Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 26

Ca.s.sie looked disgusted, but she reciprocated, and we shook on it.

Wouldn't want to get sentimental, after all.

(c) 2001, K. Simpson To Part 22 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

CHAPTER 22.

New Year's Eve *

By the time we got to Jenner's house, the casualties were already stacking up. There was nothing strange about that, considering the guest list, but ten-thirty was a bit early in the evening to ride the pink elephant.

Ca.s.sie stepped cautiously around a victim, trying not to catch her heels on his fake-suede jacket. "Do you think he's dead?"

"Only if the fas.h.i.+on police shot him," I said, half-seriously.

She made a moue and reached over the body to hang her coat up. "I'm going to work the room for a while. You will dance with me later."

"We'll see."

"You will," she repeated, leaning over to give me a quick kiss before she left.

We'd see.

I'd never liked New Year's Eve, even in those years when I'd had dates. The only really good New Year's Eves were the ones I'd spent at home watching old movies in my pajamas. Ca.s.sie, however, loved dressing up and going out, which meant no Casablanca, no Citizen Kane, and no pajamas. Most of my clothes had perished in the fire, except for what I'd kept at her place, so she'd taken me shopping. Which was why I was wearing black leather tonight. Was she crazy?

Rhetorical question.

Dourly, I gave the crazy woman another once-over. She was holding court in a herd of overheated males, reveling in the attention, which was understandable given what she had on. Or, more precisely, didn't. It was less a dress than an innuendo -- the black halter was cut too low; the long black skirt was slit too high -- and it could only lead to trouble.

Speaking of which...

"So, Dev," Walt said, "where'd you two get the Bride of Satan getups?"

I gave him a thin, cool smile and no satisfaction.

"Oh, c'mon, I'm kidding. I like 'em. No kidding." He threw down a shot of Scotch -- not his first. "You gonna dance with her? Can I watch?"

"Weren't you married a minute ago?" I asked, unamused.

"Married doesn't mean dead."

"It will if your wife ever hears about this conversation."

He was a good-enough sport to laugh, but not very hard. "You take all the fun out of working with gay babes, you know?"

"We're not g..." Oh, h.e.l.l. "Never mind."

He was about to punish me for that mistake when Heather raced over, breathing hard. "I got here as fast as I could," she told me, glowering at Walt. "Has he been stupid yet?"

"Baby love, you hurt me," he complained. "I was just making nice polite conversation about how I want to see Dev and Ca.s.s do the horizontal mambo tonight, but if that's what you call stupid...Ow! Ow! d.a.m.n!"

Heather, who had just stamped on one of his wingtips with a very sharp heel, rolled her eyes as he hopped off.

One down, but way too many to go. And Kurt wasn't even here yet.

We met up again a while later, in a more-or-less private end of the room. Ca.s.sie looked amused. "I've had some interesting comments on the clothes," she said.

I didn't doubt it. "Have you, now?"

"And a lot of questions about our living arrangements."

"What kind of questions?"

"Interesting ones." She smiled, daring me to take the bait.

"Ca.s.sie..."

"All right, all right, all right. I'm not telling anyone much. I'm just saying you're staying at the guest house until you figure out what to do."

Watching her narrowly, I shook my head. "That's not what I heard. I heard you said we're going to buy a house together."

"Gossip," she said dismissively.

"Gossip that started somewhere, with somebody."

She frowned. "Well, not with me. Who would start that kind of rumor anyway?"

"Guess," Monica said.

We spun around. Monica had Vanessa by the ear, clearly having dragged her along, and Vanessa didn't look happy about it.

"Let go!" she told Monica. "That hurts!"

My demon was unsympathetic. "Don't be a baby. It's your own fault for wearing all those earrings."

Vanessa wrenched free and retreated a few steps, rubbing her ear. It probably did hurt; she had enough jewelry on that ear to make her list slightly to starboard. But the excess went with her dress, which might have been something Bob Mackie designed for Barbie.

"Why are you both here?" I asked. "Don't tell me there are no parties in h.e.l.l tonight. I've always thought New Year's Eve was invented in h.e.l.l, as far as that..."

"Save it," Monica snapped. "You have bigger problems. Little Miss Disinformation here has been making people think you two are picking out silver patterns."

"What for? We both have our own silverware."

