“One can always hope,” Hortense replied, starting to sniffle as bright red tears ran down her puffy cheeks.
Vampyres cried blood. It was very inconvenient for them if they were wearing white. Thankfully Hortense was wearing black.
“Darling,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Don’t worry your fangy bulbous head about a thing. I will draw a picture of you for your headshot and you can be the photographer for the rest of us.”
“You would do that for me?” Hortense asked with the beginnings of a smile.
“Of course,” I replied. “I’m a junior member of the Eternal Crème de la Crème Society now. That’s what friends are for.”
“Can you draw?” Cathy inquired skeptically.
My eye roll was huge and I counted to thirty before answering. “I color with my monkey Studly all the time. I stay in the lines far better than he does. Does that answer your question?” I demanded.
“Umm… yes,” Cathy said with wide eyes and a grunt of what I assumed was admiration. However, it might have been laughter.
Whatever. We would all have headshots shortly.
“What’s a union?” Velma asked.
“Not a clue, therefore we don’t have to worry about that part,” Fran said with great confidence.
I agreed wholeheartedly.
“You also don’t have an appointment,” came Fred’s muffled voice from behind the bush.
All the girls laughed—including me.
“We’re the Psycho Six. We don’t need an appointment,” I said.
After a quick round of headshots and a drawing by me that left everyone completely speechless with jealously and utmost respect for my art skills, we were ready.
Well… almost.
“Umm… Fred?” I called out since he was still hiding under the bush. “Do you love me?”
“Platonically,” he answered. “What do you want, Gaia?”
“Would it be horribly inconvenient if I left the tiny foul-mouthed fire assholes here for a bit?”
Fred was silent. I was certain he’d shoved Lady Elaine Fairchilde back onto his hand and was about to rip me a new rear end. But I had a plan. I always had a plan. Not all of them were good or even well thought out, but the main point was that I had one.
“I’ll let you choreograph our next pole dancing routine,” I bargained.
“The next ten,” he shot back.
Shit. That was steep. I loved being in charge… of everything. I’d already apologized today. Wasn’t that enough? Apparently not.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “The next ten, but I design the costumes.”
“Fifteen. You can design the costumes as long as my posterior and codpiece are covered. Say yes, and we have a deal,” Fred said.
The bush went silent. I held my breath and waited to see what I would say. Even I never knew what would come out of my mouth. My new friends held their breath too. I took about twenty minutes to mull over the proposition. Fran, Velma, Joan and Cathy turned blue and passed out. Hortense and I were the only ones left standing. As a Vamp, she didn’t need to breathe and I was Mother Nature. I was perfect.
“Deal,” I mumbled.
“Can’t hear you,” Fred yelled gleefully.
“Deal,” I shouted as my posse regained consciousness. “I’ll be back for the cursing infernos after I save the world from the end times. Just don’t douse the little shits with water. I might need them.”
“Got it,” Fred answered, sounded quite smug.
“Are we ready to kidnap Betsy Cocker?” Joan asked with a naughty little smirk.
“Born ready!” we yelled in unison.
Having friends was lovely. The Psycho Six were on a mission—dressed to the nines and scarier than Hell on a bad day.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Seven
Hell’s Bells, there had to be at least twenty of them—all in red blazers with a string of pearls around their necks. What kind of tomfoolery was happening here? All twenty Bonnie Cookers were pacing, holding sheets of paper in their hands and talking to themselves—very odd indeed.
The room we were in was small, musty and sparsely furnished. I would think Betsy Cocker would have demanded classier accommodations. I certainly would have. When I figured out which one was the real Becky and took her hostage, she would have far superior lodgings. The Garden Palace in Nirvana was enormous. Boopsy could have an entire wing.
“Which one is the real Booby Cornholer?” I whispered to my posse.
“How many times were you dropped on your head as a child?” Velma demanded, shaking her head.
“I was never a child,” I hissed, effectively shutting them up for a minute and twenty-two seconds.
