Sympathy for the Devil Read online

  She didn’t even bother to say hello. “So?” she asked.

  “So what?” I said.

  “So how did it go? Did you pledge your undying love to one another?”

  “Very funny,” I commented, then lifted the remote and turned down the sound on my stereo. I’d actually been up for hours; even with my roaming around the house and the general edginess that resulted from trying to figure out who had sent the mystery email the night before, I was still in bed by midnight. When Nina called, I had been trying to catch up with my housework, so my obligatory belly-dance music was blaring from the speakers. It was great for getting my energy levels up, but not so great as background music.

  “You don’t seem all that thrilled,” Nina said. “Does this mean that the magic is gone?”

  I hesitated.

  “There’s a whole book about this same thing. It’s called You Can’t Go Home Again.”

  “Boy, you’re just full of zingers this morning,” I said, my tone sour. “Is Allan D’Al-whatever going to get you a booking at the Laugh Factory?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Maybe because I don’t want to.”

  Nina was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, “I’m getting an ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ vibe.”

  “How perceptive of you.” I sighed. “Look, Nina, it was fine, but yeah, you’re right, I wasn’t getting a lot of sparks.”

  “Because of him.”

  I didn’t bother to ask which “him” she meant. It sure as hell wasn’t Danny. “Maybe,” I admitted.

  “I told you it was too soon.”

  “So pat yourself on the back for being right,” I snapped, then said immediately, “Sorry, Nina — I just hate feeling like Luke’s ruined me for all other men or something. I mean, I used to be absolutely nuts for Brad. Well…you know.”

  “Believe me, I do,” she said, in tones of heavy significance. “Look, don’t beat yourself up about it. People change. Just because you guys really clicked when you were back in college doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re right for each other now. I’m sure you thought of a gentle way to let Brad know that.”

  “Well.…”

  Nina’s voice sharpened. “Oh, no, you didn’t.”

  “Well.…”

  “Tell me you didn’t sleep with him.”

  “Of course not!” I retorted, stung. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “So then?”

  “So we kissed. And it’s like I could tell he was a good kisser, but I just didn’t care. It was awful. But — ” I hesitated.

  “But what?”

  “But I still said I’d go out with him again tonight.”

  Nina made a disgusted sound.

  “Well, I figured it would be better to give it one more try, just to see if I was having an off night or if I needed to work through some more stuff about Luke before I wrote Brad off completely.” That sounded lame even to me.

  Obviously Nina was of the same opinion. “So you’re going to magically get your Luke issues worked out before Brad picks you up tonight? That doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. And the horrible thing was that I really didn’t. My email had been empty of new messages this morning. No reply from Luke. No more mysterious notes from the ether, instructing me next to think or to dream or whatever else would be of absolutely no help in this situation.

  “Geez, girl, and I thought I was the one who didn’t know what she wanted.”

  “Maybe I should just become a nun,” I remarked.

  “Danny would love that.”

  For some reason, her comment made me burst out laughing, and after a second or two Nina joined in. Maybe it was the whole “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” mentality. I didn’t know for sure. All I did know was that it felt awfully good to laugh.

  “I guess I figured one more night couldn’t hurt,” I said at length. “He really did want to see me again, and maybe some more time together will help me decide if the chemistry’s really gone, or whether I just need to stop obsessing over Luke.”

  “Well, you need to do that, regardless of what you end up deciding about Brad,” Nina replied. “I mean, he was amazingly dreamy, but he’s just one man. There are plenty more out there.”

  No, there aren’t, I thought. Everyone wanted to be thought of as unique, but in his case that desire was the simple truth. Luke existed unto himself. It wasn’t as if I could go back to Lola’s with the girls and find another being just like him.

  Of course I couldn’t tell Nina that. I couldn’t tell her the truth about Luke, and it wasn’t my place to do so even if I thought she’d believe me. Even though it was fairly obvious he’d discarded me with as little concern as someone throwing away an empty soda can, I wouldn’t let my hurt and anger allow me to expose him for who and what he was. I still loved him too much for that.

  So I just said, “I know I need to get over him. It’s just going to take me a while.”

  “And I’m not sure going out with Brad is the best way to do it,” she replied. “I mean, I know you’re going to do what you want. I can’t stop you. But really, maybe you should slow down and think about what you’re doing.”

  “You’re right,” I said, without really thinking.

  “Excuse me? Could you repeat that? Speak into the microphone.”

  “Ha,” I said. “I’m not so petty that I can’t admit you might be right about Brad. I’ll handle it.”

  “Good girl. Well, if you end up ditching him, give me a call. Allan told me about this really hot party that’s going on in the Hills tonight.”

  “Oh, it’s ‘Allan’ now, is it?” I asked caustically. I hoped the whole acting/modeling thing hadn’t been just a ploy to get into Nina’s pants. Then again, if Allan thought he was going to get away with that sort of thing around Nina and live to tell the tale, he wasn’t as savvy as he looked.

  “Shut up,” Nina said. “We weren’t talking about my personal life, we were talking about yours.”

