Clown Mayhem

CLOWN MAYHEM

It was almost dinner time on Tuesday. I had just returned from the library, and was sitting on the couch in the living room, working on an assignment for school, when I heard quiet moans coming from the front hall closet. Concerned, I walked over, opened the door, and much — very, very much — to my surprise, found my roommate Callie curled up on the floor of the closet.

“Callie” I said. “What’s going on?”

I was immediately struck by two things. First, Callie was in the closet — a coat closet that we used for our winter coats and boots — lying in the fetal position, her eyes closed. And second, she was dressed like a clown. I don’t mean mismatched clothes, I mean an actual clown, including the face makeup, giant shoes, and funky red wig — the whole deal.

“I can’t breathe very well,” she said, not opening her eyes.

“It might have something to do with this,” I said as I leaned over and removed the big red nose covering her nostrils.

She opened her eyes and looked at the red monstrosity in my hand, but said nothing.  

“It’s hard to move,” she said, her eyes again closed.

I looked down at the voluminous outfit.

“Probably because you’re all wrapped up in your, um, clothes.”

Without opening her eyes, she felt around her body.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered, a grimace crossing her features.

“Here,” I said, leaning in and extending my hand. “I can help you out.”

Surprisingly, she said, “No. I think I’m going to stay in here for a little bit. Shut the door please.”

I was concerned, but not call nine-one-one concerned. She was safe, clothed, and with friends. If she wanted to stay in the closet, dressed up like a clown, well, that was her prerogative. Who was I to judge?

I looked around the flat. Everything thing seemed to be in order. I checked Callie’s room — nothing out of the ordinary. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting — maybe tubes of clown makeup lined up on her dresser, or an extra-large shoe box for the clown shoes — but no, everything was as it was supposed to be.

I wandered back to the couch and sat looking at the closet door. Callie was still in there, quietly considering her predicament. I didn’t know what to do. If this was some type of psychotic break, I was in no way prepared to handle it. I was pre-med, but, seriously, that was just a bunch of science classes so far. No hands-on, and certainly no mental health training.

I was curious about what had happened, but more importantly, I wanted to make sure that Callie was unharmed. I was just getting up to go and talk to her again, when there was a knock on the front door. I glanced at the closet before checking the peep hole. It was Xander, Callie’s boyfriend. Maybe he knew what had happened.  

As I opened the door, and got a closer look at Xander, I knew that Callie wasn’t alone. Although he had changed his clothes, I could see the remnants of the white clown-face makeup around his hairline; the red face paint that had been an oversized smile, still stained the area around his mouth.

Before I even had the door completely open, he pushed his way in.

“Where is she? Where’s Callie? Is she alright?”

Xander pushed by me, looking around the apartment.

He turned to me.

“Where is she!”

He took a couple of steps towards me. Instinctively I stepped back.

He put his hands up in supplication. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just so worried. She’s not answering my texts. I called, and there’s no answer on her phone, and her mailbox is full.”

He tuned to look at me, worry and panic etched on his face.

“She’s here. I’ll ask her if she wants to talk to you.”

I walked over to the closet, and opened the door, and squatted down.

“Callie, sweetie, Xander’s here, and he’s really worried. Do you want to talk to him?”

She didn’t answer me right away. I could sense Xander standing behind me. 

“Sure.”

She tried to sit up, and I helped her get vertical.

“Do you want to come out of the closet now?”

“Okay.”

Xander and I helped her out of the closet, and led her into the living room. She stumbled over her giant shoes a number of times, and I was worried that she would face plant on the floor, but we finally got her to the couch. Xander gently removed the red wig, and set it on the coffee table after we all sat down.

I looked at both of them. Callie in full-on clown, and Xander with remnants of the same.  

“What happened to you two?” I said looking back and forth between them.

Xander looked at Callie. When she said nothing, he started telling their tale.

“We answered an ad. They would pay us fifty bucks, and all we had to do was show up at Wilson and Proctor streets at eleven a.m. They would supply the costumes. It was a flash mob,” said Xander.

“That's right," said Callie. "I remember. It also said that we had to know how to do the Thriller dance.”

I must have looked confused, so she continued. “You know, Michael Jackson, zombies, dark alley. It’s a classic, from like, 1983. I think my mom and dad have the album.”

 I vaguely remembered something from last Hallowe’en, so I nodded vaguely.

“We practiced all day yesterday, and we knew it by the time we went to the audition,” said Xander.

“There was a big room. There were about thirty of us all milling around. Then this lady came in — she said her name was Martha. She told us that we all had the gig, and that we were going to be part of a flash mob. She said that she was going to film it, and that we would probably go viral.” Callie took a breath. “Of course we wanted to go viral. That would be a great addition to our portfolios when applying for gigs.”

Both Callie and Xander were in the Drama/Theatre Arts program at the university. It was Xander’s major, and Callie’s minor. In fact, they had met first year during a production of Wicked, and had been together ever since.

“Okay,” I said, “So far it sounds pretty harmless. What happened next?”

“First, Martha had us all practice the dance together. We were a bit rough, but we all knew what we were doing,” said Callie. “She said it would look fantastic on film.

“Then she gave us our clown costumes, and showed us how put on our makeup. Martha said that we would get our money when we returned our clown costumes,” said Callie, looking down at her outfit. “I guess that was a lie.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

Xander took up the story. “She told us that we were going to to dance in the intersection and block the traffic in all directions. She promised us it would only be for a couple of minutes, and that we wouldn’t get in any trouble.” He sighed, and shook his head. “She said it would look really cool, because we weren’t zombies, but clowns.”

