BLUE BLAZES

                           by

                    Sandra Rarey

 

 

 

 

 

 

                      Chapter One

 

If Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown was as ugly as her name she was sure to be as ugly as sin, and that, according to his boss, was as close to the state of iniquity as she had ever managed to get.

Imagine, living for thirty-five years and not having a hint, a touch, a tiny taste of the delectable condition of sin. Hell, by that age most folks had been tarred and painted with the brush of sin. By that age they were either reveling in redemption or hell-bent for hell.

But not Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown. She was as pure as the driven snow; as unsullied as a summer breeze in the high mountains; as goody two-shoes as a two-year-old child.

       And that was a problem for his boss.

Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown must not be allowed to get into heaven.

His boss enjoyed a tense battle with an uncertain outcome. Close competition made the game a pleasure to play, but he didn’t like to lose. No, his boss didn’t like bets like Cornelia Agnes, where the odds heavily favored the other Guy. And that’s why he was here--to stack the deck in favor of his boss. 

          Now, he didn’t mind a temporary job on earth. Most of the ones he’d held had been rife with sybaritic pleasure. He loved the earthly forms of the beautiful women with whom he’d interacted on other assignments. He’d felt drawn to the blackness of their souls that matched his own so perfectly. And the fun they’d had . . . There was no better way to seduce the God-fearing than inundating them with all the pleasurable, ephemeral goodies his boss could provide.

       But this job smacked of work.

A thirty-five-year-old virgin by the name of Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown put him in mind of swamp water and mud slides and he didn’t mean the alcoholic kind.

       He sighed, long and loud, causing the harsh, hot wind to stir up dust devils across the flat, dry plain. There was no getting out of this one. He was here now, at his boss’s command. This was the one spot on earth most like home and the place where he’d always mustered up to get his assignment and instructions.

      “Her time on earth is almost half gone. Before it hits the pinnacle, I want her firmly in my grasp.”

The command came as a dull roar that hurt his newly forming ears.

      “You have exactly five years from this moment to succeed. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” he answered. Would any fool admit it if he did misunderstand the Prince of Darkness?

“But, son, I trust you will accomplish the job in a fraction of that time.”

Great, he thought as he shook with the tremors that accompanied the uncomfortable sensation of vapor developing into substantial flesh. On top of a distasteful assignment, he’d been given a time limit. That always put a damper on things. There was nothing to do but get the job done quickly.

“I will do my best.” He immediately corrected himself. “I will succeed.” His boss had a wicked sense of humor and had been known to make his job difficult on occasion just to provide a few laughs. He surely didn’t need to piss him off before he even got started.

Once his appendages had partially solidified, he unfolded with a lack of grace and stood waiting for the painful rush of blood to fill his arteries, his veins and his capillaries. 

He raised his newly formed hands and wriggled the fingers to break them in before using them to scratch his scalp. He didn’t know how humans could stand this hair-growing process. It itched like hell, and he should know. Perhaps it wasn’t so uncomfortable when taking place at a normal pace, but instantly growing a head full--not to mention the other places--felt a little like the minute demons of the nether world were dancing all over his human body with those sharp, horny feet of theirs.

His hands darted from his scalp to his chest and then on to his underarms, his groin and finally up and down his legs, putting his new fingernails to good use. It seemed that the ugly object of his attentions must harbor a smidgen of admiration for hairy men deep in the recesses of that sanitary mind of hers.

Leave it to his boss to pick up on that.

                        

Cornelia couldn’t tear her gaze from the tall fellow by the front door of the bar. "He looks just like Tom Cruise,” she whispered to her best friend, Jillian.

“He knows it too,” Jillian snorted. “He plays it up with that hairdo and that stupid grin.”

“You know him? I want to meet him.” Cornelia stood and managed to take two steps before Jillian snagged the back of her jacket, yanking hard enough to topple Cornelia back onto her stool.

“Keep away from him. He’s trouble.”

