by Simon Rich
They forced themselves to watch some recent clips. Cliff always uttered the phrases in the same way, with a guttural delivery that bordered on a sob.
“He is good-looking,” Eliza admitted. “I mean, if you forget every single thing about him.”
Craig zoomed in on Cliff’s face. His skin was clear and tan, and a perfectly manicured beard adorned his chiseled jaw.
“How can Sam compete with that?” she lamented.
“Maybe he’s got some good pickup lines too?”
“Let’s check.”
Craig typed in a quick search. According to the Server, Sam’s most common phrases in sexual situations were “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” “I’m sorry,” and “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Holy moly,” Eliza said. “What a fucking mess.”
She turned away from the screen in disgust. “How did this Cliff moron get a scholarship to Columbia?”
“He didn’t. In fact, for the school to let him in, his family had to promise the dean two gyms and a particle accelerator.”
“I thought his family was in the pastry business?”
“They are. Cliff’s dad is the majority shareholder for the Americo Pastries Company.”
“Whoa. I guess that’s why he’s in no rush to sell art.”
“He’s not in any rush to make any, either. Every project he told Laura about is made up.”
Craig accessed Cliff’s hard drive and opened a document titled “Finnegans Wake Screenplay.”
Eliza read the file out loud. “Open on: nothingness.”
She squinted incredulously at the screen. “That’s it?”
Craig nodded. “We need to get rid of this guy. It shouldn’t be too hard. It’s not like Laura’s in love with him or anything.”
“Still, as long as he’s around, I doubt she’ll make any moves for Sam.”
“Maybe he’ll make a move.”
Eliza shook her head. “I’ve been following his progress. It’s pretty bleak.”
She opened a window and zoomed in on Sam’s bedroom. He was hunched over his computer, drafting an e-mail to Laura.
“He’s writing her a message!” Craig exclaimed. “That’s promising!”
“Not really,” Eliza said. “He’s been writing it for two days. Look.”
She clicked the rewind button, and the Angels watched as Sam’s fingers fluttered over his laptop. With the exception of a few breaks for sleeping and eating, he’d been revising his e-mail to Laura for the last forty-eight hours.
“He’s written six different versions,” Eliza marveled. “And erased all of them.”
“Why? How bad could they be?”
She pulled up the first one. “See for yourself.”
Greetings, Laura,
It was such a delightful coincidence running into you yesterday morn. When I walked into the Apple Store, I never guessed I’d have such a surprise in “store” for me!
Sincerely,
Sam Katz
“Want to hear something crazy?” Eliza said. “That e-mail took him over an hour to write.”
“And he ended up with a pun on the word ‘store’?”
Eliza nodded. “The next one is even worse.”
yo, lemme know if you wanna hang sometime—S
Craig squinted at the screen. “What the hell is that?”
“He’s trying to look cool,” Eliza explained. “He wants her to think that his life is so busy and exciting that he couldn’t be bothered to write her a proper letter. You know, like he dashed the thing off in ten seconds.”
“How long did it actually take him?”
“Nearly six hours.”
“How is that possible?”
“He just kept second-guessing himself. It took him over an hour to commit to ‘yo.’ First it was ‘hey,’ then ‘hi,’ then ‘wassup,’ then back to ‘hey.’ For about twenty minutes, he was going to lead with ‘howdy.’ Can you imagine?”
Craig did a quick mental inventory of all the e-mails he’d ever sent Eliza. Had they been too casual? Too studied? Had he ever used the word “howdy”? They’d spent the last two weeks practically living together—drinking coffee from each other’s mugs, chewing on each other’s pencils, nodding off on each other’s shoulders. But the more time they spent together, the more panicked Craig became. He never saw Eliza outside of work—and unless a miracle happened, he would soon be out of a job. He was running out of time.
“Have some fucking confidence,” Eliza said.
Craig’s body tensed with panic—until he realized she was talking to the screen.
“It’s his last draft,” she said. “A real heartbreaker.”
Dear Laura,
It was so much fun running into you at the Apple Store! I’ve really missed hanging out with you. I know this is out of the blue, but I was wondering if you’d like to grab a drink sometime?
Sam
“What’s wrong with that one?” Craig asked.
“Nothing. He rattled it off in twenty seconds and it’s perfect.”
“I thought you said it was heartbreaking.”
“Yeah. Because he didn’t send it.”
She zoomed in on Sam, present-day. He was hunched over his laptop, his shoulders tensed, his forehead damp. He was beginning another draft.
The Angels watched as he typed the letter H, followed by O, W, and D. Eliza closed the window before he could complete the word.
“I wonder how Alexander the Great was with women,” Eliza said.
She opened the Server and zoomed in on ancient Macedonia.
“I don’t see why that’s relevant,” Craig said.
“I’m just curious.”
On the screen, Alexander sat on his throne, idly sipping wine from a silver jug. A row of women stood before him, each one of a different ethnicity. A few weary soldiers knelt by Alex’s feet, anxiously awaiting his command. Eliza clicked the translate icon so they could watch the clip with subtitles.
“These females are mine by right,” the ruler said. “For I am a living god.”
