Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

With His Bare Hands

   It’s just another night at Mooney’s. Today marks two weeks at Mooney’s. I can tell Oswald is anticipating the paycheck he’ll receive today, just from the way he whistled into work while his arm was wrapped around me.

“So...are you and Oswald…?” Ann awkwardly asks as we prepare for the next show in the dressing room.

“Yes, yes we are.” I reply nonchalantly, applying powder to my nose. Whenever I’m performing onstage, I always wear skin makeup that makes my skin look lighter, lighter skin reflects off of lighting better, also, it just looks nicer.

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, but...why him?”

I look up from my mirror, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is...ugh, the pale skin, long nose, creepy stare, not to mention he sounds like he’s halfway through puberty-” she stops herself, “look, it’s your decision, and you two seem pretty happy with each other but...I’m just saying I think you can do better.”

I apply a dark red lipstick, “Thanks for the concern Ann, but I think I’m good with where I am right now. What about you?”

Ann pulls up her garter belt, “Oh me? I don’t do men.”

I nod understandably, just as Morgan enters the dressing room, “Ladies, you’re on in five minutes!” he calls out, before running up to me specifically, “Trixie, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”

“Of course Raoul.” having picked up on the language of the club, I’d noticed that everyone seemed to refer to each other by their first name.

I follow Morgan into the narrow hallway just outside the dressing room. The hallway is empty, and the murmur from the crowd outside comes drafting in through the curtains separating the two areas.

“This is going to sound strange, but, how well do you know Oswald?” he asks, his voice quick and snappy.

I shrug, “No better than you.”

“Because, I don’t know, I get a weird vibe off of that guy. I know he’s here to help but...you know what I mean? Guy just kind of rubs me the wrong way.”

I’ll admit, I know what he’s talking about, Oswald still never fails to creep me out, or at least put me on edge every once in a while but, as I’ve gotten to know him, I feel he does at least some of it on purpose, as a sort of scare tactic.

“I see why you’d feel that way. Personally though, I think he’s just...misunderstood.” at least that’s the best way I can put it.

The introduction music starts playing from the stage, and I run back into the dressing room to line up with the other girls. There’s about six of us, all dressed in the same playful red, black, and white lingerie with long, chunky heels. We all enter the stage single file, with me at the end. I look out at the audience, Fish and Oswald are no where to be found tonight. Must be out on business.

The music starts up as one of the musicians turns on the player connected to the stage, and the lights are brightened as the six of us start dancing to a low, fast-paced song. We move our arms and legs, turning and kicking and making all kinds of suggestive movements. There’s whistling from the audience, and as the three minute song comes to a close, I step to the front of the stage as a black table and a chair are set in the center of the stage. The music changes dramatically, becoming slower, and the musicians get up and play the intro,

“What good is sitting alone in your room?” I begin, walking around the table and chair, “Come hear the music play. Life is a cabaret old chum, come to the cabaret.” I lean against the metal chair, bending my knees, “Put down the knitting, the book, and the broom, it’s time for a holiday.” I walk around the chair to the table, “Life is a cabaret old chum, come to the cabaret.” I place my entire back against the table, lifting up my upstage leg to the air. Lowering my leg, I face the audience, “Come taste the wine, come hear the band, come blow your horn start celebrating,” I sit up, smile at the audience, and cross my legs, “right this way your table’s waiting.” I jump off of the table, “What good’s permitting some prophet of doom,” I spin to the side of the table and lower myself under it, clutching the stand, “to wipe every smile away?! Life is a cabaret, old chum, so come to the cabaret.” I get out from under the table as Ann sits down in the chair. I approach her,