The Devil and Danielle Webster (2 page)

“Are you trying to tell me you’re some kind of genie?” I
asked, skeptically.

“Some people call me that.  Some call me other
names.”  He smiled self-mockingly and I realized that a smile could make a
nondescript person extremely attractive.

“I thought guys like you were found in brass lamps, not hot
sauce bottles.  And you’re supposed to fill the room when you come out,
aren’t you?”

“Well,” he said, gesturing to the far corners of the room,
“it did get a bit steamy for a moment or two.”

“That was weird,” I agreed.  “But you’re looking
businesslike now, in that suit and tie.  Are you sure you’re not the night
clerk?” 

He acted as if I’d given him a compliment, smiling and
shrugging.  “I’m actually a pretty good master of disguise, and I have
been a concierge before at five star hotels, but never at a dive like
this.  As far as my current look goes, you know how images change over
time.  Think of ‘I Dream of Jeannie.’  Think Disney’s
‘Aladdin.’  You could even think ‘Pippin,’ if you’re into Broadway
musicals.”

“I’m too young for ‘I Dream of Jeannie.’  I barely
remember it.”  

“No, you’re not.  It will live on in Syndication Hell,
forever.”

I grimaced.  “Now I’ve got the theme song in my
head.  Thanks a lot.”

“Ah, well,” he said unrepentantly, “try to replace it with
’A Whole New World.’  It’s a much better song.”  Suddenly, his manner
became crisp and down-to-business.  “You made a wish just now.”  He
retrieved a notebook, flipped to a page, and read precisely, “’I wish I had
Doug Morris here with me for just one night of passion.’”  He coughed
discreetly as I turned a fiery shade of red.  “Just between us, I can make
that happen.”

The smell of that hot sauce drifted in the air. 
“What’s the catch?” I asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, there’s a fee involved,” he said soothingly.  “You
can put it on your credit card, pay later.  I wouldn’t worry about it at
all right now.” 

“You seriously take VISA?”

“Absolutely.”
 

“How much?”

“Well, it’s not actually in cash.”

“What’s your currency, then?”

“I get your soul.”

“Oh my god.
  You’re not—you
must be—wait a minute, a genie is not the same thing as the Devil.”

“Are you sure?”

“The genie in Aladdin was nice.  The genie in I Dream
of Jeannie was nice.”

“I’m nice,” he said, looking hurt.  “By the way, that
was well spotted, for an atheist.  And as an atheist, since you don’t feel
that souls exist, you may as well consider this to be free of charge.”

“Who told you I’m an atheist?”

“I’ve checked on you.  And I’ve had conversations with
a member of your church.  You haven’t set foot there except at Christmas
for two years.”

“You’ve been talking to my mother,” I accused him. 
“Leave it to her to get me in trouble with Satan.  I’ll tell you what I
tell her.  I need my Sundays to catch up on sleep.”

“You’re a lapsed Lutheran.”

“No, I’m an agnostic Lutheran deist.”

“Same difference.”

“Besides, according to Lutheran beliefs, once you’re saved,
you’re saved.  No one can take my salvation away from me.”

“Well, there you have it,” the nondescript man said
cheerfully.  “To you, it’s like getting your night of passion free of
charge.”

I thought of the sleepless night ahead.  A vision of
Doug and me, beguiling the earliest morning hours, rose before me, and I plead
temporary insanity for what happened next. 

“Deal.”

The man whipped out a contract.  The ink seemed barely
dry, and something about the document seemed to be irritating my eyes.  I
blinked and could make out these words: “A night of passion with Douglas Robert
Morris for Danielle Joy Webster, to be delivered by Prince of Darkness
Enterprises, in exchange for the soul of Ms. Webster, payment date to be
determined later.”  That was the large print.  There were a couple
paragraphs of really small print, but my eyes were watering so badly I couldn’t
read much of it.

“Sign here,” the nondescript man said blandly, clipboard and
gilt pen extended.  Doug Morris Doug Morris Doug Morris Doug Morris
floated hypnotically in my brain.  I signed my name, Danielle Joy Webster,
with a flourish.  I pushed the contract back to him and said, “When?”

“Oh, immediate delivery,” and with that he was gone,
vanished, vamoosed.  I stood there, head spinning. 