“What do you mean?” Cathy asked. “Everyone was a child at one time… even Fran.”
“Shut it or I’ll remove it,” Fran growled at Cathy. “Gaia, you had to have been a child. And you most definitely were dropped on your head multiple times, darling.”
“I was created, you assmonkey. And the only time I land on my head is when my pole dancing dismounts go awry,” I admitted even though I didn’t want to. I knew now that I was a dreadful cook, but I was a champion pole dancer no matter how many times I’d landed on my head… or my ass.
“I don’t see any sides,” Joan said, scanning the room full of Bumpy Cougars. “I was hoping for pickles at the very least.”
“Pickles give you the farts,” Hortense reminded Joan.
“Hush,” I snapped. “Classy women do not fart. They poof silently, and it smells like roses. Am I clear?”
“As mud,” Hortense retorted with a chuckle. “Joan clearly isn’t aware of that rule.”
“Hortense, my solid silver wand would look fetching lodged in your heart,” Joan informed her as three new warts popped out on her forehead.
As amusing as it would be to see a smackdown between my new BFF’s, we simply didn’t have time. I would definitely put my money on Joan though. The Witch was not right in the head. It was one of her qualities that I enjoyed the most.
Fran smacked herself in the forehead and chuckled. “For the love of everything thespian,” she muttered. “Sides aren’t food. They’re the dialogue pages those women are reading.”
“How do you know this?” I demanded. “Are you a lesbian?”
Fran rolled her eyes and flipped me off. “I took an acting class a hundred years ago. Now that I see them, I remember what sides are.”
“So, you’re a lesbian?” I asked, wildly confused. I had no issue with homosexuality at all. My granddaughter Tiara was a fabulous lesbian. I’d just never heard of a lesbian Gnome.
“For your information,” Fran growled. “I said thespian. Not lesbian. However, yes. I am gay.”
“That’s wonderful,” I told her.
“Thank you,” Fran said.
“Welcome,” I replied and then looked around the room at the potential clusterhump. “How do we figure out which one to abscond with?” I asked.
“Just ask them,” Cathy said.
“Ask them what?” I queried.
Cathy pursed her lips and closed her eyes for a moment. If there weren’t humans here, I would have electrocuted her. “Ask them which is the real one.”
I was pleased that I hadn’t blasted her. Her suggestion was logical and brilliant. I didn’t know how I hadn’t thought of it myself.
“Excuse me ladies,” I said as they all paused and glanced up from their papers—or rather their sides if I was using the lesbian term. “Which one of you is the real Bitsy Clicker?”
A room full of blank faces stared back at me. Were they all deaf? The internet hadn’t mentioned anything about Blazie Cockblocker being hard of hearing. Crap. My sign language was rusty.
“Betsy Cocker,” Fran hissed in my ear.
“Whoops! My bad,” I said to the crowd. “I meant which one of you is Betsy Cocker?
Every single one of them raised their hand and smiled.
“Well, now what do we do
?” I asked, under my breath.
“We take them all,” Hortense whispered, waving and smiling back at the group of Betsy Cockers.
“All of them?” I was shocked. It was tricky to abscond with one human without my son God finding out. Twenty was a shit show waiting to happen.
“The Vampyre is correct,” Joan said. “If you need to learn to cook to avoid the end times, we take no risks. Betsy Cocker is our only hope… and it’s still a long shot. We take all of them.”
So, we did.
We kidnapped twenty Betsy Cockers. One of them had to be the real deal. If that turned out to be false, we were royally screwed.
“Gaia, what have you done?” Bill asked, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“They all said they were Bossy Cocksucker, so I kidnapped all of them,” I explained in my defense. “Actually, it was Hortense’s idea and Joan approved so I did it.”
“And if Hortense and Joan jumped off a bridge would you do that too?”
“Is that a trick question?” I inquired.