“He would be perfect for my niece’s sixteenth birthday party. Imagine, a movie star look-a-like. He’d be the hit of the party. I can picture him dancing with all the girls.” Cornelia stood again, and so did Jillian, blocking her way to the door.

“He’s a lousy choice for the birthday party.”

“Why?”

“Because he likes little girls.”

“Great! That makes him perfect.”

“I mean he LIKES little girls.”

“I heard you the first time,” Cornelia said, stepping around Jillian. “Oh, shoot, he’s leaving.” With a little pout, Cornelia sat back down and gave her stool a push, sending it spinning. She let her head loll back and took in the revolving panorama of dark colors and glittering metal that was the interior of the Sunset Bar and Grill. A gaudy chandelier, hanging like a giant spider from the black painted ceiling, went round and round in her vision.

Slightly dizzy, she straightened up, trying to regain her equilibrium.

A woman in a short leather skirt and fringed jacket glared at her as she fed dollar bills into the jukebox.

       Cornelia smiled at the woman. “This is a very interesting place, Jill.” She raised her voice above the poignant county ballad that suddenly blasted through the bar. “No wonder you like working here. It’s sort of mysterious.”

She ran her gaze past the pool table and the chilipepper-red nineteen thirty-seven Roadster convertible that was parked in the middle of the dance floor. “Fascinating.” The Roadster’s black and white seats were overflowing with peanut shells, empty cigarette wrappers and crushed napkins. “What smells so wonderful?”

“The universal bar perfume of stale beer, pretzels and cigarette smoke,” came the husky reply.

Cornelia turned her stool to face a grizzled giant swirling a towel inside a glass. Smiling brightly, she thanked him. “Who would have thought such ordinary things could mix together into such a nice, comforting aroma?”

“Corny, this is Mr. Aberdeen, my boss,” Jillian said.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Aberdeen.”

“Call me Scotty, little lady.” He squeezed Cornelia’s offered hand. “Corny? That your nickname, Miss?”

“It’s short for Cornelia. Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown,” she said primly.

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Jillian calls me Corny. Most people call me Aggie Belle. Cornelia was my great aunt’s name. Agnes is after my mother’s favorite saint. I don’t know where Belle came from, but I’m glad she gave me at least one pretty name.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Cornelia or Agnes.”

“Cornelia make me think of sturdy shoes and navy blue suits,” she said with a wistful smile. Then she laughed as she looked down on her blue pants suit and lace-up walking shoes.

Scotty looked at Jillian. “Think you could work a double shift tonight? Mindy called in sick again.”

Jillian groaned. “This is the third time this week, Scotty. Why are you behind the bar?”

“Kevin quit. Something about his girlfriend--again. What about that double?”

“Okay. Maybe you could think about putting another girl on the payroll.” She turned to Cornelia. “I’d better get to work before the lunch crowd gets here. Thanks for bringing me in today.”

“No problem. I’m taking the rest of the week off. I’ll be glad to drive you around until your car is fixed.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” Scotty asked.

Cornelia turned and looked beyond him at the glittering bottles lined up in front of the bar-length mirror. “Some of those bottles are so pretty they could tempt the devil, himself. What’s in that beautiful red bottle with the flames?”

“Francisco’s Fire Water. One hundred and one proof peppermint schnapps.”

“I love peppermint, but that sounds like a lot of alcohol.”

“How about Cherry Hill schnapps?”

“I don’t think so. Do you have anything non-alcoholic?”

“I take it you’re against drinking booze?”

“Shoot, no. It has its place. Jesus drank it, you know.”

“Jesus drank booze?”

“Wine. I occasionally have a glass myself. But I’m driving.”

“Oh. How about a cola?”

“A cola would be fine. Are you the manager here, Mr. Aberdeen?”

“I’m the owner, and this is on the house.”

“Thank you. You know, this place would make a great juice bar.”

“A juice bar?”

