Death by Pantyhose Read Online Free Page A

bite. It was lip-puckering heaven.
     
    "Forgive me for stuffing my face," she said between bites, "but I'm starving."
    As I watched her eat, I couldn't help feeling a
tad disgruntled. It certainly didn't seem fair that
people like Dorcas could stuff their faces with
pastrami and never gain an ounce, while fat
cells clung to my thighs like barnacles to a ship.
    "So," she said, when she finally came up for air,
"I suppose you want to hear all about my act."
    Not really. What I really wanted was that pastrami sandwich, but I was here to make money,
so I plastered a bright smile on my face and
said, "Sure. Shoot."
    "Well, I start out my act-"
    But before she could tell me how she started
her act, a muscular guy in tight black jeans and
a T-shirt came sauntering over to our table. He
had the kind of oily good looks popular in singles bars and Vegas casinos.
    "How's it going, Dork?" he sneered. "Put any
audiences to sleep lately?"
    She bit into a pickle with an angry snap of
her jaw.
    "Up yours, Vic."
    Then he turned to me, his sneer still firmly in
place.
    "Last time I saw the Dork's act, she stank so
bad people were waiting in line-to get out."
    "Where'd you get that gag?" Dorcas said. "The
museum of prehistoric jokes? I think Plato was
using it on open-mike night at the Acropolis."
    Just then a skinny guy in jeans and a corduroy
jacket appeared at Mr. Nasty's side and grabbed
him by the elbow.
    "C'mon, Vic," the skinny guy said, his Adam's
apple bobbing like ayoyo. "Let's go."
     
    He gave Dorcas an apologetic smile and
tugged his obnoxious friend to a table at the
back of the restaurant.
    "Hey, Vic!" Dorcas shouted after them. "Time
to bring your hair in for an oil change.
    "What a jerk," she said, turning back to me.
    "I couldn't agree more. Is he a comic, too?"
    "He thinks he is. Frankly, I think his act stinks. I
can't understand why he's getting booked at
comedy clubs and I'm not."
    She glanced down at her now-empty plate and
mopped up a speck of mustard with her pickle.
    "It helps that he has Hank, of course."
    "Hank?"
    "The guy who dragged him away. Hank is his
writer. He's the funny one. He gives Vic all his
best jokes, and Vic hogs the credit. Why Hank
puts up with Vic, I'll never know. The guy is a
total bottom-feeder." She turned and glanced at
where he was sitting. "See the cigarette lighter
on his table?"
    I looked over and saw a silver cigarette lighter
at Vic's side.
    "It's not really a lighter; it's a tape recorder.
He uses it to steal other comics' jokes."
    I gasped in disbelief. Not at Vic's thievery.
But at the sight of our waitress approaching
with a pastrami sandwich as big as a Chihuahua.
I absolutely could not allow myself to finish it, not
if I expected to have an unclogged artery left in
my body.
    Dorcas stared at it longingly.
    I couldn't believe she was still hungry. Where
the heck was she packing all those calories?
    "You want half?" I asked, after the waitress
had gone.
     
    "Thanks," she said, sweeping it off my plate
with the speed of a Hoover. I felt a twinge of annoyance. Yes, I know I just said I didn't want to
finish the darn thing, but now that it was gone, I
missed it.
    I took a big bite of my half before she changed
her mind and decided she wanted it, too. It was
salty, greasy, and oozing with mustard. In other
words, divine.
    We spent the next minute or so with our
mouths full of pastrami, so talk was pretty much
out of the question. Over at Vic's table, I saw Vic
flirting with Mitzi, the bouffant-haired waitress.
The woman was twice his age and giggling like a
teenager.
    "He flirts with anything in a skirt," Dorcas
said, following my gaze. "And the pathetic thing
is, he's got a really nice girlfriend. Cheats on her
right and left, and she hasn't a clue."
    Dorcas had finished her half of the sandwich.
    I clutched what was left of mine protectively.
She'd have to wrestle me to the ground before
I'd let her have it.
    Accepting the fact