Trashland a Go-Go

Editor’s Note:

Constance Ann Fitzgerald is one of my favorite people.

When I learned that she wrote vignettes about the creeps that come into the sex shop where she works, I had to read them. When I did, I asked Ms. Fitzgerald if she’d ever thought about writing bizarro fiction. She said it might be fun.

Constance Ann came to BizarroCon 2010, to see what this whole scene is about. She easily made friends and won everyone over with her idea to write a Trashy Fairy Tale about a dead stripper. So charming!

I’m very happy to be working with my friend and presenting her work to all of you. I know you’ll love this delightful Mad Hatter trip into the horribly fun trashscape that Constance Ann has created. Enjoy yourselves.

I’m happy to present Constance Ann Fitzgerald’s book to you as part of the New Bizarro Author Series. This is this author’s first book! The NBAS strives to bring new voices in bizarro fiction to our readers. It serves as an opportunity to introduce you to new writers, and to introduce them into the world of being an author. Eraserhead Press is happy to bring new, weird voices to you in the hopes that these authors will prove themselves to be strong members of the bizarro community and continue to entertain you for years to come. The publishing of this book marks the beginning of a one year proving period. Please help support our NBAS writers in their endeavors by telling your friends about their cool new books. This book you hold is only one of several hundred that must be sold in order for this author to continue on her path. We hope you help her along as best as you can. Thank you.

~~Kevin Shamel

Author’s Note:

For Andrew Wilson

Special thanks to Kevin Shamel, Kevin Parks, Brooke Morrison and the Bizarro Community

Coco took a deep breath, leaned back to fluff her mane of Aquanetted curls, and made sure there wasn’t any blood leaking out of her nostrils. She winked at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her hair.

Somewhere between the adrenaline rush before she hit the stage—where she felt the most adored—and the cocaine in her dressing room, she was feeling pretty fucking amazing. She rode that buzzing wave out onto the stage as the DJ boomed, “For all of you just arriving, welcome to Snatch Hausen! Where there is more than one use for a brautwurst! Talk about a happy hour special!” Coco hated it when Victor, the club’s DJ, talked over the intro to her song. She would be sure to give him a good tongue-lashing after her performance.

“Gentleman, welcome Snatch Hausen’s own Coco Darling!”

Coco sauntered onto the stage. Chastity brushed passed her, smirking. Normally Chastity would make some kind of catty comment in passing, or glare at her and hiss “bitch” as she stepped offstage, always too late for Coco to retaliate; the spotlight already setting her thick coat of body glitter off like twinkling oversexed stars. This time, Chastity just smirked and quietly snickered to herself as she passed. Although Coco found this strange, she strutted on, thinking that perhaps Chastity had chosen another girl as the object of her unfounded hatred.

Coco’s mind cleared of all these things as the spotlight bathed and blinded her. She rolled her hips at the few men she could make out in the front row. She ran her hands up and over her silver bikini and pulled at the strings slowly, making the rounded man, whose shining crown of his head was visible through a sad comb-over, sweat and salivate. His tongue lulled slightly out the corner of his thin-lipped mouth. It was a good reaction—one that would get at least a couple of dollar bills tucked into her g-string. So she focused on him. She kept her eyes fixed on him as she approached the pole at center stage.

Coco built up a little momentum to give herself a nice solid start on the spin. But when her hands grasped the polished chrome, they held only for a brief moment before something slick and slimy caused her to lose her grip. Coco flew across the room like a semi-nude astronaut, and crashed into the DJ booth. The heel of her stiletto gouged a hole into the soundboard and sent up orange and bright violet-blue flashing sparks that snapped, popped, and finally sizzled. Plumes of smoke poured from the smoldering mess of Coco’s hair.

Victor ducked behind his chair as the half-naked, airborne woman sped toward him. At slow speed, this would have been some odd sexual fantasy fulfilled for him, but Coco’s speedy flight made him realize that this was not going to end even remotely like so many previous dreams about her.

“Coco...? Coco?” he called to her as he stood. “Coco?!” Victor raised his voice, shouting over the commotion of the gathering crowd.

In response, Coco slid off the soundboard and landed in front of the console with a thick, meaty thud.

“Oh, she’ll be just fine. She’s pretty out of it. We’ll go get her checked out. Lots of rest. You know the drill. She’ll be back in no time!” Arnie, the club’s owner, shouted after the stragglers.

Drunken men, disoriented by Coco’s accident, shuffled out the door as Arnie held it for them.

