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“And? I don’t remember asking for your advice. Does it not appear that I can handle myself just fine?” Madame Leslie glares at me.
I pull at my bottom row of ears, glad that at least I don’t have to hide them here and that the microphones Frank recommended seem to be holding up. Goddess, I miss the PC chip. Stupid gravity makes it impossible here. In the circus, diversity is not only encouraged but rewarded with payday bonuses. At least, it was before Madame Leslie took over. These days, I’m not so sure. There have been rumors of pay cuts. I should talk to Cat about that too. She always knows what’s up. Cat is the one person who will know if the rumors are true or not for sure.
“No. It’s just that with Ian gone, the cats look so sad. I found a more suitable habitat. A forever home, if you will. Do you remember the town of Escape? There, there’s a conservatory. It might be a great place for Leo and the others to live out the rest of their years. I think that’s the place Madame ran off to. She’d make sure they got attention. It would take a load off your back and be so much easier for travel. It’s not like people come out to see the cats—”
Leslie sighs so dramatically it cuts me right off. Then, “They don’t? Cats are classic. Lions, cheetahs, and tigers are expected.”
Now she chuckles, reminding me that I’ve only been around for a few months. She gives me a ten minute lecture on the circus coming to town nearly a century ago and informs me that it was the cats who always stole the show. Boss Lady informs me that I clearly need a lesson in travelling show histories. She tells me I could not possibly know what is best for the travelling crew and finally asks me if I’ve forgotten my bronzer.
“You don’t look as, I don’t know, Orange.”
“No. Nothing’s changed.” I don’t care to tell her that my skin reflects my mood. Clearly, the historically superior ass has never worn a moon ring. Duh. Where do earthlings think that term comes from?
Every day, I’m more and more amazed at how naïve earthlings can be. Even Frank. It’s good he doesn’t fully know. He can remain oblivious—like the rest of them—on the slopes until I figure out what to do. Interspecies dating is harder than it looks.
You don’t need a man, Neptune. It’s too complicated. He doesn’t need it and neither do you. Your entire destiny is to help these animals in this world. At home, it’s equal rights. Here, it’s getting the animals off the road. Stay focused, Neptune. You are an advocate no matter where you roam.
Home. It’s a place I don’t like to think about much these days. But I can’t say I wouldn’t like to go back to Escape, Colorado either – the childhood home of my true, earthling love no matter how many lies I tell myself. There, there’d at least be a chance for something remotely resembling what earthlings call happiness. Maybe he’d understand, I tell myself, if I went slowly. But in truth, for as much as I find myself these days judging the humans, it’s hard not to be honest about it. In reality, I’m a coward too. Why should Frank be any different?
Stop thinking about it. Don’t be so hard on yourself. What would Little Anus do? No. Who cares? He was an ass. Be glad you’re out of there. ...Besides. You know better than to trust a human. Remember how they treated you on the mother planet at the diner? What’s wrong with you? It’s like humanity is contagious. Cut it out! There’s no way he loves you too. Not the real way. Not enough to accept you for the true you. You can’t expect an earthling to be okay with it. It just can’t happen. Stick with the aliens.
“Well. Get some.”
“Get some? Get what?”
Leslie thumbs through a large metal safe at the back of her office. She frowns. “Bronzer. You know, for the star of the show, you sure aren’t bringing much in. Get the kind with glitter. You need to be, I don’t know, more magical. Your act is getting stale and I don’t like it. Do something about it. Fix it. I’m not getting any younger and, frankly, Neptune, neither are you. Don’t make me consider a pay cut.”
I don’t age here, idiot. I can’t help it. I have no poker face like the riggers. Instead, with my elbow, I salute. She has no more interest in putting on a good show than I do. She’s here for the money – plain and true. You can cut my pay too. Soon, it won’t matter. Things are about to change.
“How’s Worm?” I ask, glad she knows nothing about fifth universe body language and hoping a subject change for the newlywed will do the trick. I’ll find a way to get back to the animals soon. I’m good at that. Humans don’t have the ability to track multiple lines of logic like aliens do. Using parallel lines of reasoning is likely my best bet. Simplify, Neptune.
“He’s fine,” she mumbles. “Have you seen him around? He was supposed to be here an hour ago to make a bank run.”
“Last time I saw him, he was coming out of the fortune teller’s trailer.”
“God. What an idiot. I swear, he gets fixated. Remind me, will ya?”
“Remind you of what?”
“To talk to Es.”
Esmeralda, the carnie psychic and card reader for the menagerie tent, is probably the biggest money maker the circus has below me. As much as Leslie dislikes her, she’ll never let her go. I consider, for the first time ever, seeing her myself for reasons other than socializing. She’d know what to do about Frank. God, I wish he’d call.
“To talk to Es about what, exactly?”
“None of your business. Now, get out of here. You have to practice for the show.”
Madame Leslie turns back to the safe, bending her back as she pulls her leg up to the middle of it to stretch her quad, I assume. A former and recent contortionist, I guess it’s just what the bendy types like me do. Es is right. If she and Worm, who reminds me of Gumby, ever had kids, they might even be cute. Flexible anyway.
“I still want to talk about the animals. The costumes too. I mean, the women in the show are being objectified. I was hoping—”
Leslie spins around on one leg, dropping the other one somewhere between facing the full-bellied safe and full-on staring at me. “No!”
Just when I think it’s the final word on the matter, she begins a lecture that might never end. “You know, Neptune. You are a nag. You really are. Stop coming in here with all these silly requests for God knows what reason. It’s annoying as fuck. You wonder why Frank dumped you! ...Now listen to me and listen good: There will be no getting rid of the animals. There will be no getting bigger cages or throwing the show girls in burlap bags. Mermaids wear shells on their tits and no one has a problem with that. The circus is known for skin,” she glares. “Big Cats too. So don’t go there either. You and the other performers will wear what I tell you to or you can go. Do you understand me, Neptune? Everyone, even that worm, is replaceable. And maybe even sooner than later.”
I try to answer but she talks right though me, like a dying star from a top layer galaxy just cruising past to an unknown world below. In this moment, I am sure I hate Earth and consider my old job at the diner. It wasn’t so bad...
“And remember, everyone is replaceable, Neptune. I don’t understand exactly where you came from and I don’t really care. There are other show stars and no one alone can steal the show. If you can’t respect the things I’m doing with the carnival, you can go. I mean, go back to Escape. Go hang out with dead Martha—she doesn’t even bother to cover up that she knows about the show’s decaying werewolf—and Madame what’s-her-face. The show will go on, with or without you. That’s the only guarantee I have. Got it?”
“Yep.” With that and a purple face, I fly right the hell out of Boss Lady’s double-wide trailer. Screw her too. She got that right: Everyone is replaceable. Earthlings, anyway. Aliens? Not quite.