by Kim Krizan
Jezebel
Jezebel was an ancient queen of Israel who is said to have tyrannized her people—just because it was fun.
The truth is quite different. Israel in Jezebel’s day was a major fundamentalist hellhole and subject to the hysterical rantings of a particularly annoying prophet named Elijah. Elijah, killjoy that he was, stood on street corners with a signboard preaching the end of the world, as well as censorship of any and all pleasure. He took particular offense to Jezebel, who was very attractive and generally got Elijah thinking all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. We all know that when a man has naughty thoughts about a woman it’s her fault—she put them there and knew exactly what she was doing! And so Elijah took shots at Queen Jezebel by publicly deriding her as a harlot, hussy, tramp, slut, bitch, whore, and trollop. He pulled her up before Senate panels and even suggested she was in a secret lesbian relationship with the Secretary of Defense.
Most Israelites knew that Elijah was a nutbag and a fanatic, but they didn’t have the balls to confront him. See, it seems that Elijah had built a band of dumb but vocal followers and they were slowly gaining clout. It would have been politically expedient for Jezebel to make friends with Elijah, perhaps tone down her wardrobe and become the benefactress of a children’s charity. Perhaps she could fly to Africa on a humanitarian mission or even adopt a child. But that just wasn’t her style. No, Jezebel was going to fight fire with fire, and so she brought a few swarthy soldiers into her quarters for a secret meeting and conceived a plot to rid herself of the prophet.
What Jezebel didn’t know was that several of her servants were listening at the door and these servants were covert members of Elijah’s dumbass church. That night while Jezebel was getting ready for bed, her servants entered her quarters, grabbed her, and pitched her out the window. She fell several stories before landing in bloody heap in the street. Then she was eaten by dogs. Meanwhile, nary a hair on Elijah’s head was harmed. He eventually retired from public life, saying he needed to spend more time with his family, and escaped going before a congressional panel or being deposed by an independent counsel.
Jezebel went down in history as the bad guy and Elijah the good. See how it works?
Delilah
Delilah was a beautiful Philistine who dated a Jewish stud-muffin named Samson. Delilah liked the way Samson looked in a loincloth and the way he threw his javelin. What she did not like was his inexhaustible vanity about his hair. Samson, who was butch in every other respect, was the biggest priss about his long, dark hair—fluffing it in the mirror and cluttering up the bathroom with styling products, while also going to great pains to remove his chest and back hair. And Samson became absolutely insufferable when, examining his hair one day with a hand mirror, he spotted a bald patch on the top of his head. Samson then took to applying all sorts of smelly serums to his thinning pate while muttering about his tresses being the source of his strength. Delilah could see where this was heading: the dreaded long-hair-with-bald-crown combo so unappealing, so screaming of mid-life crisis, and yet so ubiquitous in the ancient holy lands.
Finally, Delilah could stand Samson’s mid-life crisis no longer and came up with a plan that would solve everything. While he was fast asleep, Delilah took a pair of scissors and crept into Samson’s bedroom. Throughout the night she labored to give him a chic, modern cut one that really suited him. Finally, Samson awoke and Delilah handed him a mirror, certain that he’d see what she saw: a handsome man who’d been done a great favor by his girl. But much to her surprise, Samson was so enraged he stood up and pulled the house down on top of them and everyone else in it. And that’s what a femme fatale gets for trying to do a good turn.
Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion
Scheming to Remove a Man’s Strength
Metallic, jeweled bikini top with midriff-baring jeweled skirt.
Numerous bracelets and a feather fan.
Important: A jeweled snood with a diadem hanging on forehead.
(As worn by Delilah, played by Hedy Lamarr in “Samson and Delilah.”)
Salome
Salome was a 1st Century princess, the daughter of a real climber who had married a king, the wealthy and powerful Herod. Salome was expected to attend her stepfather’s birthday party and give him a present. What does one give a man who has everything? She knew that many guests would try to curry favor by giving him golden chalices and jewel-studded chariots, but Salome wanted to be original.
