Welcome to Anytown! At least, that's what the sign said. Apparently, Dirty Clown was welcomed with open arms by The Kiwanis Club, The Rotary Club, The Eastern Star, The Knights Of Columbus and The Demolay! Welcome!

Once upon a time there'd have been a brass band to greet him. The mayor would have extended his hand and given Dirty Clown a golden key to the city. And the crowds! Why, they'd have been blowing kisses and applauding and throwing fistfuls of streamers into the air. That's how it used to be. These days, though, Dirty Clown's star was tarnished. If he was lucky, the news of his shameful demise hadn't made it this far yet. He took some tentative steps inside the city limits and the bulbous toes of his comic boots clopped as he walked. Clop-Clop-Clop. He needed some cake.

"I can smell it," Dirty Clown said.

The scent of devilsfood cake drifted over the housetops and out across the tidy yards of Anytown.

"I can smell it."

Down into town he went, past Marv-N-Sons, Boldt's Furniture and the A&W. He noticed how they were all the same, these Anytowns. They had different names, but each one of them rose from a shared dream, one-hundred and twenty-five years ago or more. The settlers came with their divining rods and their seeds, bonneted women-folk and mules. Among them, there were masons who built sturdy three-story structures on all of Anytown's Main Streets. Red brick, mostly, with decorative cornices that rolled under and curly-cued. And at the top, chiseled with sweat into the very face of these buildings, were the names of their proud proprietors. H.P. Davis & Sons ... Kness & DeWitt. Sometimes it was just one word that spoke with elegant economy. Livery. Bank. Opera.

The town was mostly quiet now, folks were settling into bed and the only sound was the mean buzz of the streetlamps and the lonely whine of the long-haulers, still miles out on Highway 71. The cops were doing their job, making door-check rounds for the merchants. The smell of the devilsfood cake drove him onward, but ...

The bar was open!

There were a couple of cars and a pickup parked out front. Lots of folks parked in the back so as not be seen. Dirty Clown knew that inside those swingin' doors there was laughter and people and music and ... Oh, he wanted to go IN! Drink was calling him, but he musn't. He musn't!

"Maybe just a nip," Dirty Clown said, as he jaywalked across the street.

All of the sudden, red lights were flashing! A cop was stopping Dirty Clown!

"OK, buddy," Officer Kruller said, as he climbed out of his cop car and hitched up his britches. "That's jaywalking right there. Twenty dollar fine!"

Dirty Clown was blinded by all the red whirling lights. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself under the big top and he did a little of the old Baked Alaska.

"What was THAT?" Officer Kruller asked.

"Why," Dirty Clown said, as if surprised, "THAT, dear sir, was the Baked Alaska!"

"The what?" Officer Kruller unclasped the little leather protective snap over his service revolver.

"First, you wrap your arms around yourself and you shiver as if you're freezing from the cold," Dirty Clown said.

"Uh-huh," Officer Kruller replied, inching closer to Dirty Clown. Down the street a block or two, Officer Madsen noticed Officer Kruller's flashing lights and he swerved his police car around to assist.

"Secondly," Dirty Clown said, actually reveling the chance to explain the intricacies of the maneuver he had invented, "Secondly, you withdraw a book of Dirty Clown Matches™, remove a single match, strike it and light it."

"I see, I see" Officer Pflug said, as Officer Madsen pulled up and jumped out of his car to lend his hulking presence.

"Everything OK here?" Officer Madsen asked, and Officer Pflug nodded in the affirmative.

"Thirdly," Dirty Clown said," pleased that his audience had grown, you act as if suddenly you are no longer freezing. Instead, you act as if you are burning hot from the flame of the match!"

Officer Pflug looked at Officer Madsen and they both rolled their eyes. Dirty Clown continued his demonstration, undaunted.

"Then, Dirty Clown said, "You draw the back of your hand across your forehead, as if you are wiping away the sweat from the heat. It's very simple. Why, if you've done it correctly, at the completion of the trick the entire audience will yell in unison ...-

"Baked Alaska!" Officer Madsen said.

"Yes! YES! How did you know? Dirty Clown was surprised.

"Yeah," Officer Pflug said, how DID you know that?"

"Easy," Officer Madsen said. "I'm a weekend clown. I've learned a few tricks along the way."

"You? Officer Pflug said. A clown? Ha ha!"