Callie and Xander looked at each other. Callie spoke up. “We all walked out the back door of the building and walked out to the corner. Martha said that she was going to film this, and that there were other cameras placed around the intersection, and that probably once we started dancing, people on the street would start filming as well. We waited until there was a break in the traffic, and we all rushed out into the intersection. She had this big boom box, and started playing Thriller, and we all danced.”

“Then it happened,” said Xander. “All of a sudden there was a commotion at the bank on the corner — the north corner at the intersection of Wilson and Proctor — exactly where we were. Then five other clowns ran out of the bank, into the intersection, then there were cops everywhere. They came screeching in from all different directions.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I said. “There were other clowns?”

“Yup,” said Xander.

I looked at them, questioningly.

“We were set up,” said Callie. “The flash mob was just a distraction. With thirty other clowns it’s easy to slip in and slip out.”

“Once the police showed up, we all sort of stood there for a couple of seconds, then scattered back onto the sidewalk.”

“I just wanted to get out of there,” said Callie. “But we were dressed like clowns. Our clothes were back in the room.”

“And the cops kept yelling, ‘Down on the ground, you clowns!’” added Xander.

Callie nodded her head, remembering.

“Some of the other clowns started running, and the police fired tear gas at us,” she said. “It was horrible. I couldn’t breathe, my eyes were watering. I was crying.” She looked at Xander, shaking her head. “And the cops came around, and zip-tied our hands behind our backs. They made us sit on the curb.”

“Yeah,” said Xander. “They wanted ID, but we couldn’t give it to them because our hands were zip-tied behind us.”

“It was humiliating. I had my ID in my bra. Some lady cop had to fish it out and look at it. Then she put it back. I’m burning this bra.”

“But that was after we were all herded into police vans and sent to the Boxer Arena. We had to sit on the floor, and wait to be identified and interviewed,” said Xander.

“We couldn’t get our clothes back. Something about forensics needing to analyze them.” Callie looked at me. She was so sad. “I had to take the subway home, dressed like this.”

“We were fingerprinted, and had our mugshots taken,” said Xander.

“It was humiliating,” said Callie. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to apply to law school. If they press charges, I’m done for.”

Callie's major was pre-law. She was taking a minor in drama/theatre arts because she thought it would help her during trials and litigation — enhance her acting ability. Now she wasn’t sure that she’d be accepted into law school. If she was charged …

“Why didn’t you come home with Xander?” I asked Callie.

“They separated us. I couldn’t find him. Once we were finished being interviewed, we had to leave.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Did you know that the subway is eight blocks from the arena? People were pointing and laughing at me. I’ve never been this embarrassed in my whole life.”

Xander took up his story.  

“I was one of the last people interviewed. Apparently I looked like one of the robbers. That’s pretty lame — we all looked like one of the robbers — same clothes, same makeup, same wig, same shoes, same nose. Anyway, I went straight home, changed and came right over.” He looked at Callie. “I was so worried about you.”

Xander hugged her against him. She gave him a wan smile.

I looked at Callie.

“But why were you in the closet? Why didn’t you get changed?

“I was confused and afraid,” she said.

I wasn’t following her logic.

“Afraid of what?”

“I was afraid that the robbers would come here, and get me.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

“Because of these,” she said, as she bent over, removed her giant left shoe, and took out a small velvet bag. She opened up the bag, and dumped the contents on the coffee table.

A handful of diamonds skittered across the surface, light refracting off of the prisms.

“What the hell, Callie!” said Xander. “You robbed the bank?”

She must have been feeling better because she looked exasperated. “I was with you, the entire time,” she said, rolling her eyes. “One of the clowns bumped into me, and dropped the bag. I picked it up to tell them they dropped it, but then the police showed up, so I put it in my shoe. It’s not like there wasn’t a lot of room down there.” She kicked the shoe lying on the floor.

“Why didn’t you give them to the police?” I asked.

“Because they would think I had robbed the bank. Then I would never get into law school.”

“What are you going to do with them,” I asked.

She shook her head.  

“I have no idea.”

We sat there looking at each other. I took out my phone and looked for any mention of the bank robbery. I read the article, and whistled.

“That was quite a haul!” I said. “The report says that it must have been an inside job, because the robbers knew exactly when this high-end jeweller to the stars was going to be in the bank to put the stones in his safety deposit box. He had over eleven million dollars in pre-cut diamonds. That’s a lot of rings.”

“And they know that I have one of their velvet bags of diamonds,” said Callie. “I’m screwed.”

Xander spoke up. “How would they know it was you? Seriously? We all looked exactly the same. We were all the same clown.”

“Did you notice anyone watching you when you came home?”

“Yes. Everybody. I was dressed like a ridiculous clown in the middle of the day, on a Tuesday. Every person I passed looked at me.”

“Did anyone follow you here?”

“I don’t know. I kept my head down, in case anyone recognized me.”

“What should we do about the diamonds?” asked Xander.

We all stared at the small, glittering pile of stones on the table.

“We should call the police,” I said.

Callie shook her head vehemently. “No! Way! I don’t want to go to jail!”

“You didn’t do anything, Callie. Just tell them the truth,” I said.

Before she could answer me, there was a pounding on the door.

“Callie Anderson! Police! Open the door!”

I rushed to the door as Callie scooped the diamonds into the bag, and stashed it down the back of the couch.

I looked through the peep hole, then back at Callie and Xander.

“It’s not the police," I hissed. "It’s two clowns!”