The Devil and Danielle Webster

by Cynthia Cross

  “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.

  Chapter 4 – A Night of Passion, Take 3

  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 a
nd 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?”

  “No, I just ignore you—“