When my dizziness subsided, I found myself back in my motel
room.  Gone was the deserted lobby and gone the nondescript man.  I
didn’t even have time to text Jill, who would have wanted dispatches every five
minutes thereafter.      

The clock radio read 2 AM.  A vaguely familiar
middle-aged guy with a pronounced beer gut and receding hairline knelt in the
middle of my bed, clutching the bedspread.  He was wearing a white
teeshirt
and plaid boxers.  His hair, a disordered mix
of gold and silver, looked about three months overdue for a haircut.  Silver
was mixed in with his curly brown beard and chest hair, as well.  The
overall effect was grizzled.  I caught a distasteful glimpse of thick
toenails.   

“Gross!” I said, horrified.  “This is a bait and
switch!”  The panicked look on this man’s face did not lead to visions of
ardent lovemaking.  In fact, the only emotion this man aroused was
repulsion.  What had I been thinking of?  Why hadn’t I clarified with
the nondescript man that my fantasy required my 23-year-old self? 

But the suave salesman with the sulfurous odor was no longer
around to hear me.  As I gazed upon my bed, a heavy piece of paper floated
down, and I swear I heard some far-off laughter.  It was my contract,
signed not only by me, but also by a “Daemon Lucifer,” in a dashing and ornate
style.  Ha.  So that was how the nondescript man styled
himself.  I grabbed it, thinking to rip it up, but native caution stopped
me.  Perhaps I should wait to see what advice Jill could give me first.

 “Where am I?” the stranger said, still hanging on to
the motel bedspread.  He appeared to be suffering from vertigo. 
“Where’s Tina?”

Tina was the girl Doug Morris had dumped me for.  “Hi,
Doug,” I said, trying to hide my lack of enthusiasm.  The decades had not
been kind to him.  I grabbed my cell and texted Jill.  “I need a
layer” “*lawyer”  “OMG call me”

 “Who are—
“  I
could tell
the exact second that recognition hit him.  “Danielle?” his voice sounded
incredulous, and none too happy.  “Where the hell are we?”

What could I say in such circumstances?  The last time
I ever saw him was the night before I moved four states away to avoid seeing
him with his new love interest.  He married her the very next year. 
I’d never met her, but I’d been told she wore the pants in the family. 

“Did you lose your nose ring, Doug?” I asked in a
sympathetic voice.  “Yes, we’re in hell.  How did you guess?”

Doug was acclimating to the room; he released the bedspread,
shuffled over to a chair, and sat down heavily.  “Why am I in hell? 
I’ve been good.  I’ve been great, in fact.  I’ve been to confession
every week now for, geez, how long?  The past 20 years, I’d say. 
Just ask Father Fritz, he’ll vouch for me.”

I took the other chair and put my elbows on the table. 
“You and Tina never did anything you couldn’t tell to a priest, huh?  Wow,
sounds awfully tame.  What happened to the Doug Morris I knew?”

“We aren’t really in hell, are we?”

 “I was kidding.  We’re not in hell, not yet
anyway.  We’re in Bullhead City, Arizona.”

“I’d say that’s close enough.”  He looked at me
accusingly.  “Danielle, is this
your
doing?”

“I guess it is, but believe me, I didn’t mean for it to be
like this.  Ugh!  When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“Who are you, my mother?  What’s that got to do with
anything?”

“It’s just that whenever I thought of your kisses over the
years I reminded myself that by now you probably take your teeth out at night
and keep them in a little glass of water by your bed.”

“Very funny.”

“So did I guess right?  Are you wearing dentures yet?”

“No, I am not, Danielle, and you are not a comedian.”

“Well, we’re only in our forties.  Give it another
decade.  Tina will have to get used to tongue-kissing your gums,” and
despite my disappointment over wasting my soul for this beer-barreled guy with
outdated long hair and too much plaque, I burst out laughing at the thought of
a toothless Doug trying to put the moves on his wife.

He waited with a sullen look on his face until I’d recovered
from my fit of laughter.  “How did this happen, Danielle?  You owe me
an explanation.  It’s, what?—” he looked at his watch—“four in the
morning—“

“That’s Chicago time.  It’s only 2 AM here—“

“—and I have to get up and go to work in two hours.  So
you need to tell me what’s going on, and make it fast.  I’ve got to get
back home.  God knows what Tina must be thinking!”  He looked
seriously alarmed at the thought. 
Heh
heh
, the rumors from my friend Cindy must have been
correct. 

