by Jane Heller
“Hey, what’s all this?” Suzanne nudged me when she noticed the wink—and the fact that I responded by blushing. “I thought you said you hated the guy.”
“I’ve had a change of heart,” I said. “He and I are friends now.”
“Friends?” she said skeptically.
“All right. We’re…” I didn’t know what to call us.
“Dating?” she suggested.
“Yes, we’re dating,” I said, thinking that the word sounded incredibly high schoolish but, in this case, very appropriate. Jeremy was courting me the way he’d never been able to in high school. And I was allowing myself to be courted.
Suzanne smiled at me. “And you’re happy about this,” she said. “I can tell.”
“Can you?” I asked.
“You should see how you look at him,” she said.
“How do I look at him?” I asked.
“Well, let’s just say you never looked at Mitchell that way,” she said.
“I never looked at Mitchell, period. Not if I could help it.”
“I’m serious, Barbara. I know you’ve been going through something. Something you haven’t felt comfortable talking to me about. Whatever it is, I hope you know I’m here for you. Especially after what you’ve done for me.”
“That’s nice, but what have I done for you?”
“Are you kidding? You introduced me to Danny, for God’s sake. At the River Princess party, remember?”
“Don’t tell me you two are seeing each other?”
“We’re dating,” she smiled, mimicking the self-conscious way I had said the word. “He’s a little on the needy side—his wife left him for another woman, poor thing—but I’ve never met a man who was as desperate to settle down as I am. We’re very compatible.”
I was about to ask Suzanne why Danny hadn’t come to the concert when Jeremy took hold of the microphone and welcomed the crowd.
“Let’s hear it for Banyan Beach!” he exhorted the audience, who clapped and shouted and whistled their approval. “Let’s hear it for all you folks who turned out here today.” More applause. “Let’s hear it for all you folks who signed up at our booth across the street and volunteered to help your neighbor.” Still more applause. “To say thanks and to show you how fantastic we think you are and how proud we are to call ourselves Banyan Beachers, we’re gonna play some good old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll for y’all. So sit back, forget your troubles, put your arm around the person next to you, and thank the good Lord that you’re alive.”
Six thousand pairs of hands clapped in response. Jeremy nodded at his band and they launched into what would be an entire set of songs extolling the virtues of love—romantic love, spiritual love, love for friends, love for family. We had planned it that way. We had decided that we would bombard Satan with love songs which, even if they didn’t put a dent in his evil power, would uplift the crowd. The Fire Ants opened the set with James Taylor’s “Shower the People.” Then came the Doobie Brothers’ “Real Love”…Eric Clapton’s “See What Love Can Do”…Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love”…and Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend.” The audience loved it, clapping and swaying and singing along with every tune.
“I can’t believe this,” Suzanne said. “It almost feels as if we’re in church. There’s a sense of—I don’t know—goodness floating around. It gives me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“It’s probably perimenopause,” I teased, and hugged her. I felt it, too, of course. It was as if we were all huddled together in a bubble of goodness, as if the dark forces that had gripped the town had been quashed, as if the dark forces that had gripped me had been quashed. Oh, I was still a darksider and the devil was still skulking around in the body of Frances Lutz, as far as I knew, but for the moment, we had warded off his evil. If only for that afternoon, we had won.
“And now, I’m gonna sing y’all a very special song,” Jeremy was speaking into the microphone. “A song I wrote just for this occasion. For my lady.”
“His lady?” Suzanne elbowed me. “This is unbelievable. I don’t talk to you for a few days and it turns out some guy you went to high school with is writing you love songs? Obviously, there’s a lot more going on between you two than dating.”
“All I know, Suzanne, is that Jeremy has never written a song in his life—not that he’s finished anyway. I’m totally amazed that he did this. For me.”
“What if it’s terrible?” Suzanne said.
“It couldn’t be,” I said. “Just the fact that Jeremy took the time to compose something—anything—for me boggles my mind.”
