Xmas Spirit (18 page)

“A killer way to make someone jealous from beyond the grave,” Petula said, picking up a pamphlet.

“Check it,” Wendy Anderson said, pointing up to a flat-screen with Petula on it. “Obituary TV! A new cable channel that runs obits of real people all day and night!”

“Let’s go tape our Yulogy!” Wendy A. said.

“We don’t have time for that now,” Wendy T. said.

“Well, I do have time for the postmortem Facebook status and tweets package. They update everything on a regular basis after you’re dead so that you never go away. Virtually.”

“Worth every penny,” Wendy A. said. “So sad that people in the olden days used to just die.”

“Cool cemetery apps,” Damen said. “GPS—grave positioning system, where you can find the location of any dead body in your vicinity. And this living headstone one, where you can scan the stone with your smartphone and link to a video of the person in the grave!”

“Well, I am definitely going to see the Coffin Cam,” Scarlet said, trying to break off. “Why don’t you guys go check out the casket stylist? And don’t forget your funeral swag bags,” Scarlet said, twirling a necklace with a vial of embalming fluid for a pendant.

“She’s sick,” Petula said. “Wait, swag?”

“We should check this stuff out. I mean, it is the second most important day of your life. A day all about you, and you’re not even there.”

Scarlet and Charlotte were the most in awe, their heads spinning in every direction, determined not to miss a thing.

“I really want to check out the latest autopsy accessories,” Scarlet said. “We can stop by the Coffins ’n Cream coffee kiosk on the way.”

“That’s usually over there,” Charlotte pointed.

“You’ve been here before?”

“There’s nothing else to do, and it’s right by my house,” Charlotte said. “So I come. Every Christmas Eve.”

“Me too!” Scarlet’s eyes lit up. “I would have never guessed.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Charlotte said, and smiled.

“There are a lot of things I don’t want to know about either of you,” Petula criticized. “This place is creeping me out, Satan.”

Scarlet reached spitefully for the giveaway chocolate human brain samples.

“Yum,” she reported, letting it melt in her mouth. “Death by chocolate. Have one?”

Petula looked ready to puke.

“Did you know ‘Satan’ is an anagram for ‘Santa’?” The whole thing was lost on Petula.

Suddenly, The Wendys looked up and saw a sign that really appealed to them and pointed it out to Petula, who quickly regained her composure.

“Makeup!” they shouted. “We’ll meet you at Wormhole’s booth in ten minutes.”

Scarlet and Charlotte broke for the latest model Grossing Stations while Petula and The Wendys took a detour to the cosmetics booth.

“His booth is under the tree,” Damen shouted after them, uncertain if he had been heard by any of them. “I’ll wait there for you.”

Scarlet used the unexpected alone time with Charlotte to voice her concerns privately. “I don’t like this at all. You don’t need to go through with it.”

“I want to. I’m not afraid. And I need the money.”

“You stay here,” Scarlet ordered. “I want to talk to Damen.”

Scarlet turned and practically marched away.

“Scarlet!” Charlotte called out. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“You are a good friend.”

Scarlet smiled.

“I’m not your friend,” Scarlet said, walking away.

“Yet,” Charlotte said under her breath.

Petula, Wendy Anderson, and Wendy Thomas made their way around the tightly packed convention hall with such determination they might as well have been searching for the Holy Grail. And then they saw it. An entire booth filled with state-of-the-art beauty products. Foundation, concealers, lipsticks, glosses. They had it all. The girls were stunned at the sight. Immobilized.

They looked at a line of heads. Replicas of people. All lined up in a row. The sign said
FACE DESTROYED IN AN ACCIDENT? PICK THE FACE OF YOUR DREAMS! IT’S CHEAPER THAN PLASTIC SURGERY, AND IT LASTS LONGER
!

“So this is what they do when you crush your noggin?” Wendy A. said.

“Petula, you should totally model for one of these! People would die to look like you! Now they can!”

“Yeah, you can, like, start your own perfect underground society of people who look just like you!”

As Petula pondered the thought, she was interrupted by a woman’s voice. “Look alive!”

“Huh?” was all Petula could muster.

“Look Alive,” the woman said once more. “That’s the name of our cosmetic brand.”

“Oh, yeah,” Petula said. “That’s pretty funny, ’cause your customers are, like, dead, right?”

The salesperson ignored her. She was on a roll.

