Bite Me

“Whaaaa?”
    ’Kayso, Flood sends me for coffees and says he’ll meet me at a table in the back, so when I show up, he’s sitting with this ginormously fat gay guy, wearing a purple silk wizard robe with silver stars and moons on it, and his head is shaved and there’s a pentagram tattooed on it, just like I drew on Ronnie’s head with a Magic Marker. I know! And he has a crystal ball on his table on a stand made out of dragons, and a sign that says MADAME NATASHA, FORTUNES TOLD $5.00, ALL PROCEEDS GO TO AIDS RESEARCH.
    And so I come up and Flood is all, “Madame Natasha, this is my minion, Abby Normal.”
    And I’m all, “ Enchanté, ” in, like, perfect fucking French. “Most fly eye-liner, Madame.” He had like spider fake lashes and glitter liner out to his ears.
    And Madame Natasha is all, “Oh, sweet of you to say, child. Your ensem is très chic as well. But you should have a jacket, little thing like you could freeze in the fog.”
    And I’m all ready to throw down anti-mom you’re-not-the-boss-of-me-talk on him, then I’m kinda okay with it. Like maybe I would get along with the Motherbot better if she were a ginormous gay guy.
    And I sit down next to Madame Natasha, because Flood is, like, in the client seat, and Flood’s all, “Madame Natasha told my fortune when I first came to town, and said that I would meet a girl, but the death card kept coming up, so she couldn’t figure it out.” Then he turns to Madame and is like, “You were right on the money, I ended up meeting a dead girl.”
    And Madame’s all, “Oh my,” and she pulls this little fan out of one of her chins and starts fanning herself.
    ’Kayso, I pull out the bag of blood and squeeze a little into my coffee, then into Flood’s, and he’s all, “Abby, put that away.”
    And I’m all, “Why?”
    And he’s all nodding toward people, who are totally not looking at us now, but like really reading or texting hard. And he’s like, “They’ll freak.”
    And I’m like, “Oh bitch, please. They all saw my eye makeup, they saw how I’m dressed, they saw my dark and mysteriously colored hair, and they think I’m just trying to freak them out by pretending to pour blood in my coffee. So they are all furiously not freaking out so as to not giveme the satisfaction because then they wouldn’t be sophisticated City peeps. This is not my first funeral, Red State.”
    “Oh, I like her,” goes the Madame. “She’s got spunk.”
    And Flood is like, “Okey dokey.”
    And I’m like, “If you keep saying ‘okey dokey’ I will be forced to replace you as my Dark Lord.”
    And Madame is all, “It does sound a little corn-fed, love.”
    And Tommy is all, “Never mind how I talk. You remember, right, Madame? You remember me?”
    And the Madame is all “Oh, yes, yes, I do now. You were the one who had achieved Olympic levels in masturbation, weren’t you?”
    And Flood was all, “Uh, no, that part was someone else, uh—”
    So, like, the master needed a hand, if you know what I mean, so I was like, “Oh chill, it’s a stress thing, everyone does it. I’m flicking the bean under the table right now just to dial the tension back a little. Yes. Yes. Yes! Oh-zombie-jeebus-fuck-me-Simba-lion-king-hakuna-matata! Yes!” So I spaz-gasmed a little and kind of slid down in my seat breathing hard. Then I like look up at the Madame with one eye and I’m like, “They’re freaking out now, aren’t they?”
    And she just kind of nodded with big eyes and whatnot. So, you know, embarrassment for my Dark Lord totally diverted. But this one crusty day dweller is all looking up from his Wall Street Journal at me with a disgusted face, so I’m all, “Rawr.”
    And Flood looks at me.
    And I’m like, “Shut up, it’s a thing. He shouldn’t even be allowed out at night, using my dark without permission.” So I rawred Wall Street again for eavesdropping.
    So we sort of drank our coffee for a while and Madame looked at her cards and then, like, looked up seemed disappointed that we were still there, but Flood was on it.
    He’s all, “The woman you told me I would meet, I met her. We live together.”
    And the Madame holds up her hand, which means, “shut the fuck up” in fortune-teller language. And she looks at her cards some more. Then she looks at her tip jar.
    Then Flood looks at me and like does the tip jar nod. So I pull a hundred out of my messenger bag and drop it in the jar.
    And Flood’s like, “Abby!”
    And