“Shhh,” said Suzanne. “He’s starting to sing.”
We listened intently to Jeremy’s song, the song his love for me had inspired. It was a slow, bittersweet ballad, backed only by the band’s acoustic guitarist, and its melody and lyrics were simple, honest—just like Jeremy himself. It was called “As Long as It Takes,” and it chronicled all the years we’d known each other; all the years that Jeremy had wanted me and I had wanted some impossible dream. It conveyed all his yearning, his patience, his willingness to wait for me to return his love. The chorus, a poignant refrain that ran throughout the song, went like this:
I’ll wait. Wait. Wait.
Say I’ll wait as long as it takes.
’Cause when love’s so strong
It can’t be wrong
To wait as long as it takes.
When the song was over, the crowd applauded wildly as Jeremy took a bow. I could only stand there motionless, silent, staring at the man who had just proclaimed his love for me in front of six thousand people; the man who was waiting for me to tell him I loved him. And I would tell him. I knew that now. I would tell him because there was no reason to wait, no reason to hold back. Life was too short, too unpredictable, too fraught with demons—real or imagined—to hold back. And I did love Jeremy, maybe even for as long as he had loved me. Maybe the hostility I’d felt toward him all those years had been my cover, my armor, my shield against loving a man my parents never approved of. Maybe it was time to start living my life, to let Jeremy know how much I wanted him, how much I probably always wanted him. What did I care that his table manners were the pits, that he talked like a hick, that he’d probably come home at night smelling of fish guts. So I’d deal with it. There were worse things to deal with, right?
“Barbara? You okay?” asked Suzanne after I hadn’t said anything for several minutes.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll be even better tonight.”
“Why? What’s happening tonight?”
“My brother and his friends are going out for dinner,” I said. “That means Jeremy and I will have the cabin all to ourselves.”
“Oh, so you’re going to thank him for writing the song, is that it?” Suzanne asked.
I smiled. “For starters.”
Chapter 27
I couldn’t wait until Jeremy and I were alone. During the entire ride back from the concert, I sat in the passenger’s seat of his pickup truck, silently rehearsing what I would say to him, how I would thank him for the song, how I would admit that I’d been wrong about him, how I thought he was sweet, honest, brave. Yes, brave. I mean, how many men would hang around once you told them you were an agent of the devil? None, that’s how many. These days, all you’ve got to do is tell a guy you have a widowed mother and he’s out the door. But not Jeremy. I’d told him every last detail of my bargain with Satan and he not only stuck with me, he told me he loved me—Brussels sprouts breath and all.
We parked the truck in the driveway and held hands as we walked toward Ben’s front door. My brother never locked the house, so there was no need to fumble for a key. We just opened the door and stepped inside, expecting Pete to bound over to us the way he always did, jumping and barking and making us feel wanted. But he didn’t come to the door to greet us or even bark.
“Pete?” I called out. “We’re home!”
Still no Pete.
“Maybe h
e’s around back,” Jeremy suggested, knowing the dog often liked to prowl around in the woods behind Ben’s cabin.
“Ben wouldn’t have put him outside and then left the house for the evening,” I said. “Pete ran away the last time my dear brother did that.”
We went further inside the house, into the living room and listened.
“Pete? Come here, boy!” I tried again, clapping my hands.
There was still no answer. And then a thought—a chilling, paralyzing thought—overtook me.
“What if the devil did something to him?” I said to Jeremy, my heart sinking. “He’s already used your father and my brother to punish us.”
I felt my eyes tear up at the very notion of something happening to Pete.
“Well, we wondered when or if Satan would strike again,” said Jeremy. “He didn’t bust up the concert, so I figured our little love fest had shut him up for good. I hoped so anyway.”
“Me too,” I said. “Look, maybe we’re just jumping to conclusions and Pete is here somewhere. Safe and sound.”
