A Real Mermaid's Tale at the Virginia Aquarium
They jammed into the passageway, surrounded on three sides by the saltwater's murky depths.
Cocktails in hand, the partygoers in holiday dresses and Christmas ties resembled passengers on an aquatic subway. Glass on either side and overhead separated them from the sea creatures making their way through the enormous tank.
The guests buzzed with excitement, and some fanned themselves in the sticky air.
Then something unusual began coming into view, gliding through the water as light gleamed off its shimmering scales.
"There she is!" someone shouted.
The buzz turned to a dull roar, and fingers pointed to – could it be? – a real-life mermaid.
The mermaid dove effortlessly to the depths of the tank. Eagle rays floated above her like kites, and blue and yellow fish followed her in a school.
She paused at the bottom, her face serene. Smiling, she reached out to touch the glass. Her hair floated behind her, suspended, as if moving in slow motion.
One nonbeliever had had enough.
"She's not real!" he yelled, and began making his way out of the packed crowd.
Those around him didn't seem to notice. They were beaming at the beautiful fantasy in front of them.
That evening, the mermaid had carried her tail – concealed in a navy blue duffel-like bag – into the Virginia Aquarium & Marine Science Center in Virginia Beach.
This mermaid has legs, and, yes, she is human. Her name is Malena Sharkey, and though it sounds made up, it, too, is real. "Fate, huh?" she likes to say.
The 35-year-old Portsmouth woman stored her tail and makeup bag in the aquarium's staff locker room, where she would get ready to moonlight at the holiday party. Around her, the water-filtration system for the tanks hummed. It's a scene she knows well.
By day, she's a scuba instructor and dive-shop owner. She's also a free diver – one who doesn't use an air tank – capable of descending 89 feet under the water and holding her breath for four minutes.
Her hair, which flows in layers down to her waist, is the only hint of her second profession.
Malena slipped off her shirt and donned a purple swimsuit top, ornamented with fish netting and sequins. She kept on her Lucky jeans and square-toed boots.
Her 5-foot-4 frame is muscular, a physique enhanced by her time spent doing carpentry as a theatrical scene builder. She had always been comfortable as a tomboy, but then she discovered mermaids.
The new role wasn't really a stretch. As a baby, Malena lived on a boat. As a child in Black Mountain, N.C., she was prone to tying her legs together with a bungee cord and jumping into the deep end of the pool.
As an adult, she saw the Atlantic Ocean again and felt like she was home. She vowed she'd never leave the water.
And, so, once more, the woman who loves the sea is living on a boat.
At the aquarium, Malena started her transformation with a tanning body makeup – one that doesn't dissolve in the water. She rubbed on foundation, then stared at herself in the mirror.
"What do I want to do? What do I want to do?" she asked, scrounging through her makeup kit. Then she laughed. "Look at all this."
She selected a silvery blue eye shadow and swept it across her lids.
Malena had first considered becoming a mermaid in 2005, when a photographer visited her dive shop to talk about underwater photography. He'd taken pictures of women as mermaids, lying in the surf and flipping their tails. It intrigued Malena.
When she chatted with him afterward, he mentioned that he had a tail at his house and asked whether she'd like to try it out.
She remembers the first time she slipped it on. Though it was a little big, the tail felt natural. She jumped into the water.
Suddenly, she felt beautiful and exotic – like something out of this world.
She set out to create her own costume – and her own persona. A seamstress friend helped her fashion an outfit from dive-suit material.
She earns a few hundred dollars for performances like the one at the aquarium, but she's also added children's birthday parties and other less physical events to her portfolio.
Doing her makeup comes naturally after her years in the theater, and Malena swiped on waterproof mascara, then glued three rhinestones around each eye.
But there are some unexpected costume additions.
She never thought that she'd wear hair extensions, but they flow so nicely in the water. And she never imagined that she'd spend $3,000 to upgrade her tail to a 26-pound silicone one custom-ordered from a "mer-tailor."
She came out of the locker room wearing a sarong and flip-flops. Her face was ready.
"How does it look?" Malena asked, posing for her boyfriend, Bob Minnick. "Not overkill?"
Bob shook his head, and she leaned in for a kiss.
They've been together for 11 years after meeting in the theater. Malena and Bob changed careers together when they took over the Chesapeake Bay Dive Center in Portsmouth.
He remembers the first time he took her scuba diving, and she jumped right in – "fearless," he said. He's become a part of her mermaid world, photographing Malena and other aspiring women of the sea.
Only a handful of mermaids existed when Malena first donned her tail. She and Bob have watched a so-called "mermaid boom," with more and more women taking a break from their real lives to live out a fantasy. That's what motivated the couple's latest business venture – the Mermaid Portfolio Workshop.
They take summer trips to tropical locations in the Caribbean and Central America and photograph wannabe mermaids swimming through the sea or lounging on the shore.
At the aquarium, the couple strolled through the twists and turns of the blue-walled back hallways until they reached the top of the Red Sea – a 100,000-gallon saltwater tank that is home to eagle rays and a shark. The tank surrounds a 40-foot-long tunnel-like hallway.
