Host: Today we welcome Miss Havana, the beautiful starlet of the Miss Havana paranormal comedy series. Please, Miss Havana, have a seat.
MH (flicking her hair while looking down at the chair): Is that seat clean? Do you have a towel so I can dust it off?
Host (providing paper napkins): As I said, thank you for joining us today. We—
MH (interrupting): You wouldn’t have a glass of chardonnay would you?
Host: Ah, no, but I do have water.
MH (adjusting her mini-skirt): If that’s all you’ve got, I guess it’ll have to do. A lady simply must be careful about what she puts in her body.
Host (flipping through notes): Really? It says here you once gave birth to Lilith, Lucifer’s daughter. That would indicate you weren’t very discriminating about what you put in it back then.
MH (yawning): That’s such old news. Seducing that dolt was just a means to an end. I’ve become a better person over the years, although my ex would still choke the life out of me if he could get his grubby hands on my neck.
Host (shuffling through the pages): I wondered about that. It says here you married Samuel Jackson. The actor? Does Lucifer resent that?
MH (deep sigh): Your research sucks; I’d never marry a liberal. My Samuel Jackson is a fireman…and he understands that accidents happen.
Host (clears throat): His occupation could come in handy if Lucifer ever catches up with him.
Host (wide-eyed): You mean God, right? Some people think He is her real father. Is that true?
MH (scrunching up face into a scowl): All I can say is that Immaculate Conception isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Our daughter … is just an angel.
Host: My notes indicate you have two daughters now…both adopted.
MH (shaking head): Things are not always what they seem. Living or dead is not necessarily black and white in my world. Shades of grey crop up all the time.
Host (changing topic): Our audience wants to know—does Lucifer still seek to do you harm?
MH (sitting up straight and glaring into host’s eyes): My, my, we are focused on the dark side today, aren’t we? Lucifer wants to do you harm, you idiot. It’s what he does.
Host (flushing): No need to get personal. How about I just ask about your new book, The Trophy Wife? That’s due out soon, isn’t it?
MH (smiling): Don’t you just love the picture of me on the cover? I teased the photographer with that one. He sweat so much he had to clean his lens. But you are right. The book was released yesterday, February 10! I’m so excited.
Host (loosening his collar): Yes, the cover is, well, you. Can you tell us a little about the story?
MH (flexing her shoulders): Oh, yes. The Trophy Wife is my most outrageous novel yet. You will laugh until you cry! Because I’ve made Lucifer’s afterlife a nightmare, he kills me—again—but God intervenes. I find myself on the good side for a change. God sends my spirit to inhabit a six-year-old Cuban child, who becomes a flawed but beautiful high school teacher, and Lucifer sends our daughter Lilith, the Princess of Darkness, to haunt Lily, one of my students. Lilith rains comical torment on me like a natural enemy, and we ratchet up our level of destructiveness as we discover more of our underworld power. Murder eventually becomes an option…for both of us. Despite dips into horror and tragedy, the novel is a hilarious romp through heaven and hell. God helps me a lot, frustrating Lucifer and Lilith enough to char the pages. Even though my journey toward happiness is fraught with peril, I still find inner faith and strength along the way.
Host (glancing up to observe MH over the top of his glasses): So, you’re on the good side? That’s a new role for you, isn’t it?
MH (huffing): There you go again. Things are not always black and white and they never will be.
Host (putting down his notes): Can you give us a sample from The Trophy Wife, just for fun?
MH (rolling her eyes): That’s the reason I’m here. Here’s a couple of paragraphs where I strike back at Lilith with my famous paddle. I didn’t know I was once the Queen of Darkness at the time, or that Lilith was once my daughter, so what happens to Lily seems, well, just coincidence.
* * * *
Miss Havana then strutted to the front of the room, picked up the paddle and began tapping the rounded end on the floor. Once again her hardened glare fell on Lily. “Discipline can be a bitch. You may come to the front of the room now.”
Suddenly Lily seemed compelled to get out of her chair and walk robot-like to the front of the classroom as if on autopilot. She couldn’t scream. She knew what would happen next but seemed helpless to prevent it. Although she fought with every muscle in her body, she stooped over and grabbed her ankles. Miss Havana lined up behind her and, with all the strength she could muster, swung the paddle against Lily’s butt. Whack!
Lily danced on her toes as soon as the paddle made a fire-hot imprint on her ass. She wanted to cry out, but whispered sympathy from the other side of the door kept her in check: “Oh, my God”…“Poor Lily”…“What comes around goes around”…“That’ll leave a mark.”
* * * *
Miss Havana heard the hushed voices too, and smiled. From now on, my other students should be far more receptive to my lessons. Watching Lily gyrate in abject pain on her tippy toes produced the same reaction Miss Havana had noted before. Her private area dampened, and she secretly wished Jackson would show up to put out the flame building inside her.
When Lily stopped her dance of silence, Miss Havana blew a quick puff of breath across the surface of the paddle. “We can do this forever, Lily, or you can just stop attacking me.”
Lily shot back. “I hope you choke on the next penis you swallow!”
And Miss Havana responded without thinking, “And I hope you drown in shit, but neither is likely to happen. You may leave now.”
Both Lily and Miss Havana could hear the shuffling outside the door, like a herd of cockroaches abandoning a dumpster. Lily stormed out and slammed the door behind her.
Miss Havana sat at her desk. Her fingers twitched and tremors shook her arms. She took a deep breath and exhaled slow. Why didn’t Lily resist? I called her to the front like leading a lamb to slaughter. Does the girl actually have a shred of decency, a tiny bit of respect for authority? Miss Havana expected a showdown, and had even brought pepper spray, the “Hello Kitty” brass knuckles Duane insisted she carry…and a Taser. She thought this might be her last day teaching in a public school, but the session with Lily had gone down smoother than double malt whisky. Why?
* * * *
Lily reached the parking lot in F5 tornado rage. She wanted…needed…to destroy something…anything. She dragged her ignition key the full length of Miss Havana’s car as she passed by and then walked to each door panel and kicked it in while screaming “Bitch!” at the top of her lungs each time her foot impacted the metal. Other students gave her a wide berth. No one wanted to get involved.
Lily stormed to her Festiva, revved the engine far more than advised by the manufacturer’s owner’s manual and threw the car in gear. Her tires squealed as students scattered in all directions. She accelerated through the parking lot, ran the stop sign as she entered the main drag, and raced through the crosswalk like she had the right of way.
Two blocks from Redmond High, she rounded the corner much too fast to remain in her own lane…and slid sideways into a large yellow truck with black trim, red flashers, and the words “Stool Bus” stenciled on the doors—a vehicle owned by a local firm that profited from pumping port-a-potty effluent. The Festiva slammed into the pumping valves with such force they penetrated the vehicle’s driver’s side door just above Lily’s lap…and snapped off. Lily screeched, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” as the entire chunky load emptied inside her car.
* * * *
MH (with sheepish grin): Okay, you get the picture. Now you need to get the novel. You can buy it at http://www.amazon.com/James-L.-Hatch/e/B005CQB6E6. (She leans forward just enough to expose the tops of her marshmallow-like breasts) I really wish you would.
Host (now sweating): Yes, yes, I will. Thank you for being with us today. (Turning to face the audience) And thank all of you wonderful people for taking the time to read this post. Just a quick reminder: The Trophy Wife makes a fantastic Valentine gift for both men and women. Nothing says “I Love You” like a good laugh.