The Sinister Mr. Corpse (10 page)

"But you're going on television to let
everybody in the world see you."

"It's different, okay? Can we not talk about
it?"

"Of course. What about Martin? He's your best
friend, right?"

"Yeah."

"So you're grateful to still get to spend
time with him."

Stanley nodded. "He's a good guy. Always a
lot more supportive of me than I deserve. Great fashion sense if
you're really into green. He desperately needs a girlfriend."

"He doesn't have one?"

Had Veronica perked up just a bit? Nah, it
had to be Stanley's imagination. "He hasn't for a while. His last
girlfriend, Katie, messed him up pretty good. She cheated on him. A
lot. With ugly, nasty, fat guys. If a girl cheats on you with Brad
Pitt, you pretty much have to admit that you're not Brad Pitt and
get over it. But when she cheats on you with these dog-men, it's a
pretty big blow to the self-esteem. I tried to convince him that
she just had an ugly, nasty, fat-guy fetish, but it didn't help.
He's a really loyal person, so it hurt a lot."

"I can imagine."

Veronica seemed way too interested in this
topic. "And he has an extremely tiny penis," Stanley added.

"Okay, once again we've moved away from the
subject of you being grateful. If we don't count your smell, and
I'm all in favor of that idea, you've only given me one reason. I
need four more."

"I've discovered that life truly is
precious."

"Have you really?"

"No, but the world doesn't need to know
that."

Veronica wrote it down in her notebook.
"Three more."

"Now that I'm a zombie, I've got a really hot
personal assistant."

"Still three more."

"Since I don't have to breathe, I guess I
could spend hours underwater."

"And why are you grateful for that?"

"I dunno, maybe I could see some neat fish or
something."

"Okay, two more."

"I've discovered that life truly is
precious."

"You already said that."

"I know, but I should keep on repeating it
every chance I get. 'Stanley, do you want fries with your burger?'
'Yes, because life truly is precious.'"

"Then you'll just sound sarcastic. Still two
more."

"When I was drowning in that milk, my last
thought was that I'd never again get to see dew glistening on a
leaf in the morning sun."

"What was your real last thought?"

"'I can't fucking believe I'm going to die in
milk.'"

"Two more."

"Oh, c'mon. I can sell the dew thing."

Veronica considered that for a long moment.
"We'll practice."

"Good."

"One more."

"I'm grateful that I can help make the world
a better place."

"How?"

"By making it easier for the general public
to choose a brand of deodorant."

"Don't make me poke you with this pen."

"What would be your favorite place to poke
me?"

"Stanley..."

"Okay, okay. Let's
see...making the world a better place...making the world a better
place...making the world a better place...uh, if a loser like me
could come back from the dead, there's hope for
anybody
to come back from the
dead."

"No."

"I can talk to kids about proper pedestrian
safety."

"Maybe. But keep trying."

"I can inspire people to cherish the wonder
of life because I'm so grateful to be alive again."

"But you're not all that grateful."

"Yes, I am."

"I've got to be honest with you, Stanley. At
this point I don't see you inspiring anything in people except for
a deep concern over the post-mortem state of their genitalia."

"When you went to personal assistant school,
did you ever think you'd be uttering that exact sentence?"

"I need one more reason."

"I'm grateful because even though I'm a
zombie and I don't breathe or have any blood, pizza still tastes
good."

"
That
we can use."

* * *

"Let's see your walk," said Veronica.

Stanley walked to the other end of her office
and back.

"Nice."

"Did I have my groove on?"

"You had your groove on."

"Should I maybe limp? Do a zombie shuffle to
make it more believable?"

"Nope. You don't want people to catch you
walking normally and assume that you're a fraud. Just be yourself,
except for the behavior modification that we're doing right now.
Let's see your smile."

Stanley gave her a wide grin.

"That's more than a little creepy. Try to
tone it down so you don't scare the kids."

"I think they'll be scared anyway, what with
the death mask that I've got for a face."

"Possibly, but your grin is really
macabre."

"Want to hear my macabre laugh?"

"No. But chuckle for me."

"What kind of chuckle?"

"Just a chuckle."

"Give me something to chuckle about."

"Part of being a gracious celebrity involves
chuckling politely at things that aren't funny. So do it."

Stanley cleared his throat. "Heh heh
heh."

"That's a macabre chuckle."

"I can't chuckle under pressure."

"A zombie walks into a bar and orders a
screwdriver. The bartender says 'Do you want that in your
ear?'"

Stanley gave her a blank stare.

"Have you seen the
original
Dawn of the
Dead
? A zombie gets a screwdriver jammed in
its ear."

"Ah."

"That's the kind of humor you may have to
chuckle at."

"Can I cry instead?"

* * *

"Okay, we want to make sure that you won't be
nervous during the interview," said Veronica. "If you get nervous,
I foresee you resorting to sarcasm and the F-word, and we want to
avoid that."

"I don't get nervous."

"How many one-hour prime-time live television
interviews have you done?"

"Seven or eight."

"Uh-huh. What we're going to do are some
visualization exercises."

"You mean like picturing the audience in
their underwear?"

"Would that work for you?"

"I doubt it. I'd be
thinking,
orgy!
"

"Close your eyes."

"Do you promise not to touch me
inappropriately?"

"Believe me, I promise."

Stanley closed his eyes. "Good thing my
eyelids didn't decompose. I'd be peeking."

"What do you see?"

"The back of my non-decomposed eyelids."

"Anything else?"

"A bunny."

"Erase the bunny."

"Bunny's toast."

"Now imagine a chair. A very comfortable
brown chair with leather cushions."

"Maytag just delivered it."

"Do you see the chair?"

"Yes."

"Now imagine yourself sitting on the
chair."

