Fashionably Forever After: Book Ten, The Hot Damned Series

by Robyn Peterman

  Sadly, she missed her lips and her teeth ended up looking like they were a bloody mess.

  “And who is this fine assed, sexy hottie?” Jane inquired, giving Lizard what could only possibly be described as a come hither look.

  Unfortunately for the rest of us, it resembled a constipated wince. Watching the geriatric Vamp flirt with my Demon was enough to make me lose my breakfast. However, Lizard perked up at the compliment and graced Jane with a grin displaying a mouth full of sharp, pointy teeth. With the beret, the underwhelming suit and the mouthful of gum, it was all I could do not to give up my vow of being reasonable and behead all of them.

  “Well, this should be interesting,” I muttered as I followed the where the human had sprinted.

  “I was going to say clusterfuck, but I suppose interesting will do,” Astrid said, using her fingers to make quote marks in the air.

  “I’ll take the lead first,” Lizard informed all of us as he smacked his bat on his hands and his upper lip curled viciously. “Nobody say nothing until we have the money set.”

  “I love me a tight ass Demon that takes charge,” Martha said, batting her eyelashes and leaning forward so Lizard could get a peek at her mottled cleavage.

  “Freeze,” Astrid hissed. “We are dealing with humans and we will act accordingly. Am I clear?”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Lizard asked, tearing his eyes away from the horrifying display with great effort.

  “No decapitation, no unnecessary explosions, no beating people with bats, no fornicating, no pickled cleavage shows… and no fucking singing,” Astrid finished, giving Martha and Jane the evil eye.

  “Party pooper,” Jane grumbled as she followed Martha and a confused Lizard down the hallway.

  “I take back what I said,” I informed my nieces. “Clusterfuck is far more accurate.”

  “Well, it’s not gonna be boring,” Tiara said with a laugh.

  No truer words had been said in decades.

  Chapter Five

  The office was a vast improvement over the waiting room as far as size went. Film posters covered the walls and golden trophies lined the shelves. However, the décor was a horrifying yellow—bright blinding yellow to be more specific. It was as if a banana truck had exploded and had babies. The couch was yellow, the chairs, the carpet, the walls and the desk were the same color. While I enjoyed gaudy, this was a bit much even for me. It was far too frivolous for my mood.

  Pulling my Ray-Bans out of my pocket, I slid them on and graced the men with a tight smile.

  Maury and Sal were the epitome of what I had expected—slicked back, slimy and obsequious. They were well-preserved men in their fifties and it was difficult to tell them apart. Both were spray tanned, Botoxed and in somewhat decent shape. The t-shirt, jeans and sport coat ensemble wasn’t a look that I was enamored of, but it certainly beat Lizard’s suit. Whatever. I was certain they would eventually end up in Hell. Most of their type did.

  The air in the room was filled with excitement and an anticipation that I was aware of but didn’t feel personally. Normally I found talking about myself delightful. I was my favorite subject of conversation—but not today. Being here was truly ridiculous. Going about business as usual wasn’t working. I should be searching for Elle, not meeting with grown male humans in full mid-life crisis who favored plastic surgery and dressed like college boys. Sighing at the lost time I would never get back, I reminded myself yet again that no matter what happened in the next half hour, beheading was off limits.

  “It’s a real honor to meet you Mr. Inferno. Loved the book. Love your work. Love you. I’m your biggest fan,” the one named Maury gushed insincerely, shaking my hand profusely while winking at me.

  I was unsure if the man was hitting on me, had a tic, or if this winking crap was an LA movie business thing. Whatever it was, I definitely didn’t like it.

  His handshake was firm. Mine was firmer. The little pop of his pinky bone was evidence of this fact. His fear and pain were delightfully life affirming. The winking turned into blinking and I was certain the weak cretin was trying not to cry. I always forgot how in awe humans were of me. It was refreshing after spending time with my family whose lack of respect was appalling.

  “Yes, it is an honor to meet me,” I agreed.

  “Can I call you Blade?” he asked a bit confused by my comment.

  “If I may,” Martha said, stepping forward and cutting off Maury’s access to me. “Mr. Inferno would prefer to be called Fine Ass McBooty. However, since this is a friendly meeting at the moment, you can call him Fine Ass.”

