1 Straight to Hell Page 8

  The waitress turned red, and I glared at the man who’d insulted her. He had a ponytail and a goatee, and wore a suit coat over a black t-shirt with an AC/DC logo on it. And, I noticed looking at his feet, sandals. In my opinion, such crimes of fashion should be hanging offenses. “Can you believe her,” the man asked his companion after the waitress left. “God, what is it about people in this town?”

  William leaned in closer to me, drawing my attention back to him. “Take that man behind me, for instance. You think he’s being rude. It’s written all over your face. But is what he’s doing really wrong? After all, he has been waiting a long time for the waitress.

  It was like we were playing chess. I was shoving out my little pawns in hopes of making headway in the game while William effortlessly captured them. But even while I knew that I was out-matched, I couldn’t make myself give up. “He didn’t need to insult her.”

  “You only feel like that because of the way you were raised. In my day, servants were spoken to far worse. Face it, your feeling of guilt comes from a lifetime of indoctrination. God plays dirty that way, using our parents against us. Making them tell us what we should and should not be doing or feeling.”

  I dropped my eyes. Simon would have been devastated if he’d known I’d spent the morning stealing clothes. One time in high school, he found out that I’d cheated on a test. I was sure he’d be furious. Instead, he was heartbroken. “I must have done something wrong to make you think it was okay to cheat,” he’d said. “I’m so ashamed of myself.” I’d never cheated again.

  “My father is the most honest man I know,” I said.

  “So was mine,” William said, but he looked less than happy about it. “My father was honest, and temperate, and pious, and law-abiding.” He frowned at his coffee. “He was also an arrogant, selfish, cruel bastard.”

  “But he taught you right from wrong.”

  “In his own puritanical, hypocritical way, yes. My father was a great admirer of Charles Landers.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t know how happy it makes me that you haven’t heard of him,” Mr. Darcy said. His slight smile had a bitter edge. “I would love to know that wretch’s name has been scrubbed off the face of the earth. Charles Landers was a minister. He goaded my father into disowning me, claiming I drank too much, gambled too much and, especially, enjoyed women far too much.”

  Not only was our chess game still on, I thought I knew how to capture a piece. “So becoming, what you are now, was easy?”

  He flinched and looked away, and I felt a flush of success. Queen to rook four or whatever. I hadn’t lost the game yet. “Of course not. It’s hard to overcome what we’ve been taught in our formative years. Even now, I find myself questioning…certain things.” His expression hardened. “But if Miss Spry used me, then Reverend Charles Landers used my father in the same way.”

  Touché, I thought as another of my pieces was whisked from the board.

  Even though I was enjoying the intimate turn of the conversation, I realized that, by becoming more passionate, my Mr. Darcy was also growing less irresistible. I started to notice his flaws. His face, which I had thought so angelic, was not ideal after all. His large chin dominated his features, and his teeth were a little uneven. His eyes were small and not nearly as deep blue as I’d thought before. Now I’m not saying that he was ugly or even unattractive. No, I’m simply admitting that he wasn’t perfect.

  He noticed my staring and looked chagrinned, like a supermodel caught without her make-up. In a second, his self-control was back, and with it his brilliantly beautiful good looks. But this time, I wasn’t quite as enamored. In fact, I actually preferred the other William.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “The more you resist your conscience, the easier it becomes.”

  “I must be the worst succubus ever known.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, I think Miss Spry is enjoying all of this.”

  I lifted my head. “All of what?”

  “Watching you struggle against your good intentions. There’s nothing Helen loves more than the corruption of an innocent soul. It’s a game she never tires of.”

  “I’m not really innocent,” I said.

  He gave me a slightly lewd smile, looking over my body an inch at a time. “I don’t doubt that for a moment.”

  I wanted to reply to that, but I was distracted by the unfolding drama behind him. The man with the ponytail had grown louder and louder and was jabbing his finger at the papers on the table while his companion tried to quiet him. “You tell them that I will not agree to this shit! They’re jerking me around. I deserve better.” He took a tiny cigarette out of a silver case and lit it, oblivious to my hostile stare. A breeze picked up the smoke and blew it in my direction, making me cough.