“What’s the first thing people say when they come to a wake and see a dead loved one lying there?”

“I don’t know? Get me out of here?”

“Was there a will?” Wendy A. added.

“No, they say
Doesn’t he or she look good?
Right?”

“I guess?”

“Now, why do they look so good?” the woman asked.

Three blank faces stared back at her.

“Same reason you do.”

“Makeup?” Petula asked uncertainly.

“Makeup,” the woman replied. “And they’ll look even better with our new Look Alive package.”

“Tell us more,” Wendy Anderson requested, like an audience plant in an infomercial.

“In this one kit you get wound filler, glue, lip wax, makeup in every possible skin color, including adult, peach, suntan, elderly, newborn, and deep flesh.”

“This stuff is industrial strength,” Petula said, fiddling with the package. “Made to last forever.”

“Indeed it is, young lady. In fact, it was created for the new see-through coffins that Wormsmoth Funeral Home will be offering next season.”

The lightbulbs going off over each of their heads simultaneously were blinding.

“You know, Charlotte could use a little sprucing up,” Wendy
T. offered. “I mean, if it can make a dead person look good, it can certainly do something for her.”

“We’ll take it,” Petula said. “Give me my hearse!” She grabbed a black patent-leather makeup bag in the shape of a hearse, filled with Look Alive products, before making a beeline for the Wormsmoth booth.

14
All I Want for Christmas Is You

Merry Markdown

Like a bargain found while rummaging through some last-minute Christmas sales bin, the phrase “Merry Christmas”—like “I love you”—can be said so many times that it becomes cheap. A marked-down expression with little worth. It rolls off the tongue without any thought or effort, like an obligatory gift. But when it is said from the heart, said to someone while you look in their eyes and touch their hand, it can mean the world. It can change the world.

Scarlet approached Damen
in the crowded hall from behind, surprising him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were over there somewhere checking out the latest bone saw.”

“It is so uncool what you guys are doing to her,” Scarlet chided.

“She’s making a choice, Scarlet,” Damen rebutted. “Nobody’s forcing her to do anything.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Scarlet pushed back. “You guys know how she idolizes all of you. She’d do anything you asked.”

“Then why don’t you talk to her about it?” Damen said. “I’m just in it for a little extra Christmas money.”

“She won’t listen to reason.”

“No, you mean she won’t listen to
you
.”

“This is crazy, getting buried alive on Christmas Eve.”

“You are just like your sister,” Damen said. “Always wanting things your own way.”

“Don’t ever say that!” Scarlet blasted him, turning her back to him. “We couldn’t be more different.”

Damen could see he’d insulted her. He reached for her shoulder and turned her back around.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’ll pull her right up. It’s just a stunt. It’ll be over in a minute, we’ll all collect, and we’ll all be happy.”

“You mean Petula will be happy.”

Scarlet tried to look Damen in the eyes but he had the vacant look of someone who’d been thoroughly and completely brainwashed.

“Not again, okay?”

“Why do you let her do this to you?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said. “We have a lot in common.”

“Really? Like what? You’re both popular?”

Scarlet’s agitation caught him off guard. He struggled to find some other convergence point between him and Petula besides the obvious: sex, which he didn’t want to discuss with Scarlet. She hit the digital hourglass timer app on her phone and waited.

“Well?” she pressed.

After fumbling a while longer, one other thing finally occurred to him.

“We both like the same music.”

“She doesn’t know the first thing about music!”

“Well, she plays all these really cool albums and CDs when we’re alone.”

“Those are mine.”

Scarlet sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips, not sure if she was more offended that Petula bootlegged her musical taste uncredited or that she had involuntarily provided the sound track to their noisy make-out sessions. It was also kind of weird for her that he connected with something so personal to her. Weird in a good way. She had no idea he had it in him. The conversation had sort of petered out in an awkward way for both of them.

“I’ve got to head over to the cemetery,” he said. “I’ll see you over there.”

“Make sure nothing goes wrong, okay?”

Damen nodded and then let out a gasp as he looked out the huge bay window in the lobby.

“It’s snowing!”

His enthusiasm was boyish and sincere. Honest. Scarlet’s mood and attitude toward him both momentarily thawed in the freezing cold as she turned to look at the falling flakes.

“Speaking of music,” she said. “Looks like we’re gonna have a white Christmas.”