Jobs

Act 13 – the Medium/Exorcist Part 3

Who’re you? I know you’re different, and that you are more. You’re neither human, nor demon. Just what exactly are you…my sexy, handsome fella.

~ Delvina Carlisle

“Fʊckin’ A!” says Moira, taking a seat beside me, dragging two pieces of loaf onto her plate and gliding forkfuls of glazed ham to make a sandwich.

“Yeah, fʊckin’ A,” I reply to Moira, my response to her uncontained excitement to participate in yet another Halloween party at the Hefners. This year Griffin wants it to be special. He wants everybody to dress up. It says so in the invitation.

“Fʊck my shizzle!” Tommy—my younger brother—chimes in, smiling and happy as he pulls a chair and makes his own sandwich, “Love ham.”

The only reason I got an invitation from Griffin was because of that one time his father called for my services to bless their mansion. Hugh Hefner is no demon, but he’s a devil in bed. Not that I humped the grandpa, oh hell no, but there was this one rare occasion that I did see him pounding into one of the Playboy bunnies over the kitchen counter, back from when the house was still new. After a year he decided to name the property after Griffin, a Hefner who’s always been under the radar. Griffin dislikes popularity and would rather live a normal life.

“You know,” Moira chews on her sandwich, “Last I heard from Griffin he’s finally settling down with that woman who happens to be one of my favorite Personal Shoppers from Quickies R Us. Sephora was it? Yeah, her, well, I think that girl really tamed Griffin. The Hefners are a horny bunch, not settling for any woman. Just look at their father. He’s still at it.”

“Wish I can say the same with Joan Rivers,” I comment, “Just imagine that woman giving blowjobs with her dentures falling out,” I laugh out loud.

“Jesus fʊcking Christ!” Tommy exclaims, repulsed, “You guys really know how to kill a hard-on. Fʊcking hell,” he shivers and I laugh even more, “Goddammit Delvie, I just lost my appetite.”

I fork the ham from his plate onto mine, “More ham for me then,” I say, “Hmm, just imagine Joan Rivers’ títs hanging out, flopping against your face.”

“f**k!”

Moira cackles before saying, “So, D, what’re you gonna wear to the party?

“I’m thinking Kim K West since we got the same asses.”

She rears her head to examine the junk in my trunk and I notice a pinch of jealousy, “Hm, I’ma be Ms. Wrecking Ball Cyrus cos I got a flat âss like Miley.”

“Her âss is not that bad. Neither is yours,” I comment while spreading peach glaze over my ham, “What about you El Dorado,” I turn to my brother Tommy, who’s wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat in our dining table, “Who’s you gonna be?” I ask, biting my sandwich, my eyes close to rolling backwards into my head cos ham with peach glaze marmalade between two slices of white bread is the bomb. It’s nuclear. Can’t get any more whiter than that.

“I’ll be Anderson Cooper,” Tommy says.

“Wait up, hold up, ain’t he gay?” asks Moira, lathering peach glaze over a thick slice of ham, “He the one with the tiny n*****s, right?”

“Yeah,” my brother comments dryly, distracted, “W-what!!? He’s gay!??”

“Hmm,” I wipe the drool of deliciousness from my mouth, “So let me get this hetero straight. You wanna be Anderson Cooper, the manliest gay guy on television, with n*****s smaller than my títs. That Anderson Cooper?”

“Yeah,” Tommy sulks, “I always thought he was straight you know. He got cool hair. Like an angel,” I choke on my sandwich, remembering the nephilim I sucked into my blackhole yesterday morning, “Fʊck me…”

“Yeah, fʊck you,” I say, “Oh, talk about fʊcking, have you two fʊcked already?” I ask, and I hear choked embarrassment from Tommy and Moira, “O-kay then. Don’t ask questions I already know the answers to,” I tell myself, squeezing my eyes shut as I take another mouth-watering bite on my sandwich, “This the shít.”

“Sis, you gonna come to the party?”

“Oh, Tommy, I always come,” I smirk, “I just came this morning, hehe.”

He fake-vomits, “I’ll never get used to having you around.”

