by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 40
In retrospect, it was rather humorous, depositing Josey at Pearson International. Charles and I had decided that she should wear some sort of robe and veil so she'd look like a member of a country that promoted that look, but Josey had wanted to flaunt her hairy countenance. What a change from the gal who was embarassed by her condition and spent an inordinate amount of time crying. Eventually we settled on a heavy suede coat—it was October and cool so she didn't seem overdressed—and a hat that hung down on all sides to cover her hairy cheeks. She looked rather attractive actually, sullen and sexy, a hairy Marlene Dietrich.
"Sullen and sexy," I said, and Josey glowed with animal pride. "Now remember, just keep your hat on during the flight. Don't talk to anyone. Read a book. Relax."
"Don't you worry, Honey," she said, "I'm gonna enjoy this."
When we arrived at the airport, Charlie and I waited at the gate and watched her swagger down the narrow hall and step through the arch which housed the metal detector. The buzzer went off.
"Shit!" I mumbled.
We could see Josey stop, reach into her pocket and withdraw something.
"I fear she has ignored our—" Charles began to say.
"Shit! Shit!" I growled.
Josey had handed a metal cigarette case to the security officer then flipped up her floppy hat, on her face a mammoth smile. The officer stepped back suddenly and two other guards moved in. I felt I had to say something so I ran to the security gate and began explaining.
"She has a rare disease, hairy comatoma," I said, inventing the rather descriptive label. "It's not contagious, it's genetic, she inherited it from her … uh, her father. He was quite hairy and now she's going to Atlanta to see whether they can cure her. She's really quite docile …" Shit! Why did I say that? They'd think animal appearance meant animal behaviour, perhaps violent, vicious. "Uh, what I mean is, she's harmless … I mean, the disease is harmless, to everybody except poor Josey."
The guards stared at each other. Josey smiled sweetly and pulled her hat over her face. A crowd had gathered, gawking. After perhaps a minute of consultation the guards waved her on and Josey pulled her collar high, tossed her head and strutted toward the entry gate. I breathed a sigh of relief and returned to Charles who had slowly crept to within hearing distance.
"Hairy comatoma?" he said.
"Why not?" I said.
"I assume it's related to the mosstoforo amazonia and oompapa bangbang of the Amazon," he grunted.
"Precisely," I said, and we walked out to the parking lot and my Porsche.
When we got back to Burlington, Pelvis was into the fridge, feeding her face, dressed in that sheer robe that Charles had provided. The kitchen was a mess. She seemed unconcerned when we entered. Charles ran to clean up the empty Coke cans and chicken bones on the floor. The gal just stepped back, looked at me … and smiled.
It was about time I got her to talk, about the Chokli, about the weed, about cocoons and white fluff and hairy gorillas. I grabbed her by the arm and sat her at the table. She gasped at the intensity of my action and the smile vanished and she sat quite still, looking up at me.
"Okay, Miss Boobs," I growled, "we've got some talking to do."