“Why don’t you check around the house and I’ll check out back,” Jeremy offered.
We went in separate directions, Jeremy outside into the backyard, me into the kitchen. In the corner of the kitchen, over by the garbage pail, I found Pete.
“So there you are, quiet as a mouse,” I said, so glad to see that he was all right. Or was he? On closer inspection, I realized that he didn’t look or act like himself at all.
For one thing, the white patch on his chest had grown even larger, covering nearly half of his body—and it had only happened while I was away at the concert! For another, he barely looked up when I came into the room. He was hanging around the garbage pail, picking up various objects from the floor, gripping them between his teeth, stepping on the little metal pedal that made the garbage pail’s lid go up and then dropping the objects into the trash. I didn’t say anything. I was too dumbfounded. Pete had done many unusual things over the past few months, but this was the first time he’d played sanitation worker.
I watched in amazement as he continued to dispose of the items he had apparently gathered from closets and drawers throughout the house—items that I had purchased especially for him when he’d first come to live with me and had recently brought over to Ben’s. There was his food, his favorite tennis ball, his flea and tick shampoo, his hairbrush, everything that was his. It was as if he were discarding anything remotely related to his own existence.
I finally went to him, kneeled down beside him, and kissed his face.
“What is it, Petey?” I said softly, my throat closing as he licked me. It suddenly occurred to me that he might be preparing to leave me, to disappear as magically and improbably as he had appeared, and I couldn’t bear it.
“You’re not going anywhere, are you, Pete?” I managed.
He didn’t answer, didn’t bark or whine or make scratch marks on Ben’s kitchen floor. He just looked at me with his penetrating hazel eyes, eyes that were so kind, so wise and knowing. I wondered if I would ever be given the real reason he had come into my life and if I would understand it if I were.
“Hey, you found him!” said Jeremy, just back from his backyard search for the dog. “What’s he doin’?”
I stood up and went to Jeremy. “He’s throwing his things out,” I moaned. “Like a kid cleaning out his dorm the day he graduates from college.”
“What should we do?” Jeremy asked. “Let him keep goin’?”
Just then, there was a knock at the front door. Jeremy and I both jumped when we heard it. Pete, on the other hand, didn’t even budge, nor did he bark. The dog was definitely not himself.
“Who could that be?” I asked, disappointed by the interruption. This was to have been my night alone with Jeremy, the night I was going to pour out my heart to him, but I had a feeling there were bigger, less romantic things in store for us. Just how big I could never have predicted.
“I’ll get it,” said Jeremy.
“No, I will,” I said.
“Tell ya what. We’ll both go,” he laughed, curling his arm around my waist and pulling me to him.
Whoever was at the door knocked again. Harder this time.
I started for the door but Jeremy pulled me back.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Let the guy wait,” he smiled. “There’s something I gotta do and I gotta do it right now. It’s been a long time comin’ and I don’t feel like waitin’ anymore, never mind what my song said. I want to kiss you, BS, and nothin’ and no one’s gonna stop me.”
He placed both of his hands on my face, one on each cheek, and brought his mouth gently down on mine. His lips were soft, meaty, in delicious contrast with his coarse, steel wool–like beard, and I surrendered to them, let them caress mine, caressed them back with everything in me. I would happily have remained locked in our long-awaited first kiss forever, but the person who’d been knocking on Ben’s front door knocked again, this time even more insistently.
Using every vestige of willpower I possessed, I pulled my mouth from Jeremy’s.
“We should get that,” I said.
“We will, but first: I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said.
“You do love me?” He appeared stunned and happy and relieved all at once, as if the burden of twenty years of waiting was finally lifted off his shoulders.
“I do,” I murmured, and ran my hands across his chest.
“No matter what comes?” he prompted, his eyes serious. There was still the devil to contend with, of course. Neither of us knew what his next move would be, how he would punish us for our insurrection.
“No matter what comes,” I said.
