by Jane Heller
“Why do I say that? Because it’s monstrosities like the River Princess that are pollutin’ our rivers and promotin’ crime in our town,” said Jeremy.
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“And I think you’ve got your head in the sand, or should I say ooze. The runoff from the River Princess—I’m talkin’ about the oil and the pesticides and the sewage—is killin’ the fish, sweetheart.”
“You sound like your father.”
“He knows what he’s talkin’ about, ’specially when it comes to the slimy, backroom stuff that went on between the zoning guys and the developers of that building. It would make your hair stand on end.”
Maybe that’s next, I thought wryly. First, the devil makes my hair blond. Now, he’s going to make it stand on end.
“I’m tellin’ you, BS. The River Princess is bad news for this town,” Jeremy went on. “Bad news.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. Why on earth would the devil mind if the town went to hell? I wondered. Why would he care if it was overrun by pollution and crime? Wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t that why Satan had come to Banyan Beach in the first place? To ruin the town? To re-create it in his own diabolical image? And yet, here was Jeremy acting as if he were opposed to the very evils that were Satan’s calling card. Was there a chance that David was mistaken about Jeremy being the devil’s cover? Or were Jeremy’s words just a decoy?
“You’d better make your money on those condos while you can,” he warned. “In a few days, they won’t be worth a damn.”
“Why?” I said, thinking of the huge commissions Home Sweet Home would earn once all the units in the building were sold.
“Just forget it, BS. Forget I said anything.”
“How can I forget you said anything?”
“Just do it, okay?”
He was being awfully mysterious, but then consider the source. The devil wasn’t reputed to be the quintessence of openness and forthrightness.
“Fine. I’ll forget it.” I pondered what to do next, how to keep the conversation going without making the devil angry. “Let’s get back to fishing,” I suggested. “For instance, tell me about the people you took out in the Devil-May-Care today.”
He swallowed some beer. “You wanna know about today’s charter?”
“Yes.”
He was about to begin speaking when he stopped and grinned awkwardly. “I gotta tell you, this whole thing is a little weird.”
“What is?”
“The fact that you and I are sittin’ here talkin’. Like we do this every day. Like we haven’t spent the last twenty years avoidin’ each other.”
“Nonsense. I certainly haven’t been avoiding—”
“Sure you have,” he interrupted. “Except for the night you wanted me to pick up your dog and take him to Ben’s. I was doin’ you a favor so you tolerated me. But basically, you think I’m pond scum. So what are you really doin’ here, huh, BS?”
I didn’t answer.
“First, you show up at my gig last night. Then, you show up at the marina,” he continued. “And now, you sit here askin’ me about fishing. What’s the deal?”
“The deal is exactly why I’m here,” I said, figuring that since the devil brought up the issue of our “bargain,” it was okay to talk about it.
“Run that by me again?”
“I want out of the deal,” I said.
“Look, I don’t have a clue what’s eatin’ you. All I’m sayin’ is that I don’t buy the fishing bullshit. There’s gotta be another reason you’re here.”
“There is. The deal is the reason I’m here.”
“What deal are we talkin’ about?”
“You know. The deal. The bargain. Whatever you want to call it.”
Jeremy laughed again. “You real estate agents. All you talk about is The Deal.” He took a long sip of beer. “If you came here to try and get me to put my house on the market, forget it.”
“No, that’s not why I—”
“But if you wanna talk about something else, I’m all for it. It’s nice havin’ you here.”
So he’s stalling me, I thought. Putting me off. Fine. I’ll wait. He’ll have to confront me at some point.
“Okay, no talk about deals,” I agreed. “At least, not right now. Why don’t you talk to me about your singing. Tell me what it’s like to be a rock ’n’ roll star.”
“I’m not exactly a star, BS.”
“Oh, come on. No false modesty. It must be fun to have groupies throw themselves at you.”
“There are worse things.”
“And the money must be nice.”
“I don’t take any money for the gigs.”
“What do you mean you don’t take any money?”
“Just what I said.”
“You’re telling me you sing for free?”
“Yeah. The other guys in the band keep their money, but I give mine away. To the Save the River Initiative. When you really believe in something, you gotta put your money where your mouth is, ya know?”
I was stunned. Was it possible that Jeremy Cook had principles? That the man I’d written off as a lowlife had values? That David had the wrong person? That Jeremy wasn’t hiding the devil after all?
No, it’s Satan talking, I reminded myself yet again. He’s trying to delude me and he’s doing a good job. That’s part of what makes him so evil.
“But I don’t sing for the money anyway,” Jeremy was saying. “I sing because I love to sing. Next to fishin’ and fuckin’, it’s the best.”
“What a quaint way of putting it,” I said.
“’Course, I don’t know how I’d feel about it if I had to stand up there and sing all by myself,” he added. “Havin’ the guys in the band up there with me makes it easier, less intimidatin’. And then there’s the fact that we don’t do original songs. If I had to stand up there and sing my own lyrics, I’d feel naked.”