“That makes two of us,” I remark, “You better not be flunking your school or I’ll be forced to throw you back to mom and pops.”

Tommy scoffs, “b***h please. I got the grades, and the girls.”

Moira and I both roll our eyes, “Yeah right,” I comment, rubbing my palms off crumbs, “I have somewhere to be at noon. I’ll rush back home right after I do done did my job and change into my costume, whatever it is, then we be partying at the Hefners.

“Sounds like a plan,” smiles Moira, “Oh, I got dibs on Miley,” she adds.

That gives me an idea, “Hey Tommy, why don’t you be Robin Thicke?”

“Oh yeah,” his eyes light up, “That’s a great idea! I saw a Robin Thicke costume at Target!”

I smile, “It’s settled then. You guys do MTV while I do whatever it is I come up with,” I rise and throw my plate into the sink, “I gots to go and make money to feed your âss,” I tell Tommy, kissing his hair, “Keep those grades up. Not just the díck in your pants.”

“Yeah, yeah, pfft,” he waves me dismissively and so does Moira.

I walk up to a dilapidated redbrick house. I can already sense the weight of something supernatural in the air as it bears weight on my shoulders.

I’m ushered by a mother and daughter into their lavish home. We make our way to their library where I feel the most connected to the spirit I needed to exonerate. This time I’m not exorcising demons, rather I’m going to serve as a medium for them to banish what I’m assuming is a dead relative who refuses to leave the mansion, “K, let’s get started.”

I waste no time and roll out all my ritual tools from my knapsack, pulling a scrolled parchment with a drawn pentacle—a five-pointed star within a circle—and spreading it onto the ground. I pull out five white votive candles to place at each corner of the star. I have a hard time remembering what each of the five candles symbolize, and I can’t be bothered to remember what they signify for I’m in a hurry to wrap this up so I can make it to the party tonight.

I pour salt into a wooden bowl, fill an old chalice with water, and prepare a dish with dirt. I bless these items with a solemn chant and I can feel the spiritual entity whoosh into the air, giving me chills which I’m already used to for I have done a dispersing ritual like a gazillion times.

I tell the mother and daughter to help me with the frankincense and sage, smashing them in the mortar using a pestle, which immediately releases a distinct fragrance meant to draw out the spirit of a beloved. All three of us kneel and hold hands to circle the pentacle, with me leading the banishing ritual, “No matter what happens, no matter what you feel, don’t let go. Got it?”

Mother and daughter nod their understanding and thus I begin the banishing spell.

“Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Metal. I call you. I am your daughter. Thank you for blessing this Circle,” as soon as the words flew my mouth, the air became stale, heavier, the spirit making its presence known as the flames of the candles rise with anger, “Relax, hold the circle, and whatever happens don’t let go of my hands,” I tell mother and daughter and they nod. And so I continue, “Element of Air, you are the Breath of Life. Thank you for lending your power to this rite,” the first candle sizzles its fire, and in its flame I can see the eyes of the spirit reflected looking into mine, “Element of Fire, you are the Divine spark. Thank you for lending your power to this rite,” each chant sparks the flame of each candle to light even brighter, higher like it’s feeding off of gasoline, “Element of Water, you are the Blood in my veins,” I can feel the spirit coursing through my blood as I say this and I know that I’m close to exonerating the malevolent spirit, “Thank you for lending your power to this rite. Element of Earth, you are the Bones of my body. Thank you for lending your power to this rite,” I hold onto the hands on either side, grounding them because I can feel mother and daughter being lifted by the inverse of gravity.

“Element of Metal!” I shout into the air as the gravity threatens to lift us off the ground, the wind billowing all around us, making both mother and daughter weep in fear and hysteria, “You are the Finality! Thank you for lending your power to this rite!” I scream with conviction and the next thing I feel is a swamping feeling that invades my body. I direct the flow of energy into the pentacle in the middle and as the spirit leaves my body I quickly pull the parchment bearing the pentacle and alight it with fire, the spirit crying in the piece of paper as it vanishes into a crisp.

