“What are you doing?”
“Aaah! Oh, oh, oh, aaah! Oh! Oh! Oh! Now just talk dirty and sound just like Billy Idol!”
“Are you playing with yourself again? Well, at least you’re not doing it with me in the room like last week.”
“That was a good dirty magazine you had. And no I don’t love you.”
“You don’t love anybody.”
Michael moaned. “I don’t know why I’m supposed to love people. I’m too hung over today and too suspicious any other time, too. Nobody where I came from ever said they ever loved anybody but Jesus… but I still have to jack off.”
Alex took a deep breath. “Control yourself. Or don’t… what do I care. I don’t have to look at you right now. Anyway. I have news … big big news. About reality.”
Michael gasped into his phone. “The bomb dropped and it burned up things? Nancy Reagan is so Hollywood! Don’t talk about her. She’ll throw her ice cubes in your face—she’s from Hollywood! Why did you call? After talking to you for three minutes I feel like Alice in Wonderland… and not in a good way.”
“A bomb would burn up a lot more than your phony letters to your poor mother.”
Michael glared at the phone. “You jerk! Don’t bring up my mother. She may have never told me that she loved me but she sure told everybody how much she loved Jesus. Your mother too—give me a break.” Michael picked up a Time magazine he’d stolen from the bank lobby for its Nancy Reagan color photos and put it over his face to block out the light. “Oh shit, I just got lotion on Nancy Reagan. Shit! Oh well she needs lotion. We all do.”
Alex said, “I have news.”
“What? If you called to make fun of me you better have something good. I’m getting too old to make time for your attempts at teasing. I had a brother and parents for that. I thought I ran away and escaped all that. And then when I told Mom I had a girlfriend it was truly reluctant—you can be sure of that.” Michael quickly attempted another explanation. “I… I wasn’t feeling like a lesbian. I was just trying to relieve my mother of her great judgmental bigotry for a moment. For some reason I feel guilty when I don’t agree with her. But I can’t agree with her. If I agreed with her I’d be dead! Alex… why did you call me? I have things to do! I haven’t cum yet and it’s almost noon. You know I don’t feel like myself until I do.”
Alex said, “You have always confused having an orgasm with a personality.”
“I have to go now and be fabulous. I am a very fabulous person. Did you call just to instill guilt? God, we don’t need anymore of that in this world! Hey wait a minute. I forgot to ask. You got 85 dollars?”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“A face lift?”
“No! Not yet! Soon, I’m sure.”
“What.”
“I need rent. Once that’s paid I can save for something important. I need a new dress. I think I’m going to be a drag queen now. I think that might help give me some personality. I’m not just a hotdog stand. Fay Runaway said I was nothing but a hotdog stand. Now why did you call? Out with it!”
Alex blurted, “Help me with this year’s Oktoberfest!”
Michael swore.
Alex repeated himself.
Michael said, “I don’t do fetes! God, I’m hemorrhaging!” Michael started to pretend to convulse. He stopped when he remembered he couldn’t be seen.
“It’s important!”
“How much do they pay?”
“It’s volunteer.”
Michael moaned. “Oktoberfest? Again? Damn, Milldam has too many Nazis.”
“You racist bastard… I’m German! Most the town is German.”
“So am I,” Michael admitted. “Most. I think one of the half grandmas was Irish but isn’t everybody’s?”
“The United Way is having a booth.”
“Oh? I like the United Way. I like helping poor people regain their shopping powers. But… I don’t like it that much.”
“You love them,” Alex insisted.
“It’s not my problem that people have kids they can’t afford. Or have kids because they need child labor. Or they want to give birth to their own fan club that can be spanked when it doesn’t adore enough. When I want respect I have to earn it from my peers.”
Alex sighed. “Aaanyway. You have to help me with this booth. We’re renting a dunk tank—the Gay and Lesbian People’s Union—renting it from Midway Marvels this year and we want you to take an hour out of your pitiful empty vain life to help us out.”
“Me! How? You know I don’t do carnivals anymore. I just won’t sit still like that anymore. I’ve lost all discipline.”
