"A Real Cool Cat" by Matt Ire

Henry loved David Bowie. In 1972, he saw Bowie perform as Ziggy Stardust, backed up by Ronno and Bolder and Woody as The Spiders from Mars. It was the amalgam of spectacle and loud, thumping decibels that attracted him to Bowie’s shows and compelled him to buy every record. The visual was just as important as the aural to Henry, who’s hearing had been spotty his entire life due to the measles he contracted as a baby. Imagine the surprise Henry felt when he heard the local baseball team was having “Diamond Dogs Night” at the stadium the following Tuesday.

Diamond Dogs was Henry’s favorite Bowie album. Just like Ziggy Stardust, Diamond Dogs featured Bowie as a character, Halloween Jack. He was a complete contrast to the always optimistic Ziggy. Where Ziggy saved the world of banality, Jack represented the dark reality of everyday life. Henry witnessed Jack in all is glamorous glory roughly thirty years ago at the very same stadium the baseball team played in now.

To prepare for the game, Henry bought 8 yards of silver-sequined material, scoured the thrift stores for elevator boots, and bought orange make-up, a mullet wig and an eye-patch from Party City in the strip mall down the road. He had old satiny scarves in the attic somewhere, if he could only find the box. He dug out all his Bowie vinyl and scrapbooks so he could be certain his Halloween Jack costume was perfect.

Henry took the Monday before the game off from work. The hum of an old Singer sewing machine complimented Sweet Thing and We Are the Dead blaring from the record player down the hall. He worked tirelessly, only to take a break whenever the record needed to be flipped. Once he was satisfied, he slipped into his homemade sequined one-piece leotard and stood in front of the mirror, grinning at how perfect it felt. He practiced strutting in his 6-inch heels covered in hot-glued baubles and rhinestones. He dyed the wig bright orange and let it dry on a Styrofoam head purchased a day earlier. The orange make-up smelled like pencil shavings and was barely tolerable, but he knew Halloween Jack never cared about such things. The song Diamond Dogs reinvigorates Henry with each play:

The Halloween Jack,
Is a real cool cat,
And he lives on top
Of Manhattan Chase
The elevator broke
So he slides down a rope
Onto the street below
Oh Tarzie, go man, go!

Even though the parking lot was pretty full, Henry noticed there was no human movement between his car at the back of the lot and the stadium’s entrance gates. He purposefully showed up late so he could make his grand entrance like Halloween Jack did back in 1975 at this very same stadium. He shined and strutted between Volvos and minivans as a booming muffled voice announced the next batter up to much applause. He imagined it was him being announced, the finest Bowie costume in a sea of pale imitators. He would be the best Halloween Jack and he knew it.

At the gate, Henry presented his ticket to a wide-eyed and slack-jawed usher.

“How does it look in there?” Henry asked in his best British Bowie voice.

The usher said nothing. Henry knew he blew his first mind.

Inside, under the dim glow of track lighting in the main concourse, the overwhelming smell of hot dogs thickened with each of Henry’s uncomfortable strides. The lines around the concession stands were long and angry and mustardy, and more importantly, completely devoid of Bowie fans. What was once a braggart’s sway turned into an awkward trot. Every single person’s eyes were fixed on the glistening orange nightmare floating in front of them. Henry knew something was wrong when My Humps, something definitely not Bowie, pumped through the loud speakers to signify the end of the third inning. He made his way through the causeway into the stands when he saw the giant animated monitor above the scoreboard announce:

WELCOME TO DIME-A-DOG NIGHT!

Standing at the top of the stadium’s sticky stairs, Henry’s face turned visibly green despite the layer of thick orange make-up. His stomach did flips inside of his sequined belly. All laughter and cheers were directed towards him. He thought things couldn’t get much worse when the first $.10 hot dog whipped across the back of his neck. The subsequent torrent of salty pork-tubes stung terribly with each hit. Henry almost started to cry when Rebel, Rebel began playing on the loud speakers.

Henry knew he was in the right place.

The Halloween Jack is a real cool cat.