“Umm… no,” Bill said, scrubbing his hand over his mouth to hide what I hoped was a smile.
“Then the answer is yes. I love jumping off bridges. It makes my tummy tingle,” I replied.
Bill shook his head and tried again.
“My love, there are twenty women in red blazers and pearls tied to chairs and gagged in the garden.”
“That was Fran’s idea,” I said quickly. “She said that we would never find the real Bonnie Cooter if they were able to plot against us.”
“I see,” Bill said with a wince. “And where exactly are your friends now?”
“They’ll be back shortly. Everyone went home to get a few changes of clothes. I’ve invited them to stay in the Garden Palace until the crisis is over,” I told him bouncing on my toes. “And they asked me to join their club!”
“The Fearsome Five will be staying at our home?” Bill choked out, paling considerably.
“It’s the Psycho Six now,” I told him and then paused. What the Hell was I thinking? My new friends were simply dreadful. I adored them, but more from a slight distance than up close. Shit. They could destroy my palace in five minutes flat. “What if we put up tents and made them sleep outside?”
“I don’t see that going over particularly well,” Bill said and then sighed. “Lover, do you need these women? Do you feel they’re instrumental in stopping the evil headed our way?”
I thought about Elle’s message. There seemed to be no reference to the powerful and rotund gals, but I couldn’t shake the feeling they were somehow necessary. Plus, Velma and her internet juice helped find Booty Clacker.
Nodding slowly, I walked to Bill and wrapped my arms around his waist. He was so tall I had to look up to gaze into his gorgeous eyes. “Yes. I don’t know why yet, but I’m sure I need them.”
“Very well,” he said in a resigned tone as he lifted me into his arms. “We shall host your friends. However, I can’t promise not to remove a few appendages if they misbehave.”
“Not to worry,” I assured him as I snapped my fingers, levitated both of us and moved us toward our bed. “I expect to have to electrocute them repeatedly.”
“As long as we’re on the same page, I’m good,” he said, waving his hand and breaking my enchantment causing us to tumble onto the bed. “I take it you’re waiting for your friends to come back before you interrogate your hostages?”
“Absolutely,” I replied with a giggle as I straddled my man. “Have you tried to take your Sprite form again?”
Bill shook his head. “I’ve had no luck yet. Would you be upset if I stayed like this for the rest of eternity?” he inquired.
“Lover, I don’t care what you look like on the outside,” I told him, meaning every word. “As long as you are you, I will love you until we cease to exist. Plus, your ass is truly a work of art in this form.”
That’s when I paused. I was shocked that I hadn’t noticed it when I’d arrived home. My beautiful lover’s dark hair was streaked with shimmering strands of white. My stomach clenched as I ran my hands through his hair.
“What happened to you?” I asked, feeling strangely like I was losing a part of me. Which of course was silly. Bill was probably trying out a new look. Odd, but possible.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “However, I’d still advise that the boys are kept in the dark.”
I placed my hands on either side of his beautiful face and lightly kissed his lips. “Have you ever considered that the reason you can’t go back to your Sprite form is because it’s time for God and Satan to know the truth?”
He was quiet for a long moment as he considered the possibility. “Interesting thought,” Bill said. “If the opportunity arises so be it. However, I’m not sure this week is the best time to tell them that an unknown force has always worked in the background of their decision making.”
“Since you are the True Immortal who wields Wisdom and have been guiding them since the beginning of time, I will heed your wishes,” I promised. “Would they recognize who you truly were if they saw you?”
“Possibly,” Bill answered. “I’m more of a presence in their conscience than a flesh and bones entity.”
“Like Jiminy Cricket?” I teased.
Bill shook his head and tried not to grin. He failed. “Yes, exactly like Jiminy Cricket except I’m far more attractive and have two eyes instead of five,” he said.
“Crickets have five eyes?” I asked, shocked.
“Indeed, they do.”
