Chapter Five

After a short night, a lazy breakfast at nine, an influencer interview at ten, a live broadcasted earplug review at eleven, and a manicure session at noon followed by a boring fashion show, Mira-Me and I have decided to drive south to the historic city of Segovia and watch Robin perform—this time as an audience.

We seek shade from the baking sun at the foot of the two-thousand-year-old Roman aqueduct guarding the old town. There're people everywhere, tourists and locals alike elbowing for the best spot. Town officials have prepared for the popular harlequin's street performance, placing fences and policemen in yellow vests along the length of the Via Roma, an avenue sloping down from the aqueduct. You'd think Robin was a national pop star, or a football hero returning home with a trophy.

Mira-Me and I wear light summer clothes and sunglasses like everybody else. How will Robin recognize us? My heart beats out of tune, I'm so excited to see him again. And noivous, as Jack White sang. After we separated last night, I haven't been able to think of anything other than our next meet and how I'm going to tell him about my attraction. Then what? That's the big question. He thinks I'm hetero because I married a woman, he doesn't know I'm also into men. And who says he'll accept my advances even after I tell him? A teenage crush that ended in disappointment and sorrow doesn't survive twenty years.

We've waited for about an hour in the afternoon heat, with an endless line of cars, motorcycles, trucks, and buses passing us, when a taxi halts in the middle of the road, effectively blocking traffic. Out climbs Robin the harlequin! My excitement shoots to the roof. He waves to the crowd, people around me cheering loud and throwing hands in the air.

We're instantly carried away by his goofy antics. Using the same facial expressions and gestures as a circus clown, he stops cars, teases passengers, snatches smartphones to take selfies or exchange them with other people's phones, opens trunks to make fun of personal items, orders vehicles to drive with the severe waving and whistling of a policeman, or gets on all fours and starts yapping when he sees a dog.

My admiration for his talent grows by the second. Now that I'm not stressed nor the subject of his pranks, I find him very funny, a mischievous buffoon with an ingenious sense of improvisation as he observes situations and uses them to create new ones. He feeds on the audience's response and loves making them laugh, and they adore him for being hilarious and naughty. It's a marvelous dynamic between an artist and his fans. I understand why he's doing this for a living.

Every time he passes our spot in the crowd, I try to make eye contact with him and Mira-Me shouts, "Robin!" to the top of her lungs. But there are so many people along the fence shouting his name and gesticulating, he doesn't notice us. Besides, he is continuously up and down the avenue, jumping into a minibus, climbing up on the roof of a van, throwing his handkerchief up on a car hood then running after it in panic because the car speeds away.

The next time he appears before us, Mira-Me's high-pitched shouting finally attracts his attention. Recognition lights up his face, and he hurries over to us with an exaggerated clownish smile. That's when he sees Mira-Me recording him with her phone and stops in his tracks to lower his pants a little, pointing his butt to her as if posing for a porn shoot. People scream of laughter. He's such a goofy seducer, I can't help cracking up, too.

His focus moves to me, green gaze sparkling in the white face paint. He releases a flirtatious wolf whistle that says he likes what he sees and moves his hips in a slow, sensual dance. I bark a surprised laugh. To the crowd's delight, he then morphs to a timid clown, giving me a shy smile the way Charlie Chaplin would with his head tilted to the side, eyes twinkling, hands between his crossed thighs.

I laugh again, digging his antics and giving him a smile full of heat and desire. I don't care that the whole world can read the happiness on my face. I'm attracted to him on so many levels and I want him to know. Although it's sad I don't remember him from school, it doesn't matter anymore because we don't need a twenty-year-old crush to have a connection today. I can't wait for his show to be over so I can take him someplace for dinner and flirt unabashedly until we go to a room and…

Suddenly, he climbs up on the fence, leans over to me, grabs the sides of my face in his gloved hands, and kisses me. Ha, the devil must have read my mind. I'm stunned, paralyzed, but accept the intimacy of his black-painted lips on my mouth. The crowd breaks into a collective scream, making my ears ring. They probably expected me to be bothered by his kiss and squirm away, but my counterreaction is even cooler and drives them ecstatic. Mira-Me is going wild at my side, screaming in my ears, and jumping up and down. And he knows I've got the hots for him. He knows.

Someone pulls at him from behind. He turns away from me with a grimace of fear and climbs down the fence. It's Lola, the female harlequin. Wearing the same black-and-white checkered clothes but playing a silent pantomime, she pretends to be his wife, mock-slapping him with an angry expression and rebuking him for being "infidel." More laughs arise.

Several motorcycles appear in a long line. Robin whistles sharply and pulls out his handkerchief. He uses it as a race car flag to indicate where the bikes must stop at an invisible line and be ready to compete down the avenue. Ever the goof, he sits behind one of them. Lola does the same thing, arms flailing in the air to show she's terrified. The crowd cheers in anticipation.

Robin waves the flag up and down and whistles, " Uno, dos, tres !" The bikes growl and jump forward at the same time, quickly picking up speed. He puts his hands in front of his driver's eyes as a prank, but only for a couple seconds. No worries.

Lola mimics him, except her driver must not be used to being distracted, for he hits the brakes and his bike skids to a side with a strange roar. He's going to lose his balance! The driver jumps off in time, but not Lola. The bike tips over and slides for a few meters, crushing her underneath.