"Whoops...was that me or a whoopee
cushion?"

"Stanley, take this more seriously or I'll
have to report you to Brant."

Stanley flinched and opened his eyes. Did she
know what Brant had done to him? "Don't do that," he said, louder
than he intended.

Veronica frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't mean it. I just need you to work
with me here."

Stanley nodded and closed his eyes again. Now
he saw his skin pulsing as something burrowed underneath it. He
managed to switch the image to that of a comfy brown chair pulsing
as something burrowed within the cushion.

"Are you back on the chair?"

"Not yet." Stanley mentally placed himself
back on the chair, desperately hoping that the burrowing thing
would remain a polite distance from his ass. "Okay, I'm there."

"Visualize yourself being very, very
comfortable. Not sleepy, just comfortable."

The burrowing thing vanished. "I'm
there."

"Visualize yourself being confident. Imagine
actual rays of confidence shooting out of your body."

"Actual rays?"

"Yes."

"Are they scaring people?"

"Only you can see them."

"I can't do the ray thing. That's just too
freaky. Sorry."

"How about waves of confidence. What's your
favorite color?"

"Ochre."

"Imagine ochre waves of confidence emanating
from your body."

Stanley couldn't think of any particular
benefit to imagining waves of confidence emanating from his body,
so he imagined Veronica naked instead. Supple breasts with
sensitive nipples that responded to the gentlest touch. A firm,
luscious, massage-seeking ass. And, proving that she was a natural
brunette, a tight--

"Are you imagining the ochre waves of
confidence?"

"You know it."

"You are relaxed. You are confident. You know
exactly what you're going to say, and you do so in an articulate,
highly quotable manner."

Why, Veronica, you seem to have dropped your
notebook! Perhaps you should crawl around the floor on your hands
and knees to retrieve it.

"I'm quotable."

"You chuckle at Donald Mandigan's jokes."

Veronica, you keep accidentally bumping into
me during your crawling expedition. What's that? My shirt looks too
constricting? Now that you mention it, the A/C is on a bit too high
in here...

"Heh heh heh."

"Still too macabre."

"Hee hee hee."

"Much better."

What's that? You want me to grasp your hips
tightly and thrust into you repeatedly from behind in a most rapid
manner? Goodness gracious, I've never known a woman to be so
forward. My mind says no, no, no but my heart says yes, yes,
yes...

"You can open your eyes now."

Stanley opened his eyes. "That was very
productive."

"At least your erection thinks so."

Stanley glanced down at the surprise bulge in
his pants. "Whoa! Hey, it still works! How about that? I thought I
was gonna be Mr. Limpy forever. I wonder how I did that without
blood? That's pretty weird."

Veronica didn't look as amused as he hoped
she would. "Do you need some privacy?"

"Nah."

"Well, I think it's time for a break. Let me
know when your emergency backup brain has gone back into
hiding."

* * *

"How did he do?" asked Brant.

Veronica shrugged. "I think he's getting
better. We did three sample run-throughs of the interview. It
would've been easier if the producers had been willing to give us
the actual questions, but I think we've got a pretty good idea
about how it's going to go."

"That's good to hear. Is he still an
obnoxious cretin?"

"He's getting better. I think he'll be fine
during the interview. I really do."

Brant nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to
trust you, then. Because ultimately his behavior is your
responsibility."

"It's not like I can sit behind his chair and
zap him with a cattle prod if he gets out of line. I've been
working with him. I'm comfortable putting him on television. But
he's not going to be Cadbury."

"Cadbury?"

"Richie Rich's butler. The perfect
gentleman."

"Ah."

"How come nobody ever gets my pop culture
references?"

"The only pop culture reference I'm
interested in right now is Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr.
Corpse."

"He hates that nickname."

"Woe is him. The interview is tomorrow
evening. Do I have your assurance that he won't humiliate Project
Second Chance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Perfect. Then I very much look forward to
reaping the fruits of our labor. I'll have three bottles of the
finest champagne waiting here. I sincerely hope that we'll be in a
celebratory mood."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Stanley sat on the comfortable brown chair,
feeling extremely nervous. He wasn't used to that. He suspected
that it had something to do with the fact that his last public
speaking engagement had ended with a bullet puncturing his
chest.

He was in the same building where they'd held
the press conference, although now it had been redecorated into a
fairly cozy set where the interview would take place. Various
members of the television crew were scurrying around, finishing all
of the last-minute setup. Donald Mandigan was seated against the
far wall, having his makeup done.

"You'll do fine," said Veronica, placing a
reassuring hand on Stanley's shoulder.

"I know."

"Just be eighty percent yourself and everyone
will love you," she said with a wink, as she left to discuss
something with Brant.

Stanley fidgeted with his tie. He wasn't in a
three-piece suit this time, but rather a light blue dress shirt and
dark blue slacks. He thought he looked pretty good in it, all
things considered, but he just wasn't a tie man.

"Three minutes!" announced one of the
stagehands.

Donald walked onto the stage and over to
Stanley's chair. "Hey there, you're looking a lot better than when
I saw you last!"

"Thanks."

"You've got some pretty good lungs for a dead
guy. Anyway, just relax. The interview will be done before you know
it."

The director ushered Donald aside, and so
Stanley resumed his fidgeting. It had never really occurred to him
before that this was his chance not to be a complete outcast in the
world. He was, after all, a zombie. A dead guy. A freak. If the
public didn't like him, he could end up in a circus, shouting
"Booga-booga!" at people for fifty cents a head. Or living in the
bunker forever, with nothing to look forward to except the next
ghastly medical experiment performed upon him.

He had to make a good impression. Not for
that creep Brant, but for himself. Hell, if he made enough money
off of his newfound celebrity, he could pay for his own damn
injections and live wherever he wanted.