The Dumbass Demon

by Gary Jonas

  My heartbeat accelerated and it was hard to breathe.

  She pulled up close to me. I could taste her breath. Cherry.

  Her face brushed against mine as she moved her lips to my right ear. “The history books say I played the flute,” she whispered. Her hand ran down my stomach toward my crotch, but stopped short, her fingers doing small circles at the top of my shorts. “I play the flute very well.”

  Gulp.

  “You’d like me to play, wouldn’t you? My fingers and lips bring untold forbidden pleasures, and when they’re gone, the loss will eat at you for years. Nothing else comes close. Imagine spending the night with me, young mortal. Imagine the ecstasy. Imagine my fingernails scratching your back. Imagine that magic blood of yours running down your sweaty skin.”

  Her whispers made my heart skip, and the light touch of her fingers swept up over my chest, electrifying my skin. She pulled back and grinned.

  “You long for me,” she whispered running her fingers over my chin and tracing my lips. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Well, I, uh, hardly know you.”

  She took my right hand, lifted it to her chin, then slid her lips over my index finger. Up and down. Her tongue swirled around and my knees went weak.

  She pulled my finger out, kissed it, held my hand in both of hers. “Write me a song, mortal man. Write me a song to make me long for you. Write me a ballad that will charm me into your arms. Write something beautiful and painful and if I like it…”

  She released me, circled around behind me, running her hand around my neck as she went. Then her fingers moved off. I turned around to gaze at her, but she was gone.

  I spun in a circle.

  “Where did she go?” I asked.

  “She’ll be back when the song is ready,” Apollo said. He held up his hand and a rolled parchment appeared in his palm. He pulled a quill pen from inside the paper and handed both to me. “Impress her, and she’s yours for a night.”

  He shoved me into a chair.

  Helen rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said. “So easily played.”

  “And you’d have it no other way,” Apollo said.

  Helen stood, walked over and stared down at me. “Good luck, sport. You can’t handle an hour with Euterpe, let alone a full night.”

  “Maybe not,” I said, “but I can give it the old college try.”

  “You didn’t go to college.” She turned to Apollo. “Let’s go for a swim while Brett writes your song.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said. They started walking toward the ocean. As they went, he pulled off his shorts and tossed them over his shoulder. They landed beside my chair.

  I turned to see if Helen would lose the bikini, but the only nudity provided was Apollo’s ass. That was not inspirational.

  I twirled the pen in my fingers, unfurled the parchment, and started writing. As I scrawled the words, I realized I wasn’t writing something new. I was writing something old.

  And the words weren’t mine.

  I kept going anyway.

  A few minutes later, I’d written all the lyrics to Tom Lehrer’s “The Masochism Tango.”

  Maybe I was only good at cover songs.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Euterpe was not impressed.

  Strike one.

  When Apollo walked out of the ocean with the smallest dick I’d ever seen, he read the lyrics and he wasn’t impressed either. He accused me of plagiarism even though I said where the lyrics were from.

  Strike two.

  Finally, the white bikini Helen wore did not turn see-through when it got wet.

  Strike three.

  So of course, I went to the lowest common denominator and pointed at Apollo’s junk.

  “I might not be original, but at least I don’t have a micropenis. Jesus, you’d need an electron microscope to see that thing, and don’t make excuses about cold water because that thing looked like a hanging mosquito bite before you waded into the sea.”

  Apollo stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You’re a moron,” he said. “I’ll write the damn song myself.” And he went inside the house.

  Euterpe grinned and followed him.

  Helen did a face-palm and sat in her chair.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Have you ever looked at ancient statues from Greece and Italy?”

  “Of course.”

  “And one thing you no doubt noticed was that the men depicted, especially the gods, all had small penises. Right?”

  “Well, they’re so small they’re easy to miss.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Because they import their dicks from China?”

  “Because in the old days, having a large penis was a sign of being a barbarian. Cultured men, educated men, civilized men, desirable men all wanted to have a small penis.”

  I grinned. “You messed up and said desirable men.”

  “It’s a question of aesthetics.”

  I laughed. “They sure pulled one over on you women folk back in the day.”

  “And here comes the ubiquitous everything’s bigger in Texas comment, right?”

  I gave her my sexy-face look and raised an eyebrow. “If the condom fits, it must be a Magnum.”

  “Is something wrong with your face? You look like you smelled a rotten egg.”

  “That was my sexy look.”

  “No, trust me, it wasn’t.”

  Two large Mako Clansmen came around the side of the house and stepped up to us. They wore three-piece suits. “It’s time for you to go,” one of the men said, lowering his sunglasses to peer at me with a menacing stare.

  He pulled off menacing a lot better than I pulled off sexy.

  “Be at the studio with your guitar at ten o’clock tonight,” he said. “Bring your vampire friend and his bass.”

  Helen stood and patted me on the shoulder. “Be thankful you at least bring your talent as a guitarist to the table. Otherwise, these barbarians would destroy you.” As she said barbarians, she glanced toward their crotches. Message received loud and clear.

  The shark dudes escorted me off the property.

