Requiem for the Devil

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Gianna stood up and examined my face. “A definite improvement,” she said.

  I clutched her shoulder. “I need to go sit down before my knees break the floor.”

  I arrived back at our table alone and slumped in my chair.

  “You look much more relaxed,” Beelzebub said.

  “Bub, I have found the perfect woman.”

  “It’s hard to argue with you there, bro. Where’d you go?”

  “The wine cellar.”

  “Ah. So what’s the verdict? Is ’97 a good vintage?”

  After a minute, Gianna joined us again. In our absence, the other six had gotten nicely acquainted and were involved in a lively game of “Truth or Dare.” The irony of three telepathic men who led lives of complete falsehood playing this game was not lost on me. My admiration for my compadres grew as I watched them spontaneously weave complex details of their “lives” into cohesive stories.

  “—and that was only two days after I got out of the Iraqi POW camp,” Belial concluded.

  Veronica squeezed his elbow. “Okay, Bill, your turn to ask now.”

  “I was going to dare Gianna to do something, but judging by the goofy look on Lou’s face, I have a feeling she just did it.” Belial turned to me. “So let’s hear a truth from Louis.”

  “What if I’d rather have a dare?”

  “Then I’ll just dare you to tell the truth about something.”

  “Cheater,” I said.

  “Tell us, Lou, before this week, how many times have you gone out with the same woman twice?”

  “You mean in a row?”

  “Right. In the same year, even.”

  I smiled and stared through my beer at the bottom of my glass. “Never.”

  The women gasped.

  “You’re kidding me,” Gianna said. I shook my head without looking at her.

  “And you’re how old?” Veronica asked.

  “I don’t believe it’s your turn to ask questions,” I said.

  “It’s my turn!” Ellen waved her hand over her head. “And while we’re in the business of embarrassing the lustbirds at the end of the table, Gianna, why don’t you share with everyone what you told me before the set tonight?”

  “What are you talking about?” Gianna said.

  “You remember, you told me what it’s like to fuck Louis.”

  The table hissed with surprise and anticipation.

  “Please, Gianna.” Ellen folded her hands in mock prayer. “It was so cool, you have to share it.”

  “No way I’m repeating it.” Gianna picked up another cigarette and lit it without looking at anyone. “No way.”

  “Come on, it’s the rules.”

  “Gianna,” Beelzebub said, “if you don’t tell us, then when it’s my turn I’m going to ask Ellen what you said, and you know she won’t do it justice.”

  “See, there’s no way out,” Mephistopheles said. “Tell us what you said.”

  The others began to chant: “Truth, truth, truth, truth, truth—”

  “All right! Just shut up.” Gianna took another drag and fixed her eyes on the table. “I said that . . . having sex with—”

  “You said ‘fucking,’” Ellen said.

  “Whatever . . . it’s like being a cheerleader at Armageddon.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Beelzebub said.

  “Shhh.” Ellen put two fingers over his lips. “Let her finish.”

  “Like being caught in a maelstrom,” Gianna continued, “a great battle between good and evil and not knowing which side I’m on or which side is winning and not really caring. I’ve never felt so close to death . . .” she raised her eyes to meet mine, “. . . or so close to life.”

  We all stared at her, and the table’s silence seemed to permeate the entire establishment.

  “Yeah, they all say that,” Beelzebub said.

  The rest of them burst into laughter at his comment, but I kept staring at Gianna and wondering how many indecency laws I was about to break.

  “I think that’s game,” Mephistopheles said, “unless anyone thinks they can top that.”

  Beelzebub stood up. “How ’bout we take this party back to my place? We can walk from here.”

  In haste we paid the bill and stumbled out of the Shack. Gianna and I lagged behind the others, who had paired off and were laughing and bouncing off each other in the first playful stages of lust. Beelzebub put his arm around Ellen and whispered something in her ear. She erupted in the cheeriest chortle I’d heard this century and swayed her body into his as they walked along.

