So who was this, I wondered. A teacher? One of her mother’s old boyfriends? Tied around the doll’s lumpy neck was a scrap of red fabric cut from a bandana. It’s torso was naked, but the legs were squeezed into a pair of pants stolen from one of Grace’s Ken dolls.
The thing gave me such a case of the heebie-jeebies that I used the gloves to pick it up and put it into the plastic bag along with the pages of printed instructions. I tied the bag tightly shut by its handles and stuck the whole mess in the trash and took the trash outside. I’d have to talk to Ari about this, of course, but I certainly didn’t want to do it with that thing in the house with me.
Since Jas and Tommy had taken off with some friends the night before and still hadn’t returned, I was now blissfully alone in the quiet apartment. Although my main business for the day was to once more pester the insurance company, I decided a little ‘me time’ was in order. So after pouring a cup of coffee, I sat down with the daily crossword puzzle. I had just filled in the six-lettered word for “mine’s entrance”, when someone behind me cleared his throat.
I shrieked and started up from my chair, knocking over my coffee. Behind me stood Mr. Clerk, Miss Spry’s assistant. Once again, he was dressed in white, but this time it was a polo shirt with a sweater knotted under his chin. He looked as if he was about to step onto the tennis court at the country club where Ted and I used to be members. He was completely out of place in my kitchen with its sink full of dirty dishes, overflowing garbage can, and books and Barbie dolls scattered over the floor. With an arched eyebrow, he watched Drinking Tea leap onto the table and begin lapping lukewarm milk from Grace’s cereal bowl. “You should consider hiring a maid.”
“Certainly. Right after I make the final payment on my Lamborghini.” The newspaper had soaked up the spilled coffee like a blotter. Swearing, I tossed the entire soggy mess into the trash. “Can’t you people knock for crying out loud?”
“You need to learn how to listen for us.”
“And how, pray tell, do I do that?”
He ignored the question. “Go get dressed. Miss Spry has asked me to take you on an excursion.”
Suddenly, my perfect morning was ruined. “Is this like an assignment? Because the last one didn’t go so well.”
“You butchered it,” he said bluntly.
“But I got that man to take the pills,” I argued.
“No, he took them because of his previous addiction. What you nearly did was convince him to call his sponsor.”
Mr. Clerk looked at me expectantly, but I refused to apologize. Giving drugs to an addict was wrong, plain and simple. The only thing I regretted was that I hadn’t been able to talk that man out of it. In fact, that regret had kept me up most of the night.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Face it. I’m not cut out for this succubus thing.”
He brushed crumbs off of one of the chairs before sitting down. “Ms. Straight, you’re looking at all of this the wrong way. You’re not forcing people down the path to hell. You’re simply reminding them that they have a choice. You see, He has made certain that every human is born with a conscious that constantly reminds them of what He wants from them.” He cast a sour look upwards, as if he could see God through my kitchen ceiling. “But what you do is balance the equation. You keep humans from becoming his slaves by giving them an alternate way to act.”
To me, this sounded a lot like company propaganda, and I wasn’t buying it. “If God doesn’t want a drug addict to take drugs, then I’m fine with that.” It was strange to align myself with God since, over the years, I pretty much ignored him. But the meth thing had struck a nerve with me. After all, I couldn’t erase the memory of Ariel’s mother doing her jittery drug-dance on my front steps.
Mr. Clerk crossed his legs and pinched the crease of his slacks. “Well, that is a shame. Because I had a special treat planned for you today.”
“Like what? Pushing an old lady down the stairs? Feeding strychnine to a baby?”
He sighed. “Must you always be so dramatic? No, I was going to take you shopping.”
Shopping. My credit card kryptonite. I grit my teeth and clenched my fists from the effort to resist.
“Your wardrobe seems a little lacking, and I’d thought you could use some new clothes.”
My bedroom hadn’t been touched by the fire, but most of my clothing had been so smoke damaged that it couldn’t be saved. I’d been wearing the same four outfits over and over again for the past three months.
