The Devil's Luck

by W E DeVore

  “What was it, Aaron?”

  “Something one of the boys at the Yeshiva where my dad was studying said about Avi….”

  “Something about Avi being gay,” she guessed.

  He nodded and said, “So, we’re sitting on the patio behind my grandparents’ house, eating melon slices and he’s teasing me about Gali, and I ask him ‘Do you like boys or girls?’ I kind of already knew the answer, but I wanted him to tell me.”

  “What did he say?”

  Sanger gazed out the window as if he could see his younger self and his brother sitting outside in the Tel Aviv sunshine. “He said, ‘boys. Don’t tell Aba.’”

  She contorted her hands against the tape, trying to loosen the adhesive clutching at her skin. “And what did you say?”

  He turned back to her and replied, “‘Good, I’ve always wanted two brothers.’”

  “You were a sweet boy.” She stared a beat too long at his eyes and was dazed by her imminent loss. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Ok, let’s play. You first.”

  Sanger twisted uncomfortably against his bindings and the front of his shirt instantly darkened. “Alright then, ask me a question and I’ll tell you no lie.”

  Q started to tremble, inwardly cursing every decision that had led her to once again come this close to witnessing the end of her own life.

  Sanger let out a sharp, bright whistle and grunted. “Don’t fall apart on me now, Clementine. Come on. Ask me a question. I’ll tell you no lie.”

  “I don’t want to. Aaron, we’re going to die,” she said, panic taking hold. “You’re shot. You’re bleeding. Fuck.”

  “I’m ok and we’re not going to die,” he replied firmly. “Come on. Ask me.”

  She breathed in his confidence and said, “Ok, tough guy. Why don’t you ever call me ‘Q’?”

  Sanger smiled wistfully, his head lolling against the railing behind him. “You don’t look like a ‘Q’ to me. You look like a ‘Clementine.’”

  Q squinted at him disapprovingly. “You’re hedging.”

  “Am not,” he argued.

  “Are to. You’re not supposed to lie, cowboy. Answer the question.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you want to know the answer to that question, Clementine.”

  “Yes, I do. Come on; we’re going to die in about two hours. You’re probably bleeding out right now. What possible harm could come of it?”

  “And you said I had a terrible bedside manner, Jesus.” Sanger heaved a heavy sigh and said, “Alright. ‘Q’ is sweet. It’s unusual. It’s unique. It’s a lot like you, but it’s not you. It’s too short. One little letter isn’t enough to describe how amazing you are to me.”

  Q’s mouth fell open and Sanger continued quietly, “You amaze me, Clementine. Every time I look at you. Every time we’re together, I think, ‘I can’t believe I get to know this woman.’ And I can’t understand how anyone who really sees you, could just call you by one little letter. Because no one little letter could ever be a match for you.”

  It was too close to a eulogy for comfort and she kicked her foot at him again, trying to joke through the tears that were forming at the edges of her eyes. “That is the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s not bullshit, Clementine,” he said. “Your turn.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, “Ok, Aaron, ask me a question, I’ll tell you no lie.”

  “You ever wonder what would have happened if I’d come to that first Seder at Constance’s?” he asked, holding her gaze. “The one where she wanted to fix me up with you.”

  “No, because I know what would have happened,” she replied, twisting her shoulders against the strain of the duct tape pinning them in place. She didn’t know what direction Sanger’s game was heading, but she felt them slipping nearer to a boundary they weren’t supposed to even glance at.

  “Tell me what you think would have happened,” he said.

  “You would have come, looking handsome, as you’re apt to do.” She smiled at him across the room and he gave her a shy grin. “And I would have shut you down by being as much of a cunt as I possibly could have been without Bubbe saying anything about it,” she said plainly.

  “You sure about that?” he asked. “I can be pretty charming.”

  “Yes, you can, but I wasn’t the same person I am now, Sanger. I hadn’t been with anyone for almost five years, and frankly, I liked it that way. Ben and I had just started messing around, but I wouldn’t let him in. Wouldn’t have let you either. I was closed off, like more than I am now. Harder to love, too, if you can imagine.”

  He looked at her, intently. “I don’t think you’re hard to love, Clementine. It’s a little too easy, if you’re asking me.”

  “Oh. God,” she said, looking down in shock as she realized what he was trying to say. “Sanger, please don’t…”

  “It’s alright, Clementine. I know your Ben’s wife. I know you love him and I know I’m a fool. But I also know that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I know how I feel when you’re around,” he said, his eyes traveling over her face. “I’ve been trying so hard not to be in love with you. But you make it so difficult to stop. Like I said, you amaze me.”

  “What about Yvie?” she asked, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer to that particular question.

  “That was doing the trick, actually. It would have finally done the trick, I think. Guess I’ll never get that chance now. But I need you to know. I can’t die without telling you. I’m in love with you, Clementine. I just wanted to say it out loud, just once.”