“They’re very popular in California, from what I hear.”

“This isn’t California, miss. It’s Oceanview, Virginia and the home of a group of Harley riders who really like their beer.”

“Hell’s Hogs,” Jillian interjected as she placed a tray of empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays on the bar. “They come in here a lot.”

“How exciting!”

“Yeah, real exciting. Several members were convicted of counterfeiting a few years ago.”

“Is that the club involved in Houses for Habitats?” Cornelia asked. “I’ve read they donate blood on a regular basis, and some of them are Big Brothers.”

“Yes, Corny, they are. You always see the good in everyone and ignore the bad.”

“We all have good and bad points. I just happen to believe the good is more powerful and infinitely more important in the grand scheme of things, than the bad.”

Suddenly, the hair on the back of Cornelia’s neck stood up, sending a tickle playing down her vertebrae like fingers on piano keys. She looked up and saw a stranger, arms folded, legs apart, standing in the open door of the bar.

He was looking at her--into her.

      She shook her head as the stranger’s visage, for one brief instant, melded into the form of a very old man. The next forty-five years flashed before her eyes and a powerful yearning swept through her. She looked at the glass in her hand, then at Scotty. “Did you put anything in this cola?”

When he shook his head, she closed her eyes, opened them and found she couldn’t take them off the young-again features of the stranger. Tall, muscular, with black hair and piercing blue eyes, he was a handsome devil. She liked what she saw. She wanted what she saw.

For the first time in her life, her heart picked up rhythm and veered off on a course of its own. A dam of juices broke loose and flowed like a mighty river, flooding places of her body she had seldom given much thought to. In the space of a moment, Cornelia Agnes Belle fell in love.

 

With shuttered eyes, he stood and studied Cornelia. She didn’t live up to her name. Images of mud and water were replaced with a mental picture of a chickadee. Her appearance didn’t jump-start his human heart, nor did it start a tingle in any other part of his body. It simply made him want to stand a bit and stare some more.

He tried to form a thought with his new brain--he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of this one yet. After a few false starts he managed to formulate the idea he had to get Cornelia Agnes past this love stuff. Because where there was love, there was sanctity. And where there was sanctity there would be no sin.     

Once he completely gelled into a solid human form, he’d lose conscious knowledge of his mission. When that happened there would be no going back, no changing direction. It would be all down hill until the job had been completed and he was whisked back to hell.

It was imperative that he begin rolling in the right direction so the momentum would carry him long after he forgot who he really was. And he had to get started right away, while he was still able to plan his work, work his plan.

He gave her his best devil-may-care grin, and with a slow, sexy stride, made his way to the object of his intent.

Her gaze never left his. As he approached, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and held her breath.

He got as close as he could before the aura of her goodness stopped him. It was formidable. All the better. His boss wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a challenge.

“I’m Cor--Belle.” The words came out on a breathless whisper.

 “Corbelle. A lovely name. Alex,” he rumbled. “Alex Blue.”

 

 

The critique:

The first sentence is a winner. "If Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown was as ugly as her name, she was sure to be as ugly as sin and that, accordinging to his boss, was as close to the state of iniquity as she had ever managed to get."

 

The idea is original and intriguing. A competition between the man upstairs and the one down. God vs. Satan, goodness vs. evil, in the form of a devil donning human flesh to ensnare a 35 year old virgin who is as goody two-shoes as a "two year old." Think of the possibilities.

 

And once the devil pulls on his human form, is he at all influenced by the myriad of human emotions we are all subject to, or does he remain completely focused on his job of recruiting Cornelia Agnes Belle Brown to the dark side?

 

Then we learn that once the devil's transformation into human flesh is complete, he loses all conscious knowledge of his mission which adds more tension, wondering what will happen to Cornelia, to the newly derived human and of course to the age old quest of good vs. bad. What will happen?

 

The possibilites are rich and I wish you the best. I hope your characters surprise us all.