What in God's Name: A Novel

by Simon Rich

  Vince had also jammed a smoke detector, causing it to beep abrasively every three and a half minutes. The interval was timed to cause the lawyers maximum annoyance: each beep arrived just seconds after they’d forgotten about the last one.

  Vince had known in advance which lawyers would attend the meeting and had spent the previous couple of days torturing them. By the time they arrived in the sweltering bunker, their nerves were frayed and their tempers short. Of the six union lawyers, five had the flu, three had ingrown toenails, and two had undiagnosed mono. He’d given the other side a mixture of sunburn, cold sores, and ear infections. The mediator, usually a cheerful presence, remained completely silent for the entire meeting. Vince had given him a case of gonorrhea so horrific that whenever he went to the bathroom, he had to bite his tie to keep from screaming.

  By the thirty-six-hour mark, no progress had been made. Every single debate seemed to degenerate into childish bickering.

  With a strike imminent, the chief union lawyer struggled to his feet.

  “So?” he challenged, his voice scratchy from a bacterial infection. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to agree to our demands or what?”

  The lead MTA lawyer looked up wearily. His eyes were bleary from allergies. He was about to respond when a cloud of pollen wafted toward his nose. He sneezed a few times, recovered, and then began to sneeze again, for over a minute straight. When the attack was finally over, he stood up, held his fists above his head, and let loose a wild, uninhibited scream. Then he sat back down and buried his face in his hands.

  The strike mediator shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Okay,” he said. “I guess for now we can agree to disagree.”

  EARTH—TWO DAYS UNTIL DOOMSDAY

  Laura lay on the icy pavement, dazed and disoriented. It took her a second or two to make sense of her situation: she’d slipped on a frozen puddle and was lying on the sidewalk.

  Laura was a clumsy person and fell down pretty often. Still, it always took her by surprise. There was something so shocking about falling. One moment you were completely in control of your limbs. A split second later you were flailing through the air, as spastic as a swatted mosquito.

  She spotted a yellow bus and realized with horror that she’d fallen down in front of a school. She could hear the children laughing at her, and when she looked up, she realized that they were mimicking her fall—arms swinging wildly, faces contorted, butts extended. A middle-aged teacher yelled at them to stop, but their impressions were pretty good, and before long he was laughing too.

  Laura struggled to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster and fled the scene. She was moving so quickly that it took her five blocks to discover her pocket had ripped open and the keys to her apartment were missing.

  She desperately retraced her steps, scanning the ground for shiny objects. But a freak October blizzard had emerged out of nowhere, blanketing the city with snow. The keys were lost for good. There was nothing to do but call the super and wait for him to let her in.

  She sat on her stoop, idly scanning old text messages to pass the time. Cliff had sent her a cryptic one a few days ago: “NYC is a soulless town, full of corporate zombies. i must return 2 my birthplace 2 purify my soul.” She couldn’t make much sense of it, but she figured she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while.

  She was debating whether to text him back when she heard a familiar sneeze. She looked up and laughed with surprise.

  “Sam? Is that you?”

  “Laura! Oh my God, what a coincidence!”

  The blizzard had been raging for hours, but as Sam shuffled across the icy street, the weather seemed to improve. By the time he got to her stoop, the snow had completely stopped and the sun had emerged for the first time all day.

  “What a crazy coincidence!” he repeated. “I never would’ve walked by here if it hadn’t been for the strike!”

  “I know! This is so…random!”

  They stood for a moment in silence.

  “Well!” he said. “I guess I should get going.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice tinged with obvious disappointment. “Well, it was nice running into you.”

  “Same! I guess…I’ll see you around?”

  “Yeah! I’m sure I’ll see ya.”

  They embraced awkwardly, their arms almost fully extended.

  “Bye!” Sam said.

  He was about to walk away when a jagged chunk of ice fell onto his face.

  “Fuck!”

  He collapsed on the ground, screaming with fear and pain. “Oh fuck!”

