by Mike Resnick
“I'm afraid there's something else as well,” he said.
“Now it comes,” she said, glaring at him.
“This bicycle you ordered. We're going to have to reprogram one of the robots, which will run into quite a bit of money, and I was wondering if it was really necessary."
“I think it is."
“But what is the purpose of a bicycle that doesn't go anywhere?” asked the blue man.
“It's an exercise machine,” she said. “It keeps my legs in shape."
“Isn't there some less complicated way of so doing?” persisted Mr. Ahasuerus. “Running, for example?"
“Different muscles,” she replied.
“And it is absolutely essential that you have this?"
She shrugged. “No, it's not absolutely essential."
“Then,” he continued, “if it will not constitute too great I hardship..."
“Fine,” she interrupted him.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.
“I'm doing you two favors,” said Gloria. “I'm giving up my exercise machine and my papaya juice. Now I wonder if you can do me one."
“If it is within my power,” said the blue man.
“You're an equal partner with Thaddeus,” she said. “Why can't you book us onto some world where stripteasers are appreciated?"
“There are no such worlds,” he said gently.
“I knew that son of a bitch lied to me!"
“No,” said the blue man. “Mr. Flint knew that there were no worlds—except your own, of course—where stripteasing existed. He had no way of knowing that there were no worlds where it would be appreciated."
“But you did!” she snapped at him. “You could have told me!"
He shook his head. “You must believe me: I felt as Mr. Flint felt, that it would be a novel attraction that would delight audiences."
“Why would you think a bunch of lizards and birdmen would be interested?"
“Tunnel vision,” he said with a shrug. “I have been a wanderer among the stars for so many years that I had forgotten how truly parochial local attitudes can be. I felt the fact that I found your act diverting meant that everyone would. I was mistaken, and I am sorry about it. But don't blame Mr. Flint. He is even more disappointed with the results of our tour, thus far, than you are."
“I find it very difficult to work up much compassion for Thaddeus,” replied Gloria. “He's still bilking the marks and running the show and bedding every girl who works for him except me. He's making out just fine."
“He probably would be happy to debate the issue with you,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.
“Once you sobered him up and pulled Jenny and Lori out of his bed, that is,” said Gloria sardonically. “Look, Mr. Ahasuerus, I feel cheated and unhappy, and the last thing I need to hear from you is what a tough time poor old Thaddeus is having, okay?"
The blue man sighed deeply. “I don't know what you want me to say, Gloria. I truly had no idea so many of you were unhappy."
“What do you mean, so many of us?"
“Jupiter Monk thinks his lion is dying, Max Bloom wants to work at a game that will almost certainly kill him, Thaddeus is displeased with our choice of worlds. Everyone seems unhappy about something or other—except Billybuck Dancer, that is."
“The Dancer always was different,” she said. “Let him shoot at things and spend his life dreaming that he's gunning down Doc Holliday and he's content. What does all this have do with me?"
“I just thought you'd like to know you're not alone,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.
“I'm more alone than I've ever been in my life,” she replied unhappily.
“May I ask a personal question?” said the blue man.
“Why not?"
“I know why some of the others came with us—but why you? You were a star on Earth."
“I thought I'd be a star out here, too,” said Gloria. “At least, Thaddeus told me I'd be. And you,” she added, her eyes flashing, “never said different."
“And that's the only reason?” he asked. “To be a bigger star than you already were?"
“What's wrong with that?” she said defensively. Then she sighed. “No, it wasn't the only reason. All my life I've played in front of slobs. You saw the audiences at the meat show, Mr. Ahasuerus. They never even looked at me until I'd gotten out of my clothes. Just once, I wanted to perform in front of someone who appreciated what I was doing. Did you ever hear of Gypsy Rose Lee?"
The blue man shook his head.
“I was just talking about her with Tojo. She was the greatest stripper that ever was. She used to talk to the audience about the stock market, and what books she'd read, and who made her gowns. They were so interested in that they didn't even care how much clothing she took off.” She turned to Tojo. “She never had to worry about being Louise Hovack again. She was Gypsy. They even made a musical about her life."
“I know,” said Tojo softly.
“And you think you'd like to talk about stocks and books to your audiences?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus, puzzled.
“Of course not!” she said. “My God, you're dense! I'm just using that as an example. She had a class act, and she played for class audiences in class theaters. They appreciated her art. They'd have been shocked if she rolled around on stage and let them paw her, the way the carny strippers have to do. That's why I came: to find people who cared about how hard I was working instead of how easy I was."
“But if you have such contempt for your audiences back on Earth, surely you must be happier not stripping at all rather than stripping before them,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.
“You don't understand at all!” she snapped. “I was a star on Earth. I was Butterfly Delight!"
“But if the audiences—"
“I didn't always work for the carnival,” she said defensively.
“I see."
“Thaddeus misrepresented it to me,” she added sullenly.
“Then why didn't you leave?"
“For what?” she snapped. “You think a bunch of drunk businessmen playing with themselves beneath folded newspapers are any better? They were all freaks and slobs!"
“I seem to have missed something,” said the blue man. “If all your audiences were like that, then what benefit accrued to achieving stardom in such a field?"