  William took my hand. “Why don’t you give yourself a little gift right now,” he said. “What do you want more than anything else?”

  “To teach that jerk a lesson,” I said. The words slipped out, but once I spoke them, I knew it was true.

  William smiled and raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s stopping you?”

  I smiled, suddenly feeling devilish. “Nothing.”

  I watched the men at the other table argue. This was like another game of chess, and I studied the situation like a player might study the board, taking in all of the opportunities and possible moves. My demon, who had been snoozing like a dog at my feet, suddenly pricked up her ears. She guided my attention to the papers on the table, nudging me to pay attention to them.

  “Don’t wait too long to make your move,” William cautioned. “You must be sure to get him at the tipping point. That’s when he’s the most vulnerable.”

  I nodded but continued to watch the pair of men. The one with the ponytail was signing the papers now, while at the same time calling down curses on the man sitting across from him. “Why do I pay you if you won’t go to bat for me? You’re supposed to be on my side, remember?”

  I didn’t know if the man was a minor-league actor signing a contract, a married man signing divorce papers, or if he was something else entirely. But from his companion’s expression, it was clear that this deal was in Mr. Ponytail’s best interest. He was just too self-absorbed to realize it.

  I got up from the table the moment Mr. Ponytail’s companion tucked the signed papers into his briefcase and walked away. Slipping into the vacated chair, I gave my demon permission to turn her shine up to full volume. “He’s taking advantage of you,” I told Mr. Ponytail. “In fact, he’s on his phone right now laughing at what a sucker you are.”

  Mr. Ponytail’s eyes hardened. “I knew it!”

  “In fact, you’d better run after him and get those papers back. Tear them up and tell him he’s fired. Don’t let him push you around.”

  Mr. Ponytail was out of his chair before I’d even finished with my pitch. He knocked into the waitress, sending her tray flying. Without bothering to apologize, he ran down the sidewalk after his companion, ripped the briefcase out of his hands, and wrenched it open. A moment later, he was shredding every paper inside and screaming, “You’re fired!”

  At the next table over, William lifted his coffee like he was toasting me. “Nicely done, Lilith. Now wasn’t that fun?”

  And of course, I had to agree. It had been very fun indeed.

  Chapter Six

  Back home, my thrill over my new wardrobe faded. I’d been working hard over the past few months to keep Ari from stealing gum and candy bars from the grocery store checkout lane, and here I’d gone and helped myself to six thousand dollars worth of Marc Jacobs and Gucci. I stacked my new clothes in the back of my closet, doubting that I’d have the nerve to wear them.

  But as I sorted through the pile of bills that had arrived in the morning mail, I realized that it wouldn’t be wrong to use my succubus to get what was rightfully mine. That was, the insurance check.

  I called the 800 number for the claims department, and after five minutes of negotiating the intrica
te automated system, and another fifteen minutes of being placed on hold, I was finally connected to a representative. “There’s been no progress on your claim,” she said after I’d identified myself.

  It was time to put the succubus into action. “Are you sure,” I said. I let the demon mellow my voice. “Because I’ve been waiting quite a while. And I know you want to be the best insurance company in the business.”

  “I’m sure,” the representative said. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  Damn the phone! The representative’s voice was so carefully modulated that it filtered out any nuances that could clue me in to what she wanted. And without any physical or visual hints, I was severely limited in my ability to seduce. Even my demon had no idea where to begin. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you,” I asked. I took a stab, hoping that self pity would work again. “And if so, has he cheated on you recently?”

  She hung up.

  That afternoon, both Grace and Ariel had Girl Scouts after school. Yes, that’s right, I said Ariel is a Girl Scout. Or, perhaps to be more precise, a Grrl Scout. The weirdest thing is that she really likes it, and willingly wears the sash over her black t-shirt and chain necklaces. Unfortunately, I was thinking of taking her out of the program since the first thing she’d learned was how to start a fire using nothing but a pair of twigs.