“Okay, here’s the fast version.  I’m here at this motel
in the middle of nowhere, I’ve got insomnia, I seem to have voiced a wish aloud
to see you again, and someone who seems to be the Devil made it happen.” 

I was too embarrassed to give details of what I’d been
wishing.  How unfair could this Daemon Lucifer be?  I wasn’t
expecting this reunion and here I sat, without benefit of shower, make-up or
flattering clothes.  The passage of twenty years’ time hadn’t made any
improvements in my appearance.  Pregnancies had left me with extra pounds
and breastfeeding had compounded the damages.  I’d gamely nursed all three
as long as they’d cooperated (2 months, 12 months,
8
months, for anyone wondering.)  Carter, my baby, was now nine.  I had
felt relieved (guilty, but relieved) to wean him at eight months.  He had
a mouthful of gigantic baby teeth and liked to play steel-jaw
leghold
trap with my nipple, grinning up engagingly at me
when I shrieked.  My reward for motherly perseverance was a pair of droopy
breasts featuring saucer-sized nipples.  My most recent boyfriend had
professed to find them attractive, which made me suspicious of all his other
professions of regard.  Those suspicions were confirmed when, shortly
after, he stopped calling or texting me.

Speaking of texting, Jill had not responded to my
text.  I wasn’t really too surprised, considering that it was 2 AM and she
had a prescription for her insomnia.  If she were awake, she’d have been
all over that text.  The woman had a certified texting addiction.  I
refused to ride with her, because she texted in rush-hour traffic.  I got
a text from her once when she was sitting in a restroom stall at El
Pollo
Loco, down the street from our office.  End
result of that text was that I had to drive over and deliver a tampon.  A
couple years back while waiting for
novocaine
to kick
in, she’d texted in the right answer to a question about her favorite band to
Good Morning Phoenix, and won tickets to their concert that night.  She
immediately sent out a blast text, “won backstage ass w green day!” 
 After an onslaught of “huh” responses, she clarified, “*PASS”
 “sorry, getting root canal LOL”
  I
think
the dentist had had to threaten to take the phone away from her until he was
done.  Anyway, it looked as if I would have to wait until morning to pick
her legal brain.  The problem at hand was now over his vertigo and pacing
the floor.

“You wanted to see me, again,” Doug said slowly. 
“Why?”

I could feel myself flushing.  “I
was
actually, uh, kind of wanting
to relive some of the old times.  You
know, I was just fantasizing about the past, reliving my misspent youth. 
I didn’t want you whisked out of your bed and dropped here from the sky, but,
dang, that seems to be exactly what happened.”

“You were fantasizing about me?”

“Not that kind of fantasizing!  Just being nostalgic
for the past, for being 23 again, that kind of thing.”

 “You wanted to see me again to talk about old
times?  Excuse me if I don’t quite believe that.  What else aren’t
you telling me?  And what do you mean about the Devil?”

“Okay,” I said.  I was really annoyed now.  “I
said that I’d like to have one night of passion with Doug Morris, and this guy
who looked like a salesman was suddenly there.  I never thought of it, but
sales is
perfect.” 

“I’m in sales,” he pointed out.  “Salesmen aren’t all
bad.”

“Oh, no?
  The ones I’ve known
would sell their own grandmothers for enough money.”

“Danielle, it’s four in the
freakin
’
morning—“

“Chicago time,” I said.  “It’s only 2 AM here—“

“—and I have to get ready for work soon.  Whatever you
did, just undo it now, okay?  I want to get a couple more hours of sleep.”

“Doug.  I didn’t do this and I have no idea how to undo
it.  Got that?  But my guess is that this is happening in some sort
of time freeze, sort of like Scrooge’s three nights with the ghosts of
Christmas.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s
right,
you never did do any
reading.  Never mind.  But when this is over, you’ll probably find
yourself back in your bed.  When Tina wakes you up in the morning, you’ll
tell her, ‘Honey, you wouldn’t believe the wacky dream I had last night.’”