“Being a succubus can be fun, Lilith,” Mr. Clerk said. “It’s a lifestyle that offers a lot of rewards.” He stood up. “So what do you think, my dear? How about a little jaunt to Rodeo Drive?”
If he’d said we were going to the local mall, I probably could have resisted. But I couldn’t refuse visiting designer Mecca. I’m only human, after all. “Are you sure you’re not a tempter yourself,” I asked. “Because you’re awfully good at it.”
Mr. Clerk smiled. “I’ve trained a lot of seducers in my day. Including William Darcy and your mother.” He held out his hand. “Ready?”
I most certainly was.
Moments later, we were standing beneath the warm California sun. We stood on a length of bleached sidewalk punctuated with the pencil-straight trunks of palm trees, and in front of us was an enormous line of shops. I’d visited here many times before with Ted, and standing there was like coming home.
Mr. Clerk pressed his fingertips together against his lower lip as he surveyed the stores. “Where to begin?”
I read each of the designer names I saw, savoring the sound of them in my mouth. How I’d missed them! But one look in a display window was enough to bring me back to reality. “You are paying for this, right?”
“Let’s not be vulgar and talk about money, shall we?”
“That’s all well and good for you, but I’m broke.”
He heaved a sigh. “You needn’t worry about it.”
With that assurance, I took Mr. Clerk by the elbow and steered him inside the nearest boutique which had begun unlocking its doors.
The best part of shopping that morning was not the warmth of the California sun that came as such a relief after the slushy, mid-winter day back home. Nor was it the break away from the dim reality of my life. No, it was the priceless look of surprise on Mr. Clerk’s face when I came out of the dressing room wearing something that I had picked out myself.
“Well, it seems I’ve underestimated you,” he said.
I’d chosen a charcoal gray, pencil skirt with a side slit, and matched it with a wool, belted blazer. I spun in a little circle to give him the full effect.
“That blouse is a perfect shade of blue for you,” he mused, “and the skirt is just the right length.”
“Of course,” I said, pleased. I admired my reflection in the group of mirrors.
“Your mother always did have horrible style sense,” he said. “I guess I assumed you’d be the same way. You can hardly blame me considering what you showed up in yesterday.”
I cringed, remembering all too well.
I picked out several other items as well, collecting quite a pile on the counter. When I’d finished, I turned to Mr. Clerk. “So how I do pay for this?”
“You don’t. Consider this a lesson,” he said and breezed out the door.
Standing behind the counter was a young woman: model thin but with a gym-toned body, blonde hair done in a style that looks effortless but really isn’t, a perfectly even tan and make-up so expertly applied that it looks as if it doesn’t exist. Like me, she had an otherworldly power: with one look, she made me feel old, poor and tacky.
Outside, Mr. Clerk watched me through the plate-glass window at the front of the store. When I didn’t move, he made a little walking motion with his fingers. Steeling myself, I approached the cash register. The clerk, who was on the phone, decided I wasn’t worth the effort to end her conversation, and turned her back on me.
“Um, excuse me,” I ventured.
&
nbsp; She raised her voice and kept talking.
“Hello? I’d like to pay for these now.”
She glared at me and covered the receiver with her hand. “In a minute? I’m on the phone with a customer.”
Her rudeness restored some of the mettle I’d lost over the past year. My situation might have changed drastically, but I was still Lilith Straight. I stood taller and then said in my very best arrogant bitch voice, the one I used to use when the gardener neglected to come to work, or when the people across the street left their garbage cans sit out at the curb for too long. “You need to hang up that phone, right now, or I’m leaving this store and not returning.”
Her lips pursed disdainfully, as if I was the one being rude. I couldn’t believe it. She was treating me like a tourist from Oklahoma who’d wandered in looking for a public restroom. Turning her back on me once more, she continued her conversation. “So we’re on for tonight, right? Do you want me to pick you up?” She twisted a lock of her carefully highlighted hair. “You did get the tickets, right? Oh…okay….”
