The Devil and Danielle Webster (5 page)

“Oh—you still awake?” asked Doug.

“Yeah.
  I think the main
feature is over.” 

“Can you feel how young we were?” he asked.

“You notice it, too?”

“Almost worth the price of admission,
huh?”

I snorted.  “Consider the price, Doug.  It’s a
pretty steep one, and Daemon Lucifer is a scalper.”

“True.  What can we do?”

“I don’t know if he’s listening in.  Let’s think
together really quietly, okay?”

“You have an idea?”

“You noticed I made him put in the contract that it had to
be for a whole night.”

“Yeah, I figured that would really limit the nights he could
pick from.”

“Exactly,” I said.  “I can remember only a few
all-nighters we ever had.  And no offense, but they weren’t that great.”

“I am offended.  I can remember a couple nights that
were damned outstanding.”

“Well, I got him to pare those down, remember?  He
can’t include ones that featured blow jobs.” 

“Oh, yeah.
  You’re right, that
really limits his choices.” 

“I can only think of one other night he can use.”

“I can’t think of any at all.”

“So we may have him over a barrel.  But I’ve got
another idea.  Think about the date this took place.”

“Maybe 1994?
  Joe and Sheila
had only been married a couple years.”

“Exactly.
  I think my boss can
help us with this.” 

“Don’t underestimate the Devil, Danielle.”

“My boss is a lawyer,” I said triumphantly.  “Jill will
get us out of this mess.”

Had I been talking aloud, or merely thinking?  Dawn
framed the motel curtains, and I was not alone.  The nondescript man sat
at the table and beamed at me.

“Satisfaction guaranteed,” he said complacently. 

“The deal is OFF,” I said flatly.  “There was no satisfaction!”

“You’re starting to provoke me,” Mr. Lucifer said softly.

“I’m paying through the nose for this so-called
satisfaction.  Hell, I’ll be paying through every pore of my body.  I
have rights.  You promised to deliver a product and you haven’t delivered. 
I work for a lawyer, you know,” I informed the nondescript man.

“Is she representing you?” the Devil asked in an unconcerned
way.  He stood up in front of a floor lamp, his shadow huge against the
ceiling and two walls.  I shrank back a little.  There was a poof and
a
pow
.

And Doug tumbled back into the middle of the bed, same
teeshirt
, same plaid boxers, same look of nausea on his
face, same convulsive grip on the bedspread, probably the same trapped food
particles between his two front teeth.  “What?” he said blankly.

“First witness,” the Devil said.  “Did I deliver a
night of passion for Danielle?”

“It was a pretty good night,” Doug said uncertainly.

“For you, maybe!”
I
flared.   

“Well, yeah, mostly for me.”

“Let’s look at that contract again,” I said, grabbing it
from the bed and smoothing the wrinkles out. 

“It guarantees ME a night of passion WITH DOUG,” I pointed
and looked triumphant.  “I did not have a night of passion with
Doug.  If anything, it was a night of anguish.”

“Danielle, you’re exaggerating,” Doug said in a logical
tone.  “I wasn’t THAT bad.”

“I had to experience that pain and suffering again.  It
took me 20 years to forget it, and you—
“ I
pointed at
the Devil—“YOU made me go through it again.”

That bastard Lucifer sure looked like he was gloating, to
me.  It was then that I realized his weakness.  He seemed like the
sort of small-minded person who would never resist the chance to deliver as
marginal satisfaction as he could get away with, for the most exorbitant price
possible.  Perhaps I could take advantage of this weakness of his. 

“You both had a night of passion,” the Devil said
suavely. 

“You picked a night when Doug and I both knew the
relationship was skidding downhill, and I had to relive the pain of being
disregarded and treated like crap, over again.  That’s not my idea of a
night of passion.”

“Well,” Lucifer coughed discreetly.  “I saw what you
did to yourself.  Doug is my witness.  We all know you achieved—
er
—satisfaction.  You
nitpicked
a definition of passion after your first night together, so I brought you a
second night at no additional charge—“

“What?  You roped my soul into this, and call it no
additional charge?” exclaimed Doug. 

“—as I was saying, at no additional charge to Danielle, she
got a night of
passion,
the kind of sexual passion she
insisted was her object.”

“The contract says a night of passion WITH DOUG.  I had
a night of passion with myself, not even a night, more like ten minutes and the
rest of the time I cried myself to sleep!”

“You were with Doug.  He was right next to you.” 

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Lucifer, but I have a bachelor’s
degree in English, and the prepositional phrase ‘with Douglas Robert Morris’
modifies the noun PASSION, which is in turn the object of the prepositional
phrase ‘of passion.’  The prepositional phrase “with Douglas Robert
Morris” does NOT describe the noun NIGHT, but the noun PASSION.  The
passion has to be WITH Doug Morris,” I said, in the same triumphant way my high
school English teacher used to diagram the Pledge of Allegiance.

