The Devil and Danielle Webster by Cynthia Cross

Lucifer.”
    “Not so hasty,” Lucifer said.  “I’m dedicated to
customer satisfaction.  I’ll give you another night with Doug.”
    “But I have to get to work,” he objected. 
    The Devil looked at me.  “You’re right,” he
remarked.  “He’s lame.”  For a second I felt in charity with the
nondescript man.
    But then he went and spoiled it in his next breath.  “I
hope you realize just how much you’re getting in return for your pallid little
soul.  I’ve never had to offer a third exchange before.  Never.”
    That was it.  “I don’t like even dignifying that with a
response, but you need to hear this,” I told the Devil.  “You’re just like
all the major manufacturers these days.  Your products must be made in
China, because they’re cheap, they don’t last, they don’t live up to what they
promise, and they cause instant buyer’s remorse.  Your ‘night of passion’
is about as exciting as a Chia Pet.”
    The guy was impossible to insult.  He burst out
laughing instead.  “Bravo!  I begin to think your soul is not so
pallid after all.”
    “I think you get a stinking satisfaction out of giving as little
as you can for a soul.”
    “That’s called capitalism,” the Devil said with pride. 
“It’s the American way.  Suck the soul out of customers and employees
alike.”  He grinned at me.  The nondescript man was toying with me,
and he knew I knew it.
    “One more night,” he said coaxingly.  “The night is
still young.  It’s still June 21.  And yes, Doug, I will be sure you
get two more hours of sleep before you have to get up for work.”
    “Oh, good,” said Doug, relieved.  “Can I go back home
now?”
    “Take some Dramamine, you look carsick,” I said snidely.
    And they both were gone.

Chapter
4 – A Night of Passion, Take 3
 
   
    The clock radio said 5 AM, but as I watched, the 5 digit
faded, flipped vertically, and the clock read 2 AM.  Night
three.
    Well, at least I knew what to expect this time.  I
would take to my bed, fall asleep, and then watch a virtual movie of myself
with Doug.  Hadn’t Aldous Huxley predicted
movies called “ feelies ” in Brave New World ? 
I knew better than to ask Doug.  I’d have to remember to look it up
online.  I was feeling a bit better.  I could recall only one other
night that might fit the terms of the contract we had with Daemon Lucifer, CEO
of Prince of Darkness Enterprises.  And that one had been pretty good,
even from my standpoint.  I should have been worried, but I was pretty
sure I’d found a way out of the contract.  I’d check with Jill just as
soon as I could, but in the meantime, why not enjoy reliving some of the
moments which might explain why I had become so addicted to Doug Morris in the
first place?
    I slept, and next thing I knew, I was standing in a warm
night breeze outside a tall apartment building on Chicago’s north side.  A
motorcycle was drawing up to the curb, and Young Doug was the driver.
    “Oh god,” I said involuntarily. 
    “This’ll be good,” said Doug.
    “You might be right,” I said.  “Your folks were up at
their cabin for a couple weeks, right?”
    “That’s right.  I was pacing the house, horny as hell,
and trying to reach you on the phone.”
    “I think I had gone to the symphony with Marie.”
    “You two were both such snobs.  No one really likes
that kind of music.”
    I said pityingly, “You’re wrong.” 
    “Well, I finally got hold of you after 11, if I
remember.  I got right on the motorbike and took the freeways in.  It
was an hour drive, but I knew what I wanted.”
    “Notice how you phrase that.  ‘What’
you wanted, not ‘who.’”
    “I was 22.  A 22-year-old man with hormones isn’t that
particular.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Just watch,” he said.  “Relive it.  We’re even
younger in this one.”
    “Yeah, things hadn’t gone south yet.”
    Young Danielle took the helmet offered her, climbed onto the
back of