Eight in the morning was entirely too early for this shit.
I sat with a shocked Gemma, Venus, Dixie, Paris Hilton, Raquel and Pam in a line of chairs in front of Ethan’s new desk. We were being entertained—for lack of a more appropriate word—by the three Demons that Satan had sent to audition for the role of wedding planner.
My bridesmaids were speechless—even Dixie who knew these Demons from her childhood in Hell. They’d made an enormous show of respect for my cousin as she was a Princess of the Underworld. However, the bowing and scraping had turned into a sort of twerking contest. Dixie, who was as appalled as the rest of us, politely but firmly insisted they get to the business they’d come for before the adulation turned into a strip show.
“Sooooo,” Doug, the most rotund of the trio, said as he clapped his hands wildly making his hard-hat tilt jauntily to the left. “Which one of us do you like the best?”
“Um… I’m supposed to choose a wedding planner from a kick line?” I asked as I bit down on my lips to hold back the stream of obscenities that were trying to burst forth.
“Well, yes,” Doug confirmed with jazz hands.
“Well, no,” I shot back as I stood and did a little spin to make sure he knew I meant business. “You all need to tell me how you would plan my wedding.”
“Really?” Seamus asked, surprised.
“Yes, really,” I snapped. “How am I supposed to know if you know an invitation from a place card if the only thing I see as proof of your skills is a shitty dance contest?”
“Well, I’ve never,” Chauncey huffed as he picked up the boom box, flipped me off and disappeared in a cloud of smelly black smoke.
“You’ve narrowed it down to two,” Pam congratulated me with a guffaw. “Keep insulting them and we’ll have a winner pretty damn quick.”
“Oh my Hell, this is unbelievable. Do either of you douchebutts know anything about planning a wedding?”
“He does,” Seamus and Doug said simultaneously pointed at the other.
“That’s just fanfuckingtastic,” I shouted. “I’m getting married on Saturday and I could use some help here.”
“This Saturday?” Seamus asked with wide eyes and a worried expression.
“Yes. Saturday—five days away,” I said as I righted Charles from his prone position on the coffee table.
Charles had obviously had a good night’s sleep if his purring was anything to go by. All three of his unfortunate looking heads licked my hands and smiled at me. I winked and faced him toward the Demons so he could help me decide—or at least show Satan what a shitshow his plan was.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, I can’t do it this Saturday. I’m getting all my teeth pulled,” Seamus informed the room with great regret.
“Not touching that one,” I muttered as I hung my head. “This is a clusterfuck.”
“I’ll say,” Pam chimed in with an enormous eye roll.
“I’m pretty sure you just rolled your eyes so hard you checked out your own ass,” I snapped.
“Is that possible?” Seamus asked rolling his eyes around in the sockets.
“No. It’s not possible,” I said wearily, pulling on my hair and wondering how upset everyone would be if Ethan and I eloped.
“Actually it issssssssssss,” Charles said with a rather gruesome show of proof as he whistled in appreciation at his ass followed by a loud self-slap of said ass.
The rest of my bridesmaids were still mute from the kick line or possibly from learning that Seamus was getting all of his teeth removed for some bizarre reason which I never wanted to know. Or the fact that Charles just performed a lewd act that should get him either arrested or institutionalized, possibly both. However, Doug was wildly impressed with Charles and clapped in astonishment. That only left Seamus who was still trying roll his eyes enough to stare at his own ass.
“Doug,” I said through gritted teeth. “Does Saturday work for you?”
“Yes! It will be fabu! Lots of dancing and… dancing!” he squealed so loudly I slapped my hands over my ears to protect my eardrums.
“What about a cake, the dinner menu, seating charts, the service…” I ticked off my list and waited.
“What about them?” Doug asked, perplexed.
“Do you know how to arrange any of that?”
“No. But I can get REO Speedwagon to play at the reception!” he informed me while doing a jazz square followed by a gag inducing pelvic thrust.
And that’s when Charles—or rather Satan, through Charles—stopped appreciating his own ass and got involved.
All three of Charles’ little ugly heads spun like tops on his lumpy monster body. He sparked and hissed like a madman from the bowels of Hell. My girls flew from their chairs and plastered themselves against the walls hoping for the best and expecting the worst.
“Sataaaaaaaaaan no want REO Speeeeeeeeedwagooon. Satan waaaant Journeeeeeeey, you asshumping cankeeeeer sore,” Charles bellowed in his Gollum voice.
“Charles, calm down,” I yelled as smoke began to billow out of every orifice he had.
“NOOOOOO,” he hissed. “Charles maaaaaaad.”
Before I could blink an eye or even make a move to zap Charles into submission, Charles spit something wildly unappealing at Doug and the Demon turned into a goopy pile of gelatinous crap. Seamus, wanting no part of this—not to mention he was unavailable on account of his upcoming dental work—zapped his butt out of there so fast I got dizzy.