“Because it made me better than them!” she yelled at him. Suddenly she began crying. “Dammit, it was the only thing that made me better!"
Mr. Ahasuerus turned to Tojo, a distressed expression on his gaunt face.
“What did I say?” he asked, thoroughly confused.
“It's all right,” said the hunchback, getting off his chair and walking over to put an arm around Gloria. “I think you'd better leave now."
“But..."
“She'll be all right,” said Tojo, stroking her hair tenderly. The blue man shook his head, sighed again, and walked out the door.
“I'm sorry,” said Gloria, tears still trickling down her face. “I didn't mean to make a scene."
“It's all right,” crooned Tojo. “It's all right."
“Do you have a Kleenex?"
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it and dabbing at her face. She looked up at him. “Did you know that when I was twelve years old I was the fattest, ugliest girl in my class?"
He whispered meaningless sounds and continued stroking her hair.
“It's true. I was such a homely little girl, I used to stare at myself in the mirror and wonder why God was mad at me. Even after I thinned down in high school, I was too awkward to make the cheerleading squad. I never even had a boy ask me for a date until my junior year. You should have seen him, Tojo,” she said, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “He even made you look handsome and dashing."
“He sounds like my kind of person,” replied Tojo, returning her smile. “Did he stammer, too?"
She shook her head. “I was so average, Tojo. Even after I stopped being
fat I was just an average girl with average parents and average grades and average friends. I was always afraid I was going to have an average husband and sleep with him 3.4 times a week and have 2.2 children."
“But you didn't."
“Maybe I should have. That was the best Gloria Stunkel could hope for. If she didn't do that, she'd have been a waitress at some truckstop, or maybe a hooker. Not a call girl in a fancy apartment, but just some girl standing out there on a corner."
She had stemmed the flow of tears, but now they poured forth again.
“Maybe you'd better go,” she said, wiping her eyes once more.
“If you're sure you'll be okay,” he said doubtfully.
“Make him leave me alone and I'll be all right,” she said.
Tojo walked to the door.
“Promise you'll talk to him."
“I promise."
“Don't let him kill Butterfly Delight. I can't go back to being Gloria again. I just can't!"
He closed the door behind him, feeling for the first time in many years that there were worse things to be than an undersized hunchback with a speech defect, and wondering exactly who was cracking up: Gloria Stunkel or Butterfly Delight."
* * *
Chapter 6
What are you talking about—cracking up?” demanded Flint.
He was sitting in Mr. Ahasuerus’ office with his partner and Tojo, surrounded by the keepsakes of the blue man's thirty-odd years abroad in the galaxy. There were prints of sights he hoped he'd never see this side of delirium tremens, holograms of beings that he thought existed only in his nightmares, books in languages that no human would ever be able to decipher, plaques and knickknacks and curios of every imaginable variety and a few he didn't think anyone could have imagined.
The blue man's refrigerator—there was one in every room on the ship, but this was the largest outside of the kitchen—was filled with brown drinks and purple meats and oddly-shaped canisters containing items that Flint didn't even want think about, as well as a few cans of robot-brewed beer that were there strictly for his benefit and that tasted about the way he thought the brown stuff must taste. Still, he accepted a can, just to be polite, and was quietly furious with Tojo for claiming to be a teetotaler and not being forced to suffer equally with him.
Tojo sat on a couch of unearthly design—all of the blue man's furniture was unearthly, but this was a little more so than most—while Mr. Ahasuerus himself sat at his desk, sipping a cup of coffee, a beverage to which he'd become passionately addicted during his brief stay on Earth.
“Just what I said,” answered Tojo. “Call it an identity crisis, or whatever you want, but she's getting awfully close to going off the deep end."
“It's true, Mr. Flint,” interjected Mr. Ahasuerus. “I was there. I will support what Tojo says."
“Nothing personal, Mr. Ahasuerus,” replied Flint, “but what the hell do you know about it? Your entire experience has been with a carny crew. The next normal human you meet will be the first."
“Then let me say that I find her attitude abnormal even for a carnival worker,” said Mr. Ahasuerus patiently. “I am concerned about her mental health and well-being, just as I am about all my employees."
“And besides, you wouldn't want her setting fire to the ship,” added Flint sardonically.
“The ship is inflammable,” the blue man pointed out mildly.
“This isn't a joking matter, Thaddeus,” said Tojo.
“And you think letting her strip to an empty tent is going to make everything better?” Flint shot back.
“Of course not,” said Tojo. “But I think you'd better realize that you've got a problem on your hands and start considering what to do about it."
“I've got more problems on my hands than I know what to do with,” said Flint wearily. “You know I had to put a lock on the Bozo cage to keep old Stogie out of it?” He paused to light a cigarette. “Monk's lion is dying. Jenny and Lori are mad because I gave the Skillo game to Barbara. The Dancer tells me he's going to run out of bullets sometime next week. My partner tells me the Corporation is still sending their efficiency expert, even though we made thirty thousand credits our first three days here. Diggs got one of the Procyonians so hot that he took a swing at him last night and we damned near had a riot on our hands, the strip show couldn't draw flies at a watermelon party, this beer tastes like shit, and you think I've got nothing to do except worry about the fact that Gloria's unhappy?"
