ZELDA

ZELDA - EXOTIC DANCER

Zelda cleared a little window in the condensation on the bathroom
mirror and peered at her reflection.

'Nothing exotic about that,' was her first thought.

The face staring back at her was pleasant enough. Without the usual
heavy make-up it was ordinary, even bland, . . . and sagging, and with
lines and furrows, and her bright blond hair was 'hanging like mince',
as her mother used to say. The thought of her mother caused a pained
expression to pass over Zelda's face. No, she didn't miss the old bag.
. .

Zelda uttered a sigh that was almost desperate. She turned away quickly
and dressed before she could see any more signs of life's callousness.
Her agent had started to hum and haw recently whenever she enquired
about bookings. She feared the worst. She had been used to gyrating
round poles, naked except for minuscule lycra and a few props, for so
long that she didn't think she could do anything else.

A series of thumps from downstairs followed by a strange mixture of
sounds alerted her to a problem very much in the here and now. Maybe
she should have put Henry back out to the shed, but he'd looked so
comfortable in front of the fire. The great bulk of his last meal, a
week ago, was still in evidence. He shouldn't have been hungry.

She pounded down the stairs fearing the worst and was pleasantly
surprised to count all four cats present and correct, if a little
frazzled, hair on end, that sort of thing. Henry was below the central
heating radiator.

She sighed fondly at her erstwhile stage props. The python was still
magnificent. He was too large and heavy now to use in her dance
routine, and rather a problem to keep warm and feed, but still a
beautiful dangerous thing. 'Dangerous', as the word came into her mind,
she saw that the door leading to the kitchen and the one to the garden
were open. A burglar?

The white doves, which normally spent their time on her kitchen airer
when not employed in hiding seductively her naked charms, were missing.
The back door was wide open. Outside, patio pots were on their sides;
earth and plants scattered over the concrete.

Zelda started to laugh, imagining the fright of the person who'd broken
in. Obviously the light in the bathroom and the sound of the shower had
been the trigger for the opportunist thief. She imagined his terror.
He'd just intended to get in quickly, grab what he could get, and be
off with the speed of light. Zelda thought that the last part of his
plan had probably worked. She imagined the terror when the doves had
all taken off with a great flutter of wings, and then swooped as one
out of the door and away. Zelda wasn't worried about them. The doves
were trained to fly away and return. She left the door open.

The burglar must have recovered enough to go into the sitting room, to
be confronted by a hugely swollen python on the rug. The snake was also
trained and would have slithered towards him immediately, perhaps would
have started to coil round his ankles as he stood petrified in the
doorway.

She looked at the snake. Henry didn't seem himself at all. If a snake
could look traumatised, this one certainly did. His beautiful skin was
dull, the scales dry and faded. Perhaps he was preparing to slough the
skin, but Zelda thought it was more than that.

Perhaps his last dinner hadn't agreed with him? Zelda looked guilty. It
was so hard to feed him. She knew that her other pets weren't safe
around him. He'd taken the odd sleeping cat or careless dove before
now. Stray animals just didn't come near the garden any more.

She decided to visit the pet shop and get him a tonic. Perhaps she'd
get a successor to Henry. Her act certainly lacked something now. She
didn't want to admit that she was the one who was lacking something
now. The thought was pushed away quickly but not before it registered.
Her shoulders slumped. Perhaps her mother had been right. Her last
words to her had sensibly been, 'Why don't you get a proper job? You're
too old to be cavorting around without your clothes. Why don't you get
a nice job in Marks and Spencers?'

She remembered how angry she had been. It had all come to a head then,
all the tension and frustration and fury after her mother had banished
the birds and the snake from the house and forced her to put them in
cages in the shed. This morning, it had taken just one moment of
self-awareness in front of her bathroom mirror. Now she was wondering.
Perhaps she should look for a shop job.

The cats were winding round her ankles, each purring and trying to get
her attention. The doves came back and set up a din of cooing. It was
feeding time and she got on with it. Cleaning out the cat litter and
hosing down the polythene sheet that covered the kitchen floor was
second nature now and could be done without thinking. This left her
free to consider what she would do as she fed them. Henry had slithered
into the kitchen to join the throng, although he would not be fed. He
probably wouldn't need another meal for at least a month, Zelda though
guiltily.

