Embrace Me (13 page)

I pull out my gown covered with sequins of various greens laid out in a reptilian, scaly pattern.

“These are works of art, Valentine,” Lella says. “I just adore those gloves.”

Full-length green satin evening gloves. “On anybody but Lizard Woman they'd be sexy.”

“Oh, now, hush.”

I turn the dress inside out and run the steamer head over the fabric. Next, Lella's suit based on Starry Night.

“I think that one's my favorite,” she says.

Lella's suits, sort of swimsuit affairs, are sequined too, and I get really creative on those. One is a rather cubic, geometric number, another winsome and floral. It all depends on my mood when I sit down with my needle and thread. I always design the neckline with great attention to detail in the needle-work, a frame for her beauty. And they're always in pale, neutral shades—ivory, beige, ecru—to go along with the cocoon theme.

“Starry Night in neutrals. Only you could get away with that, Lella.”

She smiles, her dark eyes glittering as I steam her costume and hang it next to mine.

Rick's new stretch suit is tasteful in black and brown with cream-colored striping down the outside of his arms and legs. It really shows off his configurations.

“You did a fine job with that one, Valentine.”

“I didn't want him looking like a girly male figure skater.”

“Oh, surely not! Some of those get-ups are downright embarrassing to watch a grown man skate around the ice in.”

“Who do they think they are, Freddie Mercury?”

“What are the twins wearing tonight?”

“The twins are on their own.”

I wouldn't risk venturing near enough to take measurements. Especially after last week when they made Lella cry. I've started taking their dinner up to their room so they don't have to distribute their misery amongst the rest of us.

Lella and I get ready along with the other women in one of the side rooms in the Education Center, which doubles as a school during the week. Judging by the age level of the toys and the height of the tables and chairs, it's a toddler room.

I'm ready to perform tonight. Of course I don't use makeup, other than false eyelashes—green false eyelashes and glittery green eye shadow.

I apply the final touches of Lella's makeup, a few stick-on sparkles. “My goodness, Valentine, your hair looks especially beautiful tonight. So lovely and thick. And dark. Did you put a rinse on it?”

“Nah. I just tried a new shampoo Rick brought in.”

“It's even more gorgeous than usual.”

“Well, when you're a giant Drano burn, you have to accentuate the positives.”

“It reminds me of my Aunt Dahlia when she was young. She'd pile her hair up on her head in those big soup can curls.”

“That's what I was going for. If Chubby Checkers starting singing
The Twist
, my hair would dance right along and with all the right moves.”

“Oh Val, you're exactly right. Aunt Dahlia called me this afternoon while you were working on your jewelry. She's visiting soon! Isn't that delightful news?”

“Delightful.”

I adjust my gloves and turn away.

“I was looking at house kits online this afternoon,” I say over my shoulder as I lift her earrings from their box.

“Oh yes?”

“Uh-huh.” I turn back around. “What kind of house style do you like, Lell?”

“Surely it doesn't matter what I think. Any place is fine with me.”

“Because we could go modern.” I thread the heavy Zirconia dangles through the holes in her lobes.

“That might be a little stark now that you mention it.”

“Or cottagy. A little seaside cottage?”

“Perhaps with a Victorian spindled front porch?”

“Exactly. Like that.”

She smiles into my eyes. “You pick, Valentine. I know you well enough to know it will be homey and good.”

I turn away and mumble, “I wish I could get the money together before Dahlia comes.”

“What, Val?”

“You must be excited about Dahlia coming.”

“Oh yes, I surely am.”

I slide my feet into bright green, high-heeled satin pumps. Sexy shoes.

Who am I trying to kid? Just who am I trying to kid?

Some sideshow acts perform their oddities and wonders: fire eaters, glass eaters, people with piercings galore from which they suspend great weights or worse, have themselves suspended. There aren't as many people like Lella and me on display anymore. We remind the populace that not everything is a choice. When Johnny Eck was asked by a reporter whether or not he was being exploited, he replied, “No. They pay to see me. You're the exploiter. You're not giving me a dime for this interview.”

I lift Lella onto her platform.

We normally line a stage approaching the tent. Me, Lella, and sometimes a woman named Cyndi Hayes who weighs six hundred pounds and can fire off the greatest insults you've ever heard. People walk by and try to put her down, and she cuts them to size in five seconds. It's her schtick and everybody loves it. Her outfits are a challenge. We go for the Little Lotta look. Bloomers, puffed sleeves, a baby cap. Not original, but practical.

Inside, the performers do their acts. Rick does his contortionist moves; Clifford does his blockhead stuff; RayAnne Foley, who I have yet to mention, walks on glass and eats light bulbs. She calls herself Impermeable Me. But she's more ticklish than a toddler. She winters down in Alabama with her parents who run a photo development company.

Lella and I are the only displayable human oddities on tonight. Rick's twisting and turning near the drink table. We sit upon our displays at the back of the gymnasium. Mine, well, I hate to brag, but it's beautiful, a shimmering jungle scene, lush, with stunning hoards of flowers that seem to advance from the backdrop and around my seat. I made it myself three years ago with Rick's help and improve it a little bit every winter. The only thing not beautiful about my display is me. I remain silent the entire time, taking stock in that old phrase, “A picture paints a thousand words.”