  Tiara barely swallowed her grunt of laughter and Astrid muttered a few veiled threats while Maury tried to figure out if he’d been punked.

  “She’s kidding. She lost brain cells in Nam. Just fucking ignore her,” Jane said, shoving Martha out of the way. “You will call my sexy client Mr. Inferno. Do not under any circumstances make eye contact with him. It’s distracting and his agent carries a bat. Also, don’t touch him. You can admire his ass but if you let your peepers trail to his face, you’ll be decapitated. Mr. Lizard will do the negotiation—he’s the hot one with the bat and the beret. He has excellent skills and one Hell of a bitable behind. I’m Jane, Mr. Inferno’s publicist. Martha is a brain damaged asshat. We bring her along because it’s goddamned dangerous to leave her alone. She likes to burn things if you know what I mean. And the other two hookers over there are Mr. Inferno’s bimbo entourage.”

  “Seriously?” Maury whispered, clearly trying to make sense of the bullshit Jane had just spouted. “Decapitation?”

  “Completely,” Jane assured him. “And just so you know, Martha and I won American Idol. After we’re done here, we will be staying to pitch our own reality show.”

  “Umm, no you won’t,” Astrid said, taking both Martha and Jane by the arms and seating them as far from the action as possible.

  “My client’s name is irrelevant,” Lizard announced with a mouth full of gum as he seated himself and laid his bat carefully across his lap. “You will speak to me and if I like what I hear you can call my client whatever you want.”

  “Actually, My Dark Lord will do,” I said not wanting the meeting to start off too badly.

  “Umm, okay then… My Dark Lord,” Maury said, exchanging a worried look with Sal. “We think the movie of the book will be a blockbuster. We’re willing to go all out here. But we’d like to discuss a few talking points.”

  “And they are?” I asked, gesturing to the couch so the humans would seat themselves.

  With a shrug of confusion the two men sat down next to each other, notebooks and pens in hands. They were very nice notebooks. Glancing around the office, I noticed a pile on the desk. I’d be leaving with those.

  “Well, who exactly did you have in mind to write the script?” Maury asked as Sal nodded enthusiastically while not making eye contact—at all.

  I wondered if he was mute.

  “Hmm, outstanding question,” I replied and then racked my brain for a superior choice. “I was thinking John Houston.”

  Maury chuckled and then swallowed it as Lizard began to rotate the bat menacingly in his hands.

  “Yes, well…” Maury stammered. “John Houston is dead.”

  “No worries,” I assured the trembling idiot. “I shall…”

  “Shall choose someone else,” Astrid cut in quickly before I could explain something that was unexplainable to a human.

  “Great,” Maury said.

  “Federico Fellini,” I gave my second choice.

  “Dead,” Maury informed me.

  “Stanley Kubrick,” I tried again.

  “Dead,” Maury said, staring at my chin.

  Damn it, all of those men owed me favors…

  And while I liked that Jane was looking out for my interests and ego, conversing with someone staring at my chin was going to give me a complex.

  Maury fidgeted uncomfortably and then forged ahead. “Since it’s a comedy, why don’t we thin
k along the lines of someone like Mel Brooks?”

  “Fine. I like Mel. He’s an avid poker cheater,” I said, satisfied.

  “No, no, no,” Maury said with a condescending chuckle that made me want to smite his smug ass. “I meant like Mel Brooks. Not actually Mel Brooks. He’s dead.”

  “I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear he’s dead since Mel’s still very much alive,” I said with an eye roll and in a tone that made Maury blanch and try to become one with the couch. Maury needed a thorough electrocution. The smarmy bastard was an uninformed idiot. “Mel’s a Unicorn for the love of everything evil. It would take a Hell of a lot of planning to kill that brilliant, sneaky son of a bitch. Trust me on this. I’ve tried. The motherfucker cheated so badly last Tuesday at our weekly poker game, I electrocuted him. It didn’t faze him a bit—said he enjoyed it. And if I were you, I’d refrain from spreading the rumor of his demise. Mel loves goring imbeciles.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maury said, paling in bewilderment. “You said Mel Brooks is a Unicorn and you electrocuted him?”

