Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 23

I was still whacking it when Ca.s.sie came out. She watched for a second and then borrowed the hammer. Little chips of plastic flew in all directions as she reduced what was left to sc.r.a.p. We would never have to hear Kirk or Spock sing again.

The woman had her points.

After truce was arranged, we all went in to have coffee. Ca.s.sie tactfully put the hammer away, and we sat around the kitchen table like civilized people.

"If it's not a secret," I said, "you might tell me why you're here. At this hour, the day after Christmas."

"We're on our way to work," Chip answered.

"Work? We were all fired a few weeks ago."

"Well, that's just it, Dev. We're kind of un-fired now."

Ca.s.sie rolled her eyes but didn't comment.

"Un-fired?"

Heather took over. "It's Howard Abner. Jenner hates him. Ever since he found out that Abner won't let him have girlfriends..."

"Won't let him?"

"Doesn't want him to, I mean. He says it sets a bad example."

"For who?" I frowned, debating whether it should be "whom" instead, but finally decided I didn't care. "It's an ad agency, not church camp."

"Just let me tell it, will you?"

I gave up and let her. She always took twice as long as necessary to tell a story, but if you kept interrupting her, she took even longer to get to the point. The point in this case was that Jenner feared marital fidelity more than he feared lawsuits. Consequently, he was maneuvering to get rid of Abner, and his first move was to reinstate all of Abner's firees.

"'All,' as in all?" Ca.s.sie asked.

Heather nodded. "You two especially. He's been after us every day to find out when you're coming back. I bet he'll reinstate you with big raises, if..."

"We don't want to be reinstated," I said.

They all stared at me in disbelief.

"Sorry -- I shouldn't speak for Ca.s.s. I don't want to be reinstated. At least, not without a lot more information this time. She can do what she wants."

"Not without you," she protested.

I motioned to her to save it for private discussion. "Is that why you're here, then? Jenner sent you to tell us the good news?"

"In a nutsh.e.l.l," Heather admitted. "He really wants you two back. But that isn't..."

"Tell him not to kill the fatted calf just yet," I said. "Now you'd better go. You don't want to be late for work."

"OK, OK, we're going. But we've got a Christmas present for you first."

"It's for both of you," Chip added. "From all of us."

Ca.s.sie took the package from him, thanked him, and tore the paper off. For quite a while, she just stared at whatever it was.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

Too moved to speak, she handed it across the table. And then I understood.

"It has a Santa hat on," I said numbly.

"Oh, come on, this is really cool," Troy said. "It sings 'Jingle Bells.' Push the red b.u.t.ton."

Ca.s.sie pushed her chair back so fast that it tipped over. "We will later. Thanks, guys. It was really sweet of you. Really."

She went on to usher them out, leaving me alone with the fish. It was a while before I could look at it again. It seemed harmless. Stupid, but harmless.

I poked it a few times. Plastic. Nothing scary. I inspected the little hat. I pried open the mouth, to see what was in there. Furtively, I checked to see whether it was anatomically correct -- not that I would know one way or the other. Finally, and only for research purposes, I pressed the b.u.t.ton to make it sing.

Ca.s.sie came back to find me on the kitchen floor, howling with laughter. It took her a few minutes to get me to give up the fish and a few more to get me back upstairs, tucked into bed.

December 28 "She's been in there how long?"

"Two days," Ca.s.sie said, sounding weary. "Give or take an hour or two."

Already bored with eavesdropping on the conversation in the hall, I went back to flipping channels. When the knock came, I ignored it.

"Dev? It's Rita Sanchez. Can I come in?"

No. It was nice of her to stop by, and now she could go. Yawning, I switched over to the Cartoon Network.

The bedroom door opened anyway. Sanchez walked in, Ca.s.sie right behind her.

"You look awful," Sanchez declared.

I shrugged. "I'm on strike."

"That's not what I hear." She took a seat on the bed -- not too close, just in case I hadn't showered lately. "I hear you think you've cracked up. Have you?"

"I went to pieces over a singing fish."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"It's a fish, Sanchez. It sings Christmas carols. How much more evidence do you need?"

Under her breath, she said something Spanish. I hated when she did that; she was from Illinois.

"I'm going along with her for now," Ca.s.sie explained. "If she wants a little time off from reality, I guess she should have it. She really doesn't ask much." She reached over to pat my cheek. "Do you, bunny?"

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.