the bearded lady

Bridie’s got this attitude like nothing ever scares her. So this one night I take her to see the Dead Joes, in the cathedral, out back where there’s still a roof. I’m hoping there’ll be a crowd, but Bridie doesn’t even care, just runs up front with the other meals-on-legs. The Dead Joes can’t play for shit. Ex-soldiers, all killed in action back in Bermuda, decided to keep up the band anyway. The drummer’s only got one arm and the singer’s got half his face missing, but he’s the one the chicks go for. I got my whole face, but Bridie barely looks at me.

I got moonshine in my pocket and a couple of wraps of some kind of amphetamine, probably cut with formaldehyde for all I know, and Bridie’s into it so we both do a wrap and wash it down with the booze. Bridie scowls at me. I think she’s having fun. She’s wearing the kind of outfit the last surviving girl in a horror flick might wear – a flimsy sort of nightdress ripped to fuck and covered in blood and dirt. She pushes right up to the stage and dances in front of the band, even though no one can tell what they’re supposed to be playing; sounds like some kind of shuffling, gurgling cover of an Elvis tune. Maybe Jailhouse Rock. Maybe Lonesome Tonight. I grab Bridie’s arm and try to pull her back from the stage. I know what she’s thinking: after-party… but no groupie ever survived one of those.

So now I’m starting to wonder if this was such a great idea. And Bridie’s totally out of it, high on the amphetamines and the sick thrill of being so close to the band. The singer, Cold Tommy, he’s definitely seen her dancing. You can just tell what he’s thinking and it ain’t Love Me Tender. He’s kind of drooling out of the side of his head, and his tongue is lolling around out there too, and Bridie is getting seriously worked up, clawing her way to the stage, and trying to climb up on it. Jeez, what are you doing? I grab her around the waist and pull her back down, dragging her out through the crowd, and she does the whole kicking and screaming routine and then she god-damn bites me. But I still don’t let go.

Everyone’s drugs are kicking in now and I’m wondering if we might still make the last bus home. The smell of blood running from my Bridie-bite is getting some of these dudes excited, not least Cold Tommy, who fixes his eye first on Bridie and then on me, like he’s thinking, yeah, you can supersize me and do I want fries with that? We better get out of here pronto or we’re dead meat and a side of deep fried potato substitute.

We get out to the graveyard and the freezing air goes straight to Bridie’s head. She stops fighting me and I let go of her, then she looks at me like she doesn’t know whether she loves me or hates me, but probably mostly it’s hate, and I reckon this is a good time to go in for the kiss, and I’m about to zoom in when I realise the music has stopped. That’s when I look up and see them lurching out of the cathedral and shuffling towards us. Elvis has left the building, and he’s coming after us with a hungry look on his face.

Good thing about zombies is they’re pretty slow, and me and Bridie, we’re like supersonic. They can’t touch us, no way, cos we’re zipping and weaving round the gravestones like a couple of athletes; and yeah, alright, of course it’s the speed but so what? Feels pretty good. We run all the way back to the ’burbs and I walk Bridie right up to her house and push her up against the door and shove my tongue in her mouth, and when I’m done kissing her goodnight she looks at me with these big eyes and says, I had a great time tonight. Let’s do it again tomorrow.