"Literal," she muttered. "Great Satan, I never saw anyone so literal. You do it to spite me, don't you?" Before I could answer, she waved me off. "Never mind, never mind. Living together is a terrible idea, Devlin. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I don't remember asking you," Ca.s.sie told her hotly.

The look Monica gave her was enough to start a small fire, so I got in the middle. "We're not moving in together. Not for a year at least..."

Ca.s.sie cleared her throat significantly. "Ten months."

"...and maybe never. I don't see what it has to do with you anyway. What's it to you where I live?"

Monica scowled. "Vanessa."

"What about her?"

"I'm not sharing a house with that."

Ca.s.sie and I exchanged puzzled glances.

"Think," Monica insisted. "If the two of you live together, the four of us live together. And I am not living with her."

"Same to you but more of it," Vanessa huffed.

Pretending to have given it some thought, Ca.s.sie offered a solution. "We could build doghouses for you. Devvy could walk you once in a while so you don't get fat. Would that work?"

Monica studied her with distaste. "I can't imagine what you see in her, Devlin. She's always going to be like this."

"Good." I almost meant it, too. "Now, is that all you wanted? Because if it is, we're done here."

"We're done," Vanessa said. "Except for one little thing."

She was Ca.s.sie's demon, so I let Ca.s.sie handle it. "Make it really little," she told Vanessa.

"You're wrong about the ten months, girlfriend. You'll get hooked up sooner than that. I give it six months. Maybe less. You never know."

"Over my dead body," Monica warned.

Vanessa smiled sweetly. "It could be arranged." Then she threw up a hand, and Monica vanished in a little puff of black smoke.

"Did you really kill her?" Ca.s.sie asked hopefully.

"Naaaah. Just sent her to a bridal show. She'll hate it." The demon regarded me critically. "So what's with the leather? You planning on kissing or killing tonight?"

Who knew? "The night is young," I said darkly, and stalked off.

Everything started downhill shortly thereafter, when Kurt finally showed. I was listening to Troy and some of the guys from Video lie about their manhood at the time, so I didn't notice him right away. The commotion was another matter.

"What the h.e.l.l...?" J.B. asked, jerking his head toward the door. People were stampeding both toward and away from whatever had just come in, which we couldn't see from our angle.

Instantly, I scanned the room for Ca.s.sie. She was safely removed from whatever was going on, but she could see it from where she was standing -- and she didn't look happy.

"Hold this," I said, handing my drink to one of the editors, even though I knew he'd only finish it. Then I headed for Ca.s.sie on a path that would put me between her and the trouble. The idea was to protect the trouble.

Meanwhile, the screaming, shouting, and howling laughter at ground zero never stopped. What was wrong with these people?

"Kurt," Sanchez explained when I grabbed her.

"What about him?"

She just dissolved into a fit of giggles, which was no help at all. Annoyed, I pushed aside the last few obstacles, and then I saw all.

I do mean all. Or at least most of it. Kurt was dressed up like Baby New Year, wearing nothing but a sash and a diaper. And he hadn't been particular about how he'd fastened the diaper.

"Criminey," I growled. "Kurt, this had better be a medication accident."

He lighted up as though he were glad to see me. "Boss! What's wrong? You don't like the outfit?"

"No. Where's Peg?"

"She stayed home. Said she didn't want to be seen in public with me."

Go figure. "You'd better go home and change. You can't leave your wife home on New Year's Eve."

"It's OK. She went to her mother's. I think they're running Harrison Ford movies or something." Absently, he scratched himself. "What's that guy got that I don't, anyway?"

Fortunately, Ca.s.sie turned up before I had to answer. "h.e.l.lo, Kurt. Don't scratch diaper rash. You'll only make it worse."

He didn't respond, mainly because all the blood had just rushed from his brain to his eyeb.a.l.l.s. l.u.s.t was a disturbing look on a grown man in a diaper, and I decided I didn't like it.

"Stop it," I ordered.

Ca.s.sie smirked at me a little; I pretended not to notice. Kurt certainly didn't.

"Kurt!"

He jumped, causing the diaper to slip and a few girls to shriek. But he didn't notice those things either. "Whoa," he said, still riveted on Ca.s.sie.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she told him.

"Oh, yeah. d.a.m.n, Ca.s.s, that dress is something. Really something. You're a piece of work when you want to be, you know that?"

She smirked at me again. I was starting to hate this evening. "Drop it, Kurt," I told him.