  Laura knelt down beside him. “Jesus, Sam—are you okay?”

  “No!”

  “What in God’s name was that?”

  “It felt like a fucking knife!”

  She spotted an icicle near his face.

  “It must’ve been this thing,” she said, lifting up the gleaming spike.

  Sam’s eyelids fluttered slightly; he was about to faint.

  “Let me see your cheek,” Laura said, prying Sam’s fingers off his face. “Oh, geez…you’re bleeding.”

  “I am?” Sam cried, his voice shrill with panic. “Oh my God!”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not so bad.”

  She rubbed her finger across his wound. The cut was small, but the flesh around it had already started to darken.

  “You’ll probably have a black eye,” she told him. “But it’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  Sam lowered his eyes. It looked like he was blushing, though it was hard to tell because his face was so discolored.

  “Sorry for losing it,” he murmured.

  “That’s okay—I would’ve lost it too! That thing was like the size of a sword.”

  They sat for a moment in silence. The snow-speckled sidewalk shimmered in the sunlight, and a fuzzy rainbow arced overhead. Sam made eye contact with Laura, and she anxiously batted her eyes.

  “Hey,” he ventured, “maybe we could grab coffee sometime? You know…someplace indoors.”

  Laura laughed. “Yeah,” she said. “That’d be fun.”

  Across the street, a fire hydrant suddenly erupted. Sam laughed. He knew it was crazy, but it seemed like some kind of a sign.

  “Another round!” Vince shouted.

  Craig nodded and poured out three glasses of bourbon.

  “That hydrant at the end was a nice touch,” Vince said.

  Craig grinned. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “And Eliza, that icicle was badass.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but I had no choice. He was about to bail.”

  Vince nodded. “He’s such a fucking pussy.”

  “Hey, come on,” Craig said. “He asked her out, right? That took some guts.”

  “He didn’t ‘ask her out,’” Eliza said. “He asked her if she wanted to ‘grab coffee sometime.’”

  “That’s asking her out,” Craig said.

  “No, it’s not! Asking someone out is ‘Do you want to go on a date with me?’ It’s not ‘Do you want to grab coffee?’ I mean, you ask me that five times a day.”

  Craig’s face reddened. After a moment, so did Eliza’s.

  “Well,” Vince said, grinning slyly. “At least we’re making progress, right?”

  He threw his arms around their shoulders and raised his glass. “To courtship!”

  “To courtship,” they mumbled.

  They finished their drinks, and Vince immediately refilled them. Their hands were still shaking from the stress of the last fifteen minutes. They’d worked nonstop for days—spreading flu, manipulating storm clouds, melting icicles—and the humans had almost blown it once again.

  “Demolition is scheduled for tomorrow,” Craig said. “Midnight, Eastern Standard Time. So Sam and Laura’s date…or, you know, whatever it is. It’s got to go well.”

  Vince and Eliza nodded solemnly.

  “Get some sleep,” Craig told them. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

  Vince put o
n his jacket, and Craig followed him over to the elevators.

  “You coming?” he asked Eliza.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to stick around for a couple of minutes. There’s something I need to take care of.”

  EARTH—TWENTY-THREE HOURS UNTIL DOOMSDAY

  Laura ran frantically through the halls of her high school. She was late for something—her sister’s wedding, possibly. And someone had replaced the hallways with city sidewalks, which was extremely inconvenient. She was trying to climb a ladder made of icicles when she felt someone gripping her ankle. She looked down and saw a tired, thin woman with brown bangs. Her clothes were stained with coffee, and her mascara was smudged and faded. But there was something arresting about her. Her blue eyes seemed unnaturally bright, and her pale skin looked almost like it was glowing.

  “Do I know you?” Laura asked.

  The woman awkwardly thrust out her hand.

  “I’m Eliza,” she said. “I’m sorry—I’ve never done this before.” She cleared her throat. “I’m an Angel.”