  “No,” Astrid cut in with a forced laugh as she gave me a shut the Hell up look. “You misunderstood Mr. Inferno. He said, umm… uniform. Mel Brooks like to wear uniforms of Unicorns and that Mr. Inferno commuted him to the poker game him in his uniform of a… umm, Unicorn.”

  “In a thunderstorm,” Tiara added quickly. “On the Day of the Dead, which celebrates Hell… and sugar skulls and… food.”

  “In October I think,” Astrid added, confusing Maury even more. “So clearly Mel Brooks is not dead. I find it insulting that someone of your caliber or lack thereof would perpetuate such a heinous lie about a brilliant man who likes to dress up as a mythical creature.”

  “So you’re saying Mel Brooks likes to dress as a Unicorn in October?” Maury said, desperately trying to make sense of the hot mess Astrid and Tiara had just dumped in his lap.

  “Exactly,” Astrid said. “And probably July as well.”

  “A live Unicorn,” Tiara added.

  There was a delightfully long and wildly uncomfortable pause while Maury and Sal tried to keep their shit together. Dealing with the Devil was difficult on a good day. This was not a good day for the spray-tanned dolts.

  “So then Mel Brooks is a possibility to write the comedy script?” Maury asked, looking like he might cry.

  “Wait,” I said in a cold tone as I seated myself next to Lizard across the couch from the men. “Did you say comedy? My fucking autobiography slash romance novel is not a goddamned comedy.”

  “It’s not?” Maury asked, accidentally looking me straight in the eye and then immediately jerking his head down.

  “No, it’s not,” I said so quietly that he had to lean in.

  “Can I ask a question?” Sal spoke for the first time.

  “You may.”

  “Do you really believe you’re Satan?”

  The silence was positively deafening. Both Astrid and Tiara shot me looks that would wither a lesser being. I knew if I told the truth the men would simply think I was insane. Of course, that wasn’t too far from the truth either, but…

  What the Hell, I could always wipe their minds when I was done.

  “Gentlemen, look at me,” I commanded as I removed my sunglasses.

  For the briefest second—no longer than the single beat of a heart, I let my eyes shine blood red. The men gasped and stared, caught in my hypnotic gaze. Both were confused and unsure. It was lovely.

  “The question is… do you think I’m Satan? The lines between fact and fiction are very thin indeed, gentlemen. You live in the land of lies and deception where the almighty dollar is worshipped and falsely created images are king. I heartily approve of this way of life, by the way. Wouldn’t it be something special if I actually was Satan?”

  “We can go with that angle,” Maury said nervously but clearly warming to the idea. “Would you be adverse to wearing horns and a red cape for publicity?”

  Lizard growled. Astrid and Tiara laughed. Martha and Jane jumped to their feet, let their fangs drop and assumed fighting stances. The meeting had definitely taken a wrong turn. It took everything I had not to behead Maury. Dealing with humans was such a touchy thing. Their perception of me was derived from cartoons and this displeased me greatly. I never wore a red cape. I wore a black one very occasionally but horns were out of the question.

  “That was a joke, right?” I asked a wildly alarmed Maury.

  “Umm… yes,” he choked out, staring at Martha and Jane in terror.

  “Stand down,” I told my deranged publicists.

  “The teeth are fake,” Astrid lied with a wide smile as she snapped her fingers and covertly sealed Jane and Martha’s lips shut. “So here’s the deal boys, let’s get the money set. Mr. Inferno is a very busy man. We’ll get back to you on the writer, director and casting choices as I’m sure Mr. Inferno will want to approve those things.”

  “We don’t usually give the author that much say,” Sal said, trying to keep a modicum of control of the unfolding clusterfuck.

  “This is an unusual circumstance,” Astrid pointed out, making sure that Lizard hadn’t choked up on the bat ready to bash some skulls. “We’re in discussion about the bestselling book ever. I’d hardly think you’d be willing to insult Mr. Inferno over petty issues.”

  “Sold far better than the Bible,” I added, loving that my book had kicked my brother’s book’s ass.

