CHAPTER FOUR

TENDERNESS

As he opened the door to his small apartment, Arthur swallowed hard. In a matter of seconds, he'd gone from feeling thankful that this woman would be stepping foot inside his home...to feeling downright terrified. Alarm bells rang loudly in his mind.

She was going to be entering his home!

What would she think when she found out he lived with his mother? It wasn't often men still lived with their mothers at thirty-five but he couldn't just leave his mother. She needed someone to care for her, and her son, Arthur, was the only person she had. He bit his lip, wondering what she'd think of how small their apartment was – how he didn't even have a bedroom to call his own.

Before he could say even a single word, already she was following him inside. Arthur swore his stomach did a flip. It was official. She was in his home. At least there's no dirty underwear on the floor, he thought, breathing a silent sigh of relief. If there was one thing Arthur wasn't, it was a slob. It was true his apartment wasn't much, but he did his best to keep it clean and tidy.

When Arthur entered the living room, he expected to see his mother sound asleep in her easy chair. She wasn't, which told him she must already be in bed.

"Happy," called a woman's voice. "Did you check the mail before you came up?"

"Yeah, Ma," he called back. "Nothin'."

He turned to Aubrey, tucking his hands inside his pockets. No matter how hard he tried, he could never look like anything other than a shy little boy.

"I live with my mother," he explained awkwardly. He felt a familiar sensation slithering up his throat. Not now! he thought, his panic swirling like a tornado. Please, not now! "She...she's sick and can't do much for herself, so I...I take care of her." He hung his head in shame, averting his gaze downward. "I-I know it's embarrassing. I'm thirty-five. I...I shouldn't still be living with my mother..."

"There's nothing wrong with that," was her answer. Arthur listened, searching for a hint of laughter in her voice. He was used to people giving him strange looks or laughing at the fact that a grown man still lived with his mother. But Aubrey spoke with sincerity; there wasn't a hint of laughter in her voice. "It shows you care about her. Not everyone would do the same. Not everyone would care for their parents like that."

Arthur shrugged, saying nothing. He wanted to believe what she was saying. He wanted nothing more than to. But the uncertainty clinging onto him seemed unbreakable. Still there was a part of him fearing she was saying what she said only because she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Let's go to the bathroom," Arthur suggested, leading the way. "Mom's a chatterbox. If she knows you're here, she'll talk the ear off you."

Luckily, his mother was one who slept like a rock. It often took something loud to yank her out of sleep.

Much to his relief, moments later, he heard the familiar sound of her snoring.

As he led her into the bathroom, Arthur heard another familiar sound. The small radio he kept on the table was playing a favourite song of his mother's: The Moon is a Silver Dollar. The song played quietly as the two stepped into the room.

Not knowing what to say or do, Arthur stood there, praying he didn't burst out laughing. She'll leave for sure if she finds out about my condition, he thought, forcing a particularly large lump down his throat. If he could just keep his laughing locked up, but too often it broke free of its cage. What made him think this time would be any different?

"Here, why don't you sit down?" said Aubrey gently, helping Arthur into a wicker chair. "That should be more comfortable." Like an obedient puppy, he took a seat in the chair, wincing as his shoulder rubbed up against the back. He leaned forward, grimacing quietly.

"I'll help you wash the makeup off," she said in as soft a voice as Arthur had ever heard. She took a facecloth, ran it under the tap until it was lukewarm and brought it up to the man's face. All the while, Arthur kept staring at her in a dreamlike state. Still afraid he'd wake up from this seemingly impossible dream, he wanted to hold onto every second and never let go.

Without a word, Arthur removed his wig of green hair, placing it on the floor beside the little brown hat. Next he pulled off the red nose, and his white gloves. The joker in him couldn't resist squeezing the nose, the honk-honk sound eliciting a smile on his face. To his delight, even Aubrey broke out in a small smile at the silly sound. Seeing her smile, Arthur felt his own smile broadening. If only he could take her smiling face, frame it and hold onto it forever.

