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It was Guillermo’s idea to have the vampires attend the Staten Island Community Center Adult Halloweenapalooza Party (“It will be full of virgins who couldn’t score invites to real parties,” he explained to them), but it had been Nandor’s idea that they all go in costume — and more specifically, that he and Guillermo have a matching costume (“Because it is a thing that couples do, and we are a couple, are we not?” he had asked a blushing Guillermo, who could only nod).
Agreeing on the costume had been difficult, but Nandor had finally convinced Guillermo that his idea was brilliant and would win any costume contest (and the accompanying shiny trophy, for which he had already cleared out a space of honor in his crypt), so here they were, onstage, being judged by Barbara Lazarro (still somehow on the Staten Island city council), local news personality Shirley Mannheim, and a third judge Guillermo didn’t know beyond his description as a “local influencer,” Bruno Bronzoni, who was eyeing them skeptically.
“I get that he’s Alexander Hamilton,” he drawled, pointing a long finger at Nandor, “but I don’t get the tree.”
“Alexander Hamilton!?” burst out Nandor indignantly. “I’d never dress up as that dick! I’m George Washington!” He struck a post for emphasis. “And Guillermo is my cherry tree.”
“Not a very historically accurate costume, then,” Bruno continued. “Clearly from a Spirit Halloween or Amazon.”
That statement, Guillermo took offense to.
He had taken Nandor’s old outfit (the one he pointed out proudly as from his “souvenir portrait” created after his Washington/Franklin threesome) from one of the trunks in the attic and restored it carefully, using all of the resources the internet had to offer to bring it back to its original splendor (within his budget). He’d even managed to spruce the wig back up to its original curls. He thought it looked wonderful — definitely better than the room full of pumpkins and cats and extremely fake vampires. And even though it gave his musical theatre nerd heart a little bit of a thrill to be compared to Hamilton , he knew Nandor’s outfit was way, way more authentic.
As for Guillermo as the cherry tree…that had taken convincing to get Guillermo into, yes, but once Nandor had done it, Guillermo had put his all into being the best tree on Staten Island. His brown bodysuit was textured to look like a convincing trunk, the leaves were beautifully green, and the styrofoam cherries hanging from his “branches” (his arms) were so lustrous that he’d had to swap at least one person’s hand away from them tonight (Nandor had promised to eat that person, a very predictable zombie, later, unless they turned out to be an actual zombie, in which case, all bets were off).
“I don’t think the cherry tree story is true, either,” Barbara Lazarro pointed out. “It’s a myth.”
Guillermo couldn’t argue with that, but Nandor could.
“I saw him cut down a cherry tree once,” Nandor protested. “It was part of his foreplay ritual.”
The music playing in the community center filled the awkward silence.
“I think maybe it’s time for us to deliberate,” Shirley said with a much-too-bright smile. “Give us five minutes, everyone.”
Shirley, Barbara, and Bruno covered their microphones and talked amongst themselves while Guillermo hissed, “Foreplay ritual!?” at Nandor.
“He had a back like a barrel of snakes!” Nandor exclaimed as if this explained everything. “As you know quite well, my dick is not made of stone, Guillermo!”
“So you just told the whole room that you’re dressed as your ex and then you shared with everyone — including me, for the first time, by the way — that I’m dressed as the thing your ex destroyed before you had sex?” Guillermo gestured to his tree outfit.
“Don’t take it so personally, Guillermo,” Nandor said dismissively, tweaking one of the cherries hanging from his boyfriend’s arm.
“Don’t pop my cherries, Nandor,” Guillermo scolded, slapping the vampire’s hand away and frowning when Nandor waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
“But inside are the stones, and you certainly have the stones to—“
“Just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean I won’t stab you right here right now—”
“That is what I am saying, Guillermo, attached to your cherry stones is a very strong branch—“
“I swear to everything , Nandor, not in front of all of these people —“
To the side, Bruno Bronzoni cleared his throat into the microphone very loudly, causing a feedback loop that caught the attention of everyone in the room.
“We have chosen a winner!” he announced over the pained groans of the crowd. “This year’s Best Costume at the Staten Island Halloweenapalooza is…YOU!”
Rather than name any of the people on stage, he pointed to a man in the crowd, who looked up and demanded, “What the fuck!?”
Fucking Laszlo. Laszlo, who hadn’t even worn a costume beyond his regular evening wear.
“Come on up and get your crown!” Bruno exclaimed, gesturing excitedly.
Laszlo approached the stage with his usual swagger, soaking up the confused enthusiasm of the crowd. He ignored Nandor and Guillermo’s glares as he took his place in the middle of the stage and accepted the trophy — the one that Nandor had so coveted (and Guillermo suspected he could steal for him later).
“I accept this prize on behalf of the people of New York Citaaaaay,” he said into the microphone Bruno held in front of his mouth.
“There’s also a crown for the winner,” Bruno said, holding up a tacky plastic thing dotted with fake gems, “but to put it on, you’ll need to remove your hat.”
“Can’t you put it over the hat?” Laszlo asked, adjusting the witch’s skin brim it with two fingers. “It’s a cool hat.”
“IT’S FUCKING CURSED!” a woman’s voice — Nadja’s — called from the crowd.
“It won’t fit,” Bruno said regretfully.
“Fine,” Laszlo grumbled, taking the hat off and allowing Bruno to place the crown on his head.
“VERY NICE, DARLING!” Nadja called.
“THANK YOU, DARLING!” Laszlo called back.
In the moment that Laszlo was distracted, two things happened very quickly:
First, Bruno removed the hat from Laszlo’s hand.
Second, Bruno Bronzoni melted away into the form of—
“Simon the fucking Devious,” Laszlo snarled, “give me back my hat.”
“No takebacks, my dear Laszlo,” Simon sneered as the audience cheered at what they perceived to be an excellent piece of Halloween trickery. “It’s my fucking hat now .”
Predictably, that was the moment that a stage light fell from the community center rafters, directly onto Simon.
“I’ll take it back all I fucking want, you dickweed,” Laszlo said as he plucked the hat from the stage. Barbara Lazarro and Shirley Mettenheim rushed to Simon’s side to check him for injuries.
“Let’s get out of here,” Guillermo said quietly to Nandor.
“Agreed.”
At home, Laszlo had handed over the trophy without a fuss, believing that the recovery of his hat was the true prize of the evening (Nadja’s grumbling comment was unintelligible).
Nandor placed the trophy on the mantelpiece in his crypt and took a step back to admire it.
“Very nice,” he said before turning to Guillermo. “And I think you deserve a little reward for helping me acquire it.”
“And what’s that?” Guillermo asked. They were both still wearing their costumes.
“As George Washington, it is my duty to help you lose your virginitree.”
“And how do you plan to do that, Mr. President?” It took everything he had, but he ignored the atrocious pun.
“With my giant axe.”
“You think that’s going to be enough to chop me down?”
“I am very good with wood, Guillermo. Come here and let me show you.”