Dinner With Lucifer

Reunited

Chapter One

STREETS OF NEW YORK CITY

Due to an early evening storm, the streets of New York City are deserted and dark except for areas of pooling water reflecting colors from neon lights.

A homeless woman, bundled in many layers of clothing topped off with a garbage bag raincoat, aimlessly pushes a grocery cart down the wet sidewalk. The woman is hunched over from age and neglect, and as a result cannot see over the mound of personal treasures she transports in the cart. Seemingly oblivious to the rain, she slowly shuffles down the sidewalk on her journey to nowhere.

An extremely handsome man, in his mid-thirties, with long blond hair, drives his bone dry, spotless, arrest-me-red Lamborghini Diablo sports car along the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Interstate 95. He takes the George Washington Bridge exit and then makes his way toward Upper Manhattan. The young man turns onto a side street lined on both sides with parked cars, but otherwise clear of traffic. He jams the accelerator to the floor in an effort to make up for lost time. Although the posted speed limit is thirty-five miles per hour, the Diablo’s speedometer reads ninety-seven.

The young man is attired in a fine Italian silk suit, and although the only light on this stormy night flows from streetlights he wears designer dark glasses. The rain slows to a sprinkle and then stops. The driver rolls the window down and inhales the ozone enhanced fresh air.

Encouraged by the break in the rain the homeless woman’s pace increases from a shuffle to a slow walk.

As the Diablo approaches an intersection, the driver sees the traffic light turn yellow and the homeless woman step from the curb. She begins to slowly cross the street as the Diablo closes on her. Strangely the handsome young man smiles and, rather than slowing the car, slams his foot down on the accelerator. The Diablo’s speed increases to one hundred sixteen miles per hour and then he changes lanes to put the old lady directly in his path.

The surreal scene of the dry, spotless red sports car bearing down on the hunched over old woman slowly pushing her possessions across the street unfolds frighteningly fast. The young man begins to laugh as his car closes to within dozens of feet of the woman. A second from impact the woman reaches the center line, and at that moment the Diablo streaks past, missing her by mere inches. Although uninjured, she is savagely soaked with water from the rooster-tail flowing from both rear tires.

The young man laughs in a troubling maniacal voice, drops his speed to seventy and slides the car around a dark, wet corner.

Oddly, even though it is a miserable evening, there are only a few passengers riding the subway car to 156th Street. The overhead lights in the subway car flicker as it bounces along the rail. The flicker of light adds depth and drama to the elaborate graffiti, ‘FUCK YOU’ above the window near the curve in the ceiling.

Standing in the front of the car is a small group of youths, huddled together listening to rap music, while passing a joint. Eight rows to the rear of the gang sits a poorly dressed man wearing dark glasses, holding a collapsible white cane in one hand and an aluminum donation can close to his body with his other hand.

Across from the blind man sits a slender, good looking man. The man appears to be in his thirties, has black shoulder length hair, piercing blue eyes, and is wearing hiking boots, jeans, dress shirt without a tie, and a black leather sport coat. The long-haired young man sits quietly, minding his own business.

The car stops at a station, but since there are no waiting passengers on the platform, and no passengers exiting the car, the car is silent but for the laughter emanating from the gang at the front of the car. At the scheduled time the doors slide shut and the car abruptly lurches forward. Moments later, one of the young men turns and looks back at the old blind man. He says something and the others begin to laugh. Then he swaggers down the aisle toward the blind man.

The rough looking seventeen-year-old stops and glares at the blind man. Old man, you needsta pay for me keepin’ you safe! How much you got in dat can? he sneers.

The old man, instead of responding, slowly pulls the donation can closer to his body, but as he cannot see he doesn’t counter the youth’s snatching the can from his hand. The youth reaches into the can and pulls out a five dollar bill. Since I only protecting you from dat dandy boy, five bucks will do.

As he pockets the money his face hardens and he turns toward the man sitting across the aisle. Somthin’ you wanna say, dandy boy?

The long-haired man looks up, a lock of hair covers one eye. He flips his hair back and serenely smiles. My name is Michael. You are young and healthy, yet you take money from an old blind man. Has your heart so hardened?

Listen up, asshole, I be protecting da beggar from shit like you, the cold faced youth menacingly replies.

He sizes up the up the long-haired man, and takes a step closer to him. Since you been bothering my boy here, I gonna mess you up!

The gang, now alerted to what will surely prove entertaining, has moved closer and is laughing and taunting the long-haired man. Because their friend is blocking their view of the dandy, they don’t see the stranger’s handsome frail face slowly transform into a face that would be better suited on a cage fighting billboard. Nor do they see the lovely blue eyes transform into red embers. But they do see their friend begin to violently shake just before a ring of piss forms around his crotch.

As the subway car slows for the next stop the long-hair stands to his full warrior height of eight feet, making his demon like face and bulging muscles visible to the entire gang. The car door opens and the kid closest to his frozen-with-fear friend pulls on his jacket to get him moving as the group quickly scrambles out the door.

