The Fabulous Table Lady of Atlantic City Part 1

The Fabulous Table Lady of Atlantic City Part 1

Where else but in Atlantic City?

As my mother got older we used to stroll the Atlantic City Boardwalk searching for oddities. We searched for different oddities, or I should say those that piqued our individual tastes and missions. For Kate B, my mother, every one of these creatures was a charity case, someone to chat up and donate some amount of money, usually small but often ranging into the $10 amount which was a lot for her (although in truth the money was taken from money I had won at the slot machines). You see, Kate B and I would go into a casino and I would give her $20 to spend which she would promptly pocket. Then, when I won, she would scoop up every last quarter into her bucket. So my winnings would end up in the pocket of one of the oddities.

“From pocket to pocket,” Kate B would exclaim.

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For me none of these people could be strange enough. I grew up in this strangest of beach cities at a time when it was way beyond its healthy expiration date, that heyday being the 1940s and 50s. I had lived the decline and had never known a time when it wasn't strange. According to Kate B, there were always weird things on the Boardwalk but she called them “funny" in the way she had when she had seen the flamboyant superstar pianist Liberace fly into the wings at the end of his Atlantic City show. “Funny,” she said, when the word more appropriate would have been “gay.” “Don't say that “ Kate B would say if I even mentioned that word. “His audience is all women!” Yes, I mused, older women with blue rinsed hair.

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So we strolled, my mother giving money to those who fulfilled her charity mission and me, searching for that one stand out, the one beyond all earthly belief.

That particular Thursday we rounded the corner near Caesars Palace and happened upon a lineup of about 10 such stand outs. They were all lined up in a row and wiggling in sync to an electronic keyboard beat.

Kate B sauntered over to the line in that movie star way of waking she had sported as of late and started doling out the cash. A dollar to the tiny man, a quarter to the disheveled veteran (”he has an income after all,” Kate B said) and so on until in the middle, blocked by a woman of enormous girth, lay the source of the music and one of the weirdest creatures I had ever seen.

Positioned in the center of the whole line up was a medical grade operating table atop which lay a small woman on her stomach, no limbs. This torso of no more than 4 feet in length was writhing back and forth as she played this small out of date electronic Casio organ with her tongue. She was the source of all delight to her fellow travelers.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“The table lady of Atlantic City” Kate B replied. “She's famous.”

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I was speechless. This lineup was quite impressive even by Atlantic City standards. Standing next to the table lady was a guy I could only describe as a human canvas. He looked to be about 6 feet 5 inches, every inch of skin covered in tattoos. It was a little disorienting to look at him at and Kate B. seemed truly disgusted. She fancied herself a bit of a Christian these days although she was able to smoothly fold bottles of gin (which she called “Jesus Juice)” into her faith. She told me that if wine was good enough for Jesus and caused him to greatness, her path lay in the harder stuff. Maybe that’s why she did that movie star saunter.

Next in the lineup was that enormous woman, the one who first blocked my view. She was a singer and while I couldn’t say her voice was bad, to say it was pleasing was definitely a bit of a stretch. To my ear it had the timbre of a cat being dragged along for a casual stroll around the block. The whole group was rounded out by those who looked as though they worked in some sort of sideshow, the kind of shows that had long ago left Atlantic City and left the performers behind. They just ended up here, “stuck at the end of the bus line” a friend of mine used to say. “Nowhere else to go but the big drink.” He was right. Atlantic City had an end of the road feel and at that minute I was in the proud company of the last group that got off that bus.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice the sirens as the boardwalk police trolly raced up the boardwalk behind me. There were some shouts and then shitloads of pandemonium.

End Part 1

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