little foolish and backed away.
Here we go again,
Annie thought as she waddled past him and gave her attention to the girls.

“I hear there’s a birthday going on,” she shrieked. “Now don’t tell me, let me use my magic divining wand to guess who the party girl is.” She fumbled in her oversize pockets, watching while the girls snickered and kept glancing toward one slight, darkhaired girl who hung back, blushing.
Bingo.

Annie pulled out a long plastic rod and made a performance of running it in the air around each of the girls before approaching the shy one. She squeezed the bottom of the rod when she waved her wand over the blushing girl’s head, and it lit up and played

“Happy Birthday.”

Gertrude jumped in the air. “The birthday girl, and don’t tell me your name, let me guess….” She waved the wand around, hitting it on her head to make the music stop, then pretended to listen to it. “Ethel!” she cried.

The girls shouted with laughter.

“Oh, dear, that’s not it. Wait a minute.” She banged the wand against her head again and listened. “Amelia!” she yelled.

Another storm of laughter.

Again she hit her head with the wand and listened. “Ah, Emily.”

The girl blushed more rosily and nodded in a totally adorable way. All the girls were talking at once. Annie turned to ask Emily’s father to lead her to where he wanted the performance.

She surprised him watching the shy girl with a smile on his face. It lit him up, that smile.

“Where do you want the show?” she whispered.

When he saw she was staring at him, the smile disappeared. “Right this way,” he said, and led the way down the hall, through a space-age kitchen and into a family room complete with bookshelves, TV, fireplace and masses of balloons and streamers. The maple furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room to leave Annie space for her performance, which was a magic show where she pretended to botch most of the tricks.

She had a great audience. The girls loved it, and there was lots of loud participation. When she said she was going to pull a red scarf out of her hat and instead came up with an egg, she knew, when she turned around looking puzzled, most of the girls would yell at once that the red scarf was hanging down the back of her pants.

Annie was surprised that Emily’s father stayed in the room to watch the show. She wondered briefly where the mother was. She’d assumed the guy on Granville Island was single, maybe because of the brief tingle of excitement she’d felt when she bumped into him. It was strange and oddly disappointing to think of him with a family.

From in front of the group, she watched both father and daughter. Emily smiled a lot, giggled occasionally but never laughed outright. The father watched his daughter more than the clown. Annie sensed both pride and something almost like sadness when he gazed at his child.

“Now, girls, for my grand finale, I’ll need help from everyone.” She was handing out balloons as she spoke. “I want each of you to blow up your balloon, nice and big, and tie on a piece of ribbon. Emily and I will be back in a moment with a big surprise.”

Annie held out her hand to a stunned Emily, who glanced nervously at her father before accepting Annie’s hand. In the other hand, Annie carried her suitcase. “We need to go somewhere where no one will see us change. A bedroom or bathroom?”

“We can go to my room.”

“Great, lead on.” Annie still held the girl’s hand in her own. It was a small hand, fine-boned and fragile.

Emily’s room was predictably pink and white. Neat as a pin, with a violin case in the corner. Annie hefted her suitcase onto the frilly bedspread and snapped it open. She pulled out a child’s wig and one-size-fits-all child’s clown suit. “Put these on as quick as you can,” she called over her shoulder, tossing the things behind her. She grabbed false glasses and nose, then two silver and gold capes.

“What’s

the

matter?”

Emily stood stalk still, holding the wig in trembling hands. “I can’t!” she whispered.

“Can’t what?” Annie asked.

“I’m scared. At school, when the teacher made me stand up and introduce myself…I threw up,” she admitted with the air of one making a grievous confession.

Annie smiled. “Emily may fall apart in front of people,” she said heartily, “but Guinevere Get-Out-of-Here isn’t afraid of anything or anybody. You put that costume on and you will be a different person.”

Annie took the orange-and-green wig out of the child’s hands, pulled it over her ponytail and eased it over her ears while she talked. “See, each clown has her own personality. Once you’re all dressed up, you look in the mirror, and it’s not you anymore. It’s Guinevere. And you become Guinevere. That’s what’s so great about being a clown.”

The girl’s big eyes were fixed on Annie’s while she pulled on the clown suit and fastened the cape. Annie didn’t usually bother with makeup for the birthday child, but she sensed Emily needed all the help she could get. She dug in the suitcase for her makeup kit and painted a huge red smile and a few thick black lashes around the child’s eyes. “Now the fake nose and glasses,” she said, holding them out.

The girl stood motionless for a moment, biting her lip, but finally reached out and put them on. Annie turned her to the mirror, and Emily gasped, then giggled.

“See, everybody laughs at a clown. When your friends see you they’ll laugh so hard their sides will hurt. You and I, we’ll take advantage of that. We’ll make them do something real silly, then they’ll laugh some more. Trust me, you won’t be shy, you’ll be Guinevere. Here.” She handed Emily a pair of huge polka-dot gloves.

“AND NOW, my assistant, Guinevere Get-Out-of-Here.” With a flourish, Annie ushered the shrinking Guinevere into the family room. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Mark Saunders lean forward and surreptitiously grab a wastepaper basket from the corner. He, too, must have heard the throwing-up story.

Guinevere waddled into the room and was greeted by an explosion of mirth. Under the cover of all that noise Annie whispered, “You see, you
are
Guinevere.”

Emily was one of the quietest assistants she’d ever had, but she didn’t throw up, so Annie figured this was probably good for her. She let her off the hook, and everybody clapped loudly as she took her seat on the floor with the others.