I left Jeremy standing in the kitchen with Pete while I went to answer the door. It was a heavy door, made of solid Florida pine, and it took all my strength to pull it open. But it took even greater strength to greet the person who now stood on Ben’s threshold.
“Frances!” I screamed.
Believe me, you would have screamed too if you’d gotten a look at her.
I hadn’t seen her since the night of the aborted exorcism—neither had anyone else at Home Sweet Home—but then this was a Frances none of us had ever seen before, not even at Charlotte’s annual Halloween party. She was wearing a new caftan—a blinding, lobster-red one—and the color matched her eyes, which looked like a couple of glowing hot coals. Her skin tone was no longer its usual creamy white but a sickly olive green, and her teeth were like olives too—black olives. And then there was the nauseatingly foul odor that emanated from her every pore. I’m telling you, the woman wasn’t just a character from a horror movie, she was a walking sewer.
“May I come in?” she said, but not in her own voice. The voice was low, exaggerated, like a record played on slow speed.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I yelled for Jeremy, who was at my side in an instant.
“Holy Jesus,” he said when he saw her. Saw it.
“Jesus can’t help you, stud muffin,” Frances/Satan said derisively, punctuating the remark with a high-pitched cackle. “You’re mine now. Both of you.”
“You’ve got that all wrong,” said Jeremy, standing up to the devil. I was so proud of him. “I’m not yours and Barbara isn’t yours. But I sure am glad you’re here. Now you can let her out of that bargain she didn’t even know she made and put her back to the way she used to be.”
The devil laughed uproariously. “Oh, don’t be naive,” he said, returning to the deep, low voice. “Barbara doesn’t really want to be fat and dumpy and down on her luck. She wants to be thin and beautiful and successful.”
“Excuse me, Satan,” I interjected, “but I’ve learned something in the past few months—that I don’t have to make a bargain with you to get what I want. I have the power to lose weight or change my hair color or work harder at my job, if that’s what’s important to me. I can do these things for myself.”
“Well, bully for you,” the
devil said sarcastically. “And I suppose you can find a man to love you, too?”
“She already has found a man to love her. I love her, no matter how she looks or how many houses she sells. No matter what,” said Jeremy, echoing the pledge we’d made to each other.
“Oh, spare me,” said Frances/Satan, rolling his eyes in disgust. “I find all this lovey-dovey stuff repulsive.”
“Well, it’s true,” said Jeremy. “I love Barbara. LOVE HER! Get it?”
“Not only do I ‘get it.’ I’m going to fix it so you’ll be able to love her even more,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” said Jeremy.
“When I’m finished with you, you’ll be able to produce children with her,” said the devil. “My children.”
“What?” I shouted. “You’re not thinking of turning Jeremy into—”
“I’m not just thinking of turning your boyfriend into a darksider, Barbara. I’m going to do it. In a matter of minutes.”
“But why?” I wailed. “Jeremy didn’t make a deal with you. I did.”
“Yes, but he must be punished,” said Frances/Satan. “First, there was that silly, silly stunt at the River Princess party—my River Princess party. Then there was that bungled exorcism the other night. And now he organizes a concert intended to bring the town together in a spirit of goodness and love. Yech! The whole thing makes my stomach turn. Your boyfriend’s gotta go, babe. Right now.”
“No! Please don’t transform him,” I begged. “He only got involved in all this to help me. If you have to pair me with a male darksider, pick someone else. Someone who’d probably get a big thrill out of working for a celebrity like you. Lloyd Bellsey, for instance. He and his wife are the biggest star fuckers in Banyan Beach.”
Frances/Satan smiled. “Lloyd’s been a darksider for years, dear,” he chuckled. “How do you think he wins all those high-profile murder cases?”
I was stunned. “Lloyd Bellsey is a darksider?” I said. “He’s got a tail?”
Frances/Satan nodded.
“But that means that June is—”