The Fabulous Table Lady Of Atlantic City Part 2

“Is that a motorized operating table?”

As the police car rushed up the boardwalk, Kate B, my mother, pulled me out of the way. We had just moments before been treated to an array of entertainment featuring a lineup of the strangest performers I had ever seen, the centerpiece of the whole enterprise being the Fabulous Table Lady of Atlantic City, she who was leading a group disco dance as she lay stomach down and limbless on a medical table while simultaneously playing a Casio organ with her tongue.

As the police approached the “man with the income” (as my mother had called one of them, apparently a Vietnam veteran) struggled to his feet, yanked off his right leg and started to wave it in the the air in a most alarming manner. His neighbor, the tiny man, curled himself into a ball and thrust himself in front of the police vehicle which brought it to a screeching halt. The man with the income hobbled up onto his good leg and started to move the tiny guy around with his prosthetic leg, inching him closer towards the front wheels of the car in an attempt to block any further movement. It was like watching a game of curling with human puck.

My mother, somewhat horrified, moved us back further into a pavilion towards the beach side of the boardwalk. By this time, all pedestrian traffic had ground to a halt as another police car raced up from the South and blocked the boardwalk. A crowd gathered.

A tall officer jumped out of the car and a struggle ensued. The veteran, still swinging his leg, tried to hit the officer in the chest while the tiny man went for his feet. “Top and bottom” the tiny man yelled. The officer called for backups as he was pulled down onto the boardwalk. The woman of large girth (who had been leading a chorus of Amazing Grace for the support of “her people” as she called them) wobbled over and sat on the policeman’s legs. A second officer jumped out and tried to arrest them all which was a nearly impossible task as by now the whole lineup was now in on the melee. It was one large moving mass, a disco line gone awry, all bodies in wild motion.

More police cars arrived and more officers jumped out. Two of them grabbed the tattooed man who, from the looks of it, was trying to appropriate the first car as a getaway vehicle. They handcuffed him just as he was grabbing the steering wheel. Another two officers cuffed the tiny man, the veteran and the woman of large girth. “Public disturbance, disorderly conduct and illegal solicitation,” the commanding officer shouted.

I asked my mother what was going on. She recounted in no short detail that it was illegal to solicit money on the boardwalk, that the Table Lady was in major arrears to the city of Atlantic City for many unpaid violations accumulated over many years and that she, my mother, was contributing to the general delinquency of all with her tipping which is why we were hiding in the pavilion. “No need for all of us to go to jail,” she said.

The crowd suddenly gasped and children began to cry. Marching forward and deliberately with possessed gazes were two older women, identical in every detail down to the white house dress and stringy hair. They had gone virtually unnoticed before and advanced robotically, step by step, closer to the police. All fighting stopped, everyone froze and there was fear in all eyes. One of the officers turned and whispered to the other “My God, the curious twins of Atlantic City.” As the women moved closer, the crowd did one rightward swing to let them pass. They came within inches of the police, glared at the commanding officer and hissed in unison, “Leave Her Alone!” They then turned, again in unison, and walked down towards the beach towards the ocean. All eyes followed.

“What was that?” I asked my mother

“My twin nieces,” she blurted out.

“Your WHAT?” I exclaimed, but before I could continue there was a loud rumble across the Boardwalk

“She’s moving fast,” someone shouted and all eyes whipped back from the beach to the boardwalk.

Out of the ashes of this chaos The Table Lady raced in front of all the police cars, her mouth wiggling a joystick as the table clattered past us all. I was reminded of Wonder Woman flying through the air, cape waving wildly, as the table picked up speed and zoomed down the boardwalk at a good 15MPH.

“RUN, DON’T CRAWL, Celeste” the woman of enormous girth bellowed as she was being held by two officers.

“Is that thing motorized?” I asked my mother.

“Yes, isn’t it magical?” was her reply.

All eyes darted towards the moving table as it flew northwards up the boardwalk, took a sharp left almost toppling the whole thing, and made its way towards Pacific Avenue.

End Part 2