Customer, my fat aunt Fanny.
“Well, will I see you tonight anyway? Oh, I see…’k. Bye.”
Though she’d just been groveling at the feet of whomever was on the phone, when she turned to face me, her expression was regal. She rang up my purchases in stubborn silence, matching my outrage with her own. But, as I watched the numbers in the cash register’s display creep well into the four figures, I started to feel a little faint.
“How will you be paying for this today,” she asked, carefully folding my clothes and putting them into a bag.
Okay, so this was a test and, as it had on a hundred different final exams, my mind froze up. Think¸ I told myself. Think, think! My demon, who had seduced Harold the undertaker without so much as a by-your-leave, now refused to do anything. I was pretty sure it was sulking.
I swallowed. “Just a minute.” I rushed outside. “I need a hint,” I said. “What do I do?”
Mr. Clerk pressed his pale lips into a thin line. “Oh really, Ms. Straight. This isn’t like toppling a third-world government.”
“But my demon isn’t working. It won’t do anything. I think it hates me.”
“Of course it hates you,” Mr. Clerk said. “It’s a demon after all. But it does love doing its job.”
“Which is?”
“Drawing out humans’ darker natures. Getting them to forget all about our enemy’s propaganda about love and self sacrifice.”
Darker nature? Like Harold groping a grieving widow, I supposed. I glanced through the window to see that the clerk was glaring at me. “How should I start.”
Mr. Clerk sighed and muttered something about how he needed to be patient with incompetents. Then he said, “Try self pity. It’s generally a good way to start.”
When I still hesitated, he said, “I’m not going to waste any more time convincing you. I’m going to threaten you instead. Either charm that woman or find your own way back home.” And, with that, he was gone.
“Mr. Clerk?” I looked around. “Mr. Clerk!” My heart fluttered in my chest. He wouldn’t really leave me here, would he? I suddenly realized that I had no purse, no money, no wallet, and no cell phone. And I certainly didn’t know how to pop in and out at will like he did. On my own, I’d be stranded in California.
I went back in. Okay, so self pity was my best weapon. I thought of the sales clerk’s phone conversation, recalling the subtle note of pleading in her voice, and the words she’d spoken. Suddenly, I knew exactly what to say.
Instead of withering in the face of her cool arrogance, I said, “I’m sorry about tonight.”
She looked startled. “What?”
“The tickets. The fact you’re not going out with him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You were listening in on my conversation!”
I ignored the accusation and sighed instead. “That’s how it started with me, you know.” Inside, my demon started to perk up. I relaxed the stranglehold I’d had on her for the past twenty-four hours, and let her slip to the surface. She made me feel stronger and more confident. My smile grew more radiant. The effects were subtle, but effective, and the tide of power begin shifting in my direction. I leaned on the counter. “It was always little things,” I said sadly. “Like he’d forget to stop by the store on the way home from work, so I’d have to run out to get the milk. Or he’d come home late and forget to call me.”
I had her attention. The glaze of boredom had left her eyes.
I held out my hand. “Can you believe that there used to be a two-karat diamond on this finger?” And that, my friends, is the gospel truth. Ted might have been a lot of things, but a stingy gift-giver was never one of them.
Her tears began to smudge her mascara. “This isn’t the first time,” she said. “Last week, he…” While she told me the entire sad history of her boyfriend, I murmured agreement and nodded. Yes, men are pigs. Yes, they are cheaters. Yes, we’re all too good for them. And ten minutes later, I walked out of the store with several thousand dollars of designer clothes.
I proudly held up my shopping bags for Mr. Clerk’s inspection. “Well?”
“Nicely done, Miss Straight,” he said. His eyes glinted. “Now, wasn’t that fun?”
Yes, it had been fun. Not only because of the clothing, but because stealing the clothes had been a way to get back at the clerk. It was payback for her bitchiness. She deserved it.
Didn’t she?