I’d have to look that one up on the internet…
“Ohhhhh Bill, I’ve discovered the most wonderful thing. Did you know you can pour internet juice into the holes of your computer and it will tell the truth more accurately?”
“Umm… no,” he said. “And while I find that highly amusing and alarming, I’d suggest you refrain from trying that unless you’d like to get electrocuted.”
“Seriously?”
“Quite,” Bill said. “Do you recall the time you put metal in the microwave?”
“Which time?”
“Umm… any of the numerous times.”
“Okay,” I said. “Yes. I remember.”
“What happened?”
I had to think about that for a moment… and then I cringed. “The microwave blew up,” I whispered.
“Correct. Internet juice will do something very similar to your computer.”
I wasn’t entirely sure I believed him, but Bill didn’t lie to me. He occasionally stretched the truth a bit so I wouldn’t crack a hole in the Universe, but he never outright lied.
“Soooo, Jiminy Cricket with two eyes instead of five, the boys are very smart. Eventually, they will put it together,” I pointed out.
“I don’t doubt it,” Bill said, tangling his hands in my hair and pulling me down so our lips touched. “I adore you,” he whispered against my mouth.
“And I you,” I whispered back.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this cozy,” a very familiar and furious voice snapped from the arched doorway of our bedroom suite. “Quite sure my father would be delighted to find out his mate is CHEATING on him,” Satan roared as the Garden Palace trembled with his ire. “This adds another fucking century onto my therapy, mother.”
“Who do you think you are, young man?” I snapped, ready to electrocute him for interrupting my nookie time.
“I’m fucking Satan,” he snapped back as black glitter swirled around him.
“Darling,” I replied with a grin and an eye roll. “You know you can’t do yourself. You should really get a new line.”
Satan let out a string of profanities that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap if the situation wasn’t so bizarre. I suppose it was time for Satan to know the truth.
“Mother, if you could move to the left a bit, it would be helpful,” Satan snarled.
“Why is that?” I asked as I felt Bill chuckle next to me.
/> “Because I would hate to incinerate you when I blast your gigolo to the Basement of Hell for a round or ten of torture.”
“You’re being quite rude,” I told him.
“If you think this is rude, just wait,” he muttered as flames began to flicker around his head and shimmering black sparks shot from his fingertips.
I sighed dramatically as Bill nodded his head to me. “If you’d let me explain,” I started.
“Nope. You’ve explained quite enough with your disgusting display of adultery. I never took you for a lowly two-timer,” Satan growled and glared menacingly.
“Out,” I shouted as a small earthquake shook the Garden Palace. Hopping off of Bill, I slapped my hands on my hips and gave my son a scowl that meant business.
“No can do,” Satan said, making himself comfortable in on a peach silk divan. “While normally I condone and applaud adultery, this feels incredibly icky.”
“Did you just say icky?” I asked, trying not to laugh. As evil as my darling son was, the handsome shit had morals—and he loved his father even though he would loathe to admit it. Actions spoke much louder than words in the Devil’s case. Of course, pointing that out would cause an inferno in Nirvana.
Satan raised a brow, snapped his fingers and set my rug on fire. “Yesssss, I said icky. I never say things like icky. However, this is icky,” he shouted, pointing at the bed.
With a wiggle of my nose, I electrocuted him. “I liked that rug,” I said as he slapped at the lapel of his Armani jacket to put the fire out. “I am your mother. You are not the boss of me. You will leave my bedroom and I will meet you in the garden.”
The ass didn’t deserve an explanation with his ridiculous and destructive behavior.
“Nope,” Satan said and set the bed on fire with a wave of his hand. “The sleazy bastard in your bed of sin is leaving. The motherfucker can leave of his own free will or I can help him out—and I would truly love to help him out.”
“You just made a very rude pun, little mister,” I snapped, clapping my hands and dousing the fire while zapping my son in the ass at the same time. I was wonderful at multitasking.
A Fashionable Fiasco Page 9
