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Abaddon raised a brow. “I’d told you that you were a Demon.”
I eyed him back. “And I told you to get therapy for your delusions.”
He grinned. “Good times.”
Letting the fact that I’d inadvertently chosen a demonic and angelic cast was a lot to swallow. “What about the director of photography, Bean Gomez?”
“Demon,” Cher supplied.
I shook my head in shock. “The writers—Georgia, Jameson, Rick and Kristen?”
Cher cackled and slapped her thigh, almost upending herself from her chair. “Regular old Immortals.”
“Bitch Goddess Cecily,” Jonny called, looking wildly put out.
“Crap,” I said as he marched over in a tizzy. I checked him over quickly. Thankfully, he was alive and in possession of all his body parts.
“I need to speak to you,” he ground out.
“Yes?” I replied.
“In my opinion, I do believe I’m being made fun of,” he huffed. “The problem is, I’m not sure. BUT, if those beeotches over there are pulling my leg, I shall remove theirs.”
I glanced over at Abaddon. He shrugged. I guessed this was a Goddess thing.
Jonny was super handsome and lacking in the brains department. Back in the day, he’d been fond of the words, babe, guy and ‘in my opinion.’ Hisopinionsleft everyone open-mouthed in confusion.
Years ago, I’d done a crappy informercial with him for a knock-off version of Transformers. Instead of the robot turning into a cool car, it was a possessed-looking doll that turned into a flowerpot. It had been taken off the market when customers complained that the crotch of the demonic doll was too anatomically correct. I’d had nightmares about that job for months. However, the gig had paid great. Jonny had been a diva then and was still a diva.
“Mmkay,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”
He glanced over his shoulder and flipped off Irma, Ophelia, Fifi, Stella and Moon. They were laughing hysterically. That didn’t bode well for the gals keeping their legs.
“They made me say words then they lost their idiot shit minds,” he snapped.
“What words?” I asked, knowing full well I didn’t really want the answer.
“Mike, who, cheese, hairy,” he told me, throwing his hands in the air.
I was now as confused as Jonny Jones. Abaddon didn’t get it either.
Apparently, Cher did.
“You gals are naughty,” she yelled to the giggling group.
I squinted at my agent. “Wanna share what’s so funny?”
“Say it,” she insisted gleefully.
“Mike. Who. Cheese. Hairy,” I said, clueless. “Still don’t get it.”
“Say it all together and fast,” Cher instructed.
“MikeWhoCheeseHairy,” I said, then choked out a horrified laugh.
Jonny was livid and began to glow. The potluck was about to end in dismemberment. I quickly grabbed Jonny by the arm and pulled him down next to me.
“If you chop any legs off, I’m going to be pissed,” I warned him.