His men nodded fearfully. Alex scratched his chin and then pointed casually at one of the women, an Asian beauty with slender hips and large black eyes. When he snapped his fingers, she took off her clothes and gracefully spun in a circle.
“Your body pleases me,” Alex said. “I will soon impregnate you.”
Craig laughed. “Can you believe this guy?”
Eliza shrugged. “I think he’s kind of sexy.”
Craig knew it was crazy to envy a dead Macedonian, but he couldn’t stop his face from flushing. He forced a laugh to mask his jealousy.
“What’s sexy about him?”
Eliza shrugged. “There’s just something about the way he carries himself.”
He watched in pained silence as Eliza zoomed in on the tyrant’s rugged face.
“My power mocks Zeus,” Alexander was saying. “And when he sees my feats he is afraid.”
He gestured at the row of women. “I will impregnate all of you. One after the other. And you will give birth to a race of living gods.”
A little sigh escaped from Eliza’s lips.
“Okay,” Craig said. “This is a lot of fun. But can we maybe get back to Sam now?”
“Sure,” Eliza said, clearing her throat. “Just a second…”
Craig watched with annoyance as she tagged the Alexander clip as a favorite. Eventually, she closed the Server and typed in a search for Sam.
“Looks like he’s back to square one,” she said, as the human reappeared on the screen. He’d erased his entire e-mail and was taking a break to play Minesweeper.
“I don’t know what to do,” Eliza whispered. “I feel completely powerless.”
“Me too,” Craig confessed.
He stared at the screen, his jaw clenched with frustration. For the first time ever, he fantasized about punishing the humans. It would be so easy. Just a few taps of the keys, and he could easily zap them with lightning, fling them o
ut their windows, break their legs…
A strange thought suddenly occurred to him.
“Eliza,” he said. “How would you feel if I brought someone else on board? You know, like, for reinforcements?”
Eliza laughed. “The only person who still comes by is Brian—and that’s just to use the ice machine.”
“Not Brian. I know someone good. Well—not ‘good.’ He’s actually vaguely evil. But I think he might be able to help us.”
“Someone I know?”
“You’ve met him. He used to work on seventeen, but now he works upstairs. With God.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”
Craig nodded. “Let’s just ask him. I mean, honestly—what have we got to lose?”
Craig stood outside the executive boardroom, trying to work up the courage to knock. He could see Vince through a crack in the door, his arm stretched out to light God’s cigar.
“Come on,” the Archangel was saying. “Let’s do one.”
God shook his head, but he was already laughing a little.
“We shouldn’t.”
Vince shoved him playfully on the shoulder. “Come on. We haven’t done one for a while.”
God hesitated for a moment, but he couldn’t conceal his excitement.
“Okay, fine!” he said, standing up. “But this is the last one for at least a month.”
Vince and the other Archangels cheered. One of them handed God his remote control, while another turned on the enormous TV that was mounted on the wall of the boardroom.
God scrolled through the channels before eventually settling on a desert in Tanzania. A tired farmer was leading his horse over a hill. God stretched out his index finger and coyly circled the red button.
“Do it!” the Archangels shouted. “Do it!”
God pressed the button and the horse exploded. His owner screamed with fear as the carcass rained down on him in clumps.
God shook his head and laughed.
“I love spontaneous combustions,” he said. “Did you see the look on that guy’s face?” Tears were forming in his eyes. “Did you see?”
Vince was trying not to spit out his drink, but he lost the battle and sprayed scotch all over the table. “Everyone’s going to think he made it up!”
A younger Archangel pounded his fist against the boardroom table. “Hey!” he said. “Let’s make crop circles!”
God poured himself a drink. “Oh, what the heck,” he said. “It’s Friday.”
Craig rapped lightly on the door, but no one seemed to hear him. He took a deep breath and walked into the room.
“Hey!” God shouted. “It’s Sola’s number-one investor! What can I do for you?”
Craig swallowed, suddenly conscious of everyone’s eyes on him.
“I’d like to speak to Vince,” he said, turning toward the Archangel. “If you’ve got a moment.”
“What do you want?” Vince asked suspiciously.
Craig hesitated. “Your help.”
“Let’s walk and talk.”
Craig nodded and followed Vince down the hall. There were no cubicles in the executive wing, he noticed. Just plush leather chairs, mahogany tables, and mounted animal heads of every shape and size. Within seconds Craig had spotted a rhinoceros, an elephant, and one other creature—the largest by far—with reddish-brown fur and giant snow-white tusks. When he tiptoed past the head, he realized it was a woolly mammoth.
A Japanese chef smiled at them from behind a cart. “Sashimi?”
Craig started to say no, but Vince interrupted him.
“Toro,” he said, holding up two fingers.
The chef quickly handed them two black plates, heaped high with slabs of fish. The slices were bright orange and striped with thin white ribbons of fat. Craig took some chopsticks from the cart and tentatively tried a piece. It turned liquid in his mouth, coating his tongue with salty oil. He closed his eyes, shocked by its richness.
“Holy shit,” he said. “How could it be so good?”