Then it dawned on Salome that she could give King Herod something really unique. She’d been taking bellydance lessons at the Learning Annex for some time and her teacher told her she was pretty good. She told her mother her idea of giving Herod a birthday dance and Mum gave the thumbs up, so Salome put together a little routine involving veils (she happened to have seven in her drawer) and awaited the big party.
Herod’s birthday fete was roaring along nicely. Everyone drank wine and ate birthday cake and Herod opened his many presents. At long last it came time for Salome to deliver her special dance. She had the servants extinguish most of the torches so she was lit in the most dramatic way and she signaled for the flute players, harpists, and drummers to begin playing their slinky melody. And then Salome began spinning across the floor. She employed absolutely every cool move she’d learned in bellydance class: the figure-eights, the undulations, the shimmies. Unfortunately, one of her veils fell off as she hip-snapped her way toward Herod, but then she remembered something her teacher had said: “Make mistakes part of your performance.” And so Salome decided it would be a neat trick to remove every veil.
The performance was a colossal success, so much so that some of the women at the party glared at Salome with daggers in their eyes. But happiest of all was Herod.
“Good pagan gods!” he said. “That was the best present of all!”
At this point Herod had consumed quite a lot of booze, so what came next was a surprise to everyone.
“Salome,” he crowed, “As a thank you for your wonderful gift, I would like to give you a present. Anything you want! Up to half my kingdom.”
Delighted, Salome thought about the possibilities: robes, headdresses, chariots, condos, glamorous vacations in Babylon. She really thought hard but she had no idea what to ask for, so she went to her mother.
“Mumsy, what do you think I should ask for?”
Salome’s mother whispered in her ear and Salome’s face took on a look of surprise, but her mother said, “A promise is a promise.”
And King Herod was good to his word for when Salome asked for the head of John the Baptist on a plate, she got it.
Doing as the Romans Did
or, Simply, Doing the Romans
When it comes to Fatales, the Romans had a tale to tell.
Cleopatra
For years the mighty Romans had their cajones in a vice-grip by a girl who dared to take over the world. She used her feminine wiles like no other, rose to power, and attained international and historical fame—and all on the backs of the Roman men who fell victim to her charms.
Cleopatra was a seventeen year-old Greek girl who, after the death of her father, inherited a disaster of a country. Egypt had once been a kick-ass world power, gamely enslaving God’s chosen people in the process, but it had been slipping for years. Finally, it fell under the thumb of that swaggering upstart state: Rome.
Not only was the Egypt Cleopatra inherited plagued by famine and natural disasters, but Dad and his cohorts had made a mess of things by fostering countless political conflicts and screwing the economy. Worse yet, Cleopatra was expected to rule along with her twelve year-old brother and, to keep the royal bloodlines pure, marry him.
“Ew,” Cleopatra is reported to have said at her state-sanctioned wedding to her brother. “This is just gross!”
In the final insult, because Cleopatra was a chick, the plotting patriarchal courtiers of her day didn’t think she should rule at all, preferring for her little brother to play puppet ruler to their greedy machinat
ions. They promptly Tweeted fake news about Cleopatra, seeing to it that she was booted off her own throne and forced to flee her own palace. Little brother, convinced that he really was “the decider,” immediately made a colossal mess of things with all manner of rotten judgment and spectacularly bad decisions. Worst among these bad moves was his single-handed shattering of Egypt’s relationship with Julius Caesar, the powerful Roman ruler who did not suffer fools.
Cleopatra got to thinking about the situation. She wasn’t in power—not officially, anyway. But when she thought about it, she did have power, a power more insidious than anything her dum-dum brother might have. And so Cleopatra did what any smart Fatale would do: She had herself rolled up in a rug that was then carried into the Roman palace and unfurled in Julius Caesar’s mighty presence. (Who can resist a good rug, especially one woven by prematurely-nearsighted children in some exotic foreign land?)
Cleopatra emerged, sexily tousled and nubile at twenty-one. Before her sat fifty year-old Caesar, craggily handsome (though a little out of shape). He was as delighted as if she’d brought him a pizza and showed him her thong.