Now there is only the blind man and Michael in the car. The doors slide shut and the car jerks into motion toward the next station.

The blind man turns in the direction of Michael’s voice. You still there, Michael? I’m blind, not deaf. Talk to me, Michael. Why’d you stick your neck out for me? he asks.

Some say I have an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong, the once-again young handsome man replies.

Michael leans over and places a hundred dollar bill in the blind man’s tip jar.

That was all the money I had from tonight’s work. Nobody out in the rain.

The young man missed a bill at the bottom of your donation can. You might want to tuck that lone bill away, it’s a hundred.

God Bless you, Michael! You’re a saint.

No, I’m just an angel.

The subway train begins to slow for another stop. Michael, now at his customary height of six feet, stands, and as he walks past the blind man, touches the man’s forehead. You were blind, yet you saw much. The end is near, use your sight to find the path.

Michael gently removes his hand from the blind man’s head and walks toward the exit. As the subway car door slides shut the blind man’s trembling hand reaches upward to remove his dark glasses. For the first time since he was a young boy sitting next to his father in the subway car, he can see the dingy gray walls of the subway platform. With tears flowing down his cheeks, he looks out the window and catches a glimpse of a young man dressed in brilliant white robes seemingly floating up the empty subway stairs. The old man strains his neck to watch the vision until all that is visible is the gray tunnel wall streaking past the fast moving subway car.

The Diablo roars up the street and then, as the brakes are applied, slides to a stop directly next to the valet stand for Chez Paris Restaurant. The young driver opens his own door, jumps out, and throws the keys to the parking attendant as he briskly walks up the steps toward the entrance.

Sir, you forgot your parking stub! the parking attendant yells.

The blond man stops, turns to face the parking attendant, and his lips form into a grotesque thin-lipped smile revealing razor sharp teeth. You will have my car waiting at the precise moment of my return, he hisses and then briskly walks up the steps to the restaurant.

The blond man enters the restaurant and, walking as if he owned the place, swaggers up to the hostess.

My name is Morning-Star. I am meeting my friend Michael for dinner. Show him to my table when he arrives, he announces grandly.

The hostess looks at her reservation book and then to the guest. That won’t be necessary, Mr. Morning-Star, your friend was seated a few minutes ago. Please follow me to his table.

Lucifer flashes the hostess a charming smile and follows her into the dining area. They walk past a number of tables filled with couples and groups of patrons enjoying their night of fine dining. In the distance, at the prized table near the window with a commanding view of the room, he sees Michael peacefully sitting. Morning-Star frowns; he briefly forms his right hand into a fist, but then just as quickly unclenches.

The hostess pulls the chair out for Morning-Star and then walks away from the table. Morning-Star glares at Michael and then slams his fist on the table. Damn you, Michael! I nearly ran down a dozen people getting here! How the hell did you beat me again?

Let me guess, you drove down slow rain-soaked streets in a blazing fire-engine red sports car. Seems God gave you great looks and charm, but shorted you on brains so as to even things up with the rest of us lowly archangels, Michael teasingly replies.

Fuck you! We have unfinished business. I haven’t forgotten that the Archangel Michael betrayed me! While pretending to be my friend you sided with Him. I do not forget or forgive such treachery.

Do we really have to go over this again? Recap, you were leading a revolt against God! Kapish? For the love of God—well, in your case, just calm the hell down.

As the waiter quietly approaches the table, Lucifer places his hand on the white tablecloth and subtly extends his middle finger toward Michael, who in turn rolls his eyes and blows a little kiss at Lucifer.

Good evening, I’m Claude, and I will be your waiter tonight. Would you care to see our wine list? he asks as he hands Morning-Star and Michael menus.

Lucifer taps his fingers for a moment. Bring us a bottle of your 2000 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.

A wonderful wine choice, sir.

Moments later the waiter returns with the wine, uncorks it, and pours a small taste into Lucifer’s wine glass. Lucifer tastes the wine, grins and holds the glass out for more. My dear friend Bacchus has outdone himself.

Yes, the god of wine shines through this wonderful vintage, Claude agrees.

Claude fills Morning-Star’s and then Michael’s glass before slipping silently away from the table.

Lucifer smiles as he swirls the wine in his glass and watches the blood red liquid coat the sides of the glass. He chuckles and looks to Michael. It took me a couple hundred years to figure out how to reverse the bad PR you created against me with that whole creature of the night shtick.

Michael nods and chuckles. Yeah, that kept you boxed in for quite some time. I have to hand it to you though, stroke of genius on your part to twist my social engineering curse of the vampire into the modern day, fashionable, sensuous vampires. You are the clever one. Ironically, that cleverness is part of the problem.

Michael savors his wine as the two sit in silence. Lucifer looks at his watch and begins to impatiently tap his fingers on the table.