"Yes, I am," Officer Madsen said, "and I'm proud of it."

"As you should be," Dirty Clown said.

"The Baked Alaska is one of my favorite clowning antics," Officer Madsen said. "It always gets a laugh."

"MY Baked Alaska inspires not only laughter," Dirty Clown said, "but, a sense of wonder, too, when performed correctly."

"Your ... Baked Alaska?" Officer Madsen said. "But, the Baked Alaska was invented ... by That Dirty Clown."

"At your service, sir," Dirty Clown said, bowing low like the court jester he was at heart.

"Ha ha haaaaaa," Officer Pflug laughed, "He thinks he's Dirty Clown!"

"Did you check his identification?" Officer Madsen asked.

"Uh, no, not yet," Officer Pflug said.

"I hardly need identification sir," Dirty Clown said. "Do you know anyone else that can do .... THIS?" And with that, Dirty Clown executed a nearly-flawless Tarkio Soufflet, faltering imperceptibly at the end. Only a seasoned hilariast would have noticed.

"The Tarkio ... " Officer Pflug said. stunned and amazed.

"Soufflet," Officer Madsen said.

"It's my clowning achievement™, and there's only one clown that can do it," Dirty Clown said.

"It really is, it's ... Dirty Clown," Officer Pflug said.

"It's Dirty Clown." Officer Madsen said.

They were quiet for a moment, those two cops and that clown. There in downtown Anytown, where the lights weren't bright enough to drown out the stars. They were all up there in heaven, shining down like a million little spotlights.

What now?!

Just old Johnny Sumpner, stumbling out of the bar and sprawling to the sidewalk on all-fours.

"You OK, Johnny?" Officer Pflug said. Johnny dusted himself off and looked at Pflug and Madsen and a bedraggled clown. He got to his feet and slapped his cap against his leg to knock the dust off. He pulled it back over his head and dismissed them all with a contemptuous wave of his hand.

"La dee dum da dohhh," old Johnny Sumpner sang, drunk as a bird in the elderberries. "Laaaaa dee dummmm dahhh dohhhhhhh!"

"Quiet down, Johnny!" Officer Madsen said. He couldn't help but giggle just a bit at the old timer's brazenness. He and Officer Pflug sort of looked after Johnny since his family was lost in the flood a few years back. Nowadays, Johnny stayed in Mae's Apartments, just a couple of blocks away. Officer Madsen was sure Johnny could get home all right. Just the same, he would stop by to check on him later.

"I heard about your troubles, Dirty Clown," Officer Pflug said. "You stay out of that bar, OK?"

"Certainly, sir," Dirty Clown said. "I was merely stopping in for a package of salted peanuts."

"You're hungry?" Officer Madsen pulled a paper bag from the interior of his police car. "I've got a ham sandw- "

"No, no," Dirty Clown said. "It's not a ham sandwich that I crave. It is devilsfood cake! Can't you smell it?" Both officers lifted their noses to the air. Then they shrugged, silently admitting that all they could smell was Ed Kaiser's hog lot, west of town.

"It's there!" Dirty Clown said. "It's there!" And with that, he turned and began to walk away.

"Dirty Clown!" Officer Madsen said. "Can you please -"

"No," Dirty Clown said, not bothering to turn around. "No autographs."

"But," Officer Madsen said, "I wanted you to sign my personal clown hat." Dirty clown stopped and sighed, then he turned around.

"Oh, all right, all right," Dirty Clown said. "To repay your leniency, I will sign your clown hat."

"Thank you, Dirty Clown," Officer Madsen said, lowering his head in humility and gratitude.

"How shall I sign it?" Dirty Clown asked.

"Well, uh" Officer Madsen said, a bit tongue-tied in the presence of a quad-county celebrity. "Please sign it ... To my good friend, Slappy. Slappy's my clown name."

"Good ... frrennnnd ... Sssllaaappy," Dirty Clown said, drawing out his words as he struggled to write neatly on the shifting material of the clown hat.

"Thank you. Oh, thank you," Officer Madsen said, his voice quavering as if he were about to weep.

"Your welcome," Dirty Clown said.

"Dirty Clown? Officer Madsen said, aware that he was becoming a pest. "Just ... one more thing?"

"What is it?" Dirty Clown said, not bothering to hide his impatience.

"The Tarkio Soufflet. No offense sir, but, I've heard there IS someone else who can do it."