I actually blinked to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. Was this really Jeremy Cook talking? Expressing himself? Exploring his feelings? Where was the usual bravado? The cockiness? The boorishness? Or was the devil specifically trying to make me view Jeremy in a whole different light? Trying to recast Mr. Retro as a shy, sensitive nineties man? So I’d feel closer to him? Relate to him? Think I’d been wrong about him, wrong about his being Satan’s cover in Banyan Beach?
Yes, it has to be a trick, I decided. According to David, there was no more Jeremy because Jeremy Cook had been taken over by the devil. What came out of his mouth now were the words of Satan—words to be distrusted at all costs.
“Haven’t you ever written any original songs?” I asked, hoping to keep him talking.
“Tried to. I’ve got a trunk full of ’em, but I’ve never been able to finish one. Scared to, probably. Creatin’ something that comes deep from the heart is a scary, scary prospect.”
I regarded him once again. It was inconceivable that the Jeremy I’d always known would talk to me about being scared of anything. Where was the bluster? The insufferable boasting? The I’m-too-cool-for-words attitude?
No, it was the devil who was playing up to me, up to my sympathies. And it wasn’t going to work.
“Let’s get back to the fishing,” I said. “You were going to tell me about today’s charter.”
He stroked his red beard and smiled at me.
“You really must be desperate if you came here for conversation,” he said. “I’m not exactly a raconteur.”
Never mind that he bungled the pronunciation so badly that the word came out “reckanter.” I had never seen Jeremy so self-deprecating.
“Sure I came here for conversation. You lead such an interesting life,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm.
“Now I know you’re bullshitting me,” he laughed.
“No, really. Tell me about your charter.”
He shrugged. “I took out three guys from Ohio. They’re down here for that big drugstore convention,” he began. “Their company makes hand l
otion or some damn thing and the whole group of ’em are stayin’ at the Ritz-Carlton.”
“I didn’t realize you had the concession at the Ritz,” I said. I was impressed that Cook’s Charters was doing so well. “Did these men catch any fish?”
“The CEO did. We were trolling ballyhoo in two hundred feet north of the St. Lucie Inlet.”
“Ymmmm. Ballyhoo’s delicious. I adore it deep fried, although it’s perfectly good grilled, with a little pesto sauce on the side.”
Jeremy threw back his head and laughed at me, just the way his father had hours before. I could see the family resemblance now. The Cook men weren’t bad-looking when they laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You are, BS.”
“Why?”
“Because ballyhoo is bait fish. You don’t eat it. You catch other fish with it. You’re probably thinking of wahoo.”
I shrugged. Ballyhoo. Wahoo. What did I know?
“The CEO caught a dolphin, BS. You’ve heard of dolphins?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well, the one Mr. Hand Lotion caught was about twenty pounds.”
“He must have been pleased.”
“I couldn’t tell. These corporate guys are hard to figure. They come on the boat with their cell phones and their tight sphincters and they don’t know how to have any fun. I guess I’m lucky that way. I practically grew up with a fishing rod in my hand, so it’s second nature to me.”
“Your father told me how he taught you to fish when you were two,” I said.
“He did. On the river. He was a good teacher, let me tell you. He took me down to the Keys, to the Bahamas, every place. I loved spendin’ time with him. Still do.”
I felt a stab of envy, just as I had when Mike Cook’s face had radiated love for his son. I’d never spent much time with my own father and when I did, it was a kind of punishment. Ira Greenberg wasn’t anything like the Cook men. He was stern, self-absorbed, humorless. Just like Mitchell.
“Did your father and mother have a happy marriage? He seems to miss her,” I said.
Jeremy nodded. “He misses her a lot. When you love a woman the way my father loved her, it’s gotta kill you when you can’t be together.”
I blinked again. Was this really Jeremy Cook who was waxing poetic about true love? The guy who’d never committed himself to any woman? The guy who pawed waitresses and nuzzled nineteen-year-olds and acted as if he’d rather die than say, “I do?”
No, it was the devil, I reminded myself for the hundredth time. It was Satan who was talking to me, confusing me, making me feel an attraction to Jeremy I’d never dreamed I’d feel.
An attraction? To Jeremy Cook? Where did that come from? I wondered. My face flushed as I had to admit that, for a split second, as he’d spoken about his father loving his mother, I had felt something for him. A pull. A tug. A sense of actually liking him.
I thought of David, of how fiercely attracted to him I’d been in the beginning, before I found out who and what he was, and I figured the devil was up to his old tricks, creating a chemistry between Jeremy and me to suit his own purposes.
Yes, of course, I decided. That has to be it.
“My father’s such a good guy,” Jeremy was saying. “Never complains even though his body’s frail and he’s got too much time on his hands. He’s bored and lonely, which is why he likes to hang around the marina all the time. Not much else for him to do.”
I didn’t say anything. The realization that I was suddenly finding Jeremy anything other than irritating was scaring me.
“If you’re the product of such a blissfully happy marriage, why haven’t you ever been married?” I asked.
“You proposin’?” he smirked as he ran his eyes over my body. So much for the sensitive, vulnerable act. The macho crap was back.
“No, I’m not proposing. I was just wondering why you’ve never fallen in love.”