“You never did anything like this, like a dunk tank. Or did you do that too?”
Michael moaned. “What do I do? How does Snake Girl help?”
“By sitting behind bars in the damn dunk tank.”
“Excuse me?”
Alex detailed the plan. “You’re going to sit precariously on a teensy-weensy little bench above a tub of water behind protective bars. You know what a dunk tank is. Of course you do. When the baseball strikes the target you tip off the bench into the drink. They’ll love it! Splash! You’re a drowned rat.”
“Yes, I know all about those baptism torture devices. I bet they were invented by the pastor I grew up with. Sure.” Michael sighed. “How much do I get?”
“The United Way gets a dollar for three throws.”
“What?” Michael pounded his earpiece on the edge of the coffee table twice then returned it to his face. “Honey, I used to make ten bucks a blow!”
“Michael,” Alex reminded him, “you’re not eighteen and cute anymore. And it’s a miracle you weren’t infected with AIDS or… or that you didn’t just make up your own diseases, knowing how creative you are.”
“What? How rude! That’s a nasty shocking thing to say! Who told you I wasn’t eighteen? I’ll kill them! And I’ve never been cute! I am beautiful! I look like a movie star! Don’t be rude! And I think I didn’t get any diseases because by the time my johns came I was already out of the car gargling hydrogen peroxide. I always had a bottle with me in my backpack. I used it for everything. And it’s so cheap I didn’t even have to shoplift. Gina the Mexican ticket lady from the carnival first got me in the habit of swishing that around in my mouth all the time so my breath wouldn’t stink and my teeth wouldn’t fall out. She always said I had such pretty teeth and she wanted them to stay that way. She was my real mama.”
Alex laughed, “Honey, we love you but that was a past life and now you’re old now and your face is starting to look like an Egyptian discovery.”
“Okay, okay, I’m twenty-one again this year. That’s what I tell the cute boys. And today I have bags under my eyes the size of my liver—which has swollen to the size and color of a school bus. And tell me again why should I care about the United Way?”
“Okay, okay.” Alex lowered his voice in grave seriousness. “Don’t tell a soul that I told you this… but… we cut a dirty deal with them. If the Gay and Lesbian People’s Union does this booth for them then we get part of the cut since we can’t have our own booth. They won’t allow a gay organization at the German fest… as if there were no gay Germans.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah, right, like yodeling came out of nowhere. And are you sure the United Way does dirty deals? I don’t think so.”
Alex said, “Yeah! Dirty deals! I have to sound dramatic to get your attention—we know how you love conspiracies and drama. I know you. If you thought you were involved in something subversive you’d be there with your balls on… er, bells on.”
“I might leave my balls at home. They don’t like gay men, remember?”
* * * * *
Michael found that the Oktoberfest was annoyingly crowded when he finally arrived. He was wearing a full white wedding dress with train and ripped veil complete with a faux diamond tiara. Hapless citizens hopped out of his way as he stomped carelessly past kiddy rides on his white satin pumps. “Out of my w
ay little sweetheart, I might crash. Miss Havisham Snake Girl is late.” When he passed the merry-go-round he looked for injured children laying around. It was the ride most carnival injuries occurred on, probably because people didn’t think to be careful on it. So to him the wood horses always seemed menacing.
When Alex spotted Michael he frowned at the sight. “You have always confused having a dress with having a personality.”
Michael nodded absently, now concerned with climbing into the cage and up the ladder with grace and dignity. He found it impossible as he tripped up his skirts. Hearing something rip, his heart dropped. His foot slipped.
Alex noticed. “Smooth move, Ex-Lax.”
Michael sat on the tiny breakaway bench and then noticed that the lip of the tank bent out where his arm could hit if he fell.
“Now don’t get too crazy,” Alex warned. “Bleep yourself if you have to.”
“Bleep myself?”
“You know… a little self-censorship? Bleep yourself. Swear words do not give you a personality.”
“I’d have to bleep everything I say! You know I can’t talk for real without cue cards.”
