Evil stopped scribbling and looked up from behind a huge pile of paper I suspected had nothing to do with gift counseling. “So, what’s she like?”
I thought of my one true love and hesitated. So many virtues, so many superlatives to choose from.
“She’s wonderful with animals,” I began, “and has this really endearing way of—”
“Jesus,” said Evil. “Keep it simple, punchy. Is she a dame or a dog? Genius or dimbo? Hot or frigid? Angel or killer? Elf or dwarf? Blonde? Redhead? Brunette? Bald? Help me out here.”
My head spun like an Exorcist DVD used as a frisbee.
With a roll of his eyes, Evil tossed a wad of paper into a shredder. “Hey, she sounds great. Why don’t you just fuck her? In a Santa hat? Hundred bucks.”
“Okay, have it your way. I’ll fuck her. Three hundred bucks.”
I grabbed my coat. “You disgust me!”
“Five hundred bucks and we both do her! Seven fifty and I bring a friend! A grand and the friend is a horse! Two grand and we post it on my blog! Three grand and Liza Minnelli...”
Mrs Varmighan shook the hat.
Evil’s fingers trilled the air, then plucked out a folded notelet.
“Whaddya know — Spiritual Advisor,” he said with a smile. “Run downstairs and change the sign, willya?”