TODAY’S BREW: Creme Brulee, lots of it
Here’s a quickie I threw together. I needed a little break from the sequel to Running Home. Have fun.
When the Devil speaks, everybody listens. It doesn’t matter if they went to church that Sunday, or if karma kicks them in the ass on the regular. There isn’t a person in the world that doesn’t respond when asked, “What, exactly, would you do to get what you want?”
Georgette sat at the bar, upper lip curled up like she smelled a fart. If there was such a thing as a state-of-the-art manicure, she had it. Her stupid suit was fashionable in the way that it looks like a man’s, but still made her tits look good. It hurt to look at how pleased with herself she was.
My leather pants squeaked with poor quality as I slid onto the stool next to her. I was giving her an open-mouthed grin like I was coming down off of too hearty a laugh.
Her eyes almost crossed, she frowned at me so hard, and leaned far away, her chin mushing into her neck, Jabba-style.
“What the Hell are you doing?” I breathed in at the word.
“Saying hi. I like your manly suit.”
“That’s impolite. Your suit is manly, but you don’t have to be so crass. And fuck you, too.”
I stared at her as she pursed her lips, then her shoulders relaxed. She stirred her martini. These corporate types always loosened up with a good berating.
“You don’t like me. I like that. Celebrating tonight?”
With a sigh, “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
My wide grin widened. “Waiter! Jack and coke!”
“He’s not a waiter, dipshit, he’s a bartender.”
“So, you’re celebrating…your promotion?”
Her head snapped up fast enough to make blonde hair flop out of her bun thing. “How…?”
“You don’t have an engagement ring. You aren’t dressed for fun. You’re all alone, but smug as shit. Congratulations.”
Her mouth hung open to reveal good dental work. “Thank you?” she said, shaking her head. She looked me in the eyes for the first time, and I had her. She spotted the Nothing there, and she wanted in.
Crossing her legs the other way, she shuffled to face me a little more. Business etiquette tells you to do that. So does desperation.
“I worked four years to get this promotion. I watched every member of personnel turn over, I designed a revolutionary training module, gained us six new multi-million dollar clients in the merger—“
“Ooooh, mergers! Fascinating stuff. So he promoted you because you banged him?”
The martini fell to the floor like a sequined bra onstage, pissing off the waiter. “What did you say?” she croaked.
I gave her my best sexy face, and leaned into her, licking my lips. “You finally had sex with him, and now you got what you want?” There it was. The hook.
Her hands stopped quivering long enough to take the new martini I’d flagged down for her. She looked into my eyes again, and they gave her Nothing in return.
“I don’t want it,” she whispered to herself. I jumped for joy inside. She kept going, getting stronger. “I don’t want to train the new guy. I don’t want to reconfigure the department. I don’t want to write reports on Friday night, or go to another company fucking cookout. I don’t want to wear this fucking suit.” She downed the martini. The rest of her hair fell down her back in highlighted waves.
I could have puked with excitement. “So. If you’ll screw your boss to get something you don’t want, what exactly would you do to get what you do want?”
She closed her eyes for a second. “I don’t know what I want.”
I put my hand on her knee. She inched my way, and my hand shimmied up to her thigh. “Yes, you do,” I breathed into her ear.
Her whole body gave a shudder, and her soul answered me. “I don’t want these expectations anymore.” She went a little limp.
“What do you want?” I tried not to hiss as I breathed down her neck. I knew she felt the eyes of the other drinkers on her as sweat beaded on her throat, and she wiggled in her seat to move my had up closer. She bit my earlobe, and said—
“I want to strip.”
All the air sucked out of the room, music was replaced with a high pitched whistle of ears popping, and I became larger, huge, building-sized, my deafening victory roar quaking the sky.
“Then do it.”
Pulling back a bit, she smiled. “What?”
“Do it. You already have the cheap makeup and the expensive hair. You’ve got a smokin’ body. You’ve got no one to answer to.” My teeth gritted as I neared the punch, and I spit it out venomously. “Give it all up. The answer is, Georgette, you don’t have to do anything to get what you want. You have to piss on what you don’t want.”
Her body went still. She sat up straight. My hand went back to my drink. I smiled warmly, softly at her, and she smiled back, a new glint in her eye. I remembered that feeling.
When I met the Devil, he asked me, “What, exactly, do you want?” I didn’t have to think to answer, “To be like you.” I was already so close. And he asked me, “What, exactly, would you do to get it?” He knew the answer, and he told me what to do.
“Make them realize their basest wants. Free them of their expectations.”
Georgette unbuttoned the top of her blouse, having already ripped off her blazer. Her chest and neck had a sheen of perspiration that spoke of carnage. She thanked me, and stuck her tongue down my throat. She threw crumpled up dollar bills on the bar for the waiter.
I watched her sashay out, ass shimmying, hair swinging, ambition dolloping off of her like whipped cream.
I ordered my next drink.