“Oh, no, I won’t,” he said with assurance.

“Ha.  She’s the jealous type?”

“Not of you.”

“Oh, that was nice. 
Spoken as a true
gentleman.”

“Well, take a good look in the mirror, Danielle, and maybe
you’ll stop laughing at my dental hygiene—“

“—Lack of it—” I corrected helpfully.

“For example, aren’t you a bit old for the teenage
complexion?”

“Aren’t you a bit old to be passing out middle school
insults?  What next, poop jokes?”

“And geez, you’ve really piled the pounds on—“

“I had three babies, what’s your excuse, Mr. All-American
Beer Gut?”

“And look at what you’re wearing. 
Not
exactly seductive.”

“Hey there, Pot, meet Kettle!”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce anyone,” he said patiently. 

“That’s a shame.  Poor Tina,” I commented.

“I was fast asleep and it was FOUR IN THE MORNING.  And
I have to get up and go to work in TWO HOURS.”

How could I have agreed to this deal?  “I can’t believe
I sold my soul for THIS,” I said venomously.

He was aghast.  “Are you kidding me?  Danielle,
what are you talking about?”

“I signed a contract.  It’s right over there, if you
must know.  Yeah, I’m really kicking myself now.  But I’m not too
worried.  The salesman thought I was an atheist and said that if I don’t
believe in souls, this is a freebee.”

“He was messing with your mind, then.  Hell is full of
atheists.”

“I had an idea he wasn’t entirely honest.  But since he
misrepresented his product, the contract may not be legal anyway.  I’m
waiting to talk with my boss about that.”

“What product?”

I looked at him patiently.  “The product is YOU. 
I mean, it WAS you.  I mean, it was supposed to be you from back 20 years
ago.”

“Did you discuss all this before signing it?”

Damn, damn, damn.  I was beginning to see that this
would be horribly embarrassing, to say the very least.  Doug shook his
head.

“Guess you were pretty hot to trot, huh, Danielle? 
What does the contract say?  Maybe there’s a way out of it.”

I fidgeted.  “I don’t want to tell you.  It’s too
embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing is nothing compared to an eternity in
hell.  For God sake, what did you sign?”

“It says something about a night of passion with Doug
Morris,” I mumbled, not looking at him.  Picking up the contract, I read
aloud, “A night of passion with Douglas Robert Morris for Danielle Joy Webster,
to be delivered by Prince of Darkness Enterprises, in exchange for the soul of
Ms. Webster, payment date to be determined later.”

“Are you kidding me?  Can’t you get any sex any other
way?”

“Shut up, Doug,” I said.  “You make me sick.  It
was temporary insanity.  I’ll bet the Devil could have made you sign a
paper like that, too.”

“No way,” he said in that arrogant tone I remembered. 
“No how.  Besides, it’s four in the morning—”

“—
And
you have to get up and go to
work in two hours, I get it.”  I had to restrain the impulse to stamp the
floor.  “I thought this would be time travel or something, not just you,
middle-aged you, being dumped here in your smelly boxers!  I thought I could
choose a night, you know, late December back in ’93 or something.”

“Haven’t you had any decent sex lately?  I can’t
believe you were immortalizing a few rolls in the sack this way!”

“
it
was more than a few!  We
were together for more than four years, you know.  Besides, for your
information, I feel exactly the same way.  No way.  No how.  I
didn’t realize THIS is what the Devil meant to deliver!  All those years
of bad hygiene have really taken their toll now.  All I can say is,
Ewwwww
.”

He was nodding his head.  “So we’re even now.  Can
we quit the juvenile comments and find a way out of this mess?”

“Probably.
  I suppose Old
Scratch will show up at daybreak or something.”

“But I have to be at—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.
  You have
to be at work.  I’m telling you, he’ll make sure this night was off the
time grid.  Hey, I’ve had to sacrifice my soul for this.  The least
we can do while waiting for the night to be over is talk about what happened
and maybe get some closure.”

“Your idea of closure is for me to apologize for wanting out
of our relationship.  I can’t do that.”

“That’s not fair.  That’s not what I want.  I’m
not nearly as unreasonable as you seem to think.  I just want to
understand why.  What happened?”

“Did it occur to you that sometimes people just aren’t right
for each other?”