  “Ellen’s shitfaced,” Gianna said to me.

  “They’ll have a good time tonight.” I put my hands in my pockets. “So . . . a cheerleader at Armageddon, huh?”

  “Never had a second date before, huh?”

  “No, I haven’t—hadn’t, rather, until you. By the way, you were amazing tonight.”

  “Nothing I haven’t done for you before.”

  “No, I don’t mean in the wine cellar,” I said. “I mean onstage. You were . . . you were . . . shit, the whiskey is making me stupid. Elated, but stupid. You were great.”

  We neared an intersection. “You know,” Gianna said, “if we take this side street, we could be at my place in ten minutes.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Five minutes if we run.”

  Our friends got not even an extra glance as we took off down the side street, leaping towards Gianna’s apartment building. We were breathless in her lobby, but our panting slowed while we waited for the elevator. The doors closed behind us. We attacked each other with mouths and hands.

  When we reached her apartment, Gianna fumbled with her keys, and I almost smashed in the door in my impatience.

  The sex was scrambling and howling, more like a battle than a union, each of us pawing and clawing for dominance, with no clear victor in the end, only two gasping, exhausted lovers pretending not to notice the atmospheric changes.

  Gianna tilted her head back and blew her bangs off her forehead.

  “This has been lots of fun,” she said. “This week, I mean.”

  “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it.” I watched a drop of sweat creep from her skin onto mine. “I certainly have.”

  She lifted herself off of me and reached for her shirt. “So maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.”

  “Quit what?”

  “Quit this.” Gianna gestured to the space between us. “Quit seeing each other.”

  A door is opening, one I should probably dash through and slam behind me.

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  She hesitated. I could smell her fear. It was contagious.

  “Gianna, I don’t understand this desire to stop doing something that feels so good.”

  “Of course you don’t.” She continued to dress. “You’ve never been in a relationship before. Never felt the dull agony of disappointment.”

  “You think you’ll disappoint me?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. I get it.” My pride was already out the door, in the car, keys in the ignition. I sat up to follow it, but stopped short. “What makes you think I’ll let you down? Tell me your vision of how I disillusion you. Do I commit some atrocious betrayal, or do I just start to smell bad?”

  “Lou, don’t—”

  “If you don’t like me, just tell me, and I’ll leave.” I moved onto the couch next to her and brushed my fingers against her hair. “But I think you do like me. Maybe you like me a little too much for your own comfort.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Maybe you can’t stop thinking about me during your long, tedious days.” My hand traveled down the center of her body, from her neck to her navel. “Maybe you stare at the pages in front of you, but you can’t erase the memory of the previous night. You close your eyes, and you see my face, my body, you feel my hands on your skin, bringing parts of you back to life you thought had died forever.” I slid my hand between her legs. She grabbed my
wrist, but didn’t move it away.

  “Louis, I can’t keep seeing you just for the sex. That’s not a good enough reason.”

  I kissed her jawline in front of her ear. “Then let me stay until you find a better reason.”

  “I’m afraid that I will,” she said.

  “You’re afraid?” My fingers twitched. “Fear excites me.”

  Her breath quickened. “Even your own fear?”

  “Especially my own. If my fear doesn’t paralyze and consume me, then it can lead the way to strange and beautiful new worlds.” I let my hand heat up a few degrees. “Like the one inside your mind.”

  Her chuckle mixed with a gasp of desire. “That’s a scary one.”

  “I want to know you, Gianna. I want to know what else you fear. I want to know what makes you laugh and what makes you cry, what makes you want to kill and what makes you want to die.”

  Her grip on my wrist loosened. “Your voice.”

  “Go on. Tell me.”

  “Your voice, it crawls under my skin and heats everything until I feel like I’ll burst into flames if I can’t get you next to me.”

  “And this burning,” I traced the inside of her thigh with the barest edge of my fingertip, “do you fear it?”