"Nonsense!" Dirty Clown said, stomping a boot down for emphasis.

"Well I, I ..." Officer Madsen stammered, aware that he had aroused the great clown's ire. "I don't know exactly who it is. You hear talk. They say there's a young clown on the way up who knows all your tricks and more."

"Such a clown as me, there shall never be," Dirty Clown said.

Officer Madsen said nothing. A few feet away, Officer Pflug stared straight ahead, trying to tune out the discomfort of the moment.

Once more, Dirty Clown turned and walked away, around the corner and out of sight.

"All my tricks and more," Dirty Clown muttered under his breath. Clop clop clop clop. "Harumph." Why, the nerve of any clown to -

There it was again!

"I can smell it," Dirty Clown said. He walked faster now, down across South Street and past the Skelly station. He was getting closer! The scent of devilsfood cake was rich in his nostrils, pungent and dreamy. He felt giddy. Despite the countless miles he had logged on foot, through rain and cold and persecution, Dirty Clown felt his strength returning. If he could only have a bite. Just a bite! He was so close.

Down across the archery range and past the Jiffi-Kween. Left! His instincts said, Left! He turned and obeyed. Stars twinkled with joy, having steered him correctly.

"De-vuls-food (clop) De-vuls-food (clop) De-vuls-food (clop) De-vuls-food (clop)

Someone up ahead! Holding something up in the air. The Grail! A Devilsfood CAKE!!!!!! He started to run. CLOPCLOPCLOPCLOPCLOP. Closer now! The smell was driving him mad!

"Hee hee hee hee hee hee™," Dirty Clown laughed! He was almost there ... and then-

"Dirty Clown?" There he was, unkempt and filthy, a far cry from the svelte clown of a thousand of her most clandestine fantasies.

"Becky?" There she was. His mind shuffled through an endless cast of those who had visited his tent, trying hard to place her among that sad gallery of faces.

"Dirty Clown!" Oh, a rascal and and a dastardly clown he was, but she loved him. She loved him!

"Becky!" She looked pretty darned good, whoever she was!

If romantic tradition had followed suit, there might have been a passionate embrace. Cinematic strings would have swelled and there'd have been a soft-filtered zoom-in by the old Clown-O-Rama Norelco. Instead, with a sudden scrunching of her face, Becky lit into a long laundry-list of grievances she had amassed against him over the years. She never imagined she would do such a thing! And, Dirty Clown? Well ... he just stood there in his sodden boots. Unable to look him in the eye, lest she be sucked again into that pleasyre vortex that made her throw all caution to the wind, she found herself staring at his sodden boots. It was as if they symbolized everything somehow. A man who had chosen his path and started out on strong footing, only to have his comic boots sullied and muddened by the wrong paths he had chosen. Perhaps with a good rag and some spit and polish, she could clean them up ... clean him up?

"Sodden boots," she said, and she began to cry. Despite her tears, she continued to hold the cake aloft. Wild glints of the new moon were soaking with God's own purifying lunarity into the sweet, creamy frosting that Becky had spread on thick with Mae's favorite spatula. But ... before anyone ate cake, there was more to be said. So, she spoke of the pain he had caused her, in a quiet, desperate voice that rose just loud enough not to wake Mae or the tenants of her boarding house. Becky did not mention their son for if this tattered rogue intended to eat and run, there'd be no need to unsettle anyone's world. Sameness had a comfort of its own, after all.

Dirty Clown looked at her with eyes all lost, afraid and hungry. He'd seen women cry before, and it had never been anything more than an annoyance to him. A reason for them to exit his tent, post haste! Perhaps, he wanted to care, but he didn't know how. Now, with Becky, seeing her tears falling down awakened within him some tenderness that had been sleeping or many years under a moth-eaten blanket of forgotten trauma, primal pain and raw fears cured only by laughter, applause, alcohol and carnal release.

"Each of us has a blanket," Dirty Clown said.

"Sodden boots," Becky said, and she laid the cake at her feet so that she might come to him. Their bodies were drawn magnetically together, and in that moment, that blissful moment, a single sparrow twittered in the branches overhead.

"May I kiss you?" Dirty Clown said.

"Yes! Kiss me Dirty Clown. Dear, sweet Dirty Clown!"

