She left with her back to him, and he looked longingly after her. He wanted to throw the frog at her bouncing butt and watch it hit the ceiling, a wall, and, luck would have it, land back in the pond no worse for wear because, let’s face it, the doctor rationalized, frogs are used to jumping from one place to another. His parents never let him play with his frog, and he would get revenge.
The door opened, and Natasha strode in dressed in her signature dystopic mistress Guicci-customer tailored tight-fitting Harlequin-chequered costume. She was practically flat-chested and without noticeable buttocks; she breathed, however, mystery and suspense that no man could resist for long, with her expressive eyes on the lookout for monstrous ironies or stomach reflux about to burst into full-scale dyspepsia. In front of her, she carried Vlad in his cage in his usual daytime position reposing in his matchstick coffin.
Kildardevil was immediately taken by the idea of taking her for all she was worth. A harlequin, he thought with a small beard and moustache.
“I am Natasha Metropolis,” Natasha said boldly, and stretched forth her open hand, “and this is my pet hamster, Vlad.”
“Nice meeting you, Natasha and you too, Vlad, I am Doctor James Kildardevil
“Hello, Natasha,” he said. “I’m Doctor James Kildaredevil.” He was incredibly horrified and fascinated by the woman, with her appealing moustache and small, nicely trimmed beard, and her pet.
“I am Metropolis,” said she, “dystopic city of the future.”
She wanted to eviscerate him, see his guts spill out onto the clean freshly polished white floor of his office. Bond his intestines to the floor. She was in to him. She had done her research and knew that the goofball standing in front of here would soon be a popular, a very rich actor who would adore her. She would put up with his obtuseness. With her help, that would be sooner rather than later. The Canadian Royal Mounted Police always got their man; the Russian secret service always poisoned theirs; and she was poison to any man.
Natasha knew there were bad men out there. She was a bad girl who wanted bad men because bad men were good. She wanted good, bad men to be bad with because she was a good girl, but not too good because that would be bad.
Natasha and the Doctor stood face to face. Natasha was 5.6’ to the doctor’s 6 foot tall, meeting Harlequin Romance’s stringent guidelines. They eyed each other hungrily, anticipating the intense emotional conflict that would forever change their lives. Their white-hot passion. It would all begin with an undead hamster. That’s what stood between them.
“Vlad is sleeping now,” Natasha explained, pointing to the open coffin.
“He always sleeps with his paws up as if to ward off approaching stakes about to stab him in the…”
He observed that Natasha’s body stiffened and a strange white light was gathering around her eyes. Time to switch gears. He wisely concluded his sentence with “fungus.”
