"I have to be there at ten.” Virgil placed his round glasses on his nose. “Well, I got to go.” He reached up and kissed her on the cheek.
She followed him to the door and grumbled inaudibly as he climbed into the family's Astro-Wagon. Immediately upon clearing the driveway, his thoughts turned to the job interview. He would be interviewing at Metro Motors, the most exclusive dealership around, carrying nearly every expensive car made. With his new salary, the bills would be paid up, and the monsters.... Virgil sighed, “Well, one can only hope."
It wasn't that far of a drive to the wealthy suburbs of Metropolitan Miami. He loved Miami and found it hard to believe this was a crime-infested city. He dismissed the thought and parked the car near the back of the half-sunken building—a white stucco palace sculpted in traditional Spanish villa style. The building sported high plate windows so the rich could be taunted and the poor shunned.
Virgil pulled his slumped shoulders up in an attempt to look taller. He walked in and paused almost against his will. Although there weren't many customers, the ones that were there were willingly being sold. Forcing himself to move again, he tracked across the luxurious pile carpet, locating the sales desk by the complimentary champagne sign, and approached the crisply-dressed man who attended it.
"May I be of assistance?” the man beamed as Virgil approached.
"Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I'm Virgil Spiddlebock, and I have an interview at ten."
"Katherine is expecting you.” He picked up the red phone and conversed hastily with someone. “She'll be right with you."
"Thank you,” Virgil smiled, trying to hide his intimidation.
He turned and casually watched the action of the place. The elegance was otherworldly; even the burnt red color of the carpet offered promises of material wealth. Then, behind him, Virgil heard something mechanical. Far behind the sales desk, an elevator door opened. Funny, Virgil thought, he didn't notice it before.
The door opened; it was dark except for a silhouette inside. What a shadow it was, though; a slender, statuesque figure reminiscent of Greek deities.
Katherine strode seductively, confidently from the lift and approached Virgil. “Mr. Spiddlebock?” Her full, red lips formed sultry words of pure cream.
"Yes?” He looked at the vision before him. Her hair was worn long, and she was packed tightly into a blue dress. But it was her eyes that were her most captivating feature. They held no reflection, no light, no shapes. “Yes, I'm Virgil Spiddlebock."
"Hi, I'm Katherine.” She extended her hand. “I'm looking forward to our interview. Follow me, please."
He shook her hand nervously, and then followed, listening to her talk. She spoke about the store and clients, but he couldn't quite focus on her words as the sway of her sensuous hips proved to be a great distraction. They entered a soft-colored office complete with several original works of art by Miro.
"Sit down.” She sat silently, like a feather floating down. “I'll tell you right now, Virgil, I like you already."
He smiled shyly. “Thank you."
"You seem to have the quality I am looking for—honesty. An honest face sells cars.” There was a peculiar glimmer in her smile. “You, my friend, can sell cars."
"Do you really think so?” He was genuinely surprised with her perceptiveness.
"Trust me, I can tell. Let's go out into the showroom and see how things go, shall we?"
"Let's shall.” He giggled as if he'd already browsed on too much complementary champagne.
They returned to the spacious showroom and noticed the sales girl rallying between two customers. Katherine glanced once at her, and the girl abandoned one customer while Katherine slithered over to the other for the strike.
"How much is this Lamborghini?” asked the smartly-dressed woman.
"It's $22,000 with personal investment,” Katherine replied expertly.
"$22,000! That's a steal!"
"It sure is,” she answered confidently, knowing this one was sold. “This is Virgil. He'll be helping you."
"Excuse me, Katherine, may I talk to you?” He smiled at the woman. “Please continue looking. I'll be right with you."
Out of ear-shot, he stopped her.
"What is it?” Katherine asked.
"These prices? Are they right?"
"Yes, they are correct.” Her empty eyes fixed on Virgil, making him uncomfortable.
"What's a personal investment?” He squirmed slightly. “I've never heard of that before."
"A signature for credit,” she said with certain coolness. “All we really need is the signature on special orders.” Suddenly, Katherine smiled, and the sinister feeling mysteriously lifted. “Go ask your customer if she would like a custom order."
Without another word, Virgil returned to the woman. They conversed comfortably for nearly twenty minutes, and she ordered her car.
* * * *
"Virgil?” whispered a sexy voice as he felt a frisky nibble on his neck. “Virgil? Do you want to do it?"
He turned to his now attentive wife. “No, Muffin, I've got work to do."
She retreated and silently simmered. “Look at me!” she demanded, and his stomach rushed. A sleeker Muffin stood in a large drape-like nightgown of black lace. “I bought this just for you since black has mysteriously become your favorite."
Gracefully, Vigil rose from the rocker and laid his gold pipe in a crystal ashtray on the desk. “You are lovely, precious, but not tonight. I'm behind on these custom orders."
"Damn your custom orders!” she angrily shouted. “You've had that job for months, and you pay more attention to it than me.” She opened the gown and dared him. “Look at me. I've lost 65 pounds, and you haven't said a thing."