He leaned back in his chair, momentarily exhausted from the recitation of his primary annoyances and wondering if he should even bother listing his secondary ones.
“It's not that Gloria is unhappy,” said Mr. Ahasuerus, after waiting politely to see if his partner was through speaking for the moment. “We are all unhappy for one reason or other."
“Even you?” said Flint.
“Even me,” said the blue man, exposing his teeth in his equivalent of a smile. “Seven months ago, I was a very successful tour guide."
“On the other hand, six months ago you were a very unhappy and unwilling freak show attraction,” said Flint, returning his smile. “So things could be worse."
“Getting back to the subject at hand, the fact that Gloria is unhappy is not a major problem. The fact that she is having serious psychological and emotional disturbances could well be."
“Isn't it enough that I have to run this goddamned show?” said Flint. “Do I have to play nursemaid too?"
“I realize that empathy was never your strong point, Mr. Flint,” said the blue man dryly. “Nevertheless, you should realize that it is in your best interest to do everything within your power to alleviate Gloria's problems."
“What do you suggest that I do?” asked Flint. “Send for forty sex maniacs from Hoboken?"
“I am sure you can think of something,” said Mr. Ahasuerus. “As you yourself pointed out a few moments ago, I am hardly experienced enough to suggest a solution."
“Or take the responsibility for it,” said Flint irritably.
“That's not fair, Thaddeus,” said Tojo.
“What's fair got to do with anything, you ugly little dwarf?” demanded Flint. “We've got a girl both of you seem to think is cracking up, and you've just nominated me to play the part of her shrink. If you're worried about fair, maybe you ought to start thinking about whether putting her in my hands is fair to Gloria."
“Have you any alternative?” asked the blue man.
“Why not leave her alone and let her work things out on own?"
“Because her problem, as Tojo has explained it, has been caused by external forces with which she is incapable of dealing,” said Mr. Ahasuerus.
“Well, short of my slipping each of the Procyonians a couple of credits to pinch her ass, I'm going to have just as much trouble dealing with it as she has."
They both stared at him in silence, and he began twitching uncomfortably.
“All right!” he snapped at last. “I'll think of something.” He glared at his partner. “Are you satisfied now?"
“Yes."
“Then you don't mind if I get the hell out of here?” Flint, rising and walking to the door.
“Of course not. There is one last thing I'd like to say, though."
“Yeah?” said Flint, pausing in the doorway.
“I am sorry that my beer tastes like excrement,” said the blue man, showing his teeth again.
“Don't let it worry you,” said Flint. “It's not half as bad as your sense of humor."
He and Tojo left the office and took the elevator back down to the main level of the ship.
“I still don't know what he expects me to do,” muttered Flint. “I mean, who the hell ever heard of a stripper with an identity crisis?” He shrugged. “Oh, well, I suppose we could be freezing in New Hampshire. Tojo, be a good little bastard and hunt me up some cigarettes."
“Where will you be?” asked Tojo.
“Around. I've got to check on Monk's lion, and do couple of other thin
gs."
He grinned ironically. “I'll be easy to recognize. Just look for a guy who keeps trying to convince himself he'd really rather be on this dirtball than Earth."
Flint turned and walked out the airlock, and a few minutes later was standing beside Jupiter Monk, looking at the listless lion that lay motionless in its cage.
“It's all these goddamned worlds,” said the burly animal trainer. “He just can't make the adjustments."
“How old is he?” asked Flint, reaching his hand between the bars and stroking Simba's left ear. The lion paid no attention to him.
“Nine or ten."
“How old do lions get to be?"
“Older than this one,” said Monk. “It's not age, Thaddeus. It's all these changes in his routine."
“Maybe we should have left him behind."
“What the hell was I supposed to do?” demanded Monk bitterly. “Turn him loose in the Vermont countryside?” He looked down at Simba. “He was born in a circus and he'll die in a carnival. I suppose that's fitting."
“How are the others doing?” asked Flint.
“Bruno's okay, and nothing seems to bother the leopards. But Jesus, I'm gonna miss this goddamned lion. He was the only one I could ever turn my back on. That fucking bear would sooner take my head off than look at me."
“Is there anything we can do?"
“For Simba? Not a chance. He's turned down his food two days in a row. A lion starts turning down meat, he's getting ready to die."
“Maybe we could spice it up with something,” suggested Flint. “I could get the galley robots to make—"
“He's dying, Thaddeus!” snapped Monk. “It's not your fault and it's not mine, and it sure as hell ain't his, but pouring a little gravy over his food pan ain't going to put him back on his feet.” Monk looked down at Simba again. “Best goddamned lion I ever had."
“I'm sorry,” said Flint softly.
“It's all right. Nothing you can do about it."
“How much longer are you going to let him live?” asked Flint.
Monk shrugged. “When the time comes, I'll borrow a gun from the Dancer and take care of things myself. Another day or two, I suppose."
“I could see if Mr. Ahasuerus can program a robot to do it."