Victor squatted down beside Coco, having a conversation with her. He pretended that she was responding. He pretended she had come back around. At least she had stopped smoking. The smell was overwhelming so close to her body. Burnt hair, smoked meat, and just a hint of cotton candy hung heavy in the air. The smoke blended with the fog machine and made ghostly, foul-scented shapes that faded almost as quickly as they appeared. Strobing lights of various colors pulsated through the haze.

“No, don’t try and get up,” Arnie said boisterously over his shoulder as he ushered the last of the customers outside.

The stone-still, topless Coco lay flat on her back in front of the DJ booth.

Victor’s eyes glazed in awe as he stared down at Coco Darling.

Arnie shut and locked the door with an easy affable grin until the bolt and reinforcement bar were firmly in place. He then turned and bounded across the room to where Victor gazed at Coco.

Arnie’s sudden presence was enough to snap Victor out of his daze. He shifted his eyes away from the charred, crumpled beauty with great effort and redirected his focus to his boss, who was covering his nose with the collar of his shirt. Even through the fabric Arnie’s expression of disgust was visible.

“What do we do now, Arnie?” Victor asked. His eyes were wide. He sounded like a frightened child.

Arnie, unaffected by the events, let the collar of his shirt fall from his bulbous nose to speak. “Seriously, Vic? What the fuck do you think? Stuff and mount her? Put her at the front door? Turn her into a coat rack? You wanna keep her a while?” Victor stared at his shoes while Arnie continued, “She already fucking reeks. Jesus, she reeks. We chuck her in the garbage.” He slapped the back of Victor’s head with the flat of his palm. “We wrap her in trash bags and bury her in the dumpster. Pick up should be first thing tomorrow morning. Once she’s at the dump there’s no telling where she came from. Strippers and hookers go missing all the fucking time, ya know? What’s one more?” Arnie wiped his oily forehead with the back of his hand, and brushed sweat onto his slacks. He went to the janitor’s closet.

“Really, Arnie? We’re just going to dump her in the trash?” Victor asked, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. He stared down at Coco. If he squinted, the matted mess of hair wasn’t so bad. If he breathed through his mouth he didn’t smell the burned skin and layers of melted glitter. But when he exhaled, the faint taste of barbeque lingered on his tongue.

Coco had always been high strung, and more than a little mouthy, but in her voltage-induced slumber she seemed so peaceful. Lying there she looked like a sleeping Amazon from outer space; a topless alien race napping at Victor’s feet. He thought she must look lovelier than she ever had before, and what a shame it was. The only time she shut her mouth long enough for Victor to truly appreciate her unique beauty up close, not just in his head, and she had to go and be dead the whole time.

Arnie thrust a roll of trash bags into Victor’s hands. “Stop gaping at this bitch and get busy wrapping. Start at her head. I’ll start at her feet.” Arnie licked his lips thinking about Coco’s feet.

During Snatch Hansen’s
More Than One Use for a Brautwurst Happy Hour
, customers chose strippers for private dances and paid extra for them to act out sexual fantasies with the sausages. Arnie often chose Coco to lick the brauts and run her dainty, manicured digits over the casings before smooshing them between her toes. He never paid her, but he owned the club and felt he deserved the perks. Who would argue with him? All of the girls knew just how replaceable they were.

Arnie started wrapping Coco’s feet in black plastic. He took his time until he reached her ankles. Then his interest waned and he went about his work quickly.

“C’mon Vic, she ain’t getting any fresher.”

Victor held Coco’s head in the open palm of his hand. The trash bag only covered her forehead. He stared at her closed eyelids and searched for a final sign of life. He hoped she would cough and twitch back into existence, but he couldn’t cradle her corpse all night—as strong as the urge might be. Arnie was growing impatient. “What the fuck, Victor? What’s the fucking hold-up?”

Victor shook the warm thoughts of cold parts away and wrapped the rest of her head quickly while looking up at Arnie. He didn’t want to see Coco’s pallid face, smudged with grey, swallowed up by the black plastic.

“No hold-up, man.” Victor stammered. “It’s just weird. I mean, what are the chances…”

“Do you really fucking care? We need to get her outta here before the night cleaning crew shows up.” Arnie snapped.

They wrapped her from head to toe in layers of thirty-three gallon heavy duty trash bags and finished it all off with a somewhat festive looking knot cinched at her waist.

“Let’s go chuck her in the dumpster and get a drink,” Arnie said. He picked Coco up by her ankles and dragged her several feet. “I ain’t doing this by myself, man. Grab a handful of head there and let’s get movin’.”