Roscoe shut the door and brushed off his hands. “You need a study break and some real action.”
Gordon snorted. “What would you know about action?”
Roscoe tossed his head. “Please. That little party at the concert? Tourist stuff. I’ve been working Hollywood for twenty years. I know all the places, all the people. We don’t have work tomorrow, and there’s no taps for you tonight, Marine.”
Gordon crossed his arms. “Out of the goodness of your heart, you’re taking us along on your party prowl? I think you just want to keep us from studying, see us fail.”
Nasir cleared his throat in a reminder he had passed all the practice tests.
Roscoe just shook his head at Gordon as if he were a dimwit. “You really don’t get how this works, do you? I don’t give a crap who wins, and I’m not in this to win. You think I want to spend my life wearing industrial-strength rubber and cleaning up decaying body parts? I’m the gadfly. The antagonist. I get paid to be the jerk everyone loves to hate and likes to see fall short in the end. I’m going to come out of this show better off than even the winner. Nothing personal. It’s what I do.”
“So you’re the jerk.” Gordon understood that much. “Why do you want to take us clubbing?”
Roscoe sighed theatrically. “Oh, gawd. I really have to spell this out? I like you guys. I have total respect for what you’re trying to do. In my own joi de vive way, I’m trying to thank you for wanting to lay your lives on the line.”
Now Nasir stepped beside Gordon, copying his crossed arms and skeptical gaze.
Roscoe gaped at them in the picture of innocence. “Is it too much to believe I consider you friends? I thought we really bonded this season...”
Still, they glared.
Roscoe wilted. “Oh, honestly, you’re what’s hot in Hollywood. Everyone knows I’ve got the in with the ZDE cast. Still, that does not mean you can’t take advantage. This is Hollywood—decadent Rome of the modern world—and when in Rome...” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Gordon traded glances with Nasir. “Something that says ‘chick magnet’? BDU pants and black muscle shirt?”
Roscoe put his hand over his heart. “A classic.”
Gordon headed toward his bedroom, stopped, and turned around. “I want to shave my head. Won’t take long.”
“Fine, fine. We’ll call Spud again. He’s not answering his phone.” Roscoe pulled out his phone.
“Calling Neeta, too?”
Roscoe laughed. “You poor naïve fool. I’m sure our Brian has plenty of plans for Neeta’s night off.”
* * * *
Neeta stuck the key in her lock, but had a hard time getting the door open. The door had been sticky for a few months now, and it didn’t help that Brian was cuddled up so close to her.
“Brian, I’m telling you, it’s not a good idea,” she said, but she was smiling, and she knew it came through in her voice. She couldn’t help it—dinner had been wonderful, the movie romantic, and she was way too aware of his hand on the small of her back.
“Come on.” He nudged back her hair to whisper in her ear. “You know you want to.”
She turned her head away, pretending to concentrate on the doorknob. “No, I don’t.”
“You could use it.”
“Oh? Well, thank you.” She shook the door then realized she’d forgotten the deadbolt. What was with her? She was really thinking about cuddling on the porch swing...
“Neeta, I’m serious,” Brian persisted. “Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not that.” She unlocked the deadbolt, gave the doorknob twist while pushing against the door with her shoulder. Brian took the opportunity to lean in closer. She avoided his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’ve always done it yourself?”
She shoved on the door. Why wouldn’t he let up? Why did he have be so cute? “No, but that’s different. Mom hired a professional.”
“So you don’t think I’m good enough?”
The door pushed open suddenly, causing her to stumble away from him. She caught her balance and whirled toward him.
“Brian, for the last time, I don’t want your help with my bookkeeping!”
He crossed his arms and leaned on the threshold, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. “I just want to help you.”
“I know. I know. I really appreciated you helping me with the garden, and dinner was fantastic, but... Can we just leave it at that? I have a system. It’s under control. I just need to catch up.” She met his eyes, but when his expression didn’t change, she sighed, turned to set her purse on the side table and flopped onto the couch. She crossed her legs, which she knew looked good in the skirt she wore, and gave him her best pout.
