You Suck by Christopher Moore Page A

Love
    Windex
    Write Literature
    Dispose of Creepy Old Vampire
    New Apartment
    Laundry
    Toothpaste
    “I think you should take monkey love off of the list,” Jody said. “What if we lose the list and someone finds it?”
    “Well I think ‘dispose of Creepy Old Vampire’ would be a little more embarrassing, don’t you?”
    “You’re right, cut monkey love and change ‘vampire’ to ‘Elijah.’” Jody tapped the list with a pen. “And take off Windex and put in ‘buy coffee.’”
    “We can’t drink coffee.”
    “We can smell it. Tommy, I desperately need coffee. It’s like the blood hunger, only, you know, more civilized.”
    “Speaking of blood hunger—”
    “Yeah, you’d better move that up the list.”
    “And add a bottle of whiskey. You’re going to have to buy it.”
    “Sorry, writer boy, but we’re doing this stupid list together.”
    “I’m not old enough to buy liquor.”
    Jody stepped away from him and shuddered. “That’s right. Isn’t it?”
    “Yep,” Tommy said, nodding—trying to look wide-eyed and innocent.
    “Well, okay then. I should have checked IDs before picking my bitch.”
    “Hey!”
    “Kidding. What are you going to do with a bottle of whiskey anyway?”
    “Check something else off the list,” Tommy said. “I have an idea. Get your purse.”
    “What did the Animals want, anyway?”
    “Twenty grand.”
    “I hope you told them to fuck themselves.”
    “They did that already.”
    “Did they suspect, you know, about what you are now?”
    “Not yet. Lash said I looked a little pale. I sent them to the store. If Clint knows, well—”
    “Oh, good move. Maybe we should just take out an ad. ‘Young vampire couple seeks angry village people to hunt them down and kill them.’”
    “Ha. Village people. Funny. Put self-tanning lotion on the list. I think the pale thing is giving me away.”
     
    A t seven in the evening, three days before Christmas, Union Square was awash in shoppers. There was a Santa’s Village set up in the raised square, with a line of children and parents that wound five hundred deep through a labyrinth of red velvet cattle gates. Around the square, the streetperformers, who would normally have knocked off around five, lined the granite steps up to the square. A juggler here, a sleight-of-hand guy there, a half-dozen “robots”—people painted silver and gold who would move in machine-jerk rhythm for the drop of a coin or a bill—and even a couple of human statues. Jody’s favorite was a gold guy in a business suit, who stood motionless for hours on end, as if he’d been frozen in midstep on the way to work. There was a small hole in his briefcase into which people stuffed bills and dropped coins after photographing him or trying to make him flinch.
    “This guy used to freak me out,” Tommy whispered. “But now I can see him breathing and the aura thing.”
    “I watched him for a whole lunch hour one time and he never moved,” Jody said. “In the summer, you know he has to be suffering in that painted suit.” Suddenly she shuddered at the thought of Elijah, the old vampire, still encased in bronze back at the loft. Yes, he had killed her, technically, but in a way he’d just opened a door for her, a door that, no matter how bizarre, was immediate, vital, and passionate. And yes, he’d done it for his amusement, he’d said, but also because he was lonely.
    She wound her arm into Tommy’s and kissed him on the cheek.
    “What was that for?”
    “Because you’re here,” she said. “What’s first on the list?”
    “Christmas presents.”
    “Skip down.”
    “Sweet monkey love.”
    “Yeah, we’ll do it in the Santa’s Workshop window at Macy’s.”
    “Really?”
    “No, not really.”
    “Okay, then we need liquor.”
    Jody snatched the list out of his hand so quickly that most people wouldn’t have even seen her move. “You are no longer in charge of the list. We’re getting me a new leather jacket.”
     
    I AM