along the bottom. And there he was. Yeah, his clothes looked good, as usual, but his head didn’t look like that, did it? No, no way it could. It just wasn’t natural. Heidi looked good, though, in her tattered Ramones shirt and her torn jeans, and totally at ease as well. But he, there was this problem with his head, probably some kind of Photoshopped joke, and plus he just didn’t look relaxed. The third member of the team, Whitey, didn’t look as bad as him, but didn’t look half as good as Heidi either. He was a gangly man with long hair and a huge, bushy beard and he wore mirrored sunglasses that looked straight out of the seventies. Like he’d stolen them off an aviator. Just beaten the fuck out of an aviator and then taken his glasses. Yeah, Herman had to admit Whitey looked okay. A little creepy maybe, but still. Maybe he should have worn sunglasses, too.
“We look pretty cool,” said Heidi. “What’s so wrong?”
“My head!” said Herman, exasperated. Couldn’t she see it? “My head looks too fucking big! It’s got to be the fucking lens that asshole was using. I knew he snuck on a wide-angle lens, some kind of fishbowl thing. I know my head ain’t that big.”
“You look fine,” said Heidi. “God, you are worse than a fucking chick.”
“Fine? Fine is your polite-ass way of saying, ‘Herman, he got a big fucking beach ball head.’ I look like Charlie Brown.”
He examined himself in the mirror. No, his head wasn’t that big. No way it was that big.
Heidi put her hand on his arm, spoke in mock consolation. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re still a stud.”
“Yeah?” he said. He smiled, looked at himself in the mirror again. “Yeah, I do look good, don’t I.” She was all right, Heidi was.
Chapter Twelve
Just goes to show you, you think you’ve seen everything and then they go and pull out some new horror show , thought Cerina Hooten. I got to get myself a new job . She sat at her receptionist’s desk, tapping her pencil against the desk’s edge. How could she be expected to work under these conditions? Okay, musicians were eccentric, but this was too much. And couldn’t they have the decency to sit down somewhere else in the waiting room rather than taking the chairs right across from her, facing her? What happened to common courtesy? She reached up and ruffled her bushy Afro. No, no. She couldn’t be expected to type something up with them staring at her the whole time, no matter how urgent the station manager said it was. He was lucky she was even bothering to answer the phones.
She had their publicity photo on the desk and a Sharpie out. She’d thought the photo would be labeled, but it wasn’t, which meant that she’d have to talk to them and ask them who was who or else Chip, the station manager, would complain. She looked closely at the photo. They looked just as bad in that. Ugh. Hideous. Why would anyone want to dress up like someone dead? She shivered. It was just plain morbid.
“Umm, excuse me,” she said.
Neither of them looked up. Maybe they weren’t aware that they were being addressed, but how could they not be? They were the onlytwo other people in the reception area. They were foreign, right? Norwegian, maybe. Maybe they didn’t even speak English.
But no, she thought a moment later, if they didn’t speak English, why would they be here for a radio interview? They were just being difficult.
“Hey, you,” she said. “The ghoul reading Highlights .” Highlights? she wondered. Wasn’t that a kid’s magazine? The man looked up. He was wearing pale white face makeup, except for his eyes, which were lost in a pool of black. His lips were bloodred and smeared wider than his actual mouth, and blood or something that looked like it seemed to have dripped from his chin to stain his chest. Leather thongs bristling with nails formed a sort of headgear for him. A kind of black leather harness covered with larger spikes, what she saw as a sort of
“We look pretty cool,” said Heidi. “What’s so wrong?”
“My head!” said Herman, exasperated. Couldn’t she see it? “My head looks too fucking big! It’s got to be the fucking lens that asshole was using. I knew he snuck on a wide-angle lens, some kind of fishbowl thing. I know my head ain’t that big.”
“You look fine,” said Heidi. “God, you are worse than a fucking chick.”
“Fine? Fine is your polite-ass way of saying, ‘Herman, he got a big fucking beach ball head.’ I look like Charlie Brown.”
He examined himself in the mirror. No, his head wasn’t that big. No way it was that big.
Heidi put her hand on his arm, spoke in mock consolation. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re still a stud.”
“Yeah?” he said. He smiled, looked at himself in the mirror again. “Yeah, I do look good, don’t I.” She was all right, Heidi was.
Chapter Twelve
Just goes to show you, you think you’ve seen everything and then they go and pull out some new horror show , thought Cerina Hooten. I got to get myself a new job . She sat at her receptionist’s desk, tapping her pencil against the desk’s edge. How could she be expected to work under these conditions? Okay, musicians were eccentric, but this was too much. And couldn’t they have the decency to sit down somewhere else in the waiting room rather than taking the chairs right across from her, facing her? What happened to common courtesy? She reached up and ruffled her bushy Afro. No, no. She couldn’t be expected to type something up with them staring at her the whole time, no matter how urgent the station manager said it was. He was lucky she was even bothering to answer the phones.
She had their publicity photo on the desk and a Sharpie out. She’d thought the photo would be labeled, but it wasn’t, which meant that she’d have to talk to them and ask them who was who or else Chip, the station manager, would complain. She looked closely at the photo. They looked just as bad in that. Ugh. Hideous. Why would anyone want to dress up like someone dead? She shivered. It was just plain morbid.
“Umm, excuse me,” she said.
Neither of them looked up. Maybe they weren’t aware that they were being addressed, but how could they not be? They were the onlytwo other people in the reception area. They were foreign, right? Norwegian, maybe. Maybe they didn’t even speak English.
But no, she thought a moment later, if they didn’t speak English, why would they be here for a radio interview? They were just being difficult.
“Hey, you,” she said. “The ghoul reading Highlights .” Highlights? she wondered. Wasn’t that a kid’s magazine? The man looked up. He was wearing pale white face makeup, except for his eyes, which were lost in a pool of black. His lips were bloodred and smeared wider than his actual mouth, and blood or something that looked like it seemed to have dripped from his chin to stain his chest. Leather thongs bristling with nails formed a sort of headgear for him. A kind of black leather harness covered with larger spikes, what she saw as a sort of
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