“So what do we do next?” he asked
“Be there when they make contact, I suppose,” I replied.
“But what if contact is made mechanically, by radio or the like?” he thought to ask.
“That would make the most sense,” agreed Dara. “Doubtful that the queens make contact in person, not with all these zombies around. Too dangerous.”
“But we didn’t see any communication device in the disco,” I countered.
“There are certainly more rooms inside,” counter-countered Ricky. “And we know they have electricity, as do the islanders, I’m assuming.” Dara and I nodded. “So that means—”
My last and final grimace would’ve made a hound dog seem like it was smiling in comparison. “Back inside the belly of the beast we go.”
“Fuck,” said Dara.
“Yep,” said I.
“And not the good kind of fuck either,” she reiterated.
“Got it,” I added, pointing back to the marina, to the shops we’d come from. “But storm cloud meet silver lining.”
“Shopping,” she fairly cooed.
Ricky, of course, knew what we were getting at. After all, despite being with us for only such a short amount of time, a short amount of time was in fact all he needed. “Fuck,” he repeated. “As in no fucking way.”
Table for One
We didn’t have much time to do what needed to be done. Then again, we really didn’t know when or if the queens would or could contact Blondella. Still, better safe than sorry, so we rushed. Which wasn’t saying all that much. Especially since we had to sidestep a few hundred zombies in order to reach our destination.
“Thoughts?” asked Ricky once we were finally back inside the boutique.
I shrugged. “We just can’t look or smell like we did the first time they found us.”
“Smell?” asked Dara.
My shrug remained. “No telling if the zombies can recognize us by our scents as well as by our looks.” I lifted up a dust covered bottle of perfume and turned it over. “Best money can buy.” I gave it a shpritz and then promptly coughed my friggin’ head off. “Let me rephrase that: best money could buy.”
Dara crinkled her nose. “Guess it expired.”
Ricky nodded, covering his face as he did so. “A couple of hundred years ago.” He then squinted his eyes my way. “And, to repeat myself, in case you weren’t listening the first time: no fucking way am I wearing any of the clothes in here.”
I grinned and walked over to one of the racks. I lifted up a frilly and oh-so-ridiculously priced blouse. “This would look darling on you.”
Dara lifted up a complementary skirt. “Ooh, and with this you’ll be the belle of the ball.” And before he could object, she added, “Ironically, I used to know a drag queen by that name.”
Ricky grunted. “Bella la Ball?”
“No way,” she said, clearly stunned. “You knew her, too?”
The grunt repeated. “No, but I’m quickly getting to know you. In any case, should the time come, you’re never going to say that you knew a drag queen named Ricky Shea, either.”
I put the blouse back on the rack. Dara did the same with the skirt. “Spoilsport,” she said, now pouting. If she could’ve folded her arms across her chest, she would have, if only for effect.
“Speaking of sport, I’m going two store downs to the golf shop. You mentioned that I can’t look like myself anymore,” he said, already opening the door. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t have to look like the two of you either.”
“Is there a right way to take that?” I asked.
He paused and grinned. “If I can’t look as pretty as the two of you, then why bother?” He then turned and headed down the sidewalk. He tried to whistle. Good luck with that, I thought.
Dara watched him go. “He makes a valid point.”
“He was just trying to appease us.”
She went back to shopping. “I can live with that.” She seemed to reconsider her choice of words. “Well, you know what I mean.”
Indeed I did. All too well, in fact. Be that as it may, when given the choice to either shop or ponder my rather lengthy demise, I think it’s obvious which one I chose. And since I couldn’t look like Blondella and I couldn’t look like myself, I went hooker-chic instead, topping it off with a flaming red wig.
Dara smirked when she got a good look at me. “Luckily, you don’t have to breathe in that get-up.”
I nodded. “Even if I could, it’d be dangerous. In any case, Creature would never be caught, pardon the expression, dead in an outfit like this, so no way is anyone or anything going to recognize me now.”
“Heck, you could’ve walked right by me and I wouldn’t have even recognized you.” She took a whiff. “Plus, with three hundred years of dust on those clothes, you also smell very unCreature-like.” Because, yes, I might’ve been dead, but that didn’t mean that I generally neglected my grooming habits.
A few minutes later, we had Dara dressed in a sleek boating outfit, skirt and blouse silky and light, her new blonde wig topped by a sailor’s hat, silver anchor-shaped earrings hanging from her grayish lobes. “How do I look?” she asked, giving me a twirl.
“Fishy.” I meant it as a compliment, and that’s how she took it.