"Tell me if it hurts anywhere, okay?" She took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and leaned forward.

Arthur nodded. Without needing to look, already he felt his cheeks burning with red. He prayed she didn't notice. The last thing he needed was having her think of him as a freak. Enough people at Ha-Ha's already saw him as a freak. He couldn't bear the thought of the angel who'd saved his life seeing him that way. Over and over again, he kept thinking desperately: please like me...please like me...please like me...

More than ever he craved for the one thing he'd never been granted.

Love.

Gently, as if afraid even the lightest touch would hurt him, she placed the warm facecloth against Arthur's cheek. Slowly, ever so slowly, the white paint began fading. Bit by bit, the pale color beneath became visible. Arthur said nothing, sinking deeper and deeper into a state of...calmness. A few times he winced quietly when she'd gently dab at the cut on his lip, but still he said nothing. Having been his mother's caregiver for most of his life, never had Arthur known what it felt like to be cared for. So busy trying to spread joy and laughter to the world, so busy looking after his mother – not once had Arthur ever had anyone do something kind for him. No one ever took the time to return the favor.

Till Aubrey came along.

"There," she said, wiping off the last of Arthur's face paint. With the white paint now gone, Arthur felt suddenly...naked. With the makeup gone, she was now saying goodbye to Carnival and getting her first look at the man beneath the mask: Arthur Fleck. He worried she'd look away in disgust and get up and leave right then and there.

But she didn't.

Her eyes were glued on Arthur, taking in his face and all its details. The mesmerizing green in his eyes – so soft and mysterious, a complex puzzle all on their own. Expressive beyond description. Eyes that had so much to say, they didn't know where to even begin. The beautifully long lashes that only made his eyes that much more entrancing. The brown curls in his hair. Even the scar above his lip didn't go unnoticed. The way his face would absolutely light up when he'd smile, how his dimples would come out of hiding.

The radio started playing a different song, but Arthur barely noticed. The only sound he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his chest. She was staring, staring so deeply at him that he swore it was like she was staring straight into his soul.

"You're..." Aubrey squeaked, but quickly slammed on the brakes. She gave a little cough, smiled bashfully and uttered, "Your face, it...it looks okay. Just that little cut on your lip, but the bleeding looks like it's stopped."

Arthur studied her expression with childlike curiosity. The way she'd said "you're", it almost sounded as if she were...in awe. But that was ridiculous, thought Arthur. There was nothing about him that would make anyone lay their gaze on him as if he were some colorful, beautiful work of art in a museum. Not a chance. He wasn't anything special. He wasn't even average. He wasn't like the attractive, confident men that could sweep women into their arms with their natural charm and good looks. He was just the opposite: not confident, not attraction and unable to sweep any woman into his skinny arms, for he had no natural charm and zero good looks.

He was just...Arthur. A passionate party clown and aspiring comedian struggling just to get by.

Not knowing what to say, Arthur uttered a simple, quiet, "thank you." In the short time he'd known this woman, already he'd lost count of how many times he'd thanked her.

Shifting in his seat, Arthur let out a small whimper. The pain radiating in his right shoulder was worse than he'd thought. He figured it was only a bruise, but with how much of a beating he'd taken, it was bound to be a big one.

"You should take your shirt off," Aubrey suggested, watching Arthur with growing concern. "We need to get some ice on that, to help with any swelling." She shot a sideways glance at the white cabinet and asked, "Do you have some Tylenol? That'll help with the pain."

Arthur nodded, saying, "Should be some up there." He laid a hand upon his shoulder and winced. He wondered how long it would take for the pain to fade.

A moment later, she returned with a bottle of Tylenol.

Arthur, meanwhile, was feeling a sudden, overwhelming sense of...self-consciousness. He knew he was a skinny man, not at all muscular or athletic like so many others. The thought of Aubrey seeing just how thin he was sent his stomach in knots.

He took a breath, chuckled, and started unbuttoning the plaid tux. Hardly had he finished with the first button when another chuckle rose up into his throat.

"Hmm," he uttered, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment.