  Knowing I’d be home alone for a while longer, I was all set to take a nice, relaxing bath but my phone beeped, reminding me that I had an appointment in twenty minutes. Seeing the reminder, I groaned. I’d completely forgotten that I’d re-scheduled my appointment with my ex-husband.

  On the day I’d died and gone to visit Miss Spry, I’d been on my way to see my ex-husband. And you know what? I’m actually glad that I was hit by the car before I could make it. Because, all things being equal, death and a trip to hell were far better than a visit with my ex.

  I know, I know. Everyone’s ex-husband is awful, and I’m sure all of you have worse horror stories than I do. So if you’re wondering what makes Dr. Theodore Dempsey the worst nightmare ever, I’ll say that he’s the worst because he’s my nightmare. Face it, whenever you have a problem – period cramps, or shoes that pinch, or a divorce – your trauma is always worse than everyone else’s. Even if you pretend otherwise.

  So anyway, I’d been divorced for eleven months, and while contacting Ted had never been easy, recently it had become a downright pain. Last time I’d needed to see him, he’d kept me in his waiting room for over an hour before I realized that he’d slipped out the back door. This time, I’d gotten smarter and made an appointment with his receptionist using a false name and pretending I was a new patient in need of a consult.

  I arrived at the office, filled out the paperwork, and let the receptionist lead me to Ted’s office. As I crossed the room, I saw my ex bent over the mouth of a child who had enough metal and plastic in her to build a Chrysler. I smiled and gave him a little wave. Within seconds, he was in the office with me, closing the door behind him. “I don’t have time to talk to you now, Lilith.”

  Even if I do hate him, I have to admit that he’s extremely good looking. His blond hair is a little long, and his bangs tend to hang in his eyes. He favors glasses that make him look adorably nerdy, but maintains an impressive six-pack. Ted’s not Mr. Darcy gorgeous, of course, but he is handsome in a sexy, geeky kind of way.

  I sat on his desk and crossed my legs. “This won’t take long. Grace wants…”

  “Okay, hold on.” He put up his hands. “If this is about money, you know where I stand on that.”

  Of course I did because I’d heard his lecture about it often enough. It was the typical litany: child support payments should be enough to cover Grace’s expenses; I needed to get a real job and not just substitute teach; he was not, by God, required to pay for that slut’s (Jasmine) or that delinquent’s (Ariel) room and board. If I wanted to run a hotel for indigents and tramps, that was my business, but he wouldn’t underwrite the costs.

  I repeated all of this to him, and he nodded in agreement. “That’s right, Lilith. I’m glad you understand.” He leaned back in his leather office chair and steepled his fingers. “It’s about responsibility, isn’t it? Learning how to live within your means. That’s an important part of growing up.”

  Just like that, the old anger inside me was stirred up again. I thought I’d gotten past a lot of the resentment I’d felt towards him, but clearly, I hadn’t. I hopped off the desk. “Don’t you dare lecture me, Ted. The only reason I’m here is because of our daughter.”

  “So what is it this time?”

  “Grace wants music lessons.”

  This got his attention. “Really?” Ted had been trying for years to turn our daughter into a prodigy. He’d forced piano lessons on her at age two; Spanish, Japanese, and Arabic language lessons at age three; and math and reading tutors at age four. It had also been his idea to put her in that exclusive private school, a place she hated. At the time we’d divorced, poor Grace was in ten different activities a week, and a nervous wreck besides.

  I’d gotten rid of all that once I had custody of her, but it seemed to make Grace worry more, not less because, above all, she wanted to make her daddy happy. But that, of course, would have been impossible since Ted is the kind of man who thinks his child should excel at everything. And if she didn’t excel, it was because she hadn’t tried hard enough.

