The Teatro Zinzanni

A friend of mine told me this story by the water cooler this morning, and transcribed it into an email.

Cookie strode into the center of Teatro Zinzanni and asked that we take ourselves on a flight of imagination, that we imagine ourselves in a wooded glade, that we imagine her as the Goddess of the Hunt. Dressed as she was, in a glamorous outfit with a tall headdress and 8 inch high heels, it was admittedly a bit difficult, but we struggled to participate in her vision. The two-foot bow she carried helped only a bit.

So, there I was, wondering who the poor schmuck was who was going to be picked as Victim #3. In fact, several times over the course of the evening I had lamented poor #3's fate. I was drinking wine, following Cookie's gaze around the room to see who would be picked. I put down my wine and looked up around Karen to track Cookie again...

... and found her looking right at me.

Cookie strode into the center of Teatro Zinzanni and asked that we take ourselves on a flight of imagination, that we imagine ourselves in a wooded glade, that we imagine her as the Goddess of the Hunt. Dressed as she was, in a glamorous outfit with a tall headdress and 8 inch high heels, it was admittedly a bit difficult, but we struggled to participate in her vision. The two-foot bow she carried helped only a bit.

So, there I was, wondering who the poor schmuck was who was going to be picked as Victim #3. In fact, several times over the course of the evening I had lamented poor #3's fate. I was drinking wine, following Cookie's gaze around the room to see who would be picked. I put down my wine and looked up around Karen to track Cookie again...

... and found her looking right at me.

"You!" she cried. I pointed at my chest incredulously, and over to our table she marched, this six and a half foot Amazon crossdresser.

"May I borrow him for a minute?" she asked Karen, who demurred and thus sealed my fate. "Thanks for the fifty bucks," she said to Karen and out into the center of the "glade" I was marched. Before I went, I asked her if she was going to read me my Carmen Miranda rights, and she said she would, if she knew who that was...

I was asked to survey my domain, as the Lord of the Forest, and did so, arms stretched wide and face formed into a grimace of terror which I only hoped resembled a smile. Around and around we turned, surveying my domain.

Next, she determined that to fully know that I was the Lord of the Forest, I needed to display some, um, fur. And it was at this point I was disrobed, all the while attempting to hold in my abdomen so as not to appear grotesque.

I think this was the point where she indicated my nipples and tweaked them, but I can't be sure, as my memory of the course of events is a bit hazy, due both to the horrific scale of my embarrassment and the heat of the lights.

I admit, she was a bit disappointed by my fairly hairless chest (those of Italian descent have a great advantage over those of French in this department). So naturally, fur needed to be brought. An immense, furry hat was placed upon my head, with a mane hanging down about my neck and shoulders. I kept my abdomen as tucked as possible, so as to preserve whatever tiny shred of dignity I still held; perhaps that bit could be nurtured back to something approaching its former self after the show.

I was led again around the inner circle, or rather, the glade, and finally up one of the entry ramps, the one closest to the band. She asked me to growl, and I accommodated her, raising my hands like claws. She went up the other promenade and "camouflaged" herself, holding a gloved hand in front of her face.

I was asked to prance into the glade, where I was shot by a dart from her bow. She proceeded slowly down the ramp and pierced my heart (nipple tweak here, I'm certain of it) and told me that it was time for my death scene. So I feigned my death while a gentleman in the front row remarked loudly, and to much merriment, that I had already died a thousand deaths. Eventually, I died, and she placed my face (inside its protective hat, thankfully) against her bosom. I think she made another remark then, but I was trying to be as dead as I could possibly be.

She then bemoaned that fact that such a noble beast had been slain, and regretted her actions in killing me. She wished that I could be restored to life, and then remembered that she was the Goddess of the Hunt, and thus, had power over life and death in her domain. So raised up my head and plucked the dart again from my breast (these nipple tweaks were starting to hurt) to restore me to life.

I suppose I should have remembered what was coming next, and it came to me once I saw Rosette crouching with a camera nearby... after restoring me to life, she removed the hat and demanded payment... of a kiss. And so, placing my hands on the sides of her head, I gave her a big one, to applause and the flash of a camera.

We left Teatro Zinzanni to applause and cheers, and exited to the lobby, where my clothing, though not my dignity, was returned. We made chit-chat as I dressed and a few people came out to use the restrooms, applauding my performance once again (one pair of ladies said they didn't know me, but that they were big fans). I admit, I was a bit shell-shocked, but I had gotten through it. I think she took me out to the lobby just to make sure I was going to be okay, and I appreciated the breather.

She used a napkin to remove her lipstick from my lips (and then reapplied her own) and returned me to my table, to the cheers of my tablemates.

Thankfully, not long after, dinner was served.

Posted by jeremie at April 29, 2004 9:12 AM