Seconds later...

"Ha-hah-hah...hah-ha...hah!" So hard he tried suppressing the laughter that took such joy in popping up at all the worst times.

"Happy?" came his mother's voice. "Are you okay?"

Arthur covered his mouth, waiting for the frustrating laughter to pass.

"Fine, Ma!" he called out, hand now touching his throat. "Hah...just taking a bath. Go back to sleep."

"A-are you okay?" asked Aubrey, her voice a mixture of concern and confusion.

"I'm sorry," said Arthur, dropping his head in shame. "I...I'm not laughing at you. It's just...I have a condition." From out of his pocket he pulled out the laminated card. He handed it to her, hoping he could survive the rest of the night without plunging into painful laughter. He hoped she'd believe him; he hated thinking she might think he was a liar and was laughing at her.

After reading the card, she returned it to him. Giving Arthur a reassuring smile, she said, "Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry about."

Arthur smiled in appreciation. Hands down, he thought, this is the best dream of my life. Instead of staring at him like he was a strange creature, Aubrey's reaction was just the opposite. She was treating him in a way no one else had ever bothered doing.

She was treating him like an actual person.

And he was eternally grateful for it.

Nervous though he was, Arthur slowly undid the rest of his tux. Next he unbuttoned the orange vest beneath, placing it in a pile along with the plaid tux. Also joining the pile was his striped tie and red flower that squirted water. When only his white shirt remained, he started undoing the first button...and paused. He exhaled softly, silently hoping she wouldn't find him repulsive. He thought of his ribs, how they were so prominent, what with the lack of fat on his body.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

All he could do was hope she didn't look away in disgust.

Heart hammering in his chest, Arthur worked his way down his shirt. His hands trembled slightly, but he kept going. There was no turning back now. Stopping now would only make things worse.

Fighting back an uneasy laugh, he pulled off his shirt. It fell to the floor, joining the pile of clothes that were Carnival the Clown's.

Arthur stared down at the tiled floor, waiting for a gasp of disgust from Aubrey.

But it never came.

Instead she walked behind him, inspecting his back and how badly he was hurt. Resting her fingers lightly – her touch light as a feather – on his right shoulder, she told him, "We need to get some ice on this. It's a bruise, but there's a lot of swelling." Beside her she picked up the ice pack she'd retrieved from the cabinet. Gently she placed it on his shoulder.

"Ahh," he winced, squeezing his eyes shut. Too many times he'd been beaten and made to feel like dirt. Yet each time he was battered felt like a new stab to the heart, a fresh helping of pain, each one worse than the last.

"I know," she said in understanding. "I'm sorry...but the ice will help take down the swelling. And the Tylenol will help with your pain."

As she kept the ice against his bruised shoulder, soon Arthur felt a welcoming sense of relief. Slowly the pain was fading, but he knew the healing wouldn't happen overnight. But right then, his focus wasn't on the pain to come.

It was on the simple, but wonderful fact that she was taking care of him.

Not once had she commented on his skinny frame.

Not once had she called him sickly.

In that moment, her focus was solely on caring for a man who so desperately craved whatever kindness he could get. So starving he was for it that even the smallest shred of kindness meant the world to him. Little did this woman know what taking time out of her life to help him meant to him.

It meant everything.

While she kept the ice pack on Arthur's shoulder, he felt an overwhelming sense of shyness. Something about being alone with this woman, with his shirt off, with her touching his chest and back with her hands made him feel unshakably shy. Never had he had a woman touch him like this. Not, he thought quickly, that there was anything sexual unfolding. But something as simple as a woman's hand on any part of him was a foreign feeling.

How he hungered for more. Thirsted for her fingers against his skin, even if just for a moment longer. How he wanted to close his eyes and drink in the simple, lovely feeling of her hand upon his skin.

"So, um...d-do you like being a teacher?" he asked, trying to make small talk. Being socially awkward, he wasn't an expert when it came to initiating conversation. He just never knew what to say to people, and was always convinced he kept on saying all the wrong things.