  “Oh, I get it.” Laura said. “So this is a…”

  Eliza nodded. “Yeah. Listen…is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Laura led her down Third Avenue to her high school cafeteria. They sat across from each other, and Eliza summed up the situation as fast as she could. By the time she was finished, she was almost out of breath.

  “Why us?” Laura asked.

  “I told you,” Eliza said. “Because you both prayed to be together.”

  She gripped the human’s elbow.

  “Just make a move,” she begged. “You’ve got to. Everything is riding on it. Sam likes you, but he’s way too shy to do anything about it, and you’re running out of time.”

  Laura smirked. “Why don’t you make a move?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That Craig guy. You’re obviously into him. You called him a genius. Twice.”

  “Craig’s just a colleague,” she said defensively. “And besides—this isn’t about me.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him out?” Laura pressed. “Say, ‘Let’s take a break from this Angel stuff and go out on a date.’ It’s 2012. You don’t need to wait for him to do it.”

  Eliza chewed on her thumbnail.

  “Okay,” she said. “How about this? If you and Sam make it work tomorrow—and the world doesn’t end—I’ll go on a date with Craig.”

  Laura playfully shook Eliza’s hand, but when she caught sight of the Angel’s bloodshot eyes, her face turned pale.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “This is real.”

  Eliza gripped her fingers tightly. “This is real,” she said.

  A car commercial blared through the school’s PA system.

  “1-877-KARS4KIDS, K-A-R-S KARS4KIDS…”

  Laura rolled over, opened her eyes, and smacked the snooze alarm.

  Her sheets were damp with sweat.

  She wondered what it was she’d been dreaming about.

  Eliza got to work at 6 a.m., but Craig was already there.

  “Get any sleep?” she asked.

  Craig shook his head. “Not really.”

  He was watching something on his computer, a queasy expression on his face.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked.

  “Research.”

  She sat down beside him. On the screen, Sam was dancing alone in his apartment to a song by ABBA. He was completely naked.

  She grimaced. “I don’t see how watching this will help us.”

  “I know it’s pretty rough,” Craig agreed. “But we need to learn as much about these humans as possible. Any insight into their character might help.”

  He gestured at Sam’s gyrating body. “For instance. Now we know that Sam enjoys dancing. But we also know that he’s bad at it. That means we need to prevent him from dancing in front of Laura—if possible.”

  “He’s also bad at sex,” Vince interrupted.

  Craig and Eliza looked up at him.

  “How do you know that?” Craig asked.

  “I went through the Server last night,” Vince said, “and I watched every sexual encounter he’s ever had.”

  “Wow,” Eliza said. “How long did that take you?”

  Vince chuckled. “Not long.”

  Eliza scrunched her face up with disgust. “What was it like?”

  “It was horrible,” Vince said. “Honestly, some of the most upsetting images I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched most of World War Two.”

  “What was so bad about it?”

  “I’ll spare you the specifics. Suffice it to say he lacks confidence.”

  He grabbed Craig’s keyboard and logged on to the Server.

  “The female’s better in bed,” he said. “But she’s just as bad on dates.”

  He opened a clip from earlier in the year. Laura was standing in front of a jukebox next to a bearded man in a sweater.

  “Who’s she with?”

  “Some guy her sister set her up with,” Vince explained. “He just put a dollar into the machine and asked her to pick a song.”

  They watched as Laura scrolled through the options, a panicked expression on her face.

  “What’s taking her so long?”

  “She’s terrified,” Vince said. “Watch this.”

  He turned up the volume, and the Angels leaned in toward the screen.

  “Well, what do you want to listen to?” Laura asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Anything.”

  “Do you like Ace of Base?”

  “Why, do you like them?”

  “I don’t know! Do you…not like them?”

  Vince turned off the clip. “It goes on like that for ten minutes. Eventually, the guy’s dollar expires.”

  Craig checked his watch. “It’s six-fifteen,” he said. “That means we have less than eighteen hours.”