At the top of the tank was Malena's tail, with its shimmering scales of green, blue and purple. It had made it back just in time from the Florida man who constructs and repairs such pieces. Malena had broken her fluke – the triangle-shaped fin at the tip of her tail – while swimming with whale sharks last summer near Costa Rica.
As the tail waited for its wearer, an eagle ray circled, brushed against the fluke and darted away.
"What's the water temperature?" Malena asked.
"72," responded Sonny Alejo, the aquarium's lead diver who was there to help.
It sounded warmer than it was. Malena knew her body heat would drop by the time she had finished her four 20-minute performances. To prepare, she did some breathing and stretching exercises, before relaxing in a cross-legged, meditative pose.
Then it was time. Malena took off the sarong and put on socks so her feet wouldn't get chafed by the monofin that serves as her fluke. She rubbed her legs down with coconut oil – "mermaid lube," she calls it.
Perched on the edge of the tank, she rolled out the tail, then squeezed her feet inside.
"I'm in!" she shouted victoriously.
Next came the hardest part. She grimaced as she shimmied her body into the rest of the outfit. She lay down to pull the heavy, tight material over her hips, and then the tail was on. She stretched her arms overhead, closed her eyes and her hair fluttered around her.
Malena had become a mermaid.
Sonny, wearing a wet suit and scuba tank, would be her safety diver. The two went over the system of notifications they would use in the tank; then Sonny jumped in.
Malena shimmied her tail and torso into the water. "Ooo!" she exclaimed at the chilliness.
Below, she could make out the liquidy shapes of people who had congregated in front of the tank.
Malena took a breath and dove in, her fluke the last to slip beneath the water's surface.
At first, all she saw were shadows.
But 15 feet down, she spotted the outlines of fingers pressed against the glass. Light flashed from the spectators' cameras.
She touched the tank and held on to a piece of faux coral to steady herself. Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. Malena stayed below until her lungs began to burn.
Divers can puff on their mouthpieces when they need air; mermaids just have to smile. And so she did.
She surfaced, taking in a deep breath and coughing. She cleared her nose and shook her head to get the water from her ears. Then she dove in again.
On the third dive, she heard Sonny snap – it was a signal. She surfaced in time to hear him say, "The shark's awake. Just keep an eye out for her." The creature's speckled body glided by.
Bob stood at the railing above the tank, watch in hand, timing her dives. "They're about 15 to 20 seconds, babe," he called to her.
Malena came up shivering, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. She lay on a towel and pulled off her tail. Bob handed her eyedrops.
She'd have a few minutes to warm up before her next dive.
The excitement was building in the tunnel.
"There's a mermaid? A real live mermaid?" one guest asked in awe.
The party, hosted by The Noblemen and The Roundtable of Business Leaders for Hampton Roads, was raising money and collecting toys for needy children.
Joey Thatcher leapt up and planted his feet in front of the tank as the mermaid dove toward the glass.
"Come here!" he shouted. "Oh, yeah, baby, she loves me!"
Thatcher pressed his face up to the tank. The graceful being came in close and blew him a kiss.
The guests murmured as they watched the performance.
"Look, she wants to touch you, honey," one woman said as the mermaid paused at the bottom.
The mermaid, always smiling, alternated between blowing kisses and waving at the crowd. The guests didn't know about the stalking shark or the concern about colliding with a ray or that she couldn't make out their faces.
More and more partiers flocked to the tunnel.
"She's doing a good job."
"That is something, isn't it?"
It seemed so effortless on this side. But the difficulty wasn't lost on everyone.
"I'm not going to stand here and watch that girl freeze to death," one man said.
Before her last performance, Malena lay by the tank, wrapped in a black coat, the hood pulled over her head.
One of the aquarium staff had brought her a mug of tea. She was still, conserving her energy. Her rhinestones were in place, but some of the glittery eye shadow had worn off.
Below her, the shark circled, seemingly a little defensive of this strange creature.
"How are you holding up?" Bob asked. Malena gave him an a-ok sign.
Her fourth performance is always the roughest, usually with the shortest dives and longest breaks between them. By now, Malena's sinuses were aching and she knew her body would be sore the next day.
She shimmied into the water and, with one last burst of energy, shouted, "All right, let's ham up this audience."
Down below, the party was going strong.
Guests held plates of sushi and rock candy on sticks, and the pulsating beat from a DJ sounded in the distance.
Two little girls ran excitedly from side to side of the tunnel, hoping for a glimpse of the mermaid.
"There she is!" said 5-year-old Hope Pniewski, who had missed the earlier appearances.
Hope and her friend pounded their hands on the glass, fingers stretched wide.
Malena, swooping down from above, spotted them.
The mermaid reached the glass and placed her hands on the outlines of the girl's. Malena smiled, then crooked her fingers into a heart.
As the mermaid swam off, Hope reached her hand high up on the glass.
Her face glowing, she held it there long after the beautiful creature had disappeared from sight.