Brigits_Flame March Entry 02 - Happiness in a bottle
(A continuation of last week's story, here)
I have vague memories of why I ended it with Mona. It was a good half-millenium ago; these things fade - and she was always gorgeous and sharp as a tack. I had begun to forget why I’d called off our little liaison, such that it was. Now, eating dinner across from her, dim memories swam into focus. She was grabby.
“Will you let go of my tail? We are in public.” I tried to concentrate on my order of Drunken Shrimp, who were, in the Shanghai style, still alive. Mona reluctantly took her hand off my tail. I flicked it at her wrist.
“Mmm. It’s just as whippy as I remember.” She licked her teeth. That tongue. That tongue I remembered. I clenched my stomach and tried to fight the arousal. No such luck. I failed, and decided to feign offense.
“It is not whippy. Look, Mona. This is business. Now is not the time for any kind of flirting; I believe I have made myself abundantly clear.”
Mona took a long drag on her cigarette and eyed me like an hors-d’oeuvre. “Yes, Alfie. You’re being absolutely transparent.” Her eyes flicked downward. Glass table. Shit. Tight slacks. Double shit.
She wedged her knife into her order of short ribs with a decisive sort of grunt. “You’re right, though,” she continued. “We should fix your contractual issue first.”
I exhaled. “Thank you.”
She stubbed her cigarette out on the cast-iron arm of her chair. “But after dinner, I’ll be hunting the beast with two backs. And I think you’re up for a safari, Alfie.” She knew how to embarrass a fellow - that was for damn sure. But she was the finest accountant in the city of Pandemonium; they didn’t even have anyone like her in Dis, and that was saying something.
The waiter arrived with a bottle of baijiu - Chinese white liquor. Mona quickly poured us each a shot. “It’s an airtight contract, Alf,” she said, pouring the liquor over her ribs. A snap of her fingers set the ribs alight, and fire danced in her pupils. She inhaled deeply. I shook my head. “They were getting cold on the outside,” she said.
“So there’s no way around it?” I said. “No matter what happens, Belinda doesn’t have to give up her soul?”
“Pretty much, Alfie. Drink.” I did. It was like drinking molten lead that was somehow at room-temperature. With a hint of sorghum. Mona tore into one of her ribs. “Here’s how I see it. The only way to get around this business is to get your mortal here to sign another contract. A binding one, wherein she gives up the Big S.”
“How the hell do I convince her to get another contract? She already has everything she asked for!”
Mona shrugged. “Introduce a new factor.” She pulled a tiny crystal vial out of her coat pocket. “Baal’s Blood, anyone?”
I started. “The fuck did you get that at?” Baal’s Blood is harder to get ahold of than holy water in this part of Hell. Although Mona knows the right people.
“You slip this in a drink of hers. She is guaranteed lots of sex in the original deal, but a brew blended with the Blood of Baal brings a burning but for one beau.”
“Did you practice that?”
“No. But you know what this shit does.”
“I hear stories.”
“It’s a lust-focus potion. Like Viagra.”
“That’s not what Viagra does.”
Mona raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like a pharmaceutical company?”
“You don’t look like a potion-pusher. But here you are.”
“Touché.” Mona ate another rib and pushed her plate away. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.
“So we make her fall in love with someone she can’t have sex with. Is what you’re saying.”
“That is what I’m saying. She can't be happy without said someone.”
“But she’s guaranteed unlimited loving in the original contract.”
“Not with Tyrone Power.”
“What? The movie star?” A shrimp hovered near my mouth.
“She can’t have sex with a dead guy.”
I ate the shrimp. “Yes she can! He’s buried in a cemetery like anyone else. If she wants it that bad - ”
Mona refilled my baijiu glass. “Don’t be disgusting.”
“I’m a demon.”
“It’s not what the potion does, anyway. She’ll want him alive. She’ll want him alive badly enough to give up her soul. It's an ideal plan. We just have to spring it on her while she's watching The Black Swan or something.”
"What if she falls in love with Maureen O'Hara instead?"
"She's dead too."
“Point taken. I’ll consider it, Mona. If I fuck this up, Lucky will have my eyes.”
“I hear he collects them. You want the vial?” She dangled it in front of me, and stroked my shin with her foot. It tickled.
“I think you’d better hold on to it, sweetheart.”
“Very well. Maybe you’ll pick it up after dinner.” She replaced the vial in her coat pocket.
“You didn’t put any of that in my baijiu, did you?” I said.
Mona looked insulted. “That’s tantamount to date-rape! Of course not.”
I leaned in. “It’s just… I think you’ve got something on your lip.”
“Do I, still? I thought I got everything.”
I brought my face up to hers - angular, sharp, lovely. “No, Mona… it’s… it’s on the inside of your mouth.”
Real smooth, Alfie. Real smooth.
(again, to be continued.)