“Speaking of enjoying your job,” Deedy says. “How do you think you’d feel about working outdoors?”
“As opposed to hanging out in a giant grease trap?” Joe responds. “Sounds pretty sweet.”
“Good. Well then, tomorrow you start in construction,” Deedy says with authority.
“Wait.” Joe panics just a bit. “Building things? Important things? I mean, nothing too important, right? No one will have to live in anything I build.” He is actually getting scared. “Cooking with no experience is one thing. Buildings are big. They can fall down and land on people.”
Deedy laughs. “You will be just fine. Tomorrow, dear boy, we shall see exactly what you can build.” And he pushes a post-it note across the desk.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
So this whole guardian angel thing is getting a little sucky. First of all, Joe is doing everything he can to avoid me. To include leaving early so he can ditch me and walk to work all by himself. How are you supposed be a guardian angel to a son of a bitch like that? Second, I have to deal with my own residual amount of jealousy over the fact that he kept his job longer than a day. Gabby gave me the whole “everyone has to take their own journey” line of crap, but I can’t help but feel slightly bruised in the ego department. That leads to other thoughts, like I wonder if Deedy likes him more than he likes me. And yes, I get that Deedy is the creator of all and loves each of us, but that is abstract. Once you accept that God exists and is capable of unconditional love, you can think in abstract terms, but on a limited level. How many religions in the land of the living not only deliver the message that God is real, but also feel the need to say they are the only one that is getting everything right? Why else would a person knowing that they are going to Heaven feel the need to not only need to believe, but also hang onto the idea that someone else is going to Hell? Sibling rivalry, that’s why. And I hate to admit it, but after a few dozen years of actually being able to hang out with Him? I too sometimes forget, and become very protective of my own relationship with him.
“Isn’t pride one of the seven deadly sins?” That smooth baritone fills my ears like chlorinated water in a swimming pool and sent a chill down my spine. I know that voice. My mystery man is back.
“Oh fabulous. More fucking intrigue,” I say, while I think is he another telepath?
“Are you surprised there is more than one of us?” He decides to give up a little of his mystery. I don’t know whether to be glad of that or scared.
“A little. Why haven't I met you before now?” There are many angels in Heaven. Billions of billions of people and at least millions of millions of angels. Way more than I could ever meet in a thousand years. That is not the point. The fact of the matter is this one is pissing me off.
And here’s why. He is way too handsome for the comfort level of any human female. He is really enjoying the whole mystery man persona, which gives him an arrogant air, and he knows way too much about me. Hence I am going to be as snarky as I can possibly muster. And as much as an archangel will allow, I suppose.
“How come every time we meet, Ms. Patterson, you are in the street like a stray cat?”
Okay, so that makes me laugh a little.
“Guardian angel duty,” I answer. “And I prefer feral cat.”
“Hmmm...if your reputation is to be believed, I would have thought you’d be further advanced in your duties. Is there some reason you have not achieved your full potential?” He speaks slowly, almost like he is already bored with this conversation.
“And if my albeit limited experience with angels is correct, then you already know I asked for this assignment,” I said with the sheer exasperation of a person who is already tired of this conversation.
“Guilty as charged. What I don’t know is why.” Now, he perks up, with a little curiosity.
“And I don’t know you at all. Not even your name. So let’s call it even, okay?”
He laughs a deep rough laugh and extends his hand. “Call me Mr. Lugner.”
I am surprised. He just revealed two pieces of personal information in less than five minutes. Maybe if I continue to act like I couldn’t care less who he is, I’ll get even more. “Nice to know what to call you, Mr. Lugner. Whenever you successfully stalk me on the streets of Hell.” I take his hand and instead of shaking, he pauses, just kind of holding mine. The gesture is without malice or a sense of the lascivious. It just feels…nice.
I enjoy the warmth of his touch for a moment before I pull back. “However, now I must go play chaperone to a construction worker.” I turn to walk away from him.
“So soon? What a shame. We were just getting to know one another, Ms. Patterson. I do look forward to our next encounter.”