“Are you going to stay mad because I don’t want you messing with my system?”
His mouth quirked in a grin, and he shut the door. When he sat down beside her, he spoke seriously. “Is that really it, though? Is it your system, or that you don’t want me to see your finances?”
Neeta sighed. Was that what this was about? “Look, Brian. I’m fine. Struggling some, sure, but in this economy—”
“It’s not the economy. It’s the lawsuit, and we both know it. The point is, you don’t have to struggle. You’re a celebrity, Neeta. You can use that.”
Suspicion washed over her, cooling whatever attraction she’d been feeling. “What are you talking about?”
“I talked to a gentleman for BUDD—”
“Oh, no.” She uncrossed her legs and brought her foot down with a stamp that threatened to break the high heel. “You, too? ‘After the undead, longevitize,’” she sneered.
He held up his hands. “Okay, so it’s hokey, but that’s part of their image. Did you look at the testimonials from their celebrity representatives? Bottum’s Up treats them pretty damn well.”
“’Damn’ is right. Sell your soul for a diet drink?”
“You’re looking at this wrong.” He leaned forward. He started to reach for her hands, glanced at her face, then pulled his back. “It’s not your soul. Your name, your image, sure, but you’re not ‘selling it.’ You’re lending your name to promote something people want. You know my partner in the morning show, Cassie? Haven’t you heard her commercials for the ‘Little Pink Pill’?”
Neeta’s face twisted. “The one for...”
“For hair loss in women, yes. She’s used it. It works. She promotes it. Gets paid for it, too. Is she selling out?”
“No, it’s just...” She leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in hands. From the other room, she could hear the bills in her drawer calling. Listen to him. He just wants to help.
Brian pressed on, his voice mellow and convincing, “It’s a job, like any other job. You don’t have to struggle, honey. Deep down, you know that, or you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing now.”
Neeta peered at him through the side of her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He released a short breath in exasperation. “Come on, Neeta, you are the host of a reality TV show.”
Neeta found herself on her feet, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That’s different. I went on that show to increase awareness of what this job means. I didn’t want to be a celebrity. I don’t want to be a celebrity, and I don’t want to be anyone’s BUDDy!”
There was no longer anger in his eyes, only hurt. His voice went very quiet. “Not even mine?”
* * * *
Rigormortis
Subject: You think you know someone...
Well, no one was as surprised as me to see LaCenta come out the hero in this week’s episode. Though using the victim as bait was pretty cold, even if she did think he was a murderer. See episode summary here if you haven’t seen it yet. WARNING: Spoilers.
likemineliving
Spoilers? Like “using the victim as bait.” Thanks, loads.
Rigormortis
Hey, that’s not much more than the commercials said! Trust me, you want to see the episode.
&n
bsp; Tro111
From the summary: “LaCenta single-handedly captures both a zombie and its murderer—using the murderer as bait in the trap.”
So, now we’re letting the producers act as judge and jury? Whatever happened to innocent until proven gilty? And you sheep just go along wit hit.
As for what LaCenta did—of course it was cold. Convenient, too. Bet it brought the ratings way up. First she beets up Neeta—and rightfully—now, she’s taking the law into her own hands, and winning? Everybody likes a bad girl, right Rigormortis? Bet you’re laying around alone in your bed thinking about her right now.
Rigormortis
How do we get this jerk off the forum? Where’s the moderator?
MANIC_MIND
Okay, I have to agree—the summary does make an assumption, but no one is judging the kid. He did confess, incidentally. Here’s an article in the LA Times. Here’s LaCenta’s interview about it in ZombieWatch.com. The guy was coated in cleaning products. The zombie would have stopped before he got to the guy. The cameraman in the truck was probably in more danger. What’s happening to him, anyway? I heard he quit.