Lella's display, all angel hair and twinkle lights, further locks in the cocoon idea. She says nice things to all the passersby. “What a lovely little girl!” or “Oh my, that sweater is gorgeous.” Or “Now you, sir, you must be a judge, you look so distinguished.” Or “Madame, I'll wager people approach you all the time and ask you to be in television commercials, don't they?” They blush at first, extremely uncomfortable at the sight of her, two velvet pillows supporting her head. I'm so careful to lay her down just so and arrange her hair like a cloud around her. She turns her head to the side, eyes sparkling, expression friendly and open. At some shows a group will form around Lella, because a true optimist, someone who only sees the good in people, is more rare than a Human Cocoon.

Tonight holds no exception in my MO. I remain frozen, staring with haughty eyes as people pass silently by, too polite to gawk for long, a line like a slithery snake sliding on past. Every once in a while I'll bestow a wink to the kids. Okay, most of the kids get a wink. But only when their parents aren't looking.

One woman looks right at me. “That's the most beautiful gown I've ever seen. Did you make it?”

I nod a queenly nod and she smiles at me, moving on.

Augustine stops in front of me. Looking almost as out of place as us freaks, he holds up a hand. “Now, now, I noticed you don't talk to the people going by and that's okay. I want no special privileges. But I just gotta say, Valentine, you look wonderful.”

Okay, so I laugh.

“I mean it. That dress is beautiful, and your arms and legs are really shapely. Do you exercise regularly?” He says it so matter-of-fact I have to laugh. Besides, the man is b-
lind!

Lella overhears. “I'd surely take them in a heartbeat.”

I laugh again and I can't help myself. “This is not the way it's all supposed to go, Augustine.”

He winks. I wink back. He leans forward, whispers, “I'm glad you took off that scarf,” and sidles on by to talk with Lella, who says right away, “I must say you have the prettiest tattoos I've ever seen.”

Augustine turns to me. “You could learn a thing or two from Lella, Valentine.”

Beautiful, sweet Lella.

Like I could ever be like Lella.

I curl my hands into fists. “And you need to mind your own business.”

He zones for a sec.

“D'you hear me? I don't need some crazy preacher telling me what to do. You got that?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Sorry.”

“Move along, bub. You've seen all there is to see.”

“Valentine, I didn't mean—”

“Get moving. You're ruining my act.”

The man actually mists over and says, “Oh. Okay, Valentine. That's fine.”

He hurries over to the drinks table.

“You were awful to him, Valentine.”

“I know it, Lella. But where does he get off telling me what to do?”

Lella's already speaking to the next customer.

After another round of apologies, Augustine helps me carry the costumes to my camper. I open the back and he climbs in after me. “Nice digs!” He looks around him. “Okay, I get it. The traveling around, place to place, there must be something to say for it. Especially in this sweet little deal.”

“It's nice, isn't it? My dad bought it for me when I told him I wanted to go on the road.”

“He must be pretty understanding.”

“He's a good guy. So what did you think of the whole show?”

“Most people seemed a little uncomfortable tonight.”

“Yeah. To be expected. Although you must be used to that, being a pastor and all.”

“Yeah, I guess it's kinda like a non-Christian walking into a worship service or a healing service or something. That must be pretty freaky to them.”

“I see your point. Have a seat.” I turn on the heater. “I love my little home. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

“Sure! This place is fully equipped?”

“Yep. Everything I need right here.”

“And you sleep in that loft? Does the mattress have enough support?”

My heart warms. “Yeah. Yeah it does, Augustine.”

I grab the coffee and a bottle of water from the cupboard and set a pan of water on the stove. And then the plastic filter holder that sits right on top of the cup.

“Hey, that's nifty.”

“I don't need a coffeemaker with this little thing. Space is at a premium, obviously.”

“No kidding. I can imagine. So how did it go for you tonight? They filed past pretty quickly.”

“It's okay. These people weren't our usual sideshow aficionados. They don't want to offend us. I can definitely understand it, but this is how we make our living, Augustine.” I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “We need the curious in order to make ends meet, to keep us in our sheltered community, to save up their willingly paid fees so that in the winter I can sew costumes, make jewelry, read comic books, take Lella for walks, and research other freaks. And religious nuts.” I pretend I'm shooting a gun at him.

He pretends he's shot. “Point taken.”

“So tell me, what's it like for a guy like you to be in a church like Elysian Heights? It seems like you and that type of Christianity are miles apart.”

He shrugs. “It's a little uncomfortable. Of course I look around at all the facilities—a pool?—and think how the pool at the Y is plenty good enough, not to mention it would actually get people out into their community, and how much good that money could have done for people who are desperate.”

“I thought the same thing.”

“But then I feel bad for being so judgmental.”

“I didn't.”

“No, Val, you wouldn't, would you?”

The water now boiling, I pour it through the grinds and into his cup. “I checked out that church, before I was burned.”