Part 23 (2/2)
Impa.s.sively, I turned up the volume on a Marvin the Martian cartoon.
Ca.s.sie shook her head. ”Two days, Rita. I may be crazy by tomorrow.”
Well, why not? There was plenty of room in this bed for her, too. And I'd showered and changed the sheets every day, so it wasn't like she'd have to be insane in squalor. No law said crazy people had to be slobs.
”Can you just tell me why?” she'd asked at the start.
”Stress.”
”But Christmas is over.”
”It's not just Christmas. It's everything. Nothing makes sense anymore. Every time I turn around, my office is on fire, or people are turning into possums, or I'm in trouble with G.o.d or Jack or Jenner or Channel 12. On top of that, you and I are trying to figure out this relations.h.i.+p thing, and...”
”Problem with that?”
”No. But it's still new. That's more stress. And when you add in my family...or yours...”
”Oh, come on, Devvy. It hasn't been that bad.”
”Michael,” I said flatly.
She considered. ”All right. Michael's bad. But...”
”Buster.”
”He's just a dog.”
”Just a dog? He almost had a close personal relations.h.i.+p with me.”
She considered again. ”OK, you can have that one too. But that was a month ago. You were fine up till...”
”My mother.”
Deep, thoughtful silence brooded over the bedroom. Then Ca.s.sie bent down to kiss my forehead.
”I'll get you some more pillows, sweetie,” she said.
Back in the present, Rita Sanchez studied the situation. Engrossed in the cartoon, I paid her no mind.
”Mr. Jenner wants you to come back to work,” she finally said. ”Both of you. He sent an offer along with me. It's in writing. What more do you want? An engraved invitation?”
”No, but I could do with a frappucino. You want to pop over to Starbucks for me?”
Ca.s.sie smoothed my hair down. ”You're not going to get anywhere with her today, Rita. Maybe if you just leave the offer, I can get her to read it later. OK?”
”Maybe if I just shoot her with ping-pong b.a.l.l.s,” Sanchez grumbled, reaching into her purse.
Still focused on the cartoon, I opened the night-table drawer and pulled out my own ping-pong gun.
”You're kidding,” she insisted.
Not kidding, I shot her.
Sanchez gave up and put her weapon away. ”You could be in trouble here, Ca.s.sie. She might really be loco. Let me see this fish that started this mess.”
”I hid it. If I'm lucky, she'll never find it again.”
”I could find it if I wanted,” I told her.
”No, you couldn't, Devvy. I hid it where you'll never even think to look.”
”Kitchen, huh?” Sanchez asked.
They had a nice laugh at my expense. In response, I turned the volume up some more.
”Oh, all right, I'm going.” She gathered up her purse and then handed an envelope to Ca.s.sie. ”It's all in here. Make sure she reads it, would you? He's going to bug me about it all afternoon.”
”Suppose I walk you out,” Ca.s.sie said.
She was up to something. She always was, though. Unconcerned, I fluffed my pillow and settled back again, intent on staying there another two days.
A second later, Monica tapped me on the shoulder, and I shot straight up in the air, scattering pillows everywhere.
”Don't do that!” I yelled. ”I hate that. What are you doing here?”
”Visiting the sick. Move over.”
Not having any better ideas, I moved over.
”Isn't this cozy?” she asked. ”Just like old times. Have you missed me?”
”You never give me a chance to miss you. You never go away.”
The demon was unperturbed. ”The better to keep an eye on you.”
”Ha! She's just nosy,” Vanessa said.
I jumped again. No matter how long I was around demons, I could never get used to the way they came and went, and there was no way to prepare for what happened when they did. Right now, for example, I was in bed with two demons through no fault of my own, and if Ca.s.sie walked in...
Which, of course, she did.
After interminable silence, she crawled up on the bed and wedged herself in between Monica and me. Thoughtfully, Vanessa handed her a pillow to use as a backrest. No one said a word.
(c) 2000, K. Simpson Golden Throats is (c) 1988, Rhino Records Inc. Big Mouth Billy Ba.s.s is (c) 1999, Gemmy Inc., and yes, the Christmas version is real.
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