ZDEMod
I have contacted Tro111 about proper forum etiquette. However, he has the right to express his opinion. I’ve not banned him yet.
FYI, Damon Underhill, the cameraman in “To Catch a Murderer,” has resigned under amicable terms and is now working at the same studio as inflatable crowd manager for several prime-time shows. He’d like me to pass on his thanks for your concern and let you know that “This kind of non-living people are more my style, LOL.”
In the meantime, be sure to watch next week’s episode, “The Unlikely Knight.” LaCenta was not the only hero that night—and that’s all I’ll say. No spoilers here!
Also, please keep the plebes of Zombie Death Extreme in your thoughts and prayers as they take their certification tests this week.
Chapter Eleven
Notes from The Zombie Syndrome
A Documentary
By Gary Opkast
Episode: The Zombie Exterminator
(Needs clips of zombie exterminators at work—maybe some of the less gross stuff. Check to see if can crib from So You Want to be a Zombie Exterminator? and Re-Killing for Fun and Profit.)
NARRATOR: The first confirmed zombie attacks were repelled primarily by policemen and soldiers, but as the problem became more widespread, a new specialization developed—the zombie exterminator. While many ZEs arose from the police and military, the bulk came from actual exterminators who chose to specialize. Why exterminators? Sociologists and career-study experts have asked this question for years. Ira Butcher believes she has the answer.
Clip: Dressed in a navy suit and dark pumps, IRA BUTCHER sits in an office chair in front of a wall covered in a collage of people working at various careers. Across the top, a banner says, “Why We Work.” Short dark hair frames her round face and high forehead, and she pushes it over her ear as she speaks.
IRA BUTCHER: Extermination in general takes a particular mindset. You have to be willing to deal with the, well, disgusting things. You have to know how to use chemicals properly—what’s lethal yet safe for humans. Following directions is important—take too many liberties, and you can hurt someone or yourself in this business.
So the skill set that makes a good exterminator is also part of the skill set that makes a good zombie exterminator. Now obviously, there are other important skills—willingness to risk your life, upper body strength and speed, and a certain mindset that will allow you to look at what appears on the surface to be human and see that in fact, it is, as ZEs say, “just another pest.”
NARRATOR: Regulation of zombie exterminators has come under the jurisdiction of the Department of Agriculture. Brent Endive, Certification Counselor, explains a little about the exacting process.
BRENT ENDIVE standing at the offices of the County Agricultural Department in Los Angeles. Through the narrow window, you can see people leaning over desks taking a test. Camera focuses on the room, then pulls back “through” the window to the door, to take in head-and-shoulders of BRENT as he speaks.
BRENT ENDIVE: So Certification is really a four-step process. You have to apply for the general certification program. That’s when you take the LIVE scan, and we do background checks. Standard for any exterminator these days. Next you have an initial physical and psychological evaluation, which includes a strenuous test of distance running, sprinting, and wielding heavy instruments in a wild random pattern for at least ten minutes straight. People often have to retake that last part. Then, of course, comes the academic study, culminating in a two-hour multiple choice test as you see taking place here. If you pass with qualifying marks, you receive a temporary permit—not a license yet—to re-kill. After that, you may find somewhere to apprentice. In Los Angeles, we can help with that. After three months’ apprenticeship, we do a second psychological evaluation, provided the trainee has not already quit or sought mental help on their own.
(ENDIVE pauses to release a heavy breath through his lips.)
BRENT ENDIVE: These people go through a lot to keep us safe and to keep down what could become a contagion. I have all the respect in the world for them, but no way would I want their job.
* * * *
Neeta sighed and shifted position in the conference room chair for the umpteenth time in two hours.
Across the table, Ted made an annoyed sound. “Look, Neeta. If you’re going to brood, why not talk about it?”
“Why is it men always want me to talk about my feelings?” she snapped back.