Oh, no! Pulse drumming, I jump over the fence, run to her, and with the help of other men lift the bike off her. She lies on the asphalt in a contorted position, eyes closed. No blood. I put a finger to her throat and find a beat. My cop training says she shouldn't be moved in case of back injuries, but I can't leave her like this. With the traffic congestion, it's going to take an ambulance a small eternity to get here.

I lift the unconscious woman in my arms and ask the shocked faces around me, "Where's the nearest hospital?" I don't even know how to say this in Spanish. Never bothered to learn basic phrases.

A policeman points to the aqueduct. " Te mostraré el camino !"

I don't know what the fuck that means. I repeat, "Hospital!"

" Sí, sí, el centro médico !" He waves for me to follow him.

I throw a look over my shoulder. Where's Robin? Fuck, still on the backseat of a motorcycle down the avenue. Guess he hasn't heard anything because of the motor noise. I can't wait. Mira-Me will have to tell him.

The policeman frays a passage in the dense crowd and leads me through one of the aqueduct arches then onto a shopping street. The wounded woman is heavy, but I carry her as fast as I can, aware that her very life is literally in my hands.

After a few more hundred meters, I start heaving for air. Pathetic. I should have better health if I want to save someone's life. Better fucking endurance, better fucking strength. It's the alcohol's fault I feel so miserable, so out of breath. I swear this is it, I'll cut out the booze entirely or there's no point in playing the hero. Might as well let someone else take care of her. Like her harlequin colleague—at least, he stopped the drinking and pulled his act together. What am I? A clown in the metaphoric sense. A joke.

The policeman points to a modern brick building. " El centro médico. "

" Gracias ," I utter, huffing like a seal on land, sweat coating my clothes and running down my temples.

He ushers me through sliding doors into a chilly reception and calls out in Spanish. Several people in white hurry toward us and take my precious human package away. He shakes my hand and leaves me standing in the empty room in a sweat, out of breath, very lonely and helpless in a foreign world.

After a short moment, the doors slide open again and Robin stumbles into the reception, shocked out of his mind. "Where is she?"

I reach out for him, my heart hurting because he is hurting. "Doctors are looking at her now."

"Oh God, it's insane." Breaking into tears, he throws his hat to the floor, pulls at his hair, and rubs his face, smearing the makeup all over. "It's not fucking worth it."

"Stop." I put an arm around his shoulders and bring him to a restroom. After closing the door, I wet paper towels and clean his face with a little soap.

Sobbing, he checks his haggard reflection in the mirror over the sink. "I can't believe I let this happen. We gotta stop doing this street thing, it's too dangerous."

"You didn't let it happen . "

"Pfft. I almost fell off the roof of a truck ‘cause it accelerated too fast. And a bus nearly ran me over ‘cause he was pissed that I stopped the traffic. Every day, our lives are on the line."

I put a hand on his arm. "Dude, accidents happen all the time, and it's not our fault. Even my kid dying from cancer wasn't anybody's fault. It happened, and we had to accept that it did. Or else it wasn't possible to continue living."

"You think she's going to be okay?" He turns to me and stares into my eyes as if pleading me to tell the truth, but of course he knows I don't know. Voice gruff, he adds, "She's like a sister to me."

I give his shoulders a gentle shake. "She's strong. You need to have faith."

Tears flood his deep-green eyes again, and he wipes them with a hand.

It's moving to see someone caring so much for another person. At the same time, his despair breaks a barrier inside me, one that has held me back from making advances. I lean forward, circle my arms around him, and peck his lips. Maybe I can provide some comfort, or a distraction from his pain.

He has a slight moment of hesitation before kissing me back, slowly opening his mouth to me. I let my tongue enter him like a dagger, searching, roaming, licking every hot, wet part of him.

Changing roles, he takes command and pushes me backward, and for the first time I can really feel his full strength as he plasters me against the wall with the length of his body and grinds his hardness—chest muscles and washboard stomach and cock and all—against me. It's incredibly sexy, an all-consuming feeling, and I let him invade me, take over. I swim in the pleasure of sexual excitement and wish for only one thing: to be swept away by this insane arousal and fly high until I reach a level so intense, I have to ejaculate everything I've got stocked up in my balls.

A hard knock on the door freezes us. We gasp, eyes wide, releasing each other and creating distance between our heated bodies as though caught in the act ... but of course, no one could see anything from outside.

A new knock. "Hello?" a man calls through the door in a heavily accented English. "Are you the one who brought in the woman-clown?"

I stutter, "Y-yeah, give me a sec."

"I don't have time to wait," he says. "I have fifteen other patients to..."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." I throw a glance to the mirror, flatten my tousled hair, and wipe the sweat off my flushed face before opening the door wide enough to slip out, all the while keeping Robin hidden behind it.

A bearded man in a white uniform stands in the hall with a folder in hand. He gives me a glacial stare.

Uh-oh, I hope he doesn't mean bad news. I suck in a breath to calm my nerves. "Doctor, how is she?"

He takes a moment to regard me from the length of his nose before replying, voice icy, "She's awake. She's lucky, there're no broken bones, no concussion. She can thank her excellent physical fitness for that. She'll only feel a little bruised."

The door behind me opens. Out comes Robin, face livid. "Will she ever be able to—"

"What?" the doctor barks. He glowers from him to me a couple times, telling us he knows what went on behind that door.

Voice sheepish, Robin explains, "She's an acrobat and a contortionist."

"Well, she needs rest for at least a full forty-eight hours. And you can pay at the counter in the reception." With that, he spins on his heels and leaves, white uniform flapping.