She grinned as I started in on her Revlon makeover: light on the foundation, even lighter on the lipstick and blush, and heavy on the eyeliner. Because, come on, a little drama goes a long way. Plus, it brought out the blue in her eyes. At least that’s what it looked like in the moonlight anyway.
“How do I look?” she asked, once I was through.
I gave her the once over, twice. “Like a living doll.”
She giggled. “Emphasis on the living.”
I giggled as well, but on me it sounded more like a steamroller grinding over gravel. Oh well. “She’ll fall for it, hook, line and stinker.”
“Sinker, you mean.”
I shook my head. “Did you get a good whiff of that theater you were in?”
She groaned, clearly remembering said theater. “Got it. And, luckily, a sucker is born every minute. Or, in Blondella’s case, dies.”
“Exactly,” I said, touching fingertip to nose. Or at least trying to. “Let’s just hope that she’s the only thing that dies around here. Or, um, re-dies. Unlives?”
See, stupid zombie verbiage.
***
Okay, so now that we had a plan, we needed a plan to help enact the plan. So, while I’ve said it before that the undead don’t get headaches, I was beginning to second guess myself. Because this one was a doozie.
“I think I’ve got it,” Lola said, the moon now on the other side of the sky, the promise of a new day already on the horizon.
I stared up at her. “Do we get to do some shopping?” She shook her head no, while I frowned, nodding resignedly just the same. “Okay, I’m listening anyway.”
“Way to instill confidence, Creature.”
I lifted my hands up into the air and whooped, “I’m listening!”
“Better,” she said. “In any case, you’re able to command the zombies because of imprinting, like you’re the mother zombie goose and they’re the baby zombie gooselings.”
“Nice imagery.”
“I try,” she said, with a smile. “In any case, Blondella is able to do the same thing. Both of you are unique, both shining like beacons to the undead, like mothers to them.”
“Mother fuckers is more like it,” I grumbled. “At least in Blondella’s case.”
“Off the point,” she chastised.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “Please, do continue.”
Her smile returned. “Right, so, what if there was a third leader, another person, if you will, that the zombies follow.”
“You?”
She nodded “Me.”
“But they don’t,” I told her. “They don’t follow you. You’re unique, but not in the same way that Blondella and I are.”
“But she doesn’t know that.”
I scratched my head for effect. “But she will when the zombies don’t obey you.”
“Except that they will, if you tell them to.”
That lightbulb of mine again sputtered to life, just as the sun on the horizon was doing the exact same thing. “Okay, I see your point now. Sort of,” I said. “That would, in fact, draw her attention to you. Then what? She goes after you, tries to kill you too, and then I rescue the husbands?”
She slapped my arm. “No, Creature. No one is going to try and kill and/or rekill me.”
“Unkill? Dekill?”
“Missing the point, Creature.”
I shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She sighed or at least tried to. It took some practice, really. Three hundred years usually did the trick. “Remember, she’s vain, and I have something she doesn’t have, namely natural beauty. I can also lead the zombies, so I’m powerful. Now, what if I can promise her the former and, with the latter, we can lead together. Wouldn’t she go for that?”
I nodded. “Yes.” Then I shook my head. “No.”
“Which is it?”
My shrug was still there from before, so it didn’t have far to go. “She’d join with you only to try and trick you, to get your beauty secrets and then, to use your word, vanquish you.”
“But not before we tricked her first, got on her good side, got inside the disco, rescued the husbands and killed her before she killed us.”
“Sounds risky.”
This time her sigh sounded right on the mark. Guess she didn’t need all that much practice after all. Guess a few hours alone with me was tantamount to three hundred years, give or take. “Do you have a better idea?”
Heck, I didn’t even have a worse idea. “Nope. But I do need a disguise first.”
She pointed to the JoS. A. Bank store across the street from where we were standing. “And there you go.”
“No way,” I said, arms folded (at least halfway) over padded chest. That’s a men’s clothing store.”
She gave me a what-the-fuck look. “And you’re a man.”
“Semantics.”
“Which also has the word man in it. Which you are.”
I shot her a no-fucking-way look in return. “No fucking way, Lola. Besides, what does JoS mean anyway? Sounds satanic, if you ask me.” I pointed to the Betsey Johnson store next to it. “I vote for that.”
Again she sighed. Damn, she was getting awfully good at that. “JoS. is short for Joseph, Creature.”
I squinted her way and then at the store. “Pretty cheap, if you ask me. Three letters, just to save a few inches on their signage.” Again I pointed to the store next to it. “Betsey Johnson was eighty trying to look twenty. It’s a perfect disguise.”