His entire body twisted in surprise. He pushed out of his chair and grabbed his camera. “I meant talk for the camera about how you feel about the plebes testing.”
“Oh.” She reddened.
“You’re obviously concerned about it, and Dave’s going to ask you to do it, anyway. Why not get it over with, and get some real emotion while we’re at it? We do it right, and Dave won’t have to tell you how to emote.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you meant… No, you’re right. Let’s do this.”
He made a show of hefting the camera onto his shoulder, even though it weighed less than his flamethrower. Then he tilted his head away from it to regard her seriously. “You know, your personal feelings are yours. You want to keep it to yourself, not my business.”
“Thanks.”
“Until you go postal with that chainsaw, of course. Then my girl and I have to take you out.”
“Absolutely.” She matched his look until neither could hold it, and they burst out laughing together. It felt good.
She waved her hands in the air as if erasing the moment and then ran them over her face. “Okay. Okay. Serious. Concerned.”
“Touch of broody. We do it in one take.”
“Right.” She took a deep breath and released it. He counted from five, using his fingers for two and one, and she looked into the camera as if it were a confidant.
“So, today, they are testing. Standard Applicator license, Branch Four, although LaCenta took the Branch Two last week and takes Branch Three next month. Branch Four concentrates on zombies, of course. Spud will have to retest in Idaho, and Nasir in Afghanistan, as will Gordon wherever he decides to move.”
Dave would probably cut some of this, she knew. She was just talking, summing up to get into the groove.
“This is always a difficult time for a teacher, believe it or not, and this is my first—and probably only—class. I hope I taught them enough. I think I did. We’ve all seen them in action. I’d be glad to have any of them at my side, but it’s like my mom used to say, ‘The government cares about paperwork, so you do the paperwork. All part of the job.’
“If they blow this test, they can retake it later, of course, but for the show, that’s it. They’re out, and really, at this point, I’d consider that as much my failure as theirs.”
Ted held the camera on her face a moment longer, then turned it off and lowered it. From the do
orway, they heard clapping, and turned to see Roscoe, LaCenta and Spud lingering by the open door.
“Oh, gawd, Neeta. You are such a natural at all this. The emotion,” Roscoe enthused as he ran a finger under his eye as if wiping a tear.
LaCenta shouldered roughly past him. “Shut up, Roscoe. She meant it.”
Spud swept through in her wake.
“Of course, she did. That tough exterior hides a heart of pure platinum. Gorgeous inside and out. It’s been such a privilege to work with you.”
Neeta felt herself blush but peered at him with suspicious eyes. “So how did you do on the test?”
Roscoe raised one eyebrow at Ted, who took the cue and started the camera.
Then Roscoe said, “Wait. Wait. Let’s start with LaCenta. Then I’ll make a grand entrance.” He ducked back outside, keeping the door open just a crack. He winked mischievously.
Ted turned the camera toward LaCenta, who set her elbows on the table and slumped slightly over them. “Well, I passed, I know that, but I didn’t do as well as I could have. Guess I should have spaced the Branches. I just know I got some of the decontamination protocols mixed up—”
Roscoe slammed open the door so that it banged against the inner wall then entered, arms spread theatrically. “Freedom! Oh, gawd, I’ll take one of Neeta’s workouts to that any day.”
“So you don’t think you passed?” LaCenta smirked.
Roscoe settled into a conference chair, resting his feet on the table. He cracked his knuckles then knit his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “Please, this is a government test—multiple choice. I filled in dots.”
“At random?” Neeta and LaCenta cried together.
“Certainly not. I adapted the pattern found in Melchoir Rawling’s Dots on an SAT. My only regret is they won’t give me back my score sheet. I’m sure Galletia’s would pay a fortune for it.”
“You did not.” LaCenta’s voice said she believed he did.
He looked at her with the face of innocence that morphed into a good imitation of the superior smirk she’d just given him. “I may as well have. It would have been more challenging.”
Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator Page 17