  Her hand slid up my arm to my shoulder, and she looked straight into my eyes. “No,” she said. “It makes me feel alive. But I don’t know how much longer I can live with it.”

  “Please don’t make me leave, Gianna,” I whispered into her mouth.

  “No.” She shivered, then pulled my body tight against hers. “Don’t leave, Louis. Not tonight.”

  Sometimes I’m too persuasive for my own good, I thought. Then I stopped thinking about missed opportunities. Then I stopped thinking at all.

  7

  Sed Tu Bonus Fac Benigne

  A bleating telephone jarred me out of sleep. Gianna groaned and disentangled her limbs from mine before stumbling out of bed to reach the phone.

  “Hello?” Her voice was low and hoarse. “Hey, girlfriend, how’s it goin’? Sorry we ran out on you last night. It was kind of an emergency. How’d it go? . . . That good, huh?” She laughed and walked into the living area. “You’re a maniac. No, of course I won’t tell him you said that . . . of course I’m lying. Are you gonna see him again? . . . Oh, thank God. It would be too incestuous and freaky for you to date Lou’s brother.”

  She lowered her voice and moved into the kitchen. “Actually, I kind of changed my mind about that . . . Yeah, he’s here . . . Shut up! Do not even mention the ‘b’ word. I’ve only known him a week . . . Yeah, what a week, but still, Ellen, come on. Let’s not jump the gun here.”

  Antigone leapt onto the bed, curled her body around my head, and began to purr. The sound blotted out Gianna’s voice for a moment.

  “Well . . . yeah, I suppose, happier than I’ve been . . . since I can remember. I’m sure it’s temporary.” She yelped. “Sorry, I just looked at myself in the mirror. Girl, I’m getting too old for this shit. I should be making scrambled eggs and watching cartoons with my two-point-three children in some suburban Cape Cod with aluminum siding. Huh? . . . I don’t know, maybe out golfing or at a Lions Club meeting or something. I don’t see a guy in that picture. . . . I know, I know. In that respect, this universe beats that parallel one by a mile. Hey, my head hurts too much to get philosophical. I’ll call you later. Go back to sleep . . . Uh-huh. You rock, too, sweetie. ’Night.”

  Gianna hung up the phone. “Well, Louis, it looks like you’ve got a new girlfriend.”

  I flipped over to gape at her. “What?!”

  “Antigone. She worships you already.” Gianna climbed into bed and stroked the cat’s back. “It took her months to get this close to me. She was a stray, you know.”

  “A tragic heroine?” I said.

  “Something like that. You know, Ellen said your brother is the most edible man she’s ever met. Promise you won’t tell him.”

  “Trust me, he already knows. They’re not dating now, are they?”

  “Hell, no,” Gianna said. “Perfect one-night-stand material, according to Ellen. Cute, young, and quite the sprinter. Wham, bam, thank you, sir. Everyone’s happy this morning. After all, we all got incredibly laid last night. What’s not to like?”

  I should have had more faith in Beelzebub. He could leave a decent impression if he tried.

  “Speaking of perfect,” Gianna traced my right pectoral muscle with her fingertip, “I believe I’ve taken a complete inventory of your body. . . .”

  “Is everything there?”

  “Almost everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. “No scars, no birthmarks, not so much as a freckle or an extra hair.”

  “You should see me on the inside. It’s pretty gross.”

  “Seriously, though, it’s bizarre.”

  “Are you complimenting me or telling me I’m a freak?”

  “Both, I guess.” She grinned. “Are you sure you’re not an alien?”

  “Damn, my cover’s blown. Okay, I am actually an alien. My mission is to travel from planet to planet, fornicating endlessly with the single most beautiful native specimen I can find.”

  Gianna snuggled in close to me. “Endlessly?”

  “I think I made the right choice for Earth. It was between you and this walrus I saw. Where I come from, tusks are very sexy.” I kissed her shoulder and ran my hand over her hip. She caressed my back, then stopped.

