Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(64)

“Hi. Rayne Ravenscroft,” I say as he nears. The earthy bouquet of mashed potatoes precedes him by a few feet. I extend my hand. He shakes it with a large, meaty, warm-yet-somehow-still-clammy butt cheek of a hand.

“Delilah Darkwood,” Delia says, and shakes his hand too.

“Larry Doehnat.”

“Larry Donut?” Delia asks.

“Doehnat. There’s an h in there. Huh-huh. Doe-huh-nut.”

“It really sounds like donut,” Delia says.

“Doe-huh-nut.”

“Donut.”

“Doe-huh-nut. H. Huh.”

“Donut.”

“Your friends call you Dunkin?” I ask. Not my A game, but listen: I’m tired.

“I do not subscribe to the antiquated notion of ‘friendship,’?” he replies in a grandiose tone. I’ve never heard such smugness over being friendless.

“Oh,” I say.

“I need signatures from you two.” He says it like we have to sign for the load of chicken manure he’s dumping in our front yard.

“Yeah, definitely,” Delia says. She fumbles around. “Do you have a—”

He’s way ahead of her. He pulls out a tattered, grease-spotted journal, opens it to a page, clicks open a pen, and hands it to Delia, studying her through round glasses that look like he washed them with sausage gravy. “Please sign on this line right here. Kindly take care that your signature not encroach onto other lines.”

“Okay, cool.” Delia signs carefully and hands the journal to me.

“Same instructions for you,” Larry says. “Please don’t—”

“Yep. Got it, no encroaching,” I say. I sign carefully for the most part but definitely encroach a little bit on purpose. Encroach. What a dumb word. I’ll croach; I don’t care.

“So, where are you from, Larry?” Delia asks sweetly while I sign.

He looks at her for a second like it’s a stupid question. “Milwaukee.”

“We air in Milwaukee?” Delia asks with an eager lilt.

Larry snort-laughs. “Heavens no.”

“Then how did you know us?” Delia sounds deflated.

“Well, it wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. You’re rather obscure.”

“Oh. Cool,” I say, not trying too hard to tamp down the irritation in my voice.

“I’m the one who introduced you to the Obscure Horror Hosts subreddit.”

“How can we ever repay you?” I mutter.

“I’m collecting autographs and getting photos with all of the active horror hosts in the United States. I never thought I’d bag you two so quick.” Larry gives a turkey-choking-on-a-grasshopper chuckle at his good fortune.

“That’s a…fun way to put it,” Delia says, the sweetness dissolving from her like cotton candy sprayed with a hose.

Her tone, like mine, is completely lost on Larry. “All right, let’s get a picture.” He unclips his phone from the waistband of his kilt and shoves it at Lawson. “You here to make sure these two behave?”

Lawson doesn’t smile or respond. He takes the phone. Larry pushes up his glasses and stands between Delia and me, wrapping his pale, sweaty, hairy, squid-tentacle arms around our waists. His hand is on my ribs, right below my boobs. He’s doing the same to Delia.

“Um, yeah. This is—” I say, fidgeting.

“Could you just—” Delia says.

We squirm and wriggle to put some distance between us and Larry. I buy myself a few centimeters. How does a human smell this much like mashed potatoes? Is he using a mashed potato–infused bodywash?

“Okay, hold still for the picture,” Larry says.

Lawson, clearly seething, takes a couple of pictures and hands back Larry’s phone, still without a word.

Larry gives us one last unnecessary squeeze into him. “Mission accomplished!” he crows.

“Well, it’s exciting to meet a fan,” Delia says.

Larry snort-laughs again. “I wouldn’t call myself a fan, per se. I’m not a great fan of that term.” He gives us a see what I did there smirk.

I point at him and click my tongue. “Rock-solid joke, Larry.”

“I consider myself more a connoisseur of horror hosting. A chronicler of it, good and bad.”

“Oh,” Delia says.

“Right now, you guys…” He makes a high-pitched meh sound. “But I think in time, you’ll improve somewhat,” Larry says, magnanimity dripping from each word.

“Cool, thanks,” I say icily.

“You two could definitely ad-lib less.”

“Duly noted,” Delia says.

“Call your Frankenstein puppet Frankenstein’s Monster instead.”

“Oh, totally. Never heard that before,” I say. Delia, Lawson, and I begin our drift away from Larry, but he’s not taking the hint.

“You could also turn up the comedy on the show,” Larry says.

“Oh, do tell. What do you find funny, Larry Donut?” Delia asks.

“People falling down and internet memes.”

“Fantastic,” Delia says flatly.

“I think that’s about it for feedback,” Larry says.

“Nooo, keep going,” I say under my breath.