And they kissed. And the Black Sea parted. And the heavens wheeled about and each little star blinked and winked. In that moment of perfect bliss, they did not see the sparrow fly away.

"How 'bout a little 'o that cake?" Dirty Clown said. "Hee hee hee hee hee."

Becky offered it up to him and he held it in his hands. He had been so hungry that deprivation itself made him reticent to devour this marvelous devilsfood cake, for he knew it would soon disappear down the darkened chunnel of his insides. Slowly ... he began to eat . Then, starvation issuing a new command, the feral clown knashed into it and large chunks tumbled to the sidewalk, lost to the ants. If he could have seen these wayward cake fragments in the dark, he'd have eaten them right off the ground. He gurgled and he choked and he moaned and he laughed, all the while masticating and downing, downing, downing it all! Becky smiled, knowing she had pleased him.

Finally, it was gone. Every last delicious morsel. Yet, Dirty Clown looked as if he wanted more. He always wanted more. More! MORE!

"Good night, Dirty Clown," Becky said. "Perhaps I'll see you again tomorrow."

"More!" Dirty Clown said."

Becky went inside. Dirty Clown looked up at the moon that had fought its way free of the clouds again. He wanted to howl at it. He wanted to eat its glowing goodness. He wished he had the cake pan so he could lick it clean.

"Hungry," Dirty Clown said, and above, the light went out in Becky's window. In the darkness of her room, she unlatched the lock and lifted the heavy wooden-framed window.

"Good night again, sweet Dirty Clown," she whispered, her voice floating down on wings of delicate gossamer.

"Hungry," he said in answer.

"Go to sleep," she said.

"Sleep," Dirty Clown said.

Becky closed her window. Dirty Clown traipsed across the yard, disturbing the clover and frightening the moles. He bent low to examine the metal fencing covering an entrance to the crawlspace beneath the house. Such places were a favorite napping spot of his. He didn't mind the fencing because it kept the varmints out. He'd spent enough nights awakened by the bite of an angry coon or the snarl of a startled possum. Sometimes there were snakes, too! They liked to crawl up where it was warm.
Dirty Clown loosened the fencing as best he could, then he used clowning contortions to shinny himself under the house.

"Aaaaaagh," he sighed, not knowing that Ordean Pritt was sighing a similar sigh not far away. "This isn't so bad, not so bad at all." He withdrew a packet of Dirty Clown Matches™ from his secret pocket and he struck one of them, so that he might see more clearly. The familiar sight of rusted pipes and insulated wires revealed itself in the orange glow. And there! Some type of horrible writhing millipede wriggled for safety behind one of the floor supports. It would come out again when darkness returned.
Before his match could go out, Dirty Clown opened his suitcase and reached in under his spare outfit, the one he would wear in the morning when he saw her again. He withdrew a tiny, tattered bible. None would have thought Dirty Clown to be a religious man, but, of late he had taken to reading it when he could. The words alternately terrified and comforted him, and there was one passage that he liked to read again and again ... from the book of Proverbs.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight."

"In all ways," Dirty Clown said, as the match went out and the blackness of the crawlspace returned. He could hear the millipede skittering across the boards towards him. He heard it drop down to the dirt. It was coming closer and closer. Then, he felt it on his hand, its tickling legs feathered across his fingers. He did not move. It climbed on to his clothing and inched closer to his face. After a time, he felt the millipede on his neck. It was then that he snatched it in his hand, intending to crush it. He felt it panic, wheedle and thrash in his firm grasp. He squeezed it a little harder, but, something told him to let it go. Let it go.

"Let it go," Dirty Clown whispered, and he gently laid the millipede on the dirt beside him. He heard it crawl away in the dark.

It seemed only seconds later that the suns first rays shot through the cracks in the foundation. The light burned Dirty Clown's eyes and he grumbled and turned over.

"Becky," he said, and he rose up on his haunches to get at his suitcase. He took out his fresh clown outfit and draped it over the pipes. As carefully as he could, he took off his dirty outfit and he wormed his way naked across the dirt floor, infantry-style. He'd done this many times before. When he got to the proper location, he found a valve for the water pipes and he twisted it with all his might. It was corroded and stuck, but he kept twisting until his poor fingers ached. Finally, it gave a little bit and a small trickle of cold water flowed out. Dirty Clown washed himself as best as he could. First, under his arms and about his loins, then his chest, his legs and his feet. He didn't wash his head, though. Dirty Clown never washed his dirty head.

