The Feet of God

79 - THEY’RE GONNA LOVE YOU

Mr. Harry stood behind me admiring my image in the mirror.  As he peeked over my shoulder he assured me, “You’re gonna be a star.”  He handed me the purple sequined loincloth to put on.  I wasn’t so sure.  “I don’t know if I can go out in public and be seen like this,” I said, noticing in the mirror how the loincloth sparkled and glittered just like the back end of one of them water delivery trucks.

“Perish the thought.”  Mr. Harry reassured me again, “They’re gonna love you.”

I dabbed at my gooey eyes with a wet washcloth, while I continued to stare hypnotized by the reflected horror.

“Just drop that in the tub,” Mr. Harry waved a latex-covered hand to indicate he meant the dirty washrag.  He immediately spritzed it with 409.

“When do we get to eat?” I asked, stomach growling.

“First seating is coming up in about 15 minutes.”  Mr. Harry looked around and grabbed a folded sheet.  He handed it to me.  “This might help with any modesty issues you may have.  But don’t worry, we’re pretty relaxed around here.”

“Fifteen minutes?” I asked as I wrapped myself in the light blue sheet.

Mr. Harry nodded and ushered me to his door.  Pulito was loyally asleep on the front stoop to the trailer.  Outside, I took a deep breath and made my first steps as a Lizard Man.  Pulito woke up and barked at me.  Then he carefully edged closer to get a sniff, and he started wagging his tail in apparent recognition of who I was.

My attention was abruptly drawn to the sight of Stumppo’s black cape flapping behind him as he swooped our way fast.  “Oooooh, fantastic!” he wailed, clapping his hands together.  “Mr. Harry, you’ve captured the nature of the beast.  Well done, well done, indeed.”  Stumppo’s eyes squinted and he peered at me, “Now, let’s go to the dining tent for what we like to call our little dinner show.  You’ll meet the other performers.  They’re gonna love you.”

Pulito was annoyingly underfoot the whole time we was walking to the dining tent.  “This pup needs to find a good home,” I said.

“Indeed,” Stumppo sneered.  “We have animal handlers who might be of assistance in this regard.”

I changed subject to a more important matter to me personally.  “So, Stumppo, what kinda contract do I have with the Cirque De Bizarro?”  I smiled a little nervous, anxious to learn the terms of my compensation and benefits package.

“Contract?  What contract?”  The impresario seemed genuinely confused.

“Uh…the contract for my services.”

Stumppo went, “Pfffttttt!”

“What?”

“There is no contract, just the standard deal for any new employee.”

“Huh?”

“You get to keep 75% of your tips.”

“That’s it?”

“The ride is free.”

It was good to know my transportation costs would be covered, but I was a little dejected to learn about the payment structure.  I started to reconsider my prospects working as a roadshow freak when a shape suddenly appeared from behind a truck.  It was a tall and strongly built woman with long pink hair, her body wrapped in a glittery dress that fit her tight, with a split up the side revealing thick muscled legs.

Stumppo shouted, “Tina, come on over and meet our newest attraction.”

The woman slowly swayed her way toward us.  The closer she came the less attractive she got, until she was close enough for me to notice the thick tufts of hair poking out from her low-cut gown, and the hairy tarantulas under each armpit.

“Tina, my dear, this is the newest member of the family, Scaly.”  He turned, “Lizard Man, say hello to Pyro-Tina, the greatest flaming sword-swallower on Earth.”

Tina spoke in a deep voice, “Hey Lizard, nice to meet ya.”  She gave me the once over.  As my sheet fluttered in the breeze, revealing the glittering loincloth underneath, I swear she leered at me, “Love your choice of costume.”

Tina extended her furry hand, but Stumppo cut in.  “Sorry, our friend has a very sensitive skin condition, so we should restrict all contact to a bare minimum.”

Tina withdrew the handshake.  “Pity, you look like you could use a good rubdown.  Maybe later when your problem has cleared up.  I’m always around.”  She winked and walked away.

All kinds of weird and different folks was moving in the same direction toward the big tent at the edge of the encampment.  I was getting over my initial shyness and now actually looking forward to meeting each and every weirdo, learning their exotic and peculiar talents.

Stumppo nudged my elbow and pointed to a couple by a parked minivan.  The man had a real thick neck, bald head, and man-boobs over a barrel chest.  He had a big bushy black mustache curled up on his face.  He was wearing several patched together leopard skins and studded leather bands on his wrists and biceps.  I guessed he was the circus strongman.  The pretty chick with him was a bit on the thin side, but she moved with the strange grace of a shape-shifter.

“That’s our romantic couple,” Stumppo leered at me.  “The two lovebirds.  Twisted Trixie and Mr. Big Stuff.  She’s our resident contortionist, who can bend those limbs of hers in ways a sailor couldn’t dream of unknotting.  And him, well, he can lift heavy objects.”

Mr. Harry leaned in, “Yeah, she’s a star at the special midnight show, but Mr. Big Stuff refuses to participate.  The general opinion is he’s just a stage name, if you know what I mean.”

We hadn’t taken even ten steps when a horn tooted right behind us.  I immediately jumped outta the way just before a golf cart ran over me.

Loaded in the cart was a huge pink pile of fat, with folds of fat and jiggling sacks of fat, and a tiny female head on top of all that fat.  She stopped her cart and finished picking at a roast chicken carcass, sucking on her fat lady fingers one at a time.

“Hello boys.”

“Ahhh-ha!  Our own Zaftig Zelda, ladies and gentlemen,” Stumppo bowed.  “Zelda, I want you to meet Scaly, our newest performer.”

The tiny head atop the stunning obesity sized me up.  I did the same in return.

Her form resembled an elephant omelet more’n anything remotely human-like.  Zelda was enormous, and large parts of her hung over the edge of the cart and dragged across the ground.  She appeared to be naked except for a giant bra, but really, who the fuck could tell?

Zelda smiled at me as she unwrapped and ate an ice cream sandwich.  “Hi, Scaly, welcome to the show.”  Her eyes batted and, I swear, the blubbery thing was flirting with me.  Then she whistled something, or I think she whistled.  I didn’t see her lips move.

Mr. Harry whispered, “Careful, she’s a real man-eater.”

“No way,” my eyes grew wide.

“Rarely, but it happens.”

“Excuse me, boys,” Zelda beeped her horn again.  “I don’t wanna be late for the feeding trough.”  As she rolled away, Zelda gazed back at me with hungry eyes and a big ol’ greasy grin, and cut loose a squeaky fart rendition of “Wild Thing.”