Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
But when I get the apartment, Satan in already asleep on the couch, no doubt dreaming of the birds he’s going to murder if Caroline really does take him back to Vermont.
I head to bed, where I dream that Caroline takes me home, instead, leaving Greg to take over my life here in the city. But I’m not mad about it. Not even when Greg wins an Emmy for his writing on a late-night comedy sketch show.
I’ve always wanted an Emmy, but right now I might want this woman, this near stranger, more.
I’m in deep doodoo.
Even deeper than my contestants will be in come tomorrow morning…
eleven
. . .
Caroline
“The clowns are puppies!” Eduardo falls to his knees on the astroturf at the Chelsea Clown College’s outdoor campus near the Hudson River, where dozens of adorable chihuahuas in full clown costume are running amok in their enclosure, enjoying the mild winter day. “Thank you, Ishtar.” He looks up, lifting his hands toward the pale blue December sky. “Thank you, Dionysus and Loki and Sheela Na Gigs and that guy who ran the nice cult in Pennsylvania in the 1800s. If I never see another man in a clown outfit, it will be too soon.”
Beside me, Millie laughs. “Sheela Na Gigs? I know the other ones, but who’s she?”
Eduardo glances over his shoulder, his brown eyes dancing with mischief. “Pagan goddess from the British Isles. She would appear to men in her hag form and flash her hideously saggy tits. If the man decided to do her a solid and tap that old lady ass, she’d turn into a gorgeous young woman and grant him wishes. Kind of like a fairy with a little geriatric porn on the side.”
“Ew,” Millie says pleasantly.
“I don’t know,” I say, also profoundly relieved that we won’t be facing any full-sized clowns this morning. “I kind of like it. Though, I think she should have stayed in her old woman form. Old people like sex, too. I’m pretty sure my grandmother has a boyfriend in Vermont and a side piece in Maine who she shacks up with when she’s in the mood for lobster.”
“Good for her. Here’s to being sluts until we’re dead,” Eduardo says, pumping a fist in the air.
“Yes, please, talk more about that,” Jenna mumbles behind her coffee cup, her dark glasses concealing her eyes. “I’m sure the producers will love hearing you talk about what sluts you are the morning after they sent out an email warning everyone to keep their language family friendly.”
The reminder that the cameras are always rolling makes my cheeks heat.
Shit. Gran is going to kill me!
Making a mental note to keep my mouth shut about my family and friends—and to text Gran to warn her that her side-piece secret might be getting out in a few months if this show makes it to the airwaves—I take a bracing sip of my own coffee and scan the sidewalk. But there’s still no sign of Leo, a fact that’s way more disappointing than it should be.
Maybe he’s sleeping in this morning? I guess the producer doesn’t have to be on set for all the filming, especially a challenge involving cleaning up after puppy clowns. And yes, I’m very glad there isn’t a human with creepy clown makeup in sight, but poop is still poop.
Even if it’s very small poop.
“They’ll just have to bleep me, then,” Eduardo says, flicking his shaggy hair from his forehead. “I’m sex positive. Always have been and always will be. And why are you even here, Queen of Darkness? I figured you’d be back at the hotel gloating over your victory and hiding from the sun.”
“I’m required to be here to watch you losers get covered in dog shit before I’m treated to tea at The Ritz,” Jenna says flatly, before adding with a sigh, “But trust me, I wish I weren’t. Dogs are gross. Especially little ones. They’re like…tiny, barky rats.”
“Oh no, they’re not, they’re precious little angels,” Millie says, cooing at a chihuahua in a pink clown ruffle who’s come over to the fence to check us out. “Aren’t you, darling? Aren’t you the cutest thing there ever was? The cutest and the sweetest.”
“And they live forever, Ishtar bless them,” Eduardo adds. “My ex’s chihuahua lived to be a hundred and forty-seven in dog years.” He rises to his feet, reaching down to brush non-existent grass from the knees of his yellow coveralls.
We were all issued a pair to wear this morning, making us stand out like a herd of lemons in the sea of black coated commuters on the sidewalk behind us. A few of them stop to stare as they hurry past, but most New Yorkers are too busy to care about the weirdness of others.
Even weirdness that’s being filmed by a camera crew.