A child ensued nine months later and, because he knew how to treat a mistress, Caesar decided his tantalizing new girlfriend should be queen, supreme ruler, and pharaoh of Egypt. Cleopatra was down with that plan. Then, in spite of her Greek heritage and in an effort to get in the swing of Egyptian culture, Cleopatra learned the Egyptian language and made Isis her patron goddess, even claiming to be Isis’ human reincarnation. Soon after, Cleopatra’s little brother conveniently drowned in the Nile.
Things went along swimmingly for quite some time, what with Caesar and Cleopatra feeding each other grapes and making pillow talk about their supreme domination of the Western world. But then in an electrifying turning point, Julius Caesar was assassinated by his own friends (“Et tu, Brutus?”).
With her man dead, Cleopatra’s rulership was in danger. She took stock. Since all of her brothers had died, she took it upon herself to have her remaining sister killed—just to simplify things. But then Marc Antony, one of the powerful Roman soldiers who was scrambling to take Julius Caesar’s place, demanded to see her.
At first it seemed just another boring political meeting on her calendar, an opportunity to make an alliance, but when Cleopatra got a load of Antony in his skirt and sandals the wheels of her mind and loins went a-spinnin’. The meeting of their, uh, minds was so hot that they went down as two of the greatest lovers in all of history. Children ensued and they were married in an Egyptian ceremony (in spite of the fact that Antony was already married to a Roman lady, a fact of which Anaïs Nin later made note).
When not in bed, Antony and Cleopatra put their heads together. They were quite certain they could rule the world. And why not? Is total global domination such a bad thing? What else does one put on her Christmas wish list? But Rome’s new Caesar, Octavian (who later became Augustus), was outraged by this upstart Antony and his girly cohort and sent his powerful Roman navy to bring them down. Octavian’s navy easily bested Antony’s and Cleopatra’s forces, crushing their dreams and putting them in mortal danger.
Antony’s bid for Roman rule ended when he did the honorable thing by falling on his sword and dying, appropriately, in Cleopatra’s arms. No doubt Cleopatra could have gone on to seduce Octavian, but even Fatales get tired of the old world domination game and sometimes opt to lay down the red lipstick. Yet there’s always that one last scene, the one that if performed well will leave ‘em breathless.
Cleopatra arranged one of the coolest dénouements in all of history. She had a basket of figs brought to her in her royal chambers where she lounged in one of her many filmy negligees. Cleo had requested that the basket of figs harbor a particularly poisonous snake, an asp, and as she picked through the figs she was bitten. Thus Cleopatra died in great style, bringing to a dramatic conclusion one of history’s most vampish reigns.
Appropriate Ensembles for Every Occasion
Plotting Total Global Domination
Nude from the waist up except for swirling metal snakes around each breast
(suspended from chains hanging from shoulders).
Thick jeweled belt over sheer skirt. Arm band on left bicep.
Headdress with coiled cobra rising above forehead
and ears shrouded in miniature pyramids.
Eyes and lips darkened.
Important: Hold dagger overhead.
(As worn by Cleopatra, played by Theda Bara in “Cleopatra.”)
Boudicca
When the all-powerful Romans decided to expand their territories by nabbing a nothing little island off the coast of Europe (one that was populated by a bunch of dirty hippie tribes who pushed around big stones and ran naked through the forests) they couldn’t have been less concerned. Conquering and enslaving dirty hippie tribes was their forté. Or at least it was until they met Boudicca (also called “Bo”), an Icenian queen who ran down the beaches of Britain in slow motion to Ravel’s “Boléro” with her red hair in lots of little braids.
Bo’s husband, King Prasutagus—who had been married previously to both Ursula Andress and Linda Evans—had ruled as an ally of Rome’s and had believed them when they said they would carry out his will. But when Prasutagus finally died and his will dictated that his kingdom be left to his wife and daughters, the Romans had a good laugh, promptly raped Prasutagus’ daughters, and made a point of publicly flogging Bo. Bo was not amused. And then the Romans reneged on the rest of their promises and led a campaign to conquer the entire island, which really got Bo’s Irish up. Bo had always been a peaceful sort, a real hippie girl who’d loved nothing more than gathering berries for her morning granola. But she reached deep within herself and found that treasured ability all women have to give up the granola and play hardball.