She shrugged halfheartedly.

"I dunno," she answered with a sigh. "Sometimes...but"—there was a brief stretch of silence—"sometimes I wish I wasn't. I mean, it's not that I don't like what I do. I do. It's it's just...kids can be so...exhausting. Especially when they're in high school."

Arthur was no stranger to that truth. The kids that stole his sign and beat him like jelly were proof of it. Down the busy sidewalk he'd ran, running so hard his legs and lungs had screamed for him to slam on the breaks.

"What if you taught younger kids?" Arthur suggested. "You know, like preschoolers?"

"Wish I could," was her answer. "But jobs are tough to find these days." She sighed wearily. "There's just not a high demand for teaching jobs right now. I'm lucky I even have a job teaching, even if it's only part time."

He nodded in agreement.

"What about you?" said Aubrey, looking over the pile of Carnival's clothes. "Do you like being a clown?"

"I do," he quietly replied. "I like making kids laugh. It's always easy making them smile and laugh, but I"—he ran his fingers through his mop of unkempt brown hair—"what I want more than anything is to be a comedian."

"Really?" Aubrey said, giving him a small smile. "That's awesome."

Arthur gave a small smile, but said nothing.

"I...I just wish I was funny," he uttered under his breath. "I mean...I'm just not funny like the guys at Pogos. They always get people laughing. They're just so good at what they do."

"True," she said thoughtfully. "But ya gotta start somewhere, right? I'm sure it took them a while to get where they are. Nothing happens overnight. I want to be an artist, but I'm still learning how to use colors and strokes and—"

"You paint?" said Arthur curiously.

She nodded. "Trying to get better at it though." She chuckled, saying, "I got a long way's to go..."

That was when Arthur got an idea. He could feel his nerves bubbling inside him like soup on a stove. Before he could chicken out, he squashed his nerves and dove into the freezing cold water that was courage.

"Hey, uh," he began, hoping he didn't sound too nervous. "If you like, we...we could maybe help each other. I wouldn't mind taking a look at your artwork, if you wouldn't mind hearing some of my jokes. That way, we could, uh...well, I mean...we could sort of help each other, ya know?" This is coming out all wrong! he thought, failing to stop his panic from exploding. She's gonna think you're an idiot! You just met the girl and already you're asking if she wants to...to hang out...like...like friends?

At first, Aubrey said nothing.

Instantly Arthur felt his hopes deflating, like a popped balloon. She wanted nothing more to do with this man. He wanted to kick himself for thinking she'd want to hang out with someone like—

"Okay," she said in a quiet voice.

Arthur swore the bathroom was spinning. Had he heard right? Did this woman actually want to see him again? It sounded so impossible, yet it wasn't, because a small smile was stuck to her face.

"N-not that I know much about art," said Arthur quickly. "I...I don't. I really don't know anything about art, but"—a little smile tugged at the corners of his lips—"I wouldn't mind taking a look anyway..."

After a few more minutes of talking, the afternoon was drawing to a close. Arthur wished this could go on forever, but he reminded himself not to feel sad at Aubrey leaving. If she meant what she'd said, then they'd be seeing each other again. After all, he thought gleefully, we're next door neighbours now!

Before leaving, the last thing Aubrey did was help Arthur fix Kenny's broken sign. Of course there was no fixing it completely, but it was certainly better than nothing. Arthur hoped Kenny wouldn't think he was lying about having been jumped...but he'd just have to deal with that when the time came. Tomorrow morning, he'd explain the situation to him and hope he wouldn't flip out like an angry chimp.

For the rest of the night, Arthur sat on the couch, staring with unblinking eyes at the TV screen. Not caring what show was playing, he replayed that day's seemingly impossible events over in his head. Far from tired, he remembered her face, how pretty she was when she smiled, how much she'd done for a man who had only dreamed of what it felt like to have one care for him.

If it's all just a dream, thought Arthur, propping his hands behind his head, I just hope it doesn't end.

Before finally nodding off, his last thought was that he couldn't recall the last time he'd smiled so much.