“Yeah, well. You don’t seem to have a problem finding me. It seems I don’t have a choice as to whether or not there will be one. So, I will just say until next time,” I say, sounding so much like the bitch I used to be, back in my breathing days. I almost get a little nostalgic for my former life.
Lugner turns and walks the exact same direction as I am heading. I don’t want to look like I’m walking with him. I also don’t want to look like I am following him. Damn, I thought these stupid social conundrums died when I did. Now, I walk in the opposite direction so that I can go around the block and end up coming from the other direction to Joe’s construction site.
Even though I don’t feel the heat the same way that the damned feel it, it is much warmer than it normally would be. It must be residual or something. So while for a Hell resident it feels like standing about six feet away from a bonfire the size of the State of Delaware, to me it feels like a normal summer afternoon in Vegas. Hot, but not Hell hot. Anyway, by the time I get to Joe, I am a sweaty mess.
Joe is walking off the site just as I approach. I immediately forget the hot mess I have become. Instead, I stand in the middle of the street, laughing out loud at poor Joe. He looks like a mental patient trapped in a sauna.
“Damn.” Is all I can manage.
“Fuck you.” Is all he can manage. Now we are both laughing.
As I walk and he hobbles toward the agency, I am thinking that I am making small talk, but in reality I am ranting about Lugner. Who does that guy think he is? Trying to be mysterious and incredible looking and throwing me off my game. Joe is listening, sort of.
“I’m not helping you at all, am I?” I say, realizing I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes on a giant Lugner diatribe.
“Well, the pain developing in my head is a distraction from the pain in my back. That counts as help,” he says, laughing. “By the way, Louise, I am sorry about leaving early to miss you yesterday.”
“So you admit it was to avoid walking with me?” I say.
“Yes. But not because I don’t like you, and I actually missed talking to you. I just thought that maybe I needed some time to myself. Oh, and I know that you are a spy.”
“A spy? Wow. I suddenly feel like a Bond girl!” I say with a flourish.
“You know what I mean. I know that you don’t want to hang out with me, it’s your job. I get that you are not really an elevator repair person.” He smiles at me.
“You really are a tremendous guy Joe,” I say warmly. “And by the way, I did do something to that elevator that day. I just haven’t figured out if I was the one who fixed it, or if I was the one who broke it.”
I leave him at the elevator doors this time, and give him a pat on the back as he goes inside.
“Not coming up?” he asks.
“No, I need to go see a friend,” I say. What I can’t tell Joe is that I can’t face the emptiness of that place for me. So I just smile and say, “Good luck up there.” And walk away.
But you know what? I wasn’t lying about the friend. I am going to go hang out with Hank. I will tell him about my new job, and I will tell him why. We will talk about Joe and we will laugh about Lugner, and I will forget, at least for a brief moment that I am all alone again in Hell.
When I get to Hank’s ap
artment, it begins to remind me of the old days when Linda and I were together day in and day out. He answers the door and greets me with a giant grin.
“Lou, if you are gonna keep hanging out here, then the refrigerator is over there.” Hank knows from previous experience that I have no problem whatsoever in the “helping myself” department. If anything, he should be scared that I just may decide to make myself a four course meal while I’m in his kitchen. Of course, he also knows I don’t cook. So instead I just go through the cupboards scrounging for chips and dip. I also fix myself and Hank sodas and bring everything out on a tray.
“Wow. Way to make yourself at home,” he says, reaching for the chips.
“Sorry. I thought that was what you meant by pointing out the kitchen.”
“It was. That’s why I congratulated you,” he says, laughing.
We settle back and start to talk about my new assignment. When I tell Hank that I am back in Hell acting as a guardian, of course he questions whether or not I have seen Linda. I explain to him that I probably won’t see her, and that she can’t see me. When he questions me further I have to tell him that right now I am blinded to a lot of things too. Particularly Deedy. And how that has been bothering me so much.