  I was perfectly happy letting Grace choose her own activities (so far, only Girl Scouts and swimming lessons), but right after Thanksgiving, Simon and Evelyn had taken her to a children’s pop concert at the Detroit Symphony, and Grace had fallen in love.

  “What does she want to play?” Ted asked. His eyes were alight. “The piano? The violin?”

  Okay, this was the hard part. I could hardly stand to say it. “The French horn.”

  “The what?” He had that shell-shocked, please-dear-God-tell-me-it’s-not-true look that I recognized since I’d had the very same thing on my own face when Grace first told me.

  “Yes, the French horn. She says she likes the way it curls up like a cat on the player’s lap.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Then let’s just get her a cat.”

  “We have a cat,” I reminded him.

  He responded exactly how I expected he would. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I’ll happily re-enroll her in ice skating lessons. And tennis, ballet, and gymnastics. Maybe even buy a guitar if she wants. But I won’t give in to a whim.”

  “Believe me, I’m not here on a whim. It’s been almost two months since she saw the concert, and she’s been after me almost nonstop ever since.” Of all her phases, it was the one I’d longed to see the end of. But of course, it was the one she’d stubbornly stuck with. She’d been drawing pictures of French horns and putting them into my purse and under my pillow and in my underwear drawer as reminders for me to speak to her father.

  “Well, I for one, don’t think you’ve properly researched this idea, Lil.”

  In case you haven’t begun to realize this yet, let me explain why I divorced my ex (and let me be perfectly clear here, I divorced him). Yes, Andrea the naked model I’d found in my bathtub was a big part of that decision, and so was the five a.m. grope. But there’s more. You see, Ted thinks he’s an expert on everything, and I mean everything. Not only obvious things like dentistry or golf, but things like how a bed should be made or how gas should be put into the car. If I loaded the dishwasher, he’d reload it. If I did the taxes, he’d redo them and inevitably come up with a bigger return than I had. He once told me that, based on value and quality, I was buying the wrong kind of tampon.

  The really irritating part was that he was right.

  “I know you have your heart set on this, Lil,” Ted said, “but I’m not convinced.” A light on his phone began flashing. “Tell you what. Let me look this over tonight and run it past Adelaide. Then I’ll let you know.”

  Adelaide. The name was like a taser shock to my vi
tal organs. In reflex, I clenched my fists so tightly that my knuckles turned white. “Ted, does your mother really need to be in on this decision?”

  He looked affronted. “My mother has a lot of insight, Lilith. If you’d only get past your insecurities, you’d see this.”

  For the record, I’d gladly pay for the privilege of shooting the person who told me that a man who was good to his mother would be good to his wife as well. Because when I saw the extreme (now I would say nearly Oedipal) devotion Ted showed to his mother, I thought I couldn’t lose. But lose I did. Over and over again. I’d say more on this, but I’m already making myself sick.

  When Ted picked up his phone and dismissed me with a wave of his hand, I knew I’d lost. Adelaide, my nemesis, would see to it. That woman hated me with a loathing so pure that it was almost holy.

  But as I gathered my purse and coat, I felt a strange, inner tingling. At first, I thought that I was having an allergic reaction to Ted’s aftershave. But on closer inspection, I realized that it was my demon who was itching at my insides, demanding to be let out and play. I smiled. If ever a man deserved to be toyed with by a demon, it was my ex-husband.

  Go for it, I told her and set her free, letting her take more control than I had ever done before. I figured that my demon needed to be as strong as it could be in order to persuade my ex-husband.

  I sat back on his desk, leaned forward, and fiddled with the neckline of my blouse, drawing his attention to my breasts. Then I tossed my hair over my shoulder. It worked like magic. Ted stared at me, then hung up the phone.

  “By the way, Lil,” he said, “I should mention that you’re looking really great today.”

  “Why, thank you for noticing.” My demon gave him a slow, languid smile. The kind you might give someone after sex. “That’s because I’ve been taking your advice on a few things, Ted.”

  He looked startled. “You have?”

  I, too was startled. I had?