First thing on Bo’s to-do list was to gather the warring pagan tribes and persuade them to join forces under her leadership. Check. The second thing to do was perform a pagan incantation involving a bunny to figure out which direction to march. Check. The third thing was to destroy a Roman settlement and burn yet another to the ground. Check. In the end, Boudicca and her piddling army were responsible for the deaths of 70,000 to 80,000 people. Bo dusted off her hands. It was Miller time.
“Gosh, mass murder isn’t so bad,” she said.
Roman Emperor Nero was so alarmed that he considered withdrawing all of his mighty forces from the island and calling it a day, but a certain General Suetonius, pissed that a hippie chick had made the Romans look like chumps, gathered all of the forces of the Roman army to conquer Bo. Bo and her army gave it all they had, but in the end the Romans and their fancy technology got the best of Bo and she went down with her army.
Rumor has it that Bo was carried over the misty moors by fairies. They sang Stevie Nicks songs and lulled her into never-never land with the prophesy that one day another queen would kick ass—and would do so under an Anglicized version of Boudicca’s name. (That queen would be someone named Victoria.)
Messalina
Messalina was the wife of the Roman Emperor Claudius. Claudius just adored his little “Messie,” treating her wonderfully well and doing the appropriate thing by making her birthday a national holiday, erecting flattering statues of her and displaying them in public, and giving her the special privilege of sitting next to the Vestal Virgins at the theater.
Messalina, though, like many First Ladies, was an object of jealousy and mean gossip and she decided not to take her enemies’ blows lying down. She began to fight, sending representatives to speak for her on the Sunday morning political shows, vanquishing anyone she felt was a threat, and ordering many into exile.
Among those she sent away was the Roman historian Seneca. Seneca was the predominant media personality of his day, bending the truth while downing masses of illegally-acquired prescription medications, indulging in a secret gambling addiction, and sexually harassing his underlings. Also sent packing were a couple of Messalina’s nieces who h
ad done what many relatives do and proved themselves worse than the cattiest of her catty friends. Last but not least, Messalina exiled a few lawyers, just for fun.
In spite of the pressures Messalina faced, she was able to compartmentalize and continue on with the important business of Rome. One of her most noble acts was to send someone to assassinate Nero. Now she certainly called that one correctly since the man went on to become one of Rome’s most notoriously lousy rulers, but no one listened to prescient Messalina and her plot to kill Nero was foiled.
Because of Messalina’s power and smarts, she then acquired the reputation that is de rigeur for any woman in her position: that of a nymphomaniac. No male equivalent exists. Men who like sex are healthy, virile winners. But not Messalina, and so the tabloid-style entertainment blogs of her day spun out some of the cutest stories. They said that Messalina was so voracious for anonymous sex that she went to work at a “massage parlor.” And while working at said massage parlor, she was said to have covered her dark hair with an “ash blonde” wig. (History is clear: The wig was not sunny blonde, strawberry blonde, or golden blonde with buttery highlights; no, it was ash blonde.) When Messalina heard these ridiculous rumors she could hardly help laughing, for when she wanted to have meaningless sex that was totally devoid of satisfaction she need merely crawl into bed with her husband, Emperor Claudius.
But then Messalina made a tactical error. Since the rumor mill was churning away, she wondered what harm it could do if she had a little fling, a teensy little affair with a certain Roman general, Gaius Silius. (They had made goo-goo eyes at one another on the occasion of several crucifixions.) And since hubby Claudius was so busy with state affairs and—as previously mentioned—not exactly a riot in the sack, she made an itty bitty flirtatious move in Gaius’ direction (that involved subtly showing him she wasn’t wearing any underwear). Soon after, Messalina and Gaius got drunk and then drove to Vegas where they were married in a drive-through wedding joint. It was just a silly lark, a joke that went too far, but it made Messalina a bigamist and when Claudius saw the evidence in the form of paparazzi photographs he had Messalina killed. Thus, history lost a great First Lady—and all because her husband couldn’t take a joke.