He comes over and sits on the side of my chair, putting his arm around me. “Louise, this is an amazing sacrifice you are making just for the chance that you may see Linda. You have no idea how grateful I am.”
Then we start to talk about Lugner. Of course Hank is laughing as I convey the story of Lugner’s appearances and his general mystery. However, after about a half hour he drops the big question.
“So why you?”
“I’ve been asking myself that too. I’m thinking maybe Deedy sent him?”
“Maybe, or perhaps you’ve become something to see, Lou. You know, asking for a demotion, agreeing to return to Hell, and I have heard that you have been having a constant argument with Deedy about not having wings?” he says with laughter.
“Hey! Like you don’t secretly want them too. Who wouldn’t want wings? And powers? The powers are the coolest part. Gabby and Lugner with their mind reading, and Gabby can heal. Who knows what else Lugner can do?”
“Louise, you know that those wings and powers come with a whole host of other obligations, right?”
“Well, yes. But think about that too. I mean, when was the last time you heard about a town getting smote, or some sighting of a host of angels in the sky? There’s not too much field work left for an angel. Gabby makes coffee and ensures people get to their appointments on time. She’s basically a coffee pot and alarm clock with the ability to rain fire down on a village if commanded to,” I say.
“And which part of that do you aspire to be?” Hank asks.
“All of it, as long as it comes with a big set of pretty wings!” We laugh together, and continue for a while longer. When I leave I go back to my apartment and lie there, looking into the darkness. I say into it, even though I know that she can’t hear, “Linda, know that you are loved.” Then I drift off to sleep with a smile for the first time since taking this assignment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Linda opens her eyes and slams her hand down on the alarm clock. She hates that thing with the same intensity she used to hate the cabbage soup diet that Louise used to make her go on with her all time. That stupid diet never made her lose two dress sizes as promised. It just gave her terrible gas and made her breath smell like a moose.
She doesn’t even understand why they let you sleep down here. By the time she is able to think straight, she realizes she feels even more tired than she did when she went to bed. Is that more of Hell’s magic? That sleep actually has the reverse effect on the body than it should?
She gets out of bed and makes her way around the room, avoiding the closet. She hates the closet most, and would rather take a beating than get dressed for her stupid job.
It's just all so pointless. Her job doesn’t even make sense. She has met two of the three partners, both of whom are trolls sitting in dark offices all day doing fuck-all. They never see clients and they never leave to go anywhere like court, or to a bar, or anywhere else lawyers go to in Linda’s imagination. However, they seem to produce an extraordinary amount of files. Which they then give to Linda so that she can run around and haphazardly place them in random drawers. Linda sighs heavily. Give up trying to understand and just go. She opens the door to the wretched closet. Today’s torture du jour is a velour running suit the color of bubble gum. Why do they make clothes in neon pink? Is there anyone ever born who looks good in neon anything, let alone pink?
Is everything down here going to cause these futile questions? Will she someday actually be used to her new life? Linda honesty doesn’t think that will make her feel any better. She thinks that once you get used to being in Hell is when your soul is really damned.
She pulls on the tracksuit, puts her hair up in a messy bun, and heads down to the front desk. Rude Randy, who brought along a horrible case of adult acne, as well as a bad attitude, is still down engrossed in the computer. Linda has seen what is available on the computers down here, so she can only assume that Rude Randy has serious behavior disorders.
“Concierge,” she says, her voice dripping in sarcasm.” “Any messages for me?”
He doesn’t even look up. He just reaches under the counter as though he’s about to pull out a package or an envelope. He then pulls out his empty hand and presents Linda with a single finger.
Ha! Linda laughs as she walks out. Torturing rude Randy is the only fun she has down here. But with that done for the day, there is nothing left to do but go to her ridiculous job.
She stops for coffee, although, again she really doesn’t understand why. The coffee shop on her way to work serves coffee that could be drunk with a fork. It tastes like old mud that some tribe of aboriginal people walked barefoot through on a regular basis. And this is not a tribe that subscribes to daily bathing. In short, the coffee sucks ass. But it’s like a compulsion. Linda cannot seem to walk to work without stopping and getting a huge steaming cup of it.