“Who says I’ve never fallen in love?” he said. “You can’t write love songs unless you’ve been in love, right?”
“Yes, but you’ve never finished a song. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“What is this, an interrogation, BS? Am I on trial or somethin’?” he asked, then checked his watch. He took a last sip of beer and said, “Hey, I gotta get goin’. Time to make some mischief.”
Mischief? I thought, remembering Mike Cook’s words. Jeremy’s involved in things he’s not tellin’ me about, he’d said. Things that could get him in trouble. Things that worry me. Did Jeremy have to hurry off to do the devil’s work? To bring death and destruction down on my town? To bring yet another darksider into the fold? What?
I panicked as he started to get up from his chair. I hadn’t accomplished anything yet, hadn’t been able to communicate with Satan at all, hadn’t been able to talk to him about releasing me from his service. I couldn’t let him go like this. Not yet.
“Jeremy, cancel your plans. Let’s have dinner together,” I said impulsively.
He looked surprised. “What’s goin’ on, huh? Until today, you never wanted any part of me.”
“I was wrong,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “You’re not so bad after all.”
“Gee, thanks,” he laughed. “But I’m busy tonight.”
“With what?”
“None of your business, sweetheart.”
“Is it a secret?”
“Yeah, it’s a big secret, but if you promise not to tell, I’ll confide in you.”
“I promise.”
He leaned over and brought his mouth close to my ear. I could smell him then. The beer, the sweat, the heat of his body. I felt myself tremble as I tried to anticipate what he might say. Or do.
“The secret is: I’m goin’ out to destroy the town,” he whispered, then laughed.
My eyes widened and I bolted up in my chair. He had tried to make it sound like a joke, of course, but I knew the remark was no joke. The devil was finally showing himself to me for the evil force he was. Now was my chance to talk to him, to plead with him not to destroy Banyan Beach, to beg him to leave town right away. I couldn’t let him walk out the door. I had to stop him, had to make him release me from our bargain. It was now or never.
I jumped up, grabbed Jeremy by the shoulders and started to shake him.
“Please,” I shouted. “Please let me go.”
“Me let you go?” he said, stunned by my assault. “You’re the one who’s grabbin’ onto me!”
“No, I mean, really let me go. Release me from your service,” I pleaded, ignoring his bewildered expression.
“My service?”
“Yes, but this isn’t just about me. It’s about Banyan Beach. I beg you not to destroy the town.”
“Beg me not to what?”
“You heard me.”
“Hey, I was only kiddin’ about that. It was just a crack. A joke. I was bustin’ your chops, ya know? Tryin’ to get you to lighten up.”
“I don’t need lightening up.”
“Honey, you need it worse than I thought.”
“No. I need you to leave town. I know all about your evil plan for Banyan Beach. David Bettinger told me everything.”
“David Bettinger? That guy who was at your house the other night?”
“Yes, and I want your solemn promise that you won’t hurt him. He’s an innocent in all of this. Just another darksider.”
“He’s a dorksider, all right. As dorky as they come.”
“No, not dorksider. Darksider. As if you didn’t know.”
Jeremy shook his head. “You been doin’ drugs, BS? Is that what’s makin’ you act so nuts?”
“Yeah, I’m a BreathAssure addict. Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Look, let’s cut the I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about bit. I know you’re in there, okay?”
“In where?”
“In Jeremy Cook’s body, that’s where.”
“Jesus. You need help, swee
theart. Bad.”
“That’s right. I do need help. Yours. I want you to leave Banyan Beach. Just pick yourself up and go somewhere else. I hear Bora Bora is nice this time of year.”
Jeremy wriggled out of my grip and started to walk toward the phone.
“I’m gonna call Ben,” he said. “You’ve lost it.”
I ran over to him and grabbed the phone out of his hand.
“Listen to me. I’m begging you,” I said. “Give me back my old life. I don’t want the blond hair and the big boobs and the flat stomach. Not if it means I have to have your baby in return.”
“Have my baby?” That got his attention. “Hey, look,” he said, “If you and I had ever…I mean, I’ve never been so drunk that I couldn’t remember…What I’m tryin’ to say is that, no matter what you might have been told by this David Bettinger or anyone else, you’re not havin’ my baby. You got that?”
“Oh, I’ve got it all right. Go ahead and pretend that you don’t have a grand plan for this town—to turn it into your own personal chamber of horrors, to populate it with your followers. Well, here’s one person who isn’t following.” I paused to take a couple of deep breaths. “Now, I don’t claim to be a paragon of virtue,” I went on. “I’ve never helped a blind person across the street. I’ve never worked in a soup kitchen. And I’ve never given one red cent to the American Heart Association or the Fresh Air Fund or even the Banyan Beach Volunteer Firemen. But I’m not an evil person. I’m on the side of Goodness, of Decency, of Love! Amen!”
“Oh, brother. So that’s what this is about. You’ve turned into one of those Born Agains,” said Jeremy.
“You don’t want to talk to me about the baby you want me to have? Fine. Talk to me about my blond hair,” I challenged. “I want my gray hair back and you’re going to make it happen.”