So, are you clever enough to sense that things are different now? I fear the time is near, Michael says, breaking the lull in the conversation.

Lucifer finishes his wine in a single gulp and then refills the glass himself. That’s what you said at our 1790 dinner in Paris. Those were the days, huh. Remember how I corrupted Robespierre? He was such a great murderer and all of it for the cause of equality or was it liberty? Whatever, I really love that guy. You know he’s still organizing liberty cells in hell, Lucifer smirks and then continues, but in the end he kills his freedom fighters in the name of equality. Really Michael, crazy funny, you should drop by, that guy is hysterical!

Michael shakes his head in a disapproving manner. You just can’t help yourself. Yet, you are so joyously evil and full of life, I can see how humans are so easily drawn to you, Michael says, almost to himself more than Lucifer.

Lucifer smiles broadly. I’ll take that as a heartfelt compliment. But it is you who can’t help himself, always caring for your precious little humans. They’re such morons. It stands to reason, God made them as what…pets, or maybe cheap knock-offs of Him or us? Short shelf life so they’re always new and fresh. Never learning too much and always eager to worship Him. And I’m the bad guy, right? All I did was give them the choice between pet and intellect, knowledge and awareness. Well, at their level let’s just say I gave them the potential for a mind to go along with those lovely young bodies.

Lucifer turns his head and gazes toward the guests enjoying meals at the surrounding table. And now, thanks to bad old me, all the morons have choices. They can worship Him or me, he smiles broadly, I’m all about choice.

Just then Claude appears with a corked bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild. Would you gentlemen care for another bottle? he eagerly inquires.

If I didn’t know better I would think you read Morning-Star’s mind, Michael says with a smile.

The waiter places new wine glasses on the table, uncorks the wine, and then gestures to Morning-Star if he should pour a taste. Lucifer shakes his head. The waiter carefully fills their wine glasses and then stands quietly as the men take a sip.

Are you gentlemen ready to order? Claude inquires after noting his guests are pleased with the wine.

Lucifer looks to the waiter and nods. I was just saying to Michael, I’m all about choice. Tell ya what, have your chef select our meal. Tell him to prepare his finest meal for us. In the end, I will meet him and he will get his reward.

A splendid idea! Our chef will create a meal to remember! When you’ve finished the dinning experience I’ll escort the chef to your table to discuss the meal with you personally, the waiter gushes.

Can’t wait, Morning-Star dryly responds.

The waiter removes the menus from the table, turns, and quickly walks away.

After a moment of silence Michael says, I don’t think Claude caught your joke. But, you do make a good point about choice. You know, God wasn’t mad about that meddling in the Garden of Eden. The prior revolt, yes, the Garden not so much. In fact, I imagine He would say you played your role just as He scripted. Really wasn’t too satisfying having Adam and Eve aimlessly running around without a care or, more to the point, thought in the world.

Lucifer grimaces and clenches his fist. That thief can’t steal my victory! I corrupted His pets! I tempted Eve to break the only rule that He instructed them to follow. The high and mighty gave them one fucking rule, and I corrupted the pets. I did it! Me, me, me…not His scripting! Lucifer roars.

A look of concern, followed by one of pity, crosses Michael’s face. Calm down, my friend. Geez, if you were human you’d be stroking out about now, he soothingly says. Look, for what it’s worth, I think you showed great initiative. Doesn’t matter whether you acted on your own or were guided. Fact is you created the perfect balance. While Jesus saved mankind, some would say you freed it. Since that day in the Garden, mankind has had choice…no offense…the choice between good and evil. Their belief construct creates an order that culminates in the reward of everlasting life in heaven or death in hell.

Heaven versus hell? Not at all, the choice is and has always been, freedom versus control. And hear this, Michael, my legion of freedom fighters has grown over the ages. To be fair, I owe much to your zealots who force their will on the followers. They convince themselves they do God’s work while all along they do mine. For me it’s a free twofer: they inflict massive evil on their believers and at the same time turn legions from Him to me.

Claude and two servers parade through the dining room, each carrying a tray of unique and colorful dishes. The patrons notice the parade of servers and the exquisite dishes and watch intently to see where it will be delivered. Once the plates are set at the two young men’s table, the patrons begin to watch the handsome couple at the coveted table.

Claude, now standing between Michael and Lucifer, proudly announces, May I present the chef’s first course, consisting of a selection of his favorite appetizers.

The waiter bows slightly and walks away from the table. Michael and Lucifer sample the dishes, and as they enjoy the marvelous feast they both become keenly aware of the humans around the room staring at them. One middle-aged couple, who has accepted all the drink Bacchus would bestow on them, stare and make snide remarks about the foolish young men’s over indulgence.

Lucifer puts his fork down on the plate and calmly folds his hands together. It seems the pets cannot keep their eyes to themselves, and then smiling, he asks, "Why does