"You look great.” He pecked her on the cheek and moved from the study of their fancy new house toward the den.
"I hate it here! Look at it!” She paused for emphasis. “Oh, sure, the fine clothes are nice, and the ten-room house is nice, but where's it all coming from, Virgil?"
"Don't worry, pet.” He came to her and smiled. “I'm not doing anything illegal. I sell fancy cars to rich people."
"Oh, yeah?” she chided. “Then why do we still have the Astro-Wagon?"
Virgil hated it when she brought up this subject. “Where are the children?"
"At shuffleboard lessons; they'll be back at six.” She instantly grabbed him with renewed passion. “That leaves an hour for nookie-nookie-num-nums."
Virgil felt like a hapless black cat escaping Pepe LePew. “Now, Muffin, there will be plenty of time for this on the cruise. Right now I need a shower and a good night's sleep."
"I'll wash your back.” She pinched Virgil's butt, but he ignored it. “Fine, be that way,” she puffed before storming off to another room.
Walking through the cavernous white-tiled bathroom that had two of everything, he went to the shimmering brass shower stall and turned the faucets. Steam soon filled the room, and he disrobed.
The shower felt good against his skin, yet no matter how hard he scrubbed or how much soap he used, Virgil still felt unclean. Muffin's accusations haunted him. True, Muffin didn't have the personality of a bulldozer anymore; she was sweet and very attentive. The children were actually tolerable instead of troll-like. His mother-in-law never came over anymore. Some changes he could handle. So why did he always feel so damned uncomfortable? The water amplified the hypnotic state of his revelation.
At last, Virgil came out of the shower and lightly toweled off. Thick steam hung in the air, condensing into fog on the large mirror. He tried to remember the last time he had seen his face in the mirror, but couldn't. He wiped a small oval with his towel and squatted to get a full-eye view.
His hollow eyes were dark like the elusive Katherine. He had only seen her once since being hired. His face seemed long, tired, and unhappy. Muffin was right—he had changed.
He'd been thinking a lot lately. About the old black woman, the bag lady who appeared just about two weeks ago, an
d made everyone nervous. The cops removed her, sometimes twice a day, but she would pop up again right in front of the dealership. She never talked to anyone but herself. She didn't say anything much; she just mumbled. Virgil looked in the mirror and smiled. There it was! He recognized it even though it vanished instantly: a shade of his former self, a happier self, someone who was whole.
"You're just tired, Virg.” He sighed. “Go to bed."
* * * *
Although he never really liked the drive to the dealership, the August heat made it especially unbearable. He piloted the Astro-Wagon to the rear and entered the back way. As he opened the door, the smell of black coffee wafted out pleasantly. Everyone had gathered about the break table. Virgil returned their greetings courteously, but was preoccupied with a memo on the bulletin board regarding the bag lady: no donuts, coffee, food, or anything was to be offered to her. It was signed by Katherine.
Virgil got a cup of coffee and added sugar. He sipped it while walking casually through the showroom to make ready for the morning's opening. As he got closer to the main doors, he saw her. She looked ancient, and time had scarred her unmercifully. The lady rocked rhythmically back and forth while mumbling to herself.
Curious, Virgil unlocked the doors and cautiously approached the woman wearing a tattered black tuxedo shirt and baggy gauchos secured around her bony waist with a rope. Her dry and kinky gray hair, or what was left of it, strayed from beneath a green beret covered with old crucifixes. All her goods were gathered about her like children listening intently.
"Good morning,” Virgil said.
She stopped talking and looked up at him. “Good mornin'. How y'all dis fine day?"
"I've been better,” Virgil said. “Why do you sit out here? I mean there must be a better place for you to go."
She laughed as if she were the only one who knew the punch line to the greatest joke ever told. “Boy, if'n I'd tell you why, I can't reckon you'd understand me."
"Probably not.” He squatted and handed her a cup of coffee.
She didn't say thank you. Virgil rose, walked back in, and returned to his desk. Everyone had cleared out, and Virgil wasn't sure where they'd gone. Then behind him, Virgil heard something mechanical. The elevator opened, yet no one was in there. He knew, however, it was meant for him; no invitation was necessary. Apprehensively, he entered the elevator. The car had no buttons except for a downward arrow.
When the elevator stopped, Virgil stepped from within and into a dismal abyss resembling a high aircraft hanger. There were low, bluish lights off in the distance, circling the whole gargantuan room.
"Virgil.” Katherine's voice echoed around and behind him. “Over here."
Locating Katherine's silhouette just yards away, he approached. For the first time, Virgil felt true fear, as if the world above had digested him. Katherine became more clear as he moved closer.
"I felt it was time we had a little talk.” Katherine closed in, pressing her firm body against him. “I don't think you understand.” She forced her lips on his. Her tongue probed through his willing lips and danced with his; then she pulled away. “Your sales are falling off. I need sales, Virgil."
The kiss was surprising, but Virgil had become numb from the inside out. “Just what am I selling?” Virgil asked. “What is the real cost?"