She arrives at the office exactly twenty minutes late, which makes her the first one to arrive. She has to wait outside due to the fact that Suzy, the office manager who hired her, refuses to give her a key. Suzy actually refuses Linda everything. Ever since they had that little spat in front of Mr. Davis, she has made it her number one priority to make Linda’s life even more miserable.
She even refused to tell Linda her name. And although Linda finally just labeled her with the moniker Miss Meany, and she was actually starting to answer to it, it did bother Linda more that she likes it admit. Finally one day, Linda learned her name by accident. She had to wait until one of the partners poked his head out and screamed Suzy’s name.
So now Suzy likes to make sure Linda has no key, and Linda has to stand outside like a beggar until someone else shows up to let her in. While she waits, her attention is drawn to the construction site across the street. One guy in particular looks especially miserable. He’s kind of stocky and sweating like a whore in church. Of course the suit complete with dress shoes are not helping matters. His closet is cruel. She looks down and once again is assaulted by the color and material of her own outfit.
Touché.
Mr. Morgan is the first to arrive. Right behind him is someone Linda doesn’t know. Once they get inside, Linda discovers that the stranger is a potential client. An actual client! Linda is a little excited. Mr. Morgan just grumbles and goes to his office.
Linda follows him. “What should I do with the client?” she asks excitedly.
“Talk to him, find out why the hell he’s here, tell him that we will call him if he has a case, then file your notes and forget you ever met him. What did you think you were supposed to do?” Mr. Morgan was always short on words and big on attitude.
“Got it.” She turns and returns to the guy. ”Please take a seat. Can I offer you something? Oh, wait, we really don’t have anythi
ng.” She realizes.
“That’s fine. Can you just help me?”
Wow, this guy seems desperate. Linda thinks. Wonder if he has committed a horrible crime and wants us to get him off? Then she wonders, what could be considered a horrible crime down here? Smuggling in some really cute puppies? She laughs at the thought.
“Did I say something funny?” he says.
“No, I’m sorry. What were we doing?”
“You are going to help me?” He now looks a little frightened.
“Good. Okay.” She opens up a Manila folder and grabs a notepad. “Let’s start with your name.” She holds her pen and tries to look official.
“Monroe Tice.”
“And why are you here, Mr. Tice?”
“To get a divorce.”
“A what?” Linda looks confused.
“A divorce? You know from my wife.” Mr. Tice seems exasperated.
“Hold on,” Linda says. Now she really is confused. With no other option, she approaches Mr.Morgan’s door and nervously knocks.
“Mr. Morgan?”
“Is he gone?” he responds.
“Not exactly. He wants a divorce. Is that even possible down here?”
“Figure it out. Stop bothering me.” Was the only response.
Okay, figure it out. Can you get a divorce in the afterlife? What happens? Once it’s finalized they automatically reappear at opposite ends of the city to ensure that they never see each other? Suddenly there is a flash of inspiration. She rushes back to the desk and Mr. Tice.
“When you got married, Mr. Tice, it was until death do you part. So now you’re both dead, I’m assuming. Right?”
“Yes. But—”
“So your marriage is no longer valid!” Linda says excitedly. “Case closed. Thank you for your business.” Linda shuts the manila folder.
“But no,” Mr. Tice says.
“No what?” Linda reopens the folder.
“My wife, Charlotte, couldn’t do anything like other people. Everything had to be an event like no other. We had a costumed wedding with people in masks, and she had some old pagan ceremony that instead of saying till death do you part it said in life and beyond. So technically we are still married. And stuck here together, and I swear if I have to live with her another minute I’m going to go mad. I mean, eternal damnation I get, and yes, our love of masks continued after our wedding...especially when we were robbing banks, which is what we did for a living until we were both shot in a standoff with the local police. So obviously we both deserve to be here...but come on! Can I get a break and at least suffer eternity alone like everyone else?”
Remembering Hell Page 9