The Devil and Doug looked at each other
uncomprehendingly.  “Huh?”

“I can get a linguist in here. 
Expert
witness.
  We’ll nullify that contract of yours, Lucifer.”

“Not so hasty,” Lucifer said.  “I’m dedicated to
customer satisfaction.  I’ll give you another night with Doug.”

“But I have to get to work,” he objected. 

The Devil looked at me.  “You’re right,” he
remarked.  “He’s lame.”  For a second I felt in charity with the
nondescript man.

But then he went and spoiled it in his next breath.  “I
hope you realize just how much you’re getting in return for your pallid little
soul.  I’ve never had to offer a third exchange before. 
Never.”

That was it.  “I don’t like even dignifying that with a
response, but you need to hear this,” I told the Devil.  “You’re just like
all the major manufacturers these days.  Your products must be made in
China, because they’re cheap, they don’t last, they don’t live up to what they
promise, and they cause instant buyer’s remorse.  Your ‘night of passion’
is about as exciting as a
Chia
Pet.”

The guy was impossible to insult.  He burst out
laughing instead.  “Bravo!  I begin to think your soul is not so
pallid after all.”

“I think you get a stinking satisfaction out of giving as little
as you can for a soul.”

“That’s called capitalism,” the Devil said with pride. 
“It’s the American way.  Suck the soul out of customers and employees
alike.”  He grinned at me.  The nondescript man was toying with me,
and he knew I knew it.

“One more night,” he said coaxingly.  “The night is
still young.  It’s still June 21.  And yes, Doug, I will be sure you
get two more hours of sleep before you have to get up for work.”

“Oh, good,” said Doug, relieved.  “Can I go back home
now?”

“Take some Dramamine, you look carsick,” I said snidely.

And they both were gone.

The clock radio said 5 AM, but as I watched, the 5 digit
faded, flipped vertically, and the clock read 2 AM. 
Night
three.

Well, at least I knew what to expect this time.  I
would take to my bed, fall asleep, and then watch a virtual movie of myself
with Doug.  Hadn’t
Aldous
Huxley predicted
movies called “
feelies
” in
Brave New World
? 
I knew better than to ask Doug.  I’d have to remember to look it up
online.  I was feeling a bit better.  I could recall only one other
night that might fit the terms of the contract we had with Daemon Lucifer, CEO
of Prince of Darkness Enterprises.  And that one had been pretty good,
even from my standpoint.  I should have been worried, but I was pretty
sure I’d found a way out of the contract.  I’d check with Jill just as
soon as I could, but in the meantime, why not enjoy reliving some of the
moments which might explain why I had become so addicted to Doug Morris in the
first place?

I slept, and next thing I knew, I was standing in a warm
night breeze outside a tall apartment building on Chicago’s north side.  A
motorcycle was drawing up to the curb, and Young Doug was the driver.

“Oh god,” I said involuntarily. 

“This’ll be good,” said Doug.

“You might be right,” I said.  “Your folks were up at
their cabin for a couple weeks, right?”

“That’s right.  I was pacing the house, horny as hell,
and trying to reach you on the phone.”

“I think I had gone to the symphony with Marie.”

“You two were both such snobs.  No one really likes
that kind of music.”

I said pityingly, “You’re wrong.” 

“Well, I finally got hold of you after 11, if I
remember.  I got right on the motorbike and took the freeways in.  It
was an hour drive, but I knew what I wanted.”

“Notice how you phrase that. 
‘What’
you wanted, not ‘who.’”

“I was 22.  A 22-year-old man with hormones isn’t that
particular.”

“Thanks.”

“Just watch,” he said.  “Relive it.  We’re even
younger in this one.”

“Yeah, things hadn’t gone south yet.”

Young Danielle took the helmet offered her, climbed onto the
back of the motorcycle and gripped Young Doug’s waist.  They set out in
the night, flying down quiet streets and merging onto
uncrowded
freeways.

“I’d forgotten that backpack,” I said.  “I remember I
traveled light, though. 
Maybe a change of underwear and
a toothbrush.”

Young Danielle gripped Doug’s waist and leaned against his
back.  In response, he cradled her thigh with his free hand for a
moment.  A jolt of anticipation sent a shock through her.  I could
feel myself becoming turgid.  Good god.  He really could arouse me
back then.

“Doesn’t the air feel good?  You know, just filling
your lungs with it?” Doug commented.

“Don’t your bones feel good?” I replied.  “Or maybe
that’s just me.  I think sometimes I’m getting arthritis.  All that
jogging I used to do.”

“No, I know what you mean.”