  “Oh, so now Mr. D’Ala-whatsis is part of your personal life?”

  “D’Alessandro. And shut up.”

  That made me laugh, as she had probably intended it to, and I promised that if I really did give Brad the brush-off I’d give her a call. I didn’t think I would, though. If I didn’t want to see him again, I figured I should at least tell him to his face and let him know that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.

  I hung up the phone and wondered what I used to do with my spare time before my life got so complicated.

  Complicated life or not, I needed to go to the grocery store that afternoon, since I was out of just about everything. Grocery shopping in my neighborhood was sort of like planning a combat mission — everything depended on timing and preparation. For some reason, Saturdays around two o’clock tended to be dead, unless there was a big football game later in the day. But of course by mid-February football season was safely behind me, and I figured I could run in and get what I needed without losing more than, say, an hour of my life.

  Both of the stores closest to me were owned by Ralphs, so it really just depended on which particular traffic nightmare I wanted to deal with. The Ralphs on La Brea was a little closer, but its lot was completely inadequate. The store at the Beverly Connection had more parking, but since it shared its parking structure with a bunch of other shops, sometimes you ended up having to park on a different level from the store itself and then bring your purchases up in the elevator. For some reason I found something fundamentally wrong with having to put a grocery cart in an elevator, so I decided to head to the La Brea store and take my chances.

  Luck or God or chance or whatever force ruled the universe seemed to be smiling on me, since I pulled into the parking lot just as a minivan backed out of one of the choice spots in the row that faced the storefront. I aimed my Mercedes into the space before any of the predatory-looking cars that were trolling the lot could try
to lay claim to it. As I got out of the car, I felt rather than saw several people giving me the evil eye, but I ignored them. It wasn’t as if I had cut anyone off — they just weren’t fast enough.

  I selected a cart, made sure it didn’t have any wobbly wheels or trash left inside (I hated that), and moved off to collect my purchases in an orderly manner so I could get out of there as quickly as possible. I hated grocery shopping anyway — spending money on consumables isn’t my idea of a fun time. But even I needed more than the one ancient container of yogurt that currently resided in my fridge, so I resigned myself to stocking up and told myself that at least I only had to worry about feeding one person. Small comfort. I got the feeling that I could even get used to cooking on a regular basis if I were doing it for Luke.

  The store really wasn’t that crowded; the smallish parking lot always made it seem as if there should be more people inside than there ever actually were. I trundled my cart along, moving in my usual pattern from dairy to frozen to regular dry goods, until I finally ended up in the produce department. Of course I wasn’t a dedicated vegan like my mother, but I did tend to eat a lot of fruit; it was tasty and good for me, and I could feel somewhat virtuous when eating it.

  I had paused by the apples, ruminating on the merits of Gala over Granny Smith (I hated Delicious, which as far as I was concerned were anything but), when I noticed a man who stood across the aisle from me, a shopping basket over one tweed-clad arm. He appeared to be in his late sixties and looked a little familiar, even though I couldn’t really place where I’d seen him before. Then he smiled, and it suddenly hit me. The elderly gentleman from Lola’s. The one who had been with Luke.

  His gaze met mine, and for some reason I felt a little shiver run through me. Oh, he looked completely harmless — sweet and kind, actually, but there was something about the dark eyes under their heavy gray-frosted brows that made me want to stand up a little straighter.

  “Difficult decision?” he asked. His voice was calm and a little deep, with just the slightest hint of an indefinable accent that sounded vaguely Eastern European. In fact, in appearance he reminded me of the elderly Jewish men who frequented the shops along Fairfax and Third Street, gray and tweedy and with an odd sort of shabby elegance.

  I had the sudden idea that he wasn’t referring to the apples, but I still picked one up and weighed it in my hand. “I’m partial to Galas, but I think they’re getting a little out of season.”

  “Perhaps, but I think you’d still enjoy them the most,” he replied.

  “Then I’ll take your advice,” I said, and began selecting the most likely subjects out of the pile next to me.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, then stepped a little closer. “Would you humor an old man and take another piece of advice?”

  “Um, sure,” I replied, as a ripple of nervous anticipation ran through me. But I just had to ask. “I — I have seen you before, haven’t I?”

  “Yes,” he said, and gave me another one of those peculiarly sweet smiles. “I believe we have a mutual friend.”

  “Oh,” I faltered, not sure of what I should say next. If this man was really who I thought He was, then no doubt He already knew all about Luke’s and my difficulties. What He thought of the entire situation, I shuddered to think. “Is he — is he really a friend?”

  The calm, dark gaze didn’t flicker. “Oh, of course. We have known one another for quite some time.”

  Just an eternity or so, I thought. Well, at least Luke had apparently been telling me the truth about that. “So have you spoken lately?” I inquired, in a voice that shook only a little.

  “Oh, yes.” His mouth twitched, and I got the impression He was laughing at me, just a little, and completely without malice. “I’ve been treated to quite the diatribe on the nature of men’s souls and the complete incomprehensibility of the feminine psyche. As if that were my fault.”