  She watched him for several minutes. “You’re the only real friend I think I’ve ever had.”

  “Likewise. I mean that, Clementine. You’re my best friend and maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t see the harm under the circumstances. You won’t hold it against me, will you?” he asked.

  “No, Aaron. I won’t,” she said. “I didn’t know, Aaron, that you felt that way about me. You hide it pretty well, cowboy.”

  He stared at her for a moment before suddenly screwing on a crooked grin. “That’s because I’m lying to you.”

  Q’s eyes widened in embarrassment and surprise and she exclaimed, “You asshole! Here I am thinking of a way to let you down easy for the last few minutes we’re both alive. And you’re fucking lying to me. About that! I thought the point of this game was to tell the truth.”

  “It wasn’t my turn. It was yours.” He grinned at her. “But it got your mind off things for a minute, though, didn’t it? I didn’t like seeing you so scared. Thought I’d give you something else to worry about.”

  “You had me going for a minute, cowboy.”

  “Sure did, didn’t I?” He sighed and grimaced in pain. “It wasn’t all a lie. You really are my best friend.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said, unable to take her eyes off the trickle of blood on the floor beside Sanger’s leg. “I should have figured out a way to warn you.”

  “Let’s call it even for Ethan. I’m tired of you blaming me for it, even though it was your damned idea.”

  “You took your sweet time rescuing me,” she argued. “Just how long did you expect me to have to grab his dick?”

  “Well, I didn’t know. You could have said something into the wire,” he replied, slipping into his side of the squabble they’d had a dozen times. “I was trying to get evidence. Enough. Ask me a question and I’ll tell you no lie. Make it a good one. I’m not going to be able to stay with you much longer.”

  She grasped for something, anything that would jar him awake, straining against her bonds, when she felt something metallic touch her fingertips. “Aaron, can you see what I’m touching?”

  “Not really.” He moved to his side and his head slumped unnaturally. “Fuck, Clementine. I don’t feel well.”

  “Hold on, cowboy. Please. Just hold on a little longer.” Her fingers closed around a hooked piece of m
etal on the end of an errant piece of drum hardware that had been left on the floor and she tore at the tape around her wrist, cursing as she felt her skin break at the same time as the adhesive. By the time she got herself free, she turned to find Sanger had collapsed against the railing.

  Q screamed for him to wake up as she crawled to him, frantically cutting at the tape behind him, begging him to wake up. Lying him flat on the ground, she lifted his shirt to find a single bullet wound on the right side of his torso. She pressed her hand against it, trying to stop the bleeding.

  “Please, Aaron. Please wake up,” she pleaded.

  Sanger groaned and mumbled, “Ani tamid ohev otekh.”

  She felt cupped his face in her hand and gently patted his face to rouse him. Feeling how hot his skin was beneath her fingers, she felt his forehead and realized an infection was already setting in.

  “Motherfuck!” Q yelled in frustration and ran down the stairs to the front door. Unlocking it, she raced over the sidewalk to the corner and pounded on the door of the nearest house, screaming for someone to help her.

  Chapter 14:

  Lights, Camera, Action

  Q stood, regarding herself in the dressing room mirror, willing the tremors in her joints to stop. Three weeks of rigorous dress rehearsals, hitting marks for the production over and over and she still felt ill-equipped to make it through the performance she was going to have survive this evening. A soft knock startled her, and she moved to open the door. Derek gasped when he saw her standing before him in the Archangel costume.

  “This was always my favorite look on you,” he said with a grin.

  “I like the changes,” she said. “That one for the Ball was so hot.”

  “Wait until you see all the broken glass projected on the wings when you see the video. It took my breath away the first night of the tour. I almost forgot how to play guitar.”

  He turned her face to the light and squinted at the faint bruise that still lurked on her jaw. “I miss the bruise,” he said. “Made it look like you came from battle.”

  “I did,” she replied. Q decided to confront her fear head on and admit it. “I’m scared, Derek.”

  “Why would you be scared, angel?” Derek sounded more amused than concerned.

  “Fifteen thousand people,” she said. “I feel like throwing up.”

  Derek sat on the couch, lounging back in a relaxed sprawl. He gestured for her to do the same and she perched on a make-up chair, still surprised by the flexibility the costume provided.

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” he asked flatly.

  “What in the good fuck does that have to do with this?”

  “Answer the question, angel,” he said.

  “I will not.”

  He folded his arms and waited for her to change her mind. She finally rolled her eyes and said, “Seventeen. I was seventeen. He was twenty.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Not hardly,” she confessed. “He was a friend of Pete, my old bass player. It was Mardi Gras. I needed a bathroom. We went back to his apartment. It just happened.”