  “Thanks for walking me to my car, guys,” I said.

  “We don’t want you to fear for your safety,” said the shark dude who liked to lower his sunglasses for effect.

  “I think you watched too much CSI Miami.”

  The other shark dude leaned in and sniffed my shoulder.

  “Don’t invade my space, dude,” I said, thinking it was much sexier when Euterpe did it.

  He ignored me and turned to his companion. “When we get to eat him, we’ll want to bring some hot sauce. This one’s going to be flavorless.”

  And they walked away.

  Kevin opened the passenger door and stood on the seat to peek over the car top at me. “How’d it go?”

  “It went,” I said and slid into the driver’s seat.

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Helen had told me my talent as a guitarist was all I brought to the table.

  Unfortunately, my talent was supplied by a magic pick.

  Ergo, I brought nothing to the table. Well, that wasn’t quite true because I did have three chords and an attitude, but the attitude was a bit lacking these days.

  “We gonna go, or what?” Kevin asked.

  I didn’t look at him. I kept tapping the steering wheel with my thumbs. Helen knew about the pick, so she saw me as being beneath her. This was why I preferred being a slacker. Low expectations are easy to meet. If you try to do well, people look down their noses at you because you’re never good enough. Doesn’t matter what you do or whether or not they could do it. And some of that is a question of perception, too. Aside from being hot and having a magical voice, what did Helen bring to the table? Did she give a shit about anyone else?

  “Earth to Brett,” Kevin said.

  “I’m thinking,” I said.

  “Don’t hurt yourself. The car won’t start unless you put the key in the ign
ition. Then you have to twist the key. It’s not rocket science.”

  Even the shit-talking dumbass demon thought he was better than me.

  I sighed.

  Trying to do anything was overrated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Can I come to the studio with you?” Sabrina asked. “Pretty please with chocolate syrup on top?”

  “No,” I said. “How many times do I have to say this? Just Michael.”

  The argument had gone on for hours from the time I got home from Lakesha’s Tuesday lesson until now that it was time to leave. I wanted to take a nap, but Sabrina followed me around the house to the kitchen where I got a drink, then up to my bedroom where I tried to close the door. Kevin stayed one step ahead of me, grinning the whole time.

  My mistake was telling her I had to go record a song with Apollo.

  “Apollo is the dream,” Sabrina said.

  “Apollo is an asshole,” I said. “Wait a minute. How do you know about Apollo?”

  “He’s been all over Instagram, Snapchat, and YouTube this weekend talking about how his new single is going to come out Wednesday and how much he loves it.”

  “He hasn’t even recorded it.”

  “Oh, come on, Brett. If it’s coming out this week, it’s been done for a while.”

  “Right.”

  “Your friend Helen sings on the track, too.”

  “She’s going to.”

  “I can’t believe he wants you to play on a record.” She gave me a wink. “Maybe magic does matter because without that pick, you’d never get in the same room with him.”

  “Back off, Sabrina,” I said, still trying to close the bedroom door. “I want to take a nap.”

  “How can you possibly sleep when you get to play with Apollo?”

  “By closing my eyes.”

  “The bed is mine, Brett,” Kevin said.

  He wasn’t visible to Sabrina at the moment, and the way he stretched out diagonally across my bed irritated me. But I could shove his sorry ass off onto the floor if Sabrina would buzz off.

  “Go away, little girl,” I said.

  “That’s a Donny Osmond song,” Sabrina said. “My mom used to have a crush on him.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” I asked. “This isn’t like you. Why should you give two shits about Apollo?”

  “He’s dreamy.”

  “Just how many TV segments have you seen about him?”

  “Not enough. I would have his babies.”

  “He’s a Greek god.”

  “Don’t I know it!”

  “No, I mean literally.”

  Her eyes twinkled and her smile reminded me of videos I’d seen of the teenage girls who chased the Beatles and David Cassidy around in the sixties and early seventies.

  Apollo’s magic was prepping the world for the release of his single. It didn’t matter if the song was good or bad; it would be a hit.

  On and on she went about how dreamy Apollo was, about how she’d do anything for him, about how he kept steaming up her glasses every time he came on the TV. Maybe I should rephrase that to every time he showed up on the TV because I certainly didn’t want to have to clean up after him.

  I managed to get the door closed and locked. I shoved Kevin aside so I could stretch out, but Sabrina used her magic to unlock the damn door.

  “Please let me go to the studio,” she said. “You can cancel the maid service and I’ll clean the house every day for a year.”

  “Go away.”

  “Come on, cuz. I have to meet Apollo! I can’t believe he’s here in Galveston. It would be criminal for me to not get to be with him.”

  “He has a tiny dick,” I said. “You wouldn’t want him.”

  “Like you’ve seen his dick. Give me a break, Brett.”

  “He thought he had a hair on his crotch once, but he shaved it and it bled.”

  “Get real.”

  “If you want to jerk him off, you’re going to need some tweezers.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Oh, and I was just about to cave and let you go, but you had to insult me so forget it.”

  “I take it back. You’re amazing!”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “What can I do for you in order to go to the studio tonight?”