The crowd noticed Michael. He struck several cheesecake poses and received a heartening applause.
Alex rolled his eyes at the sight then yelled to the crowd, “Three balls for a dollar dunks this loverly, er, um… lovely lady.”
Michael yelled, “Lady? Hell, I ain’t no lady and you ain’t no gentlemen!”
The crowd looked confused. They looked at Michael but didn’t believe his voice belonged to the beautiful bride.
Michael continued, “Now party and don’t leave me out this time. You know what happens when you leave Miss Havisham out! Three throws for a dollar, you heard it right!”
The crowd gasped as they slowly realized the bride was a man. One man made like a gun with his fingers and shot him.
“It’s a man! Holy shit!” someone cried out.
“Are you queer?” someone else asked.
Somebody shouted, “Kill the fag!”
Michael said for just Alex to hear, “Oh god they’re gonna burn a cross right here and now.”
“Three throws for a dollar,” Alex nervously yelled.
A heavy-metal lad with a Bon Jovi T-shirt yelled, “Can I just throw a ball straight at the queer?” There was more laughter.
Michael yelled. “Heavy metal rock stars can’t sing and can’t play!”
The kid’s face turned red as he glanced down at his shirt. “Here’s a buck. Gimme some ammo!” He threw.
Alex loudly counted, “Strike one… strike two… strike three.”
“Boooo! I’m telling your mother!” Michael scolded, with his finger wagging in the air.
The guy walked away.
“Three strikes for a dollar!”
The crowd around him grew larger and Michael felt as if he’d finally succeeded in becoming the biggest sideshow freak ever. He yelled, “Somebody get me wet!”
“Three throws for a dollar.”
“Hey, sports fan!” Michael spotted a muscular victim in basketball shorts. “Hey, sports fan put some real pants on! What are you trying to show off? With legs like that I can’t believe you’re actually walking upright. I bet you throw paper wads and miss the trash. I bet you miss the toilet! I bet you can’t throw anything. I bet you can’t even throw up!”
The man threw down a dollar.
Michael put his hand behind his head, looked at a cloud, and pretended to be as smug as a cat on a windowsill.
“Strike one… strike two…”
“Come on!” Michael encouraged him.
“Strike three.”
“Booo! Booo! Booo!” Michael yelled as he spastically flailed and kicked the cage. His left slipper flipped off his foot and dropped into the water. Michael gasped in incredulity.
“What’s the matter?” Alex asked.
“Take me home!” Michael cried. “Now!” He threw his arms over his face in angst. “I can’t go on!”
“What’s the matter?”
“My shoe, goddammit!” Michael pointed desperately at his naked foot, toes wiggling. “I lost my shoe! I didn’t paint my nails!”
Alex turned to ignore him. “Three throws for a dollar!”
Michael rattled his cage. “Help! I’m being held prisoner!”
“Hey, look!” A man pointed. “Look, they caught a fag!”
At that, Michael’s ears burned. “Hey, you. Yeah, you! Is that fat or can men really get pregnant? Go ahead, mister, have another brewski and you’ll never see your knees again.” Michael paused to giggle. “Nor other things!” He covered his mouth modestly, already forgetting about his shoe. “Ha, ha, ha! So go ahead mister and just try to throw a ball. It sure burns a hell of a lot more calories than belching.”
At that, the man stomped up to the counter and slapped down a dollar. Alex handed him his ration. He threw.
“Strike one… strike two…”
The crowd hushed as the man concentrated on the tiny bull’s eye. “Fag,” he mumbled at it.
“Strike three, you’re out,” Michael screamed with glee. “I knew you couldn’t do anything! You pick your nose and miss!”
The man gave Alex another dollar.
“Strike one… strike two…”
“You’ll never make it!” Michael screamed—and hoped.
The man launched his last ball with an undignified groan and it missed, slamming the tarpaulin behind it.
“Strike three!” Alex yelled. “Do you want to try again?”
The man was crimson with embarrassment and huffed away. “Drown, you rump ranger!”