  Vince smirked. “If I was down there, I wouldn’t need eighteen minutes.”

  He popped his collar and slicked back his hair.

  “I’d get there ten minutes late, just to keep her on edge. Then, just when she was starting to panic, I’d stroll in. I wouldn’t apologize. I’d just head straight to the bar and order two martinis.”

  He pushed Craig’s swivel chair out of the way and crouched down beside Eliza. “Then I’d propose a toast.”

  He raised his coffee mug; Eliza laughed and jokingly raised her water bottle.

  Vince leaned toward her. “I’d say, ‘Now, usually I toast to world peace. But I’m distracted by how incredible you look. So tonight we’ll toast to your beauty. And the world can go to hell.’”

  Craig scoffed. “That would never work.”

  He turned to Eliza for confirmation, but she remained strangely silent. Her eyes were locked on Vince’s and her lips were slightly parted.

  “Then I’d take her hand,” Vince continued in a low voice. “And lean across the table.”

  Craig winced as Vince took Eliza’s hand and pressed his mouth against Eliza’s ear. He whispered something, and her cheeks subtly reddened.

  “Okay,” Craig said. “You’re very smooth and cool. Congratulations. Can we maybe get back to saving the world now?”

  “Of course,” Vince said. He took the keyboard and looked up the two humans. It wasn’t even seven yet, but both of them were already parked in front of their computers.

  “How are we going to get these people to kiss?” Eliza said. “They’re the most unappealing humans I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Craig said. “And there is one thing that might help.”

  “What?”

  “Alcohol.”

  Vince shook his head. “That’s not going to help us.”

  “Why not?” Craig said. “Alcohol has been scientifically proven to lower inhibitions and increase libido. Almost every couple is somewhat intoxicated during their first kiss.”

  “That might be true,” Vince said. “But we can’t just
force-feed ethanol down these people’s throats.”

  “We can try,” Craig said, a slight edge in his voice.

  “How? They’re meeting at a Dunkin Donuts.”

  Craig looked at his watch. “We’ll have to burn it down,” he said.

  Vince laughed incredulously. “What?”

  “We’ll burn the Dunkin Donuts down. And if the humans try to relocate to some other bullshit coffee place, we’ll burn that place down. And we’ll keep on burning places down until they get their heads in the game and go to a bar like a couple of fucking adults!”

  He stood up suddenly, his jaw muscles clenched with determination.

  “I’m sick of pussyfooting around here! It’s time to make this happen. Are you guys with me on this or not?”

  Vince gave a startled nod and turned toward Eliza. She was smiling at Craig, her eyes bright with admiration.

  “I’m with you,” she said.

  Craig sat down and zoomed in tight on the Lower East Side.

  “We can do this,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

  EARTH—SEVEN HOURS UNTIL DOOMSDAY

  Sam stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trying his best not to hyperventilate. He knew it wasn’t even a real date, just a friendly trip to Dunkin Donuts. Still, the stakes felt strangely high.

  He posed awkwardly in front of his mirror. He was wearing his favorite outfit: a cable-knit sweater and khakis.

  “Don’t worry,” he said out loud to his panicky reflection. “You look great.”

  “He looks awful,” Vince said.

  “I’ve never seen less flattering clothes,” Eliza said. “Look at how those khakis bunch around his ass.”

  “It’s okay,” Craig said. “I’m on it.”

  EARTH—SIX HOURS AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES UNTIL DOOMSDAY

  “Oh, fuck!” Sam shouted.

  He stared with horror at his sauce-speckled clothes. He’d been reheating some leftover chicken vindaloo when a sauce bubble suddenly exploded, splattering his pants and sweater.

  He was dolefully changing into jeans when he heard his ringtone. He grabbed his dirty khakis and rummaged through the pockets for his iPhone. His heart raced with panic: was Laura canceling on him? He took a deep breath, bracing himself for disappointment.