When he was done, he crawled back to his suitcase on the tips of his fingers and on the little balls of his toes. Good thing he was a clown! No normal man could have done such a difficult contortion! Soon, he was dressed in his fresh outfit and he emerged into the daylight from beneath the house. He looked around. Good! Nobody saw him. What time was it? He looked at the shadows and he figured that it was about six-thirty or so. Awfully early to come calling on Becky.

"Sleep good under there?" It was Mae, standing on the front stoop with a broom in her hands. She held it as if it were a rifle. "Must be pretty down on your luck to go sleeping under people's houses."

"Why ... why madame, I am simply, uh ...." Dirty Clown was stymied and bereft of any dignity-salvaging words. This was not good!

"I saw you gettin' under there last night." Mae said. "I don't miss anything around here."

"But, I ... - Dirty Clown stammered, then he decided on the truth. "Yes, madame. Yes, I slept under your home. I thank you for allowing me to do so. You are most generous."

"Well," Mae said. "It's all right." She motioned for him to come inside. "We've got biscuits and sausages in here. I'd imagine you're pretty hungry."

"Biscuits!" Dirty Clown leapt into the air! "Sausages!" He did a little half-jack.

"C'mon," Mae said. "Get in here and eat. We've got lots to do around here today. I need a man to help me with some heavy chores around here."

"But," Dirty Clown said, "I am a clown."

"Get in here!" Mae swatted Dirty Clown on his rump with her broom as he scooted by her on his way to the kitchen. He didn't need to be told where it was. He could smell it!

"Good morning, Dirty Clown." It was Becky, seated at the table properly and all dressed up in a pretty new blouse.

"Becky," Dirty Clown said. "Becky."

Mae brought the breakfast in and before they ate it, Dirty Clown read again, his favorite bible verse. This pleased Mae and Becky. After they had finished with their breakfast, Mae removed the dishes and refused all offers of help from Dirty Clown and Becky.

"You two just visit for a little bit," Mae said, sensing that Becky and Dirty Clown had a spark between them. "I'll come and get you shortly and we'll all get to work. Gotta earn your way around here!"

And so they sat for a moment and things felt right. Almost right, anyway. Better than they had in a long time. They didn't say much at first, Becky commenting on the nice weather and Dirty Clown explaining to her about the big millipede under the house. Then, he made a surprise suggestion.

"I'd like to take you for a walk this evening," he said. "We can breathe in the good night air and look at the buildings downtown. Perhaps I shall juggle my balls for you."

"Oh! Would you? Becky said pleadingly. "I'd so love to see you juggle again!"

"Good," Dirty Clown said, reaching out to touch her hand. She withdrew it, not out of displeasure, but because she did not wish to act with impropriety under Mae's roof. It just shouldn't be done.

"Hee hee," Dirty Clown said, a little embarrassed, but charmed just the same. "Let's say ... eight o'clock then?"

"Wait a minute," Becky said. "Our son's on at eight." Dirty Clown was completely confused. Whatever did she mean?

"Our ... son?" he said.

Becky hadn't intended to tell him this way. She had played out this moment so many times in her head, yet, now that it was here, she seemed to have forgotten all of the ways she thought might be best to tell him. This morning, she had seen it in the paper. She couldn't believe her eyes! There he was ... Dirty Clown, Jr.! In the TV section of the Anytown Advocate! He was going to star on the Carroll County Clown-O-Rama in his very own TV special! At eight o'clock that very evening!

"Yes, our son," Becky said.

"Do you mean to tell me ..." Dirty Clown said, but Becky broke in before he could complete his sentence.

"That's right I had your baby."

"A baby?" Dirty Clown said, with incredulousness marking his words.

"Yes," Becky said, and now it was she who took HIS hand. "Yes, he's all grown up, and tonight he's going to be on TV!" She said proudly.

"On TV?!" Dirty Clown said.

"On TV!" Becky said.

"All right. All right," Mae said, coming in from the pantry with her pink rubber dishwashing gloves still dripping wet. "Let's cut the courtin' and get some work done around here, shall we?" Mae left the room and they followed, but not before Dirty Clown whispered in Becky's ear ...

"Our son?"

Becky smiled and kissed Dirty Clown's cheek tenderly. "Our son," she said.