Part 7 (1/2)

She pushed the screen loose from the window with her left hand, got a grip on the windowsill, then loosed the tension in her legs and swung down against Kurt's building. Hanging by one hand, she removed the screen with the other and lowered it to the floor inside, then pulled herself up to the windowsill, where she crouched and looked around the room. Two people were in the bed. She could see their heat signatures rising through the covers and being dissipated by the cold breeze coming through the window. No wonder I complained about the cold. She stepped into the room and waited to see if the sleepers stirred. Nothing.

She moved to the side of the bed and looked at the woman with almost scientific detachment. It was Susan Badistone. Jody had met her at Kurt's office picnic and had disliked her immediately. Her straight blond hair was spread over the pillow. Jody twisted a lock of her own curly red hair around her finger. So this is what he wanted. And that's an after-market nose if I've ever seen one. But it's all about appearances, isn't it, Kurt?

Jody grabbed the covers and lifted them far enough to look under. She's got the body of a twelve-year-old boy. Oh Kurt, you should have let her finish the surgery schedule before you brought her home.

She let the covers fall and Susan stirred. Jody backed away from the bed slowly. She had kept all of her papers in an expandable file under the sink in the bathroom. She went to the bathroom and palmed the cabinet open. The file was still there. She grabbed it and headed for the window.

”Who's there?” Kurt said. He sat up in bed and stared into the dark.

Jody ducked below the light coming in the window and watched him.

”I said, who's there?”

”What's a matter?” a groggy Susan said.

”I heard something.”

”It's nothing, honey. You're just jumpy after what that horrible woman did to you.”

I could snap her scrawny blond neck, Jody thought. Then, in thinking it, in knowing that she could actually do it, she was no longer angry. I'm not ”that horrible woman,” she thought. I'm a vampire, and no amount of plastic surgery, or breeding, or money will ever make you my equal. I am a G.o.d.

For the first time since the transformation Jody felt calm, comfortable in her own skin. She waited there in the dark until they fell asleep again, then she climbed out the window and replaced the screen. She stood on the window ledge and threw the expandable file on the roof, then leaped up, grabbed the gutter, and pulled herself onto the roof.

At the back of the building she found a steel ladder that went all the way to the ground. The climb between the two buildings had been completely unnecessary.

Okay, not a particularly smart G.o.d, but at least a G.o.d who has her original nose.

Chapter 11 Lather, Rinse, Repent.

The Animals were humming the wedding march when Tommy walked in the store. Tommy was rattled from the cab ride from Telegraph Hill. Evidently the cabdriver, who had a nervous tic and the habit of screaming, ”The f.u.c.kers!” at indeterminate intervals and for no particular reason, felt that if you weren't going to top a hill without all four wheels leaving the ground and land in a shower of sparks, you might as well not top it at all, and, in fact, should avoid it by taking a corner on two wheels and crus.h.i.+ng your pa.s.sengers against the doors. Tommy was sweat-soaked and a little nauseated.

”Here comes the bride,” Troy Lee said.

”Fearless Leader,” Simon said, ”you look like you just left a three-toweler.” Simon measured the success of any social event by the number of towels it took to clean up afterward. ”Was a time in my life,” Simon would say, ”when I only owned one towel and I never had any fun.”

”You're not still p.i.s.sed at me?” Tommy asked.

”h.e.l.l, no,” Simon said. ”I had me a three-toweler myself tonight. Took two choir girls from Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt out in the truck and taught them the fine art of slurping tadpoles.”

”That's disgusting.”

”No, it ain't. I didn't kiss 'em afterward.”

Tommy shook his head. ”Is the truck in?”

”Only fourteen hundred cases,” Drew said. ”You'll have plenty of time to plan the wedding.” He held out a stack of bride magazines to Tommy.

”No, thanks,” Tommy said.

Drew chucked the magazines behind him and held out a can of whipped cream with his other hand. ”Take the edge off?”

”No, thanks. Can you guys stack the truck? I've got some stuff I want to do.”

”Sure enough,” Simon said. ”Let's go do it.”

The crew headed to the stockroom. Clint stayed behind.

”Hey, Tommy,” he said, his head down, looking embarra.s.sed.

”Yeah?”

”A pallet of kosher food came in tonight. You know, getting ready for Hanukkah and everything. And it's supposed to be blessed by a rabbi.”

”Yeah. So?”

”Well, I was wondering if I could say a few words over it. I mean, they're not washed in the Blood or anything, but Christ was Jewish. So...”

”Knock yourself out, Clint.”

”Thanks,” Clint said. Taken with the Spirit, he scurried off to the stockroom.

Tommy went to the news racks by the registers and gathered up an armload of women's magazines. Then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that none of the Animals was watching, he took them into the office, locked the door, then sat down at the desk and began his research.

He was about to move in with a woman for the first time, and he didn't know a thing about women. Maybe Jody wasn't crazy. Maybe they were all that way and he was just ignorant. He flipped quickly through the tables of contents to get an overview of the female mind.

There was a pattern here. Cellulite, PMS, and men who don't commit were the enemies. Delightfully light desserts, marriage, and multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms were the allies.

Tommy felt like a spy, as if he should be microfilming the pages under a gooseneck lamp in some back room of a Bavarian castle stronghold, and any minute some woman in SS gear would burst in on him and tell him that she had ways of making him talk. Actually, that last part wouldn't be too bad.

Women seemed to have some collective plan, and most of it seemed to involve getting men to do stuff that they didn't want to do. He skimmed an article ent.i.tled: ”Tan Lines: s.e.xy Contrast or Panda Bear Shame? A Psychologist's View,” then flipped to one ent.i.tled: ”Men's Love for Sports a.n.a.logies: How to Use Vince Lombardi to Make Him Put the Seat Down.” (”When one player falls in, the whole team gets a wet b.u.t.t.”) He read on: ”When it's fourth and ten and Joe Montana decides to go for it, would his linemen tell him that they won't go to the store to get him tampons? I don't think so.” And: ”Of course Richard Petty doesn't want to wear a helmet, but he can't drive without protection either.” By the time Tommy got to the warnings about never using Wilt Chamberlain or Martina Navratilova as examples, he was completely disenchanted. How could you deal with a creature as devious as woman?

He turned the page and his heart sank even further. ”Can You Tell Him He's a Lousy Lay?: A Quiz.”

Tommy thought, This is exactly the kind of thing that made me stay a virgin until I was eighteen.

1. It's the third date and you're about to have an intimate moment, but when he drops his shorts you notice he's less blessed than you expected. Do you: A: Point and laugh.

B: Say, ”Wow! A real man at last.” Then turn and snicker to yourself.

C: Say, ”Is that what they mean by microbiology?”

D: Just go ahead with it. He might be shamed into making a commitment. And what do you care if all your sons are nicknamed Peewee?

2. You decide to do the dread deed, and just as things are starting to get hot he comes, rolls over, and asks, ”Was it good for you?” You: A: Say, ”G.o.d, yes! That was the best seventeen seconds of my life!”

B: Say, ”Sure, as good as it gets for me with a man.”