  “Have her dance naked,” Kevin said.

  I ignored him.

  “Teach me all the demon banishment spells you know.”

  “That’s not funny,” Kevin said.

  “I only know two of them, but I’ll happily teach them to you.”

  “They have to work or the deal is off.”

  “They work.”

  “Have you ever banished a demon?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then you don’t know if they work.”

  She sat on the bed and gave me a shrug. “True enough.”

  “Let’s try it and see.”

  “Try it on what?” she asked.

  Kevin made himself visible and Sabrina almost jumped out of her skin.

  “Hey, hottie,” Kevin said. “Wanna do a dance for me?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Do it anyway.” He snapped his fingers and a song started playing from my iPad on the dresser.

  The song was “A Lap Dance Is So Much Better When the Stripper is Crying” by the Bloodhound Gang.

  Kevin grabbed Sabrina and tried to pull her over to him. “Dance for me, baby.”

  “Fuck off, demon!”

  “Make me.”

  She went through a hand gesture and spoke some gibberish. Kevin laughed.

  I rolled off the bed and went to the iPad to stop the song.

  “Hey!” Kevin said. “That’s my favorite song!”

  I focused on Sabrina. “My dad set it up so only I can banish the little turd, so teach me what you tried to do.”

  Kevin grinned. He stacked a few pillows, leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Channel your inner Pat Benatar and hit me with your best shot.”

  I did the hand motions exactly as Sabrina did. I felt the magic forming. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, and focused the power. I hurled the spell at Kevin.

  “And you’re outta here,” I said.

  He just grinned at me. “Maybe Sabrina needs to dance and follow the instructions of this song.” He snapped his fingers again and my iPad started playing Rodney Carrington’s “Show Them to Me.”

  Kevin sang along.

  Sabrina did not oblige him.

  I turned off the song.

  “I was listening to that,” Kevin said.

  “Teach me the other spell,” I said.

  Sabrina sighed. “If I do, can I come to the studio tonight?”

  “If the spell works on Kevin.”

  “Okay,” she said. She whispered instructions in my ear.

  “Oooh, getting all conspiratorial,” Kevin said. “I like it.”

  I reopened the cut inside my cheek to power the spell, and tried to send Kevin back to his dimension. This one had to be spoken as well. The words felt right as they spilled from my mouth. The hand gestures felt right too, and my fingers tingled as the energy flowed through them. Unfortunately, Yoda was wrong. There really is a try. Kevin flipped me off and stuck his tongue out.

  I turned to Sabrina. “Looks like you’re staying home tonight.”

  She stamped her foot in protest, but since she couldn’t help me get rid of Kevin, she could stamp her feet all she wanted. I wasn’t impressed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Michael met me at the studio right on time. The lights were on inside, but he leaned against a palm tree by the sidewalk. He wore all black, as always. I wore my Korn T-shirt, which I’d found in the dryer, and shorts. I grabbed my guitar from the backseat, and made sure I had the pick in my pocket.

  Kevin lifted the handle on the passenger seat so it reclined. “I’m going to take after you and nap for a bit since that jack-off doesn’t like me to go inside.”


  “You mean I’m free of you for a few hours?”

  “Other way around, loser,” he said.

  Either way, that worked for me. I hopped out of the car and headed toward the studio.

  Michael peeled himself away from the shadows of the tree trunk to join me. He carried his own instrument in its case. “Does this gig pay up front?”

  “I didn’t ask,” I said as we moved toward the building, “but I doubt gods bounce checks.”

  “And he’s really a god?”

  “Evidently.”

  “Sabrina is hot for him.”

  “She hides it well.” I opened the door and gestured for Michael to go inside. “Ladies first,” I said.

  He didn’t care. He just walked inside.

  He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. He nodded toward the hallway. “This way?”

  “Yeah. All the way to the end.”

  A Mako Clansman stepped out of the control room as we approached. “Wait here,” he said holding out a hand, palm facing us.

  We stopped.

  He glanced back into the control room as the door closed.

  “Did you sign on with Apollo for the dental plan?” I asked.

  He pretended not to hear.

  “So what’s the deal with your teeth?” I asked. “Do the sharp ones come out in front of the normal ones? Are the normal ones an illusion?”

  He gazed straight ahead as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “Are you deaf?” I asked, making up some sign language with my hands. I didn’t know sign language, so it was pure nonsense.

  He blinked.

  “Maybe Apollo took his tongue,” I said.

  Michael shook his head. “Or maybe you should try not to piss-off the help.”

  “Nothing else to do.”

  “You could be quiet.”

  “But I really am curious about his teeth. I’m also curious about how long he can stay on dry land.” I faced the Mako dude. “How about it, Chuckles? Do you have to get in the water every few hours to keep your gills working? I mean, you guys aren’t really sharks. You’re more like amphibians. Right? But shark teeth are cooler than frog tongues. And flies probably taste nasty. Did you know that every time they land, they’re either puking or shitting?”

  The shark dude turned toward the control room door, rapped a knuckle on the window. He nodded, and turned to open the door to the studio.