The ride seemed magical, a combination of night covering the
familiar in a cloak of mystery, and the return of boundless energy which
coursed so steadily through my vigorous young body.  All too soon, we
reached the Morris house.  All the lights were off.  Doug and I
slipped off the motorcycle, and he walked it into the garage.  He returned
for me, grasping my hand and pulling me into his house.  A mixed-breed
hound dog met us enthusiastically at the door, jumping up on me and attempting
to lick my face. 

“Down, Travis!” Young Doug ordered.  “I’d put him in
the basement,” he told Young Danielle, “but he’ll just howl.  You don’t
mind, do you?  I’ll close the bedroom door.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Good.”  And with that, he turned to Young Danielle,
clasped her in his arms, and kissed her thoroughly.  My heart raced as I
watched them, and I tried not to betray how rapidly I was breathing, but I
could sense that Doug was doing the same. 

Young Danielle was uttering little “oh” and “um” sounds as
Doug slowly guided her, while relentlessly consuming her with kisses, into his
room, kicking the door shut.

“Now I remember what I saw in you,” I said.  “I’ve
doubted my own judgment for years.  This explains a lot.”

“For me too, Danielle.
  I
wanted you, for sure.  But I knew it wouldn’t work long-term.”

Young Doug turned his bedside lamp on.  He turned back
to Danielle, stripped her with brutal efficiency and pushed her onto his double
bed.  “My god, I’ve been waiting for you.  I’ve been ready for this
for hours,” he murmured to her.  He stripped himself even faster.

“Look at that hard-on,” Doug said. 
“God,
to be that young again.
  I remember hard-
ons
so strong they almost hurt.”  We couldn’t look at it for long, for Young
Doug clambered onto his bed, knelt over Danielle, pulled her legs up over his
shoulders, and plunged deep.  The two cried out.  We two cried
out.  That made four of us crying out.  It was
confusing.   

“Mister Piston,” I said, hardly able to breathe.

“You used to call me that,” Doug agreed.  “Wasn’t I the
bronking
buck.
”

“What you lacked in finesse,” I said
consideringly
,
“you made up for in stamina.”  It was hard to remain detached, watching
and feeling.  I could feel Young Danielle’s body react to his relentless
pounding.  It was delicious.  My entire body was in meltdown. 
It would have been fantastic to relive, but this wasn’t exactly reliving
it.  It was more like watching an NC-17 movie, in the company of your
weird next-door neighbor, you know, the guy who lives with his mother, wears
clothes that look 40 years out-of-date, and has no observable employment. 
You don’t mind waving to him in passing, but avoid having to talk to him. 
So in self-protection, I did what I needed to do in order to retain some
distance. 

“Danielle, honestly.
  Would
you stop humming?”

I kept it up.

“Really?
 
The
Jeopardy
theme?”
  

“Sure, it’s appropriate.  We’re watching a rerun and
discovering on second view how cheesy it all was.”

“I think I just had an orgasm.  Well, the guy I once
was just had one.”

“The girl I once was thought that she could enhance the
sensory experience by shrieking a bit,” I said in a considered tone.

“She just came, Danielle.  You can’t deny that.”

“I won’t deny that she thought she did.  She was too
dumb to know much beyond that it had felt quite good for a prolonged stretch,
there.  Was that the big O?  Who knows?”

“Who cares, Danielle?  As long as—oh, shit, I forgot
about this.  Get ready, here comes the big interruption—“

“What interruption?” I asked, as alarmed as I must have been
the first time it happened.

Doug’s bedroom door exploded inward and Travis the Wonder
Dog flung himself into the room, landing between us in the middle of Doug’s
double bed, wagging his tail, hindquarters and half his spine in effervescent
joy.

“Oh, god,” I commented.  “How could I have forgotten
that?  I suppose he’s passed over to the Rainbow Bridge?”

Young Doug was hustling Travis out of the room, apologizing
to giggling Young Danielle. 

“Oh, for sure.
 
Years ago.”
  We watched as Young Doug locked the
bedroom door and moved his night table against it.  He then turned to
Young Danielle and said, “Don’t even think about going to sleep.  I’m not
done with you yet.”

“Cheesy,” I couldn’t resist commenting, but if I was trying
to sound bored and uninterested, it wasn’t working, and I’m sure Doug could
tell.

My younger self actually whimpered with anticipation. 
This was freaking embarrassing.  I watched Young Doug pull her up on top
of him, watched her ride him slowly while adding a little self-stimulation,
watched her back arch and her head fall back, watched her pant, and felt her insides
lock up for immeasurable seconds before her powerful release spread heat and
pleasure surging through her entire torso.  I watched all this, cracking
one lame joke after another.

