by Faith Gardner

“And go to jail and get hung, yes you could.”

Bubbles glared at Jack and stood up from the vinyl chair. “They don’t hang people anymore.”

“Sure they do. Just not in this state,” Jack explained, rounding to his vinyl seat and falling into it. It was warm from where Bubbles’ ass had been. “Have a seat, Bubbles. I’d like to have a word with you.”

Bubbles was breathing heavily and he sat in the yellow chair. “I told you about my coupon idea and you - you took it from me! You advertised in the phone book, a four inch by four inch ad! Now no one’s going to look at mine anymore.”

Jack nodded. “I understand you’re feeling a bit … cheated. A bit used. Betrayed and deceived. You’re right. It wasn’t fair what I did, Bubbles. And it works out okay because I am quitting the clown business.”

“What? You’re -”

“Hold on one moment, please.” Jack pressed his finger on a button on his answering machine, which sat on his desk in front of him. It beeped and Jack said, in a rather professional tone:

“Hello, you’ve reached Clownin Around'. Unfortunately, business has closed and please call Bubbles the clown at -” he whispered to Bubbles. “What’s the number?”

“555-9876,” Bubbles jutted in loudly.

“…if you would like clown services. Thank you.” Jack pressed the button again and it emitted a short beep. Jack folded his hands. “Can I assist you in any further way, Mr. Bubbles?”

“No, kid. Just don’t - do that again.”

“I can guarantee you I was not meant for the clown business,” Jack told him as he stood up. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Bubbles nodded and slipped out the door.

The next day Jack woke up early and made a list of possible businesses but was not satisfied with his ideas. Selling wrapping paper, giving massages, cleaning yards. Pet therapist. He crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash and spent the latter part of his morning staring into space. His mother knocked tentatively and came inside with a plate of potato chips and a tall glass of lemonade.

“I brought this for you,” said his mother, setting the plate and glass down on his desk.

“I told you, I’m not hungry!” shouted Jack. His mother tiptoed out of the room and shut the door without a sound. He stared at the snacks and began chewing the potato chips and sipping the lemonade for lack of a better idea of something to do.

The potato chips were greasy and needed salt, but the lemonade was refreshing. Jack gulped the glass down and contemplated the brisk, new taste of his mother’s fresh squeezed lemonade and a light bulb went off in his head.

“That’s it!” he yelled, running out his bedroom door with the empty glass in his hand. “I’m going to make a lemonade stand!”

“That’s what I said yesterday, Jack! I -”

“No time to talk, mother. I need three gallons of lemonade pronto and - do we have chocolate chips?”

“Yes, honey -”

“Three batches of your chocolate chips cookies, varying in crispiness. I’ll be in the garage.”

Jack went to work on building a stand out of a card table and three pieces of plywood. He painted a fancy sign and made a price sheet and a “TIPS” sign, which he stuck to an old jar that once held sweet pickles. He put it outside and checked his watch - barely noon, the perfect time to launch his lemonade business. He walked inside, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Smells good in here,” he commented, leaping up to his stool and sitting at the counter. His mother was pulling the last batch of cookies out of the oven.

“What would you like to eat, Jack?”

“How’s the Top Ramen today?”

“Tasty. We have Oriental, Beef and Chicken flavor.”

“I’ll take Chicken.”

It took three minutes to make and three minutes to eat. Six minutes later, Jack hopped off his stool and grabbed a pitcher of lemonade, a plate of cookies and some plastic cups and opened his business.

The first two hours business was booming. Jack sold ten cookies and six glasses of lemonade and the neighborhood folk were good tippers. He made four dollars in tips alone so far. From about 2pm to 4pm business died down and by five o’clock, Jack was ready to take down his stand and go inside. Then a slick black Mercedes whizzed by and stopped in front of the stand and a very important-looking man in a business suit jumped out. He was looking at his watch.

“I’m in a hurry. Is this crap good or what?” asked the man. He had tiny green eyes and a goatee and one of those wires hanging from his ear, attached to his cell phone in the pocket of his black pants.

“Homemade lemonade, sir. Homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

“Give me a lemonade and three cookies.”

Jack poured a glass of lemonade and sat it at the edge of the table. He grabbed three chocolate chip cookies and set them on a napkin.

“That will be two dollars, sir.”

The man reached in his back pocket and pulled out his leather wallet. He looked inside and pulled out a crisp, unfolded hundred dollar bill.

“Here you go,” said the man.