“Holy mother of fʊck,” I gasp, “That’s some sick shít evil spirit, you guys,” I look to mother and daughter and judging by their expressions I believe they’re close to a fainting episode, “Two thousand. That’s my rate. That spirit is some nasty bitch.”

“Yes,” the mother responds, “She was my mother-in-law.”

“No shít,” I say, gasping for air, realizing that the old hag I just banished might have a reason to stay after all, “Was she as bitchy when she was alive?” I inquire, just to confirm if I did right banishing her mother-in-law’s crazy âss.

“She never liked me,” the mother says, “When my husband died she went crazy. She hanged herself in this library. Right there by the crystal chandelier.”

“Well,” I clear my head, “Glad we stoked her medieval âss.”

“Here,” she hands me three thousand, “Thank you. My daughter and I can finally be at peace.”

I smile, gathering all my stuff to go, “Here’s my card. Should you or any of your friends require my services, I’m just a call or text away.”

“Is grandma going to leave us now?” the little one asks.

I caress her tiny face and say, “Yeah, we burned her âss.”

I’m wearing my fʊck-me boots, the kind Jessica Simpson wore in her slutty video These boots are made for walkin’.

Griffin knows how to throw the best parties year-round, whether it’s for Spring break, Fʊckanukkah—Hanukkah, but with a lot of fʊcking—or a hallowed Halloween party much like this one. You can trust a Hefner to come up with the sickest, most expensive parties with champagne flowing from the sky.

The pool is riddled with bwitches—scantily-clad bitches dressed like witches—and the Johnny Bravo-types—men whose brains are in their pants.

“And who might you be,” I hear a voice behind me, from one of the Johnny Bravo-types, “You look slammin’ babe,” he whispers into my ear, pressing his crotch into my bum and I moan at the feeling of something plump getting warm and hard.

“Don’t touch my wings. I’m the tít fairy,” I say, turning around, throwing pixie dust onto his sweaty chest and rubbing it hard, “You up to show a bad girl a good time?” I flirt like a floozy.

“I be showing you more than a good time, babe. Wanna come?” he invites with a perverted wink, pulling me into him.

“I’m not that easy.”

“You look easy.”

“Well I ain’t.”

The music thumps and I whirl my hips to wedge between his legs. It’s been a while since I partied and I miss being reckless.

I can hear moaning behind me as we grind against each other, “If I wasn’t workin’ all day I’ma be playin’ with these títs, baby. I’ma go medieval with these puppies,” he says while gliding his hands up to cup my breasts, giving them a touch and a squeeze and I melt. I’m starting to feel cheap, but I don’t care. I just wanna have fun tonight. No strings attached.

“Oi papi you know what that does to me,” I play along, “Oh, right there, that feels fucktastic.”

“What about I suck those kidney stones right through your balls?” threatens a husky voice, “You, sir, don’t know how to treat a lady right,” the voice says and I turn, only to feel like my heart stopped pumping blood at the sight of a hunk with the sexy British accent.

The mystery man looks my Johnny Bravo right in the eye and my Johnny Bravo scuttles away, leaving me hung out to dry, “Hello,” says the mystery man, “Can I have this dance?” he smirks, taking my hand, then kisses it.

I smile at the lovely gesture, “And here I thought chivalry was long dead. Guess I was wrong.”

“Why do you smell so fʊcking good?” he says in his signature, husky voice, “You’re…you’re not entirely human I suppose.”

I glint my eyes, “How d’you know?”

He smiles, “I can show you. Come.”

I’m under his spell as he leads me to where there are less people. And I can’t help but feel like a teenager again as I’m whisked away into the darkness, giggling like a fool.

He pulls me in with his eyes that are playing between blue and silver, leaving me captivated and enthralled in his lustful gaze, “I see.”

“What is it?” I ask, “What do you see?”

“I’m trying, but I can’t do it with you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, smiling because I can’t help myself. I’m drawn by something in his eyes which I cannot describe. It’s just a feeling; a strong, glamorizing pull.

“I’m trying but you can’t be hypnotized.”

I gasp, realizing what he is, “Oh hell no.”