  I just had to ask. “Er…isn’t it?”

  He looked surprised. “No. At least, not completely. Poor Luke, he’s always had issues understanding the whole concept of free will. To be expected, of course, considering his background. Still, it does lead to some confusion.”

  My head was reeling. Then again, it’s not every day that you stand in the produce department of your local grocery store discussing free will and the Devil with God. If that was who this kindly old man actually turned out to be.

  “Oh, your instincts are correct,” He said, still smiling.

  My mouth dropped a little.

  “I suppose I should stop doing that,” He mused, picking up an apple from the display and inspecting it minutely. “It does tend to put people off. Old habits are difficult to shake.”

  Feeling more than a little out of my depth, I just stared back at Him. I wasn’t sure of the protocol in such situations, although dropping to my knees and prostrating myself didn’t seem like a very good idea. For one thing, I’d be sure to attract attention, and for another, all I could hear in my head was the voice of God from that Monty Python movie about the Holy Grail where He snapped, “And stop groveling! I hate groveling!”

  So I stood where I was, fingers clenched around the handle of my shopping cart.

  “Wise choice,” He said approvingly. “You wouldn’t want to attract that sort of attention.”

  “So what should I do?” I asked at last. After all, if I’d actually been blessed with a private audience with God, I figured I should make the most of it.

  “‘Do’?” He repeated, looking a little surprised. “I should think that would be obvious.”

  “Well, it’s not obvious to me,” I replied.

  “Oh, it is, even if you have chosen to blind yourself to the path you should take.”

  Was it possible to get disgruntled with God? I cocked my eyebrow and crossed my arms, waiting.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” He commented. “Rules and all that.” His dark eyes took on a certain twinkle. “However, since I created them, I suppose I can bend them as well. Have you heard of a certain saying, ‘Pride goeth before a fall’?”

  “Um…I think so.” If pressed I could probably recognize about five sentences from the Bible, max, but that one sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Proverbs, actually. The full quote is ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’ Applicable to all sorts of situations, of course, but our friend Luke is particularly susceptible to the sin of pride, as I think you know.”

  I forced myself to nod. Wasn’t it Lucifer’s pride and arrogance that started the whole war in Heaven? I couldn’t be absolutely certain, and at this point I supposed it didn’t matter. After all, it seemed as if God had gotten over it.

  Looking thoughtful, He replaced the apple He held on the display and then said, “But Luke isn’t the only one who’s guilty of pride, of course. Wasn’t it hurt pride that caused you to become angry with him in the first place? Weren’t your sensibilities wounded that he had simply handed you something which you thought you should have earned?”

  “Well, he was completely out of line,” I protested, then stopped. Maybe arguing with God wasn’t such a great idea. I didn’t want to get turned into a pillar of salt or something.

  “True, but did you ever stop to think why he did it?”

  That comment gave me pause. Had I? Or had I been in such a hurry to climb on my high horse that I’d never stopped to really think about why Luke would do such a thing in the first place?

  “Um, no,” I said at last, in a small voice.

  “I can’t agree with what he did,” said God, “but in this one case his motivations were actually quite pure. He wanted to make you happy.”

  “He did?” I asked, feeling more like a worm than ever.

  “Yes. So let Me ask you another question, and I trust you’ll answer Me truthfully. Not that it matters; I’ll know either way. But I think you should say it.”

  I swallowed, then said, “All right.” It was more than a little disconcerting
to be having a discussion with someone who knew what you were going to say before you even said it. Even Luke, with all his powers, hadn’t quite achieved that level of omniscience.

  “Do you love him?”

  There was no point in trying to dance around the issue. I knew the answer…and I was pretty sure God did, too.

  “Yes,” I said.

  A smile of beatific sweetness spread across His features. “Then the rest is simple, isn’t it?”

  “It is?”

  “Of course. You must tell him.”

  That would be breaking the cardinal rule of modern womanhood; i.e., never tell a man you love him until you’re about ninety-nine percent certain he’s going to say it in return. Oh, well, rules were made to be broken.

  “And that will just fix everything?” I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my tone and only partly succeeding.

  In answer, He reached out and touched the tip of His finger to my forehead. I felt a wave of tingling warmth spread out over my whole body, followed by a sensation of utter peace. For that one second I caught a glimpse of the inner calm my mother talked about whenever she tried to get me to do yoga. Still smiling, He said, “Believe.”

  And then He was gone. Just like Luke — no puff of smoke, no clap of thunder. Whether by design or chance the produce section was deserted, so no one was around to witness the sudden disappearance of the kindly-looking old gentleman in the worn tweed jacket.

  For a long moment I stood there, staring at the space He had occupied. With one shaking hand I reached out to pick up the apple He had replaced on the top of the display. It felt cool to my touch, completely ordinary, but I gazed down at it the way a pilgrim would stare at a holy relic. Maybe it was. I wrapped my fingers around it, then placed it reverently in my cart.