“You can’t throw!” Michael scouted for a new customer. He flipped his other slipper into the water so not to feel unbalanced and swung his legs playfully. He smiled as he thought about how he was starting to really get into this. He was a carnie again.
“Three throws for a dollar!” Alex tried to juggle two balls but they dropped.
Michael jolted as he noticed Tony standing back behind the crowd. Though embarrassed, he yelled, “Hey, you over there. Is that really a haircut or was your head run over by a hay baler? Oh yeah, we can tell that you came from a farm. I’ll bet your only experience with breasts has been milking cows! I’d ask you nicely to throw a baseball at this target but you probably don’t even know what one is. Hell, I’ll give you a hint… it’s a lot like throwing corncobs at the chickens!”
Alex hollered, “Three throws for a dollar!”
With a smirk on his face, Tony pushed his way through the crowd to get to the counter. Alex handed him his ration. Tony dropped one and stepped on it with the toe of his sneaker to keep it from rolling away. He looked up at Michael and then over at the target. Michael tried to control his smile to keep a haughty face.
“Strike one!” The ball just missed the target.
“Strike two!” The ball missed again but in the same exact spot. Michael squirmed. It looked like Tony knew how to throw. Michael noticed that the crowd around him had grown even larger.
Tony bent down to pick up his last ball then took careful aim. As he hurled it, Michael watched in disbelief as it smacked into the perfect center of the target. It collapsed, the bench dropped, he plummeted. The water’s chill surprised him so much that he lost his breath. When he sprang up he was buried in sodden taffeta.
Alex screeched with joy along with a jubilant crowd as if the Super Bowl had just been won. Before Michael could find his balance and unhook the veil from his super-glued eyelashes to peel it off his face, Tony was gone.
* * * * *
Four hours later, Michael was shopping in the festival’s flea market, wearing a gray muscle shirt and black jeans. The black liner he’d worn now stained unevenly around his eyes. His hair was tied back and was in the first stages of dreading. He would comb it out with his fingers later but now was too busy coveting an exquisite set of six Danish dishes. He had no cash thanks to a pail of beer he gulped.
“Hi.”
<
br /> Michael was startled, not realizing he was being watched. He looked up to see Tony. “Oh, hi!”
“Where’s your wedding dress?”
Michael looked around on the asphalt in mock panic as if he’d dropped it. He made Tony laugh. Michael smiled at himself for being such a card. “Oh. Miss Havisham took off her dress. And what did she find down there but boy stuff.”
“I recognized you right away with the dress. And I recognized you right away without it. You kinda split in two, don’t you.”
“I have even more secrets. More personas…” Michael’s gaze wandered off.
“Your tattoo. What does it mean?”
Michael looked down at his arm. “Oh, that! The Reaper, the Death Card in the tarot deck.”
“That’s a creepy thing to have on your arm.”
Michael grinned. “But the Death Card is a very good card, you see.”
Tony made a worried face. “Okay. How so?”
“Well, it doesn’t mean real death, it means change. Of course, death is the final change but we can always change in life, too. We change or we’re dead… we die inside because our life is boring and then you might as well have not been born. No? Or am I just drunk?”
“Okay.” Tony nodded absently.
“Yes, I have been making sense today. Um, I’ve been shopping. Have you? Found anything good?”
“No.”
“Buy me things!”
“No.”
“Buy me more beer!”
“No!”
Michael nodded thoughtfully, realizing that he was woefully failing as a charming conversationalist. He quickly tried again. “You did pretty well with the games. To look at you I wouldn’t think you’d throw so well.”
“Sorry I got you all wet.”
Michael shrugged. “Hey, it’s my job. I have carnie in my blood. Really. For real. I used to work at a carnival when I was… younger.”
“It was pretty funny—the crazy things you said to everybody.”
“Oh, that was nothing.” It was then that Michael noticed that when Tony smiled the tip of his nose slightly lifted. He’d never seen such an adorable thing before and was now completely endeared, feeling an irresistible urge to kiss the nose and hug Tony. He took a cautious step backwards, instead.
Snake Girl VS the KKK Page 3