A Fashionable Fiasco Read online

  “As long as it’s not about clowns, I suppose I could comply—or at least try,” I said, sitting on my hands so I didn’t electrocute my best friend in the Universe.

  “Lover, I think you should learn how to cook,” he said and then waved his hand and produced a reinforced see-through magical wall around himself as a precaution.

  “Repeat,” I ground out as my hair began to fly around my head and peach glitter blew through the room, causing a windstorm.

  “You can’t cook,” he said with a wince.

  “Are you serious?” I shouted over the wind that was now at tornado levels.

  “I’m afraid so,” he shouted back.

  This was horrifying news. Granted I’d been told this before by almost everyone I knew, but I never believed it. Well, not until now.

  The wind jerked to a halt and peach sparkles rained down covering our entire suite in glistening magic.

  “I can’t cook?” I asked, as my eyes welled up with tears.

  “Oh my love,” Bill said, swiping his hand through the air and disintegrating the wall he was hiding behind. “It’s okay. One can’t be good at everything.”

  Taking me into his arms, he rocked me like a baby.

  “But I love to cook,” I wailed as I used his sleeve as a hanky. “I love having dinner parties and I’m pretty sure I have to cook Lucifer and God dinner, have them serve it in aprons and convince them to be chummy to stop the end times from coming.”

  “Shit,” Bill muttered with a slight shudder.

  “We’re all going to die,” I blubbered. Maybe I did poison the lard-asses at the luncheon. Crappity crap. Did that mean I had to apologize? Heaven and Hell help us all if I had to say I was sorry to those uppity wenches.

  “We are not going to die,” Bill insisted. “Where there’s a will there’s a way… hopefully. Is that all you have to do to stop the end times?”

  “The voice was a somewhat cryptically assholey-ish, but it said, and I quote… Bring them together. Children need their mother. They will help you find the perfect recipe. They will have the ingredients. Good versus evil must be served by one with a little pinch of nature.”

  “Fine,” Bill said, gently drying my eyes and kissing my nose. “This is a reach, but try this on for size. Recipes are in cookbooks. You simply need to get a cookbook—a very basic, uncomplicated cookbook. You will follow the directions and voila… no one will die.”

  “You mean no one will die from my cooking?” I asked, confused.

  “Umm… no. That’s not what I meant. I meant you will stop the end times by learning how to cook,” he explained, looking extremely doubtful.

  “You sound ridiculous,” I told him with a small smile pulling at my lips.

  “I agree. It’s utterly absurd. However, let’s start there and see where it leads us,” Bill said with a sexy smirk, removing his jacket and tossing it on the chair.

  “The entity said the hints would reveal themselves with time,” I replied with a demure smile that dove him wild. Clapping my hands, I saved my lover a bit of time. We were both now gloriously naked again. “The idea of me learning how to cook is crazy.” Even crazier because I still wasn’t convinced that I couldn’t.

  Bill began to stalk me like prey and my insides tingled. I still marveled at the fact that after all this time he was the only one who did it for me.

  “No crazier than we are,” he said, scooping me into his arms and tossing me onto our bed.

  “We’re having a dinner party to end the end times,” I announced as I pulled the man who had brought me pleasure for eternity down on the bed next to me and straddled him.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, running his strong hands over my body and making me feel so incredibly loved and cherished.

  “And I’ll do you one better than just a cookbook,” I told him, returning the favor and touching him in all the places he loved to be touched.

  “How will you do that, my love?” he asked as he nibbled on my neck and sent happy shivers through my body.

  “Since this is a dire situation, I shall procure a teacher. I have just the right person in mind.”

  The plan felt solid. I was sure the exploding double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix in the dream was a hint. I was so clever it was delightful.

  Bill pulled back and looked at me with such love and pride in his eyes, I teared up again.

  “You amaze me,” he whispered reverently. “You’ve got this.”

  “You know as well as I do, there will be far more to this shit show than just hosting a dinner party where good and evil come to terms with each other and no one dies from food poisoning. Not to mention getting Satan to wear an apron will be next to impossible. Existence is never easy.”

