Odd Jobs for the Undead - A Zombie For Hire Story

Chapter 10

Merl had chosen Localino because it's known for it's dark, private tables, but he'd obviously never been here. The waiting area was lit up like a football stadium at a night game.

A young couple waiting for their table were making furtive glances in my direction and whispering to each other. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot, wondering if my makeup was smudged, or maybe I was seeping somewhere. Or maybe they were just wondering what a man in a long trench coat was doing standing all alone in a romantic restaurant. What little self confidence I'd managed to hold on to withering under the baleful glare of the Maitre D' as I stepped up to his podium to ask about my reservation.

He gave me a visible once over and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Yes?" he finally asked.

He managed to convey enough scorn in that one word to make me feel like cockroach running away from the light.

"Gordon, party of two."

His eyebrow managed to climb even higher, nearly reaching up to his hairline. He stroked his perfectly trimmed mustache once, then picked up his pen and used it as a guide to track down the name in his reservation book. He found it (thank god) and put a little check next to it.

I was sure I detected a touch of dissatisfaction in the way he made the check mark.

He raised his gaze from the book to my face.

"You are the first member of your party to arrive," he informed me.

I was waiting for him to ask if I'd like to be seated, or wait, but he didn't.

That was going to be a problem. I'd been banking on the dim lights of the restaurant to help me pass. I'd done it before. It wasn't too hard as long as people couldn't see me too clearly, I didn't get to close to anybody and didn't shuffle my feet or have any of the little gas pockets in my body randomly pop. My anxiety was mounting that someone would realize what the Flesh Tone #7 was covering up.

"I'd like to be seated at my table while I wait," I declared.

The Maitre D' said nothing, swallowed slightly, and lowered his brow in disapproval. I thought he was going to say "no," but he reached under the podium and retrieved two menus.

"This way, please," he said, and led me into the feature obscuring dim light of the dining area. I could barely make out the features of the other patrons we passed in the gloom. Better. Much better. I started to relax a bit.

The table he brought me to was located toward the back of the room and had a clear view of the entrance. I chose a seat facing the foyer and accepted the menu begrudgingly offered to me.

"Enjoy your meal," the Maitre D' said, placing the second menu on the table in front of the empty seat.

He turned crisply on his heel and strode away.

I shifted in the chair and the body swimsuit I was wearing under my clothes squeaked a bit where it rubbed against itself.

My makeup session complete, Penny had driven me to the warehouse to help me finish getting ready. When she saw the suit she'd nearly laughed herself to death.

"You're never going to get into that without tearing off chunks of arm and leg," she told me. "I have some talcum powder, that might help a bit."

She was right, both about the suit pulling and the talcum powder helping. But neither one of us had anticipated the squeaking.

Penny's talc had proved useful for that problem too. She'd rubbed a bit of it into the joint areas of the suit. My every move was no longer accompanied by a chorus of squeals, but if I wasn't careful, when I moved it sounded like I had a mouse in my pants. The suit was bunching up a bit on the back side. I moved my legs to try and discreetly un-bunch it and squeaked again.