  “That’s odd,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Please, just turn around and let me look at your back.”

  I obliged her. “What is it? Did you find the imperfection you were looking for?”

  “No, that’s the problem,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night I could have sworn I scratched your back hard enough to make it bleed.” She touched the skin over my ribs. “This morning there’s no marks, not a trace.”

  I didn’t panic. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Bullshit. It drove you wild. You could barely control yourself.”

  “I guess I have a vague memory.” That “vague memory” was awakening a fierce arousal again, but I feigned indifference. “I guess you didn’t do it as hard as you thought you did. Plus, I take lots of vitamin E. Keeps me looking perfect.” I reached up to trace the mascara smudge down her cheek. “You, however, look like one of those refugees they show on the evening news.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “It’s very compelling. Makes me want to shower you with money or U.N. peacekeepers. So what do you want to do today?”

  She grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Wanna watch cartoons? I’ll make scrambled eggs.”

  “Make mine over easy, and you’ve got a date.”

  “Cool.” She gave me a quick kiss. “First, though, I’m going to whip out the makeup remover and rejoin the ranks of the living.”

  Gianna was halfway to the bathroom when her phone rang. She trotted back to it and picked it up.

  “Hello? . . . Hello? . . . Who is this? Is this—?” Her face hardened, and she slammed the receiver back into its cradle.

  “Who was that?”

  She looked at the silent phone and tugged on her bangs. “Um . . . I might as well tell you. That was Adam, my ex. You remember, Mr. Vanilla?”

  “How could you tell?”

  “Sigh through the nose,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When he calls, he doesn’t say anything. He just sighs, through his nose, like this.” She inhaled, then exhaled through her nostrils.

  “I see,” I said. “Then he’s called you before?”

  “Yes, a few times.”

  “How many times is a few?”

  “In the last six months, since we broke up . . .” she looked to the ceiling and counted on her fingers “. .
. forty-six times.”

  “Forty-six times? He’s stalking you, Gianna. Where does he live? I’ll break his—”

  “No, you won’t break anything, Louis. Take it easy. The calls are tapering off, anyway. This is the first time he’s phoned in over a week.”

  “You’ve hardly been home in the last week. You’ve been shacking up with me, remember?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether I’m here or not. He’ll leave a sigh through the nose on my answering machine.”

  The phone rang again. I reached for it, and Gianna smacked my hand away. “I can answer my own phone, okay? Hello? Hey, Marion, what’s up?” She covered the mouthpiece and whispered to me, “It’s my boss.”

  I found my shirt behind the couch and put it on.

  “No, no, it’s okay, I was awake,” Gianna said into the phone. “Yeah . . . right. I know the one. God, do I ever know that bill. It’s been in subcommittee ever since I got here. So what—wait, me? When? Jesus God. Shit. No, I’d love to do it, are you kidding? I’ve got to start preparing like, two weeks ago.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll be there in an hour. Thanks, Marion. I swear I won’t let you down.”

  Gianna hung up the phone. “Yes!” She pumped her fists in the air. “Guess what I’m doing next week? I’m testifying before Congress on the biggest bill of the session, HR 4875—you know, the so-called War on Crime Bill.”

  “I’m familiar with it.”

  “It’s in the Judiciary Committee’s Subcommittee on Crime. The hearing’s on Friday. Marion wants me to be an expert witness. I’m gonna kick ass.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Gianna paused in her jubilation. “I’m sorry, Lou, but I don’t think I’ll have time to see you this week. I’ll be working on my testimony night and day. Maybe after the session’s over we can get together again.”

  The word “maybe” crawled into my ear and gnawed at my brain.

  “We don’t have to go out.” I moved closer to her. “I could help you—bring takeout to your office for dinner, drive you to work,” I ran my fingers through her hair, “give you a way to release your tension at the end of the day.”