  “Nothing worthwhile ever is,” Bill said, halting all verbal conversation with his insanely talented tongue.

  It would be quite the shock to all if Bill couldn’t take his Sprite facade back on. Most believed the Enforcer to be a myth.

  Bill the Sprite could live out eternity happily by my side. Bill the Enforcer might have a harder time. Anonymity was the key to his success in keeping the balance of good and evil in check. Concealing Bill would be tricky. However, it was far less tricky than me learning how to cook. Of course, secretly I already thought I could, but maybe I was wrong…

  There was always a first time for everything.

  As shocking as it still was to me, maybe I indeed lacked culinary skills.

  But I had a plan. Actually, I had a few.

  If the end times were truly coming, I was going to learn how to cook without sending people to the toilet. The fate of the Universe depended on it.

  Shit.

  But first I was going to get laid. Priorities were important. Plus, I had a week until the world ended.

  Chapter Three

  The lighting was simply dreadful. If I wasn’t so stunning, I would have turned and walked out the moment I’d entered. Fluorescent lighting was not pleasing to the eye and was frightful on the complexion. It was a damned good thing I was perfect even if I was slightly overdressed for the outing. I’d missed the memo that mom-jeans and a multi-colored boxy t-shirt were the uniform. My designer peach ball gown and stiletto heels did seem a bit over the top. But if anyone could pull it off, it was me.

  “Something is horribly wrong,” I hissed, steering the wheeled metal contraption through a shit show of elderly humans and doing my best not to run one over. That would be mean, and God didn’t like mean.

  Not that he’d bothered to show up and help me. He’d taken up softball and was impossible to get ahold of as of late. What was a mother to do? The good son blows me off and the not so good son shows up. Of course, the not so good son didn’t want to. It took threatening to pole dance at his next poker game in Hell to get him to the earthly plane. Getting the boys together was proving to be difficult already.

  “Don’t make eye contact, mother,” Satan advised, expertly avoiding a large display of Twinkies.

  “Why?” I asked, starting to perspire as I narrowly missed three ancient humans driving motorized scooters with baskets.

  I never sweat. I shimmered. This was ridiculous.

  “It’s Wednesday,” my son snapped with an enormous and rude eye roll.

  I was incredibly tempted to blast his ill-mannered ass straight to Hell, but that would be counterproductive. The little shit lived in Hell. He would be delighted to be sent home to his Kingdom. I’d have to settle for ignoring him. The Devil hated to be ignored.

  Grabbing a few boxes of Twinkies and putting them into my large Prada bag, I narrowed my eyes and headed for aisle three. She had to be there. From my research on the internet, I’d learned all of her products resided on the shelves in aisle three.

  “Did you just steal those Twinkies?” Satan inquired with a wide smile.

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded as my hands began to spark.

  Satan backed up and stood a safe distance away. He was a smart boy. “You have to p
ay for items in a fucking grocery store, mother. You can’t just put them in your purse.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, shocked. I hadn’t seen that requirement on the internet. “I don’t have any money. Do you?”

  With a curt nod and a naughty grin, my slippery-fingered son strolled up and down the aisle filled with humans and came back with ten wallets full of cash and credit cards. It was appalling. I watched the sneaky bastard the entire time and never saw him steal a thing. He was very good at being very bad. He was also otherworldly beautiful and charming which helped him get away with all sorts of dreadful things.

  “Return those at once,” I snapped and put my Twinkies back on the shelf. “We aren’t here to buy anything. We’re here for a kidnapping.”

  “What?” Satan asked with a delighted chuckle. “A kidnapping you say?”

  Swatting him in the head and magically returning the wallets to their rightful owners, I sighed dramatically. “Yes. I’m here to abscond with Letty Hocker.”

  Satan stared blankly. Dammit, that wasn’t her name. I had recently ordered all of her cookbooks—not that I’d used them yet, but I owned them. It was a good start.

  “I meant Titsy Shocker,” I corrected myself.

  “Am I supposed to know who that is?” Satan inquired with an eye roll that should have earned him another swat.