  “Oh, no, no, no, no,” Sal back peddled. “We would never want to upset Mr.—umm, My Dark Lord. I’m just explaining the way things are normally done. We are thrilled to have Mr. My Dark Lord at our studio and want to keep him happy. Like I said, it’s just not, umm… normal,” he trailed off, squirming in his seat.

  “Nothing about me is normal, gentlemen,” I said flatly. “I’d suggest you pay attention to what my ghost writer has to say. She’s smart, however, she’s also prone to violence. Just a heads up.”

  With a conniving smile and a deal making expression on his overly tanned face, Sal stepped up to the plate. “Would your ghost writer like to take a stab at the screenplay?” he suggested carefully.

  “No fucking way,” Astrid jumped right in with a profane decline.

  “Yes, she would love to,” I corrected my niece.

  “Umm, no I would not,” Astrid said, giving me a look that was so evil it did my heart good.

  “Undead House of Phallus,” I reminded her with a devastatingly handsome smile.

  “You’re a dick,” she grumbled and scratched her nose with her middle finger in complete and delightful disrespect.

  “Pun intended?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Completely,” she snapped.

  “And your point, my dear?” I shot back.

  The men gulped and sat mutely. I was quite sure Sal regretted his suggestion with his entire being.

  “Astrid will write the screenplay,” I confirmed.

  “And she charges fifty million,” Lizard chimed in, clearly now representing everyone in the room.

  “Umm… okay,” Maury said writing down the figure in his notebook with a shaky hand.

  “And it will all go to charity,” Astrid said, shooting both Lizard and me a glare. “It will look good for the studio and you can write it off. And then the world will know what a charitable and kind person Blade Inferno really is.”

  Astrid’s grin was positively triumphant. I laughed. She was such a devious young woman. It was every kind of wrong for me to be perceived as good. She knew it and I knew it. My niece had played her hand well.

  “That sounds fantastic,” Sal said, hopeful for the first time in the meeting.

  “Along with Blade Inferno’s hundred million dollar fee, we’ll settle for a ninety percent backend on the film—domestic. And just to show good faith we’ll go eighty-five on foreign,” Lizard informed the men.

  I had no clue what that meant, but from the looks of absolute shock on Maury and Sal’s now pale faces, I assumed the request was in my favor.
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br />   “That’s a bit steep,” Maury stammered. “That’s not the way thing are done in this business.”

  “Again… how often do you have a book by Satan to peddle?” I inquired with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. I was ready to be done here.

  “Not often,” Sal said, looking at Maury in distress.

  “We can always take it to another studio,” Lizard said, standing up.

  “No,” the men shouted in unison all puffed up, terrified and red-faced. “It’s just that we can’t do that deal. No one can.”

  “Would you like a piece of gum?” Lizard offered.

  “I’m sorry. What?” Maury asked, looking bewildered.

  “Gum,” Lizard repeated. “I find it always helps. I’d highly suggest you do the polite thing and indulge with me.”

  Having no clue what my Demon was up to, I let him proceed. However, I was done in five minutes. If I had to behead them so be it.

  Lizard whispered something unintelligible to the bright pink package and then plied the men with three pieces each. They smiled politely as they tried to chew the gum down to something manageable. And then the oddest thing occurred.

  “So,” Lizard said. “Are we agreeable on all the terms we’ve come to the table with?”

  Maury and Sal nodded with so much enthusiasm I was sure they would choke on their gum.

  “And we will agree to agree on all future terms whatever they might be?” Lizard continued.

  Again with the spastic and joyous nodding. They even added thumbs up to their repertoire. However the giggling was the most off putting part. They reminded me of drunk sorority girls. The peals of laughter and the bouncing up and down in the sofa were so intrusive I couldn’t hear myself think. What exactly was in that gum?

  Lizard pulled a contract out of his pocket and placed it before the men who signed it with squealing glee. With a smile and a salute, my Demon put it right back in his pocket and left Maury and Sal a copy. I was positive they would be surprised in a few hours after the effects of the gum wore off.

  “Umm, okay,” Tiara said, glancing at Lizard with concern. “How long does the happy sauce last?”