“Life’s pretty sweet up here,” Vince said. “It’s a shame you’re still stuck on seventeen.”
“I like it on seventeen.”
“Do they still have that old vending machine? With the Hostess cupcakes?”
“Yeah,” Craig said, smiling. “I had one this morning.”
“Those things taste like shit.”
Vince poured himself a scotch from a nearby decanter and took a seat in a leather chair.
“So,” he said grandly. “How can I help you?”
Craig updated the Archangel as quickly as he could, conscious that Vince’s eyes kept wandering to a nearby clock.
“We’re not making much progress,” Craig said. “So I figured, maybe we should add someone to the team? You know, someone bold, who can think outside the box.”
“You want me to recommend someone?”
“No,” Craig said. “I want you.”
Vince crossed his arms.
“I’d love to help,” he said. “But I’ve already got a lot of important projects on my plate.”
“Do you?”
Vince paused. “No,” he admitted. “Not really. This week God has me designing menus. Every time I show him a mock-up he complains that it isn’t ‘fusion’ enough.” He sighed. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t know what that word means.”
Craig nodded sympathetically.
“Do you ever miss the department?”
Vince snorted. “Of course not.”
“Come on. You must’ve liked it better than what you’re doing now. I mean, what’s the point of climbing the ladder if you don’t have any freedom?”
“Maybe he’ll promote me again.”
“To what? Partner? You know what happened to the last Archangel who asked for that.”
Vince nodded. God had gotten so angry at the guy that he accused him of “pride” and forced him out of the company. It had been a real scene.
“I know it isn’t perfect up here,” Vince said. “But at least you get some recognition. On seventeen you’re invisible.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it’s true. I used to work all day, every day, helping those moron humans with their tiny lives. No one ever noticed.”
Craig shrugged. “I noticed.”
Vince was silent for a while. When he finally spoke, his voice came out unusually faint. “You said I was a hack.”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“You said it.”
“Well, I didn’t mean it.”
“Then why’d you say it?”
Craig grimaced, irritated by the conversation’s turn.
“Because I was jealous,” he said. “Vince, if I had as much confidence as you, or even half as much…” He looked down at his lap. “My life would be a lot different.”
When he looked up, he saw that Vince was blushing.
“Okay,” the Archangel said. “I’m in.”
“Really?”
Vince set down his drink and extended his hand. Craig exhaled with relief and pumped it wildly.
“Oh, this is great news!” he said. “And it’s going to be fun, too! I promise!”
Vince and Eliza stared icily at each other from across the break table. After several long minutes of silence, Craig returned with the coffee.
“Two cups of joe,” he said. “For my two partners!”
He handed them their coffee and grinned, trying to defuse their hostility.
“What’d I miss?” he asked nervously.
“Your colleague was just attacking my basketball miracle,” Vince said. “You know, the universally beloved one.”
“I wasn’t attacking it,” Eliza said. “I just asked if it was yours, because it seemed like your style. You know, melodramatic and ridiculous.”
Craig sighed. Vince’s basketball miracle was nearly five years old, but some Angels were still angry about it. It was one of the sloppiest miracles in company history. The event to
ok place in western Pennsylvania. It was the last game of the season for the undefeated Pittsfield Lions, and by the fourth quarter, they’d amassed a twenty-five-point lead over their rivals. With victory in the bag, the coach subbed in Pat Kenward, a severely autistic student who had spent the past four seasons volunteering as a water boy. That’s when Vince had stepped in.
“You’re telling me you didn’t like watching it?” Vince asked Eliza.
“I just think it was a little over the top,” she said.
As soon as Pat received the ball, he let loose from the three-point line. His shot ricocheted wildly off the backboard—and somehow bounced into the net. The crowd erupted into applause, nearly hysterical with joy.
“You could’ve stopped at one shot,” Eliza told Vince. “It would’ve been just as inspiring.”
The Archangel grinned. “I don’t know about that.”
The coach was about to remove Pat from the game, satisfied that he’d done his duty. But before he could call a time-out, an errant ball slid into the autistic boy’s hand. Confused, he fired the ball wildly toward the basket from half-court. It fell through the hoop in a perfect swish. The crowd reacted with glee—and then shock—as Pat continued to drain threes. By the end of the game, he’d scored nearly forty points.
“Disney optioned it for a movie,” Vince said proudly.
He stood up and headed for the vending machines. He was almost out the door when he tilted his head back toward Eliza.
“Disney,” he repeated.
“That guy’s a total hack,” she whispered to Craig when the Archangel was safely out of earshot.
“Please don’t antagonize him,” Craig begged. “I had to flatter him for thirty straight minutes before he’d agree to help us.”
“I just don’t understand why we even need him.”
“Look,” Craig said, “I know Vince can be a little sloppy. But what do you expect? He’s an executive, an ideas guy. It’s his job to shake things up.”
“He’s just so cocky.”
“I know,” Craig said. “But maybe that’s the kind of confidence we need right now?”
He opened his laptop and located Raoul, standing outside a Jack in the Box, dressed in women’s underwear and wrapped in a large gray tarp.