  He lucked out due to my need to recall a specific name. I was pretty sure I’d messed up my idol’s name—again.

  “Umm… Bitsy Clicker?” I tried.

  Blank stare from the Devil.

  “Boopsy Canker?” I tried again.

  An enormous bellow of laughter from my boy—not a good sign. What was her name? I could see her in my mind. Nice red—if not somewhat dated blazer, pearls and a crisp white shirt. Her hair could use a little update, but I assumed since she spent all of her time in the kitchen coming up with new recipes, she didn’t have time for a stylish do. I could definitely help her out with that.

  “We’re here on a Wednesday to kidnap someone called Boopsy Canker?” Satan inquired, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

  “What does Wednesday have to do with anything?” I demanded as I considered grabbing one of the people in a shapeless blue coat and tossing them into my cart. They worked here. They should know where everything was supposed to be. This place was a warehouse of mass confusion. Humans were crazy.

  “Wednesday is Senior Citizens Day,” Satan ground out. “How can you not know that?”

  Slapping the insolent shit on the back of his head, I stopped the metal contraption I was pushing and glared. “Explain yourself,” I demanded.

  Again, he rolled his eyes.

  Again, I smacked him.

  “On Wednesday all of the old human wrinklies come out of hiding and forage for food,” Satan explained with a huge put-upon sigh. “If you make eye contact, they ask for help. If you help a wrinkly, they smile. When they smile, it gives you a feeling of satisfaction well done. As this is something that appalls me, I don’t abide by helping human wrinklies. I’d suggest you follow my lead or we’ll be here all fucking day.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked, fascinated. “Have you been grocery shopping before?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I have not.”

  “You have.”

  “Not,” he growled, clearly asking to be smacked again.

  Satan stomped his Armani clad foot and covertly blew up a large banana pyramid. All of the blue-coated workers ran to see what had happened and the wrinklies ducked for cover.

  “Move it,” I hissed at my destructive son. “The coast is clear. We have to find Barbie Cracker at once.”

  The Devil shook his head and groaned. “I thought you said we were looking for Boopsy Canker.”

  “Noooo,” I hissed as I abandoned the wheeled metal contraption and bypassed a wrinkly that was definitely trying to make eye contact. If I had the time, I would have happily helped. As nutty as they were, I adored humans. However, with a week until the end of the world I needed to stick to business. “I said Cetty Bocker… I think.”

  Dammit, I’d confused myself now. Her name didn’t matter. I knew what she looked like.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Satan muttered as he jogged alongside me.

  “Trust me,” I shot back. “You do have time for this.”

  “And why is that, mother?” he inquired, stepping on a prone wrinkly who seemed to appear from out of thin air. The poor man was trying to stand up.

  “Because I said so,” I snapped and gently helped the wrinkly to his feet.

  “Thank you, beautiful girlie,” the ancient human said with a semi toothless grin and a wink.

  “Why, aren’t you just the charmer?” I replied, preening for my appreciative and very over-the-hill audience of one. “Are you alright?”

  “I am now. You’re my dream come true,” he replied, blushing from head to toe. “It’s my lucky day!”

  I just adored the effect I had on humans. I didn’t believe in luck, but if the human wanted to subscribe to the notion, who was I to correct him?

  “Darnedest thing,” he went on, scratching his head. “I was on my way to buy a Betsy Cocker cake mix and got beaned by a flying banana.”

  “That’s it,” I shouted and grabbed an abandoned cart. “Betsy Cocker. She’s the one I’m after. Pick up the wrinkly and put him in the basket,” I instructed a shocked Satan. “He knows Betsy Cocker. He’s coming with us.”

  “I will not carry a wrinkly,” Satan informed me in the same tone he’d used as a child when I’d insisted he eat broccoli.

  “You don’t have to carry him,” I said with an eye roll. “My new friend… umm… do you have a name?”

  “Jim Bob,” he replied, looking slightly terrified.

  “My new friend Jim Bob knows Betsy Cocker—the woman we’re here to procure. We could save a tremendous about of time by abducting two people instead of spending the next hour looking for one. You feel me, son?”

