"Oh, come on!"
"You don't like it?" asked Veronica, tilting the poster as if viewing it at a slightly different angle might improve Stanley's opinion of it.
The glossy poster featured the words "APPEARING TODAY: THE AMAZING MR. CORPSE" in large orange letters. The rest of the poster was an artist's rendition of Stanley wearing a three-piece suit, a top hat, and holding a cane. Stanley didn't object to the attire.
"I'm a skeleton!" he said.
"Well, yeah. It's not meant to be an actual picture of you. But it's eye-catching, isn't it?"
"Very eye-catching. But I'm a skeleton!"
"Why is that a problem?"
"Because that's not what I look like. Yeah, I've got splotches of decay all over my body, and the skin on my face is kinda stretched out so that it looks skeletal." He tapped on the poster. "But this is a skeleton! This is just bones! I'm not just bones!"
"It's symbolic."
"It's symbolic of a skeleton! And I'm not a skeleton!"
"Stanley, I can understand what you're saying, and I didn't personally design the poster. But they felt the image would be less disturbing this way."
"Oh, so now I'm disturbing?"
Veronica let out a frustrated sigh. "I apologize. You've made enough obnoxious comments about it that I thought you were realistic about the effect your appearance might have on people. I didn't realize that I needed to tiptoe around the subject."
Stanley took the poster and looked at it more closely. Maybe Veronica was right. He'd been pretty outspoken about being unattractive/grotesque, and bones were a better selling point than rot. He supposed it wasn't much different than a celebrity's photo being airbrushed to remove wrinkles and a saggy ass.
"All right," he said, reluctantly. "If I have to be a skeleton, I'll be a skeleton. But no jokes about snapping my wishbone, or 'You'd better get something to eat because I can see your ribs,' or 'Hey, Stanley, what's the hip bone connected to?' or anything like that."
"I promise."
"However, you can make all the boner jokes you want."
"I probably won't do that very often."
"Well, if you think of any, the offer stands." He looked at the poster again. "Wow, I have good bone structure."
"These are going to be quick appearances," Veronica explained. "Basically just hit-and-runs. You'll wave to people from your limo, do a bunch of rapid-fire interviews, sign a bunch of autographs…just get to know the public."
"I get a limo?"
"Yep."
"With a Blu-Ray player?"
"I think so. DVD at least."
"Sweet."
"Tomorrow night you're going to be the guest of honor at Creeping Hemlock, a Goth club. You can dance, right?"
"I can twitch and spasm."
"Good enough."
"Is it safe for me to be doing public appearances like this? I hate to quit going back to the 'I got shot' thing, but…"
"Believe me, there'll be plenty of security." She smiled. "And anyway, you're impervious to bullets, remember?"
"Hey, I was pervious to that last one! It may not have killed me but it hurt like hell!"
"You'll be fine. You're the Amazing Mr. Corpse!"
Stanley stood out in the desert, adoring the feel of the hot sun against his face. He hadn't realized how confined he'd felt inside the bunker until now. Climbing out of the trap door, leaping into a limo, and driving a few blocks wasn't making him any less stir crazy. Though a little breeze would've been nice, he'd be satisfied with the fresh air.
He inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled. Sure, no oxygen was being delivered, but it still felt good. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and just let nature work its magic.
"Warm weather kind of guy, huh?" Veronica asked.
Stanley didn't open his eyes. "I spent weeks in a freezer. I've got a lot of catching up to do."
They stood there for a while. Stanley smiled as an almost imperceptible breeze blew across his skin.
"We should have a picnic," he said.
"I'll add that to the itinerary."
He opened his eyes. "I'm feeling good today. Not Snoopy Dance of Joy good, but pretty darn good. And not giddy or giggly, but, y'know, good. Well, maybe a little giggly."
Brant and Martin walked over to join them. "Are you ready to go?" Brant asked.
"There went my gigglyness," Stanley told Veronica. "Yep, let's get this freak show on the road." He tapped on the side of the limousine. "I call shotgun."
Brant was lost in some paperwork and thus wasn't being a complete prick. Martin read a comic book with a slug on the cover. The driver, John, had seemed like a nice enough guy but he'd prepared a playlist of zombie-related music that got old pretty quick. Veronica wrote in a notebook. Stanley watched Veronica.
He was developing a serious crush on her, one that went beyond simple thoughts regarding the quality of her buttocks. She wasn't just gorgeous; she was intelligent, funny, and both able and willing to put Stanley in his place. If he'd had somebody like her in his life before, he would never have ended up living in a trailer park crying into a crusty pillow on a daily basis.
Too bad he was a monster.
She seemed like somebody who could get past the whole "physically repulsive" element, but still, he knew that he'd never dare to make a move. Shameless flirting and crude comments were fine. A genuine admission of his feelings was not. He couldn't put her in the position of having to admit that dating a corpse wasn't really her thing. That would be more than a little socially awkward.
Veronica probably had a boyfriend. Maybe even a husband. She didn't like to talk about her personal life. Hell, for all he knew, she kept a harem in her basement.
Beauty and the Beast.
Hottie and the Zombie.
Never gonna happen.
"What?" Veronica asked as she noticed that he was staring at her.
"Booger."
She wiped at her nose. "Did I get it?"
"No, now it's crawling on your cheek."
"You need a hobby."
"I have a hobby. I just need a better one."
Veronica tore a piece of paper out of her notebook and handed it to him, along with a pen. "I want you to write down the names of all fifty states and their capitals by the time we reach Santa Fe. That's about two hours. No asking for help."
"Will you flash me if I get them all?"
"Yes."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. If you get all fifty states and their capitals without asking for help by the time we get to Santa Fe, I will flash you for three seconds."
"Wow, let out your inner floozy! You've got a deal."
"Slow down the limo!" Stanley cried. "I'm almost there! Park at that Dairy Queen or something!"
"How many states do you have?" asked Martin.
"Forty-nine. I think I'm missing one of the states with East or West in the name!"
"Let me see," said Veronica, taking the paper from him. "East Mississippi is not a state."
"I thought that sounded wrong."
"You don't even have New Mexico on here. We're in New Mexico."
"New Mexico! Thanks!" Stanley grabbed the paper and hurriedly wrote down the state. "Why is this limo going so fast? Isn't there a speed limit in New Mexico?"
"Give it up, Stanley," said Veronica. "You only have twelve capitals on there."
"I have fifteen."
"No, three of them are wrong."
"Really? Which ones?"
"Anchorage, Miami, and Vermont City."
"Damn. So I get a one second flash instead, right?"
"No."
"A one second flash of one breast?"
"You get nothing. But I got two hours of relative peace. It's a win-win situation for me."
"You're a tease."
"And your U.S. geography skills are pathetic. We're going to have to work on that if you're going to be speaking to our nation's youth."
Stanley crumpled up the paper. "I challenge you to a rematch. Name the Three Stooges."
"No time for that," said Brant. "It's time to meet up with the Mr. Corpse Cavalcade."
"Oh my God," said Stanley as they turned the corner, so astounded that he couldn't even think of a sarcastic remark, let alone deliver one.
Both sides of the street were jam-packed with people as if it were a parade at Disneyland. Cheering people with balloons and confetti. A huge banner stretched out over the street read "SANTA FE WELCOMES MR.