I blinked, confused. I’d just spent the morning going through my niece’s desk, worried that she’d stolen something. Now here I was, doing exactly the same thing.
Mr. Clerk was watching me closely. “Don’t over think it, Lilith,” he warned. “Let’s continue shopping, shall we?”
He hurried me into the next store where I walked out with several pairs of shoes. After that, it was a pair of six-hundred-dollar jeans, and a suede jacket so soft I wanted to cuddle it like a cat. But as we progressed from one shop to the next, the bags weighed heavier and heavier on my arms. I couldn’t deny what I was doing. I was stealing and stealing was wrong.
I stopped walking and dropped my packages on the ground. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Mr. Clerk’s gaze shifted to a spot behind my shoulder. “Do you suppose she’s a hopeless case, Mr. Darcy?”
“Not really.” Mr. Darcy picked up my shopping bags and stood next to Mr. Clerk. “I think she needs a little more coaching, that’s all.”
If I’d known Mr. Darcy was going to put in an appearance, I would have changed into one of the new outfits I’d just gotten. I also would have highlighted my hair, gotten a bikini wax and bought a thong. As it was, I had to settle for pushing my hair out of my face and tugging down my sweater.
Mr. Darcy handed my packages to Mr. Clerk who accepted them with a look of puppy-dog affection. “I’ll tell you what, Patrick,” Mr. Darcy said. “Why don’t you fetch me some of that tea I love so much, and I’ll have a chat with Ms. Straight.”
Mr. Clerk looked worried. “I’m really supposed to be the one who gives the lessons, here, William. You know how Miss Spry gets.”
“You let me worry about Helen.” Mr. Darcy offered him a dazzling smile. “Please, Patrick, it would mean so much to me.”
Mr. Clerk smiled back, a mirror reflecting the sun. “Of course.” With his free hand, he quickly touched Mr. Darcy’s elbow. “I’d be happy to.”
Right then, I knew what Mr. Clerk had said before, about training Mr. Darcy, was a flat-out lie. William Darcy had been born to do his job the way actors and politicians are. I might be able to seduce people, but he could conquer them.
We went to a little outdoor coffee shop and took a table by the sidewalk near a pair of men who were intently discussing a sheaf of papers that lay between them. I sat across from Mr. Darcy, letting my latte grow cold because I was too distracted admiring him to drink it. He had that sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look: tousled hair, half-shaved jaw. Even dressed in jeans and a plai
n t-shirt, he made it impossible for me to look away.
Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, appeared bored. He watched the passersby and shooed away the love-struck waitresses who flitted by our table, acting as if all of their attention was his due. I longed to take off his sunglasses, wondering if he was as indifferent as he seemed, or if there was a spark of warmth in his dark eyes.
Finally, he said, “You’re having problems with your conscience, aren’t you?”
I toyed with my cold coffee, swirling it in the cup. “I can’t help feeling I’m doing something wrong,” I admitted.
“Guilt. God’s favorite weapon.” He laughed, a warm rich sound I would have loved to wrap myself in. “Everyone feels that way when they begin this job. But once you get past the misguided notion of right and wrong, you’ll be fine.”
I thought of the time I’d spent convincing Grace that it wasn’t okay to steal from another kid, even if he did leave his cupcake on his desk and walk away. Or the time I’d forced Ari to apologize to a little girl with Down’s Syndrome because my niece had called her a ‘retard’ (apparently, Tanya’s favorite insult). “But some things are wrong,” I argued. “I can’t make myself believe something is right when I know it isn’t.”
He smiled again. “Lilith…may I call you Lilith?”
You can call me anything you want, I thought. Preferably while my legs are locked around your waist. The image of us passionately entwined was so vivid that my cheeks flushed. “Please do,” I told him.
The conversation between the men sitting behind William was growing more heated, and when the waitress came over to pour water into their glasses, one of them said, “Sweetheart, I hope you’re a better actress than you are a waitress because we’ve been waiting here twenty minutes.”
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