"The cost?” Katherine pulled away, laughing. She walked strong and confident like an all-knowing tour guide. “Exquisite salvation, Virgil, that's our price. All the pleasures of Hell for all that humans want.” She paused and glanced back at him. “These can be explicit sins, secret desires, and all the pain. Virgil, come see what you've done."
They walked together, the blue lights remaining at a distance like some fine horizon from which no sun ever rose. A harsh spotlight closed in on them, and in its beam was the form of a human, the woman of his first sale.
"She was in an unfortunate accident,” Katherine said. “The car was recovered, restored, and resold. She now will pay off the remainder of her balance forever."
The woman was impaled on fine wire-like spikes, resembling a fly caught in a harp. She couldn't speak because four large metal hooks pierced her lips, pulling them apart like a lab animal poised for dissection. No blood dripped from her wounds.
"Virgil,” Katherine cooed, “I know what you are thinking and there is no way out."
The spotlight retreated into the darkness.
His numbness was profound. “Where is she going?” Virgil asked.
"Someone else has need for her,” Katherine said.
"What do you mean?"
"Someone desires to experiment or play with her,” Katherine explained as if it were a universally known fact. “Maybe you will want her sometime."
Virgil turned to Katherine, battling within himself to feel again. “I didn't know.” Remorse mercifully surfaced from his soul.
"You are the perfect believable salesman. You're a compliment to the showroom's magic.” Katherine smiled bewitchingly. “But you've been slipping lately."
Virgil heard the elevator open again. He knew she expected more sales and went without instruction. The doors shut, and he was delivered back to the showroom. He thought of Muffin and thanked heaven he hadn't bought a car for the family. He shuddered at the image of his family suffering at Katherine's hands. But he knew his soul was dead; he was living high off the misfortune of others. They never came back, and now he understood. He got them to sell their souls for cars. He was no better than the buyers.
Outside the showroom, Virgil saw the old black woman rocking and talking. She held in her hands a tattered cardboard fan imprinted with Jesus on one side, and she fanned the heat away. He quickly stalked across the burnt, blood-red carpet and out the door. She conversed joyfully with unknown people.
"Who are you? Why are you here?” Virgil asked.
She glanced up at him. “Did y'all hear that?” She laughed and shook her head. “I imagine you know by now, Virgil.” He said nothing and reached out an arm to help her get up. “Sells me a car, Virgil."
"Sell you a car?” He recoiled fearfully. “No, I mean, I can't.” His mind became cluttered, his thoughts meandered, the remorse profound. Muffin, the kids, their happiness.
"I have a car for you,” Virgil suddenly said.
He walked quickly and was amazed she was keeping up. They went behind the building to the Astro-Wagon.
"Dis what you gonna sells me?” she asked.
"It's all I have,” Virgil said.
She knelt down and pulled a dollar from her beaten shoe. “Dats the last money I got."
"Sold.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. He buried them deep in her bony old hand. She stopped him as he began to walk away. Only now, there wasn't a silliness about her. She wasn't just a colorful character anymore.
"Thank you,” she said as she pulled a crucifix off her beret and handed it to him.
"What's this for?” Virgil asked.
"A token piece o’ hope,” she said.
"There is no hope for me. God, there's got to be a way to undo what I've done."
"When youse become a willin’ player, youse can't escape your winnings. Youse done won all this, Virgil. Youse put a lot of people over the edge they might otherwise have avoided. I can't help y'all; you reap what you sow. But youse done right by your family; youse protected them from her."
Virgil clutched the crucifix tightly. Tears rolled down his face. He was a willing player in this game of Katherine's; there was no escaping the truth. He knew there was no other choice, and he couldn't run. He returned to the showroom. It was still deserted, no customers, no salespeople, and no Katherine. Motion seemed slow; every step weighed a ton. Holding the cross tightly as he approached the far end of the showroom, he noticed the elevator stood open, waiting. Virgil stepped in, and the doors whisked shut. The car dropped in the shaft, moving downward into uncertainty.
Katherine was there waiting as the doors opened. “I knew you would be back. You had no choice.
There's no way to escape what you've caused."
She approached him, but he couldn't see her face. Remorse swelled in him. “I may have done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of, but I can't do this anymore,” he said, knowing his fate was sealed. “I am damned.” The cross fell away.
The lights illuminated the arena with long shadows. Katherine was no longer the beauty her illusion portrayed. She was very old and bore long spindly hands like claws.
Virgil stood unmoving in one spot as a blinding white light moved to claim him. It stopped over him for several moments. Virgil tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.
The first wire shot like a needle through his wrist and pulled it high. Then a flying fury of a hundred tiny cables streaked through his limbs and left him helplessly immobile. Every wound tingled, and the wires did something he hadn't noticed before: they had the tiniest of barbs, and they slowly rotated. The wounds would never heal, yet mysteriously never bleed. Then, behind him, Virgil heard something mechanical.
SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque Page 20