by B.J. Beauchamp
A conversation from Los Angeles…
The Devil lounges against the bar and looks at the middle aged woman that just walked in. He looks her up and down as if to size her up for a prom dress, or a bridesmaid's dress; either way it wouldn’t be for something you’d want to be caught dead in.
The woman stares back at the Devil, “what do you want?”
“It’s not about what I want. Today the question is, what do you, want?” he tells her in his southern Louisiana accent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. You’re standing at the crossroad.” His lips move so that they reveal a toothy grin.
The woman’s brow furrows, “Crossroad?”
“That’s what I said, and that’s where you are,” he assures her with delight.
The woman looks down at the ground, and then shoots him a glance, “this doesn’t look like a burial spot but maybe,” she looks around the bar, “it is a place for a suicide of a sort.”
“Not that kind of crossroad and you know it.” He holds out a chair at a table for her.
It’s the woman’s turn to grin, and her toothy reveal is just as sly and wicked.
“I like that smile,” the Devil notes. “Reminds me of, um me.” She takes the seat being offered.
“You are arrogant, that I can see,” she counters. The Devil takes a seat directly across from the woman.
“Stop dancing around it, sister, you’re at the crossroad and… well I was going to say time’s a wasting, but for me, I got all the time in the world.” The Devil then waves for the bartender to come over. “I’ll have a spot of tea.”
The bartender saunters over as if he too had all the time in the world. “Black Russian?”
“Naw, son, just a bit of that green tea you keep over yonder for your boss when he’s massaging the books.”
The bartender’s eyebrow arches in surprise. He shrugs and goes over to get the man the tea he asked for.
“Well that is a surprise.” The woman looks at the bartender coming to serve tea to the Devil.
The tea is deposited on the table. Before the bartender can leave the Devil stops him with just a finger in the air. “Bring the lady a Tanqueray and tonic and four lime wedges.” The bartended nods he will. “Thank you my good man.”
The Devil looks at the woman. “And he is a good man, too.”
“Really?” She looks at him with disbelief.
“Why you look at me like that, cher? I may be the Devil, but I don’t lie.”
“Much.”
“Aie!” He feigns injury to the heart. “You know me well. But you’re at the crossroads so the question is, do you really know yourself?”
“Ah.” She sits back and relaxes.
“Now you get it.” The Devil dunks the tea bag a couple times.
“Yes. The fork in the road.” She looks around the bar and shakes her head.
“You are not surprised to meet me here?”
It’s her turn to look him up and down. “No. I’ve always recognized you.” She grins, then her mind returns to her situation and her thoughts darken.
“Why do you struggle so? The world will not stop spinning, people will not die and rockets will not be launched. Your life doesn’t matter so much…” he shrugs apologetically, “sad, but true.”
The bartender brings the woman her drink.
“No matter what decision I make, no one will be hurt?”
“I said people will not die on accord of what path you chose.”
Something profound comes to the woman, and she is stupefied and chagrined all at once.
“What it is, cher?”
“That I would actually ask the Devil a question and believe anything he would say.” She takes the lime wedges and squeezes them into the drink one right after the other until all four wedges are dry.
He grins, and with deliberate and gentle action, takes a sip of his tea. The woman takes a drink of the gin mixture and enjoys the moment.
“It is a luxury not often taken to enjoy something.” He looks at her directly and their eyes lock. “You should enjoy things a bit more than what you do.”
“Well of course you would say that.” She smiles then takes another sip.
“I’m serious, cher. You serve many other masters except the one named you.”
“Wow, you’re good.”
He bows his head and accepts the compliment. “And so you won’t consider that you deserve a bit of happiness?”
“I am happy,” she counters.
“Yes, that’s why you’re at the crossroad.” He takes another sip of tea, all the while keeping his eye contact with her fixed and penetrating.
“I’m here because I need to figure out what’s the best decision, and it doesn’t just include me, there are other people involved.” She looks away. This is beginning to be uncomfortable.
“Do you know why I’m here?” he asks.
“Because I’m in a vulnerable position and you’re here to tempt me.”
The Devil does not respond in words or in physical expression. “What? No snappy come back?” She prompts him.
Slowly he returns his gaze to his tea and he plays with the cup a bit. “I am not here to tempt you with things, for that is not your vice. You are not tempted with decadence, although you have from time to time fallen in with gluttony, which you attempt to correct by using a Stairmaster. No, I cannot tempt you with anything physical in nature.” He runs his finger over her arm.
“Oy.” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m not crass, cher. I know that pleasure of the flesh won’t turn your head. You act as if I don’t know you. I know you very well. It is you that doesn’t know you.” He gets animated and wags a finger back and forth, “You are afraid of you!”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“No, cher, sadly you are more afraid of you than you ever were of me.”
“Well that’s not helpful,” she chides him and downs the rest of her drink.
“Of course it is.”
She rises from the table. “No it’s not. I’ve still a decision to make.”
“No you don’t.” He smiles demurely.
“I’ve not made a decision,” she tells him flatly.
“You did.”
“Oh good grief. I’m not going to argue with you.” She takes her purse and swings the strap over her shoulder.
He stands up. “It’s a simple truth.”
“Oh, here we go again, it’s the Devil talking truth.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Now?” she inquires. He nods his head in an affirmative. “Right now? This very moment?” she demands.
“Yes.”
“Right now I’m going to go figure out how to get from point a to point b.” She turns to go, then turns back to face him. “You’re not very tempting, nor are you helpful. Just want you to know that.”
He smiles at her. She looks flummoxed, then irritated and turns away and exits the bar.
The Devil takes his seat and has another sip of tea. The bartender comes over to the table.
“Everything all right?” the bartender asks.
“It is.” The Devil looks at the bartender.
“Lady seemed fine when she came in, but she seemed a bit upset when she left.”
“Yes. Confidence can be a tricky thing.” The Devil smiled wide with delight. “Yes indeed, it's a very tricky thing.”