She sniffed. There was rather a pong. Perhaps Mother had been right.
The house was no place for 'Zelda's Zoo', as Mother had called the
collection of animals disdainfully. Maybe she should offer up all her
pets for adoption. She knew that stray cats could be rehoused, but
wasn't sure about pythons. She would enquire of her friendly
neighbourhood pet shop owner.

Later she stood outside the shop window, marvelling at the variety of
bits and bobs it was possible to sell to besotted pet owners. Maybe the
animals didn't need half the stuff on sale, but maybe the owners did.
Perhaps it fulfilled a need to nurture and care. She pondered the wider
implications of this. Probably not a lot of customers were there
because they felt guilt, like her. But then again, maybe they
did.

Still contemplating this she went in. Pat was at the back of the shop,
covered, as usual, in pieces of hay and bran. His hair stood on end and
the parrot perched on top gave him a vaguely piratical appearance. She
resisted the temptation to utter a few 'Yo Ho Hos' and rang the bell on
the counter instead. He came forward, the bird on his shoulder
now.

'Hello, stranger. Wanting another pornographic partner are you?'

She knew he meant another snake, or some birds, but Zelda resisted the
temptation to ask if he was offering himself, and told him about the
snake's problem. He offered to come and see him and Zelda quickly
agreed.

She knew there would be difficult questions, but reckoned it would be
easier to answer them if they came from Pat rather than from a busybody
policeman.

The questions came quicker than she was prepared for. As soon as he was
in the house he said, 'What have you been feeding him on? And where's
your mother?'

She grimaced, holding on so hard to the cat she had picked up that it
yowled and jumped out of her arms. Quickly, before he could notice (she
kidded herself), she put the kettle on and made coffee, all the while
keeping up a prattling tale of the burglar.

Pat kept quiet, but looked around. Like a good impression of a private
detective, Zelda thought. He looked at the photographs she had put out.
They were her professional photos. The glamorous person looking out
provocatively was undeniably her, but didn't have any connection with
her casual personna. She had placed them around the house so that she
could reassure herself after her morning's self doubts. It hadn't
worked but she hadn't had time to remove them. Another photograph was
of herself and her mother, taken before periodic confusion entered her
mother's life. The slight figure, quite a 'looker' in her time, was
beaming at the camera. Once a professional, always a professional,
thought Zelda.

She was thinking of this when Pat surprised her with his next question.
'What on earth have you been feeding this snake? Don't say he's been
after your doves again? He must have had at least six and a cat as well
to make this amount of distortion.'

Zelda felt herself blushing, an unfamiliar feeling for one so used to
the public paying close attention to her secret bits. She surprised Pat
by bursting into tears. Through the garbled explanation, he managed to
get some words. 'Difficult to manage,' 'Couldn't cope', 'Henry was
hungry', 'Had to do it,' 'No pain, honestly, 'Didn't hurt . . .'

At that point, Pat's brain felt as if it was about to burst. 'Do you
mean. . . .?'

'Yes, it was a stray dog, followed me home, a big brute. All I did was
put him in the shed until I took him to the police station.'

Pat found his voice. 'Do you mean . . . ' He tried again.

'Yes, I've done it before, only once, but mother noticed this time, so
she had to go.'

Pat, by now thoroughly alarmed, was wondering what he would do. He
stared at the snake. It did look like a very human form in its stomach.
He supposed it could be a big dog.. . .but&;#8230;'

Both were silent. And in the silence the front door could be heard to
open. Zelda was immediately on the alert. Perhaps the burglar had come
back to ascertain if he had been fantasising earlier. Perhaps it was
the police.

A nagging voice complained that there was a smell in the house just as
a phone rang. Zelda answered.

'Yes, she's just turned up. How could you let her escape again? I pay
plenty, surely you could make sure she doesn't just wander off?'

Pat was looking mighty relieved. 'I think you should come to work for
me in the shop, where I can help you with your snake problem.'