  “I have bingo at noon,” Jim Bob offered up weakly.

  “Not to worry,” I told him and patted his bald head. “As soon as I take Betsy Cocker hostage, you’re free to go.”

  “Thank you,” Jim Bob said, holding his arms out to Satan so he could be placed in the cart.

  “For the love of everything evil,” Satan griped as he lifted Jim Bob up and dropped him into the cart. “This is not only ridiculous. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

  “Cakehole. Shut it,” I advised my son as I headed for aisle three with Jim Bob pointing the way. “So is Jim your first name and Bob your surname?”

  It wouldn’t hurt to be polite to the wrinkly. We had put him in a cart after all.

  “Nope,” he said, hanging on for dear life as I sped down aisle two in my stilettos and headed for my victim… I mean, idol. “Jim Bob is my first name and Bob-Bob is my last name.”

  Slightly strange, but if he was going to help me, I didn’t care what his name was.

  “Jim Bob Bob-Bob?” Satan asked with a grunt of laughter as he sprinted alongside the cart.

  “Yep,” Jim Bob Bob-Bob admitted with a squeal of terror as I narrowly missed flattening a female blue coat serving up free chips and salsa. “As the story goes, my pappy liked his moonshine and might have slurred a little when he told the doc my name.”

  “Pish,” I said and then accidentally ran over the feet of another blue coat who was putting cans on a shelf. The screaming was a little much if you asked me, but humans were fragile. “Jim Bob Bob-Bob is a fine name. Left or right?”

  “Left,” Jim Bob advised, white-knuckling the sides of the cart.

  Taking a sharp left, Jim Bob almost flew out of the metal basket. He was being such a good sport for a human.

  “Halfway down the aisle on the right,” Jim Bob yelled with relief, realizing the end of the ride from Hell was in sight. “There!”

  “Where?” I demanded, skidding to a stop. “There’s no one here.”

  The aisle was
completely devoid of people—wrinkly or otherwise. Had Jim Bob been yanking my chain? Betsy Cocker was nowhere in sight.

  “Right there,” Jim Bob said, pointing at a bunch of boxed cake mixes with my idol’s picture on them.

  “Got it,” I said, yanking the boxes off the shelves and searching for my prey. Crawling into the shelving unit was awkward, but I was on a mission. “Damn, she really knows how to hide.”

  “What the Hell?” Satan snapped, yanking me out of the shelves. “At the risk of sounding sane, what exactly are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for Betsy Cocker,” I said, preparing to crawl back in and find the elusive woman. “I have to have her. It’s a matter of life and death—for everyone.”

  “Umm… can I say something?” Jim Bob asked.

  “Is it pertinent to me finding the sneaky baking bitch?” I inquired politely. It wasn’t Jim Bob’s fault that Betsy Cocker was playing hide and seek.

  “Possibly.”

  “Then have at it, Jim Bob Bob-Bob,” I told him as Satan walked about ten feet away and pretended he didn’t know us.

  “Well, from what I’ve heard, Betsy Cocker is a crotchety old bitch who lives in seclusion and hates her adoring cake loving public. Horrible, vile, disgusting woman,” Jim Bob explained.

  That was unacceptable. There were pictures of her smiling all over the internet. Crotchety old bitches didn’t smile. Horrible, vile, disgusting women didn’t bake delicious cakes and wear pearls. Jim Bob Bob-Bob was a very old human. Humans were known to become forgetful in their twilight years.

  “I beg to differ, Jim Bob,” I replied as my fingers began to spark in annoyance and the floor began to tremble. “I found hundreds of smiling pictures of her on the internet and then found this address. It specifically said that Betsy Cocker could be located in aisle three. While she may have dreadful taste in blazers, she is not in seclusion. So clearly, you are WRONG.”

  And that’s when I forgot to count to thirty. It truly wasn’t my fault. Jim Bob had made me second-guess myself. I hated being wrong. Plus, I wasn’t wrong. Maybe I’d written the address down incorrectly.