“Okay, girls, you’ve been a great audience. Happy birthday, Emily.” Annie went into her standard exit routine where she pretended to trip so she could fall on the floor and somersault out the door.

She took a huge, theatrical step forward, brought her left foot to tangle with her right, launched herself into the air.

But she didn’t hit the floor.

In a blur of motion and thudding impact, she found herself in the arms of Mark Saunders. Those solid arms she remembered so well were rescuing her again. “It’s part of the act, you idiot,” she whispered. “Now we’ll both have to pretend to trip and somersault.”

“But…” Inches from her face, his eyes looked perplexed.

“Now!” she ordered. She pushed out of his arms and tried to roll, but he got knocked off balance and fell half on top of her.

The pair of them rolled and struggled helplessly on the floor, a flailing mass of polka dots, jeans, purple hair and plaid shirt. The girls thought it was a great exit and laughed harder than ever.

“Welcome to show business,” Annie panted, blinking her huge spiky eyelashes into the face inches above her own. He was so embarrassed his craggy face looked like somebody had carved a modern Rushmore out of red clay.

“I don’t know how to do a somersault.”

“Figures,” she gasped. “If you could move off me I might one day be able to breathe again.”

He scrambled to his feet and helped Annie rise. “Oh, well,” she said brightly—he was a paying customer after all, “no harm done. Do you want to pay me now?”

He shot a quick glance toward the bedlam in the family room, and Annie almost laughed. He looked like a hunted animal with nowhere to hide. “Do you have to leave right away?” he asked.

“Well, the show is an hour—I’m already over my time.”

“Please, I’ll double your fee, triple it, if you’ll stay and help me with the rest of the party.”

She did feel a little sorry for him. Experience told her the hilarity was approaching the peeing-the-pants stage. As though he sensed her weakening, he added,

“My housekeeper was supposed to help, but she had to go home sick yesterday.”

Somehow, he was so serious and so desperate standing there, all muscles and heman tough, totally outclassed by a few eight-year-olds, that she felt kind of sorry for him.

“You did say triple?”

He smiled his relief. It was a great smile. That smile did things to her that usually only happened with men like Humphrey Bogart and Gary Cooper. “I’ll make the check out now. Pizza’s in the oven.” Then he disappeared down the hall so fast she thought she’d imagined him.

Oh, well. The triple check would help fund her vacation.

Which was postponed for three weeks. Bobbie had left a message on her service that she’d landed a couple of weeks of work on a TV series. Which was great for Bobbie’s career, not so good for the clown with itchy feet. In her usual impulsive way, she’d already turned down every clown booking for the next two months. She might just have to go on ahead to Asia and let Bobbie catch up.

“Okay, girls!” She clapped her huge clown hands to get their attention.

“Everybody visit the bathroom and wash your hands. Pizza’s up.”

Annie pulled off her huge gloves but left the rest of her costume on. Better not let Mark Saunders in on the secret of who she was or he might take back that triple check.

She took the pizza out of the oven. Pale green plates were neatly stacked on the counter—it looked like the family’s best china. She was delighted he wasn’t wasting precious trees by using fancy paper plates, but something about using the best china for his kid’s birthday party brought a quiver of sadness.

He was trying so hard.

She liked to see a divorced dad pulling his weight. She just wished he’d lighten up a little.

They pranced into the dining room—a noisy, colorful glob of girlhood. Guinevere Get-Out-of-Here had changed into Emily and quietly trailed the noisy mob like a moth following the butterflies.

Annie had the girls seated around the table and loaded with pizza and pop before Mark returned. She pulled up a chair and joined the party, which soon became a joke competition. Knock-knock jokes and what-do-you-get-when-you-cross jokes. Her sides were hurting long before the pizza trays were empty.

MARK HEARD the boisterous mob hit the dining table and managed to botch yet another check so he could extend this refuge in his office. They seemed to be doing fine without him.

When guilt overcame him, he reluctantly crept toward the noise. He couldn’t see the clown in the kitchen and felt a flicker of irritation. Shouldn’t she be getting the cake ready?

He peeked into the dining room and felt his eyes bug out. There, at the end of the table, his very expensive clown was acting like one of the guests. In fact, she fit right in with a bunch of kids. She was doing an impression of Jim Carrey in
The Mask.
At least, he thought that’s what those strange contortions were about. Her audience loved whatever it was, if the howls of glee were any indication.

He’d never seen an adult have so much fun—not that he was sure she qualified as an adult. Unable to help himself, he smiled. As he concentrated on her face, the expressive eyes flashing, it occurred to him that there was something familiar about her. It bothered him, the feeling that he knew her, it hovered in the air like a familiar fragrance he couldn’t identify.

His gaze swung around the table and stopped at Emily, who was laughing as hard as anyone. He stood there watching her, feeling the painful love build in his throat. His shy little niece was acting as demented as the rest of the kids. Christy would have been so proud of her.

“I have a joke,” Emily said in her quiet way.

The rest of the kids were being so noisy they probably hadn’t heard her. He wanted to shut them all up and make them listen to Emily. But as she started to pinken and retreat into her shell, Annie laughingly called, “Quiet, quiet, Guinevere-Get-Out-ofHere has a joke.” The smile she sent down the table to Emily suggested a shared secret. He watched the girl’s spine straighten.

“Why didn’t the boy take the school bus home?” she asked, reddening even more as everyone stared at her.

“I don’t know. Why didn’t the boy take the school bus home?” the clown repeated in the kind of theatrical buildup that would make the lamest punch line sound like a side splitter. She might be a complete nutter, but he appreciated the kindness behind the gesture.