It could have been a night of passion in accordance with the
contract binding me to hell, but
ol
’ Diablo wasn’t
thinking.  Typical slimy salesman, he just had to get two souls for the
price of one, and in so doing, ruined it for me.  There was no way I was
going to have a good time now, as a self-conscious
fortysomething
,
with Doug as a witness not only my past reaction, but my present one. 
Nope.  I kept up the wisecracks and feigned a blasé attitude.

“I thought you were pretty good, once,” I told Doug, as the
encore came to an end.  “I’ve had way
better
,
since.”  I’m embarrassed to admit how much vengeful satisfaction I got
from sharing this.

“Really?
  Who? 
Ex-hubby?”

“Oh, come on. 
No, not Josh.
 
He was too impressed with his own length and girth to be at all concerned with
impressing me.”

“Well, who, then?”

“Brian Bunch.”

Doug cracked up laughing.  “What kind of name is that?”

“He couldn’t help his name.”

“When did this happen?” asked Doug, still
sniggering.  

“Not too long ago.  He was a client of Jill’s.”

“Brian Bunch!  Did he look like Mr. Bean?  Did he
wear stretchy white underpants?”

“Maybe.”

“Ha!”

“Well, the joke’s on you guys who coast on your looks. 
Looks fade, but true sexual skill does not.”

“This guy was named Brian Bunch and wore whitey-
tighties
, and you say he had sexual skill. 
Right.”

“I was surprised, too.  Then I started thinking about
it,
and it all made sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I took pity on him because he looked like the type of
guy who couldn’t get a date very easily.  And he probably couldn’t. 
But the gratitude factor was amazing.  Why didn’t I know that?  I’ve
been the grateful one all too often, myself.”

“Are you telling me you gave him mercy sex?”

“Leave it to you, Doug, to put it in such a disgusting
way.  I felt powerful and generous.  I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I felt that way with you all the time.”

“Exactly!
  So you know the end
of the story already.”

“That’s
pathetic,
he showed his
gratitude through sex.”

“Why is it pathetic?  Women do it all the time.”

“Tina doesn’t.”

“Tina is a ball-buster.  You probably are the grateful
one, rather than the other way around.”

I could tell I’d hit the nail right on the head once
again. 

“She is not a ball-buster.  I do appreciate it when
we—damn it, Danielle, this is not your business.”

“That’s fine—but I’ll just leave you with the thought that
you probably do a lot more to make her a satisfied customer than you ever did
for me. 
And why?
  Repeat business. 
Because if you don’t, you won’t get any.
  It’s all
about power.”

“So you had the power with Brian Bunch, huh?”

“Maybe.”
  I couldn’t help the
huge smile that surfaced, just thinking about it. 

“So what did he do that was so special?”

“Why, you want to compare notes to see just how pathetically
you grovel for Tina?”  He didn’t answer.  “Okay, I’ll tell you,” I
relented.  “He spent about two hours with his head between my—“

“Enough!  Just bleach my brain!”

“Well,” I said sulkily.  “You’re the one who asked.”

“So wait a minute.  Why didn’t you ask for a repeat of
Brian Bunch instead of me, if he was that great?”

“Maybe I should have.  But if you want the truth, I
went out with him once and I haven’t heard from him since.  So there are
some not-so-good feelings there.  Unfortunate.”

“Maybe he isn’t that needy after all,” Doug observed. 

“Thanks.  Just another guy who wasn’t that into me,” I
said wryly.

“If my memory serves, the best part is still ahead.”

“What, sleeping?  That’s all we’re doing right
now.  I’d say the show is over.”

“You don’t remember the rest of the night, do you?”

“Why, what happened?”

“Just watch.”

“We’re both sleeping.  What’s there to watch?”

Doug sounded a bit unsure.  “Wait, there’s more…I’m
sure of it.”

Our younger selves continued to sleep.  We watched them
a good half-hour longer, making occasional comments about re-experiencing a
younger body.  I couldn’t get over how rapidly I could fall asleep, and
how quietly I breathed.  There’s something about getting older and putting
on a few pounds that leads to noisy breathing, if not outright snoring. 

“The big night of passion is over, Doug,” I said.  “You’re
getting this confused with a different night.”

“No, I’m not,” he said stubbornly.  “I came four times
in eight hours.”

“Oh ho!”
I said.  “So I’ve
been the gold standard all these years?”

He backpedaled fast.  “No, that’s not it.  It was
just a numbers thing.”

“With you men, it’s ALL a ‘numbers thing.’  So what was
supposed to happen next?”

“You gave me a—wait, don’t you remember?”

“Oh, geez, of course.
  It’s
all about blow jobs.”

“Well,” he said defensively, “I know it happened, and I
was…well,” he went on a bit sheepishly, “I was really looking forward to
reliving that.”

“How can you enjoy this, when I’m right here?  Remember
me, the woman you can’t stand anymore?  Don’t you find that the least bit
off-putting?”