  “Sex doesn’t just happen.” He raised his eyebrows, indicating that he expected more to the story.

  “I was tired of being a virgin. I wanted to get it over with, but I didn’t want to do it with any of the guys at my high school, or worse, at Temple. He was cute. Really good kisser. Good at other things, too.”

  Derek smiled with her. “Did you orgasm?”

  Q scowled at him. “That’s all you get.”

  “Did you?”

  She felt her face grow hot from the memory. “Yes. Like I said. He was good at that, too.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Andrew.”

  Derek clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “Were you scared when Andrew took you back to his apartment?”

  “Yeah, a little I guess.” She thought about it for a moment and remembered the way her body trembled when he’d taken off her clothes. “A lot.”

  “And once it started, and you knew how good it felt. Were you still scared?”

  “Not even a little.” She grinned at him and he gave her an unhurried wink.

  “It’s the same, angel. These big shows. You’ll see it. Everyone will be talking a little louder. Their movements will be a little more exaggerated. Their spines will be straighter. Because we’re all about to get laid by fifteen thousand strangers for the first time. You’ll make your entrance and the crowd will lose their fucking minds for about thirty seconds and you’ll feel like jumping out of your own skin for most of that. Then you’ll orgasm and you’ll be just fine.”

  She laughed out loud. “You’re a freak of nature.”

  “Maybe so, but are you still scared?”

  “No, now I’m thinking about Andrew and I kind of want to go home and get my husband naked. Some of us are going to be celibate for most of the next six months.”

  He stood up and walked to her. He cupped her face in his hand and surprised her with his cool touch. “You’re going to be fine tonight. We’re going to burn this arena to the ground and you’re going to light the match.”

  “Please don’t talk about fire,” she said. “I’m still leery of matches.”

  Derek laughed and kissed her nose. “Your husband and your puppy dog are outside. Should I let them in?”

  Q nodded, and Derek opened the door to reveal Sanger holding a bouquet of flowers and Ben standing behind him.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, edging past them and out into the corridor.

  Sanger watched him leave then turned back to Q, handing her the flowers. “From Yvie and me.”

  “They’re lovely, Aaron. Thank you.” Q took the flowers from him and inhaled their sweetness. “You’re supposed to be wearing your sling.”

  He shrugged. “I’m tired of it. I’m ok.”

  While the bullet that had wounded him caused him to lose enough blood to lose consciousness, it hadn’t done any real damage beyond the infection he’d gotten from it being left inside of him for seven hours. Ben followed Sanger into the room and wolf-whistled at his wife.

  “You think Derek would let you bring that home?” he asked, kissing her.

  “Maybe,” she said winking at him. “Where’s Yvie?”

  Ben said, “With Ma and the rest of the hens. You tell Derek to back the fuck off Grace.”

  “You tell Grace to back the fuck off Derek. Jesus, she’s worse than Jeffries.”

  Sanger sat on the couch. “Say what you will, but it made that stalker of yours dial it back to a lower level of insanity.”

  Ben put his arm around Q. “But not all the way. That letter that came to Son of Perdition last week…”

  Q interrupted, “Was practically poetic and used a picture of Derek and me from last year. Sanger’s right. I still don’t really like it, though. It was too easy to get them to back off.”

  Sanger grinned up at her. “I think we’ve earned easy, Clementine. Let’s take it where we can get it. Speaking of, McMillan pleaded out this morning. You don’t need to testify. So, you’re free to go on tour if you still want to.”

  Ben pulled her closer. “I’m going to miss you.”

  She turned to Sanger. “You remember your promise.”

  “I’ll take care of the Viking. You go be a rock star.”

  ◆◆◆

  The stage above Q rumbled like a living being. She was quite certain that she could feel her teeth vibrate within her jaw as Fiona pounded out the hard beat above her. Derek’s guitar thundered to life at the same time as the pulley and winch system levitated the broken window she stood within. Q felt herself rising out into the open through a dense flood of white smoke and blue light.

  The animalistic, tribal roar of fifteen thousand people gasping and screaming as her dark silhouette appeared before them, penetrated her inner ear, as every microphone on stage was momentarily overwhelmed by it. She closed her eyes and willed the terror back down. She was blinded by the sudd
en brightness. A blur caught her eye and she watched Fiona’s long, blonde dreadlocks fly around her head as her arms beat the drums in front of her like an ancient executioner.

  Derek stalked the front of the stage, holding his guitar like a weapon as he played the raging intro to the song. Smoke billowed around him and the long, grey trench coat he wore was lifted up behind him like a ghost tracking his movements. Projected images of glass shards rained down like snowfall on the faces of the first few rows of the audience. Nick and Kyle anchored either edge of the stage. She knew Dave was somewhere beneath her, she could hear the keyboards, but she didn’t have time to look.