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Blue Moon 3.3

by Donna Lamb

Hell hath no fury like a demonic drag queen in a serious snit. Sophie Drake spit out the ice from the limo’s mini-bar that she’d been sucking. She couldn’t get it at home without a long trip down to the ninth circle but she was disgusted with the latest turn of events in the little tragicomedy she had initiated. “Mortals always cheat,”she told her driver. She snapped off the plasma screen monitor she’d been watching her latest project on

Bill C. Bubb nodded. “Nil fidelis in viro est,” he said in Hell’s bad Latin. Somehow he’d changed out of his stiffly formal chauffeur’s uniform into a more working class uniform, complete with Yankees baseball cap. They’re not known as the damned’s Yankees for nothing.

“Shut up, I have to think.” She’d changed clothes,too. Wearing a deep lilac bikini-style lingerie set, she had become the Devil with the Blue Dress Off.

She smiled. “You know, you’re right. Men are never faithful, and this particular man has broken more hearts than a one-handed dishwasher has broken crockery. He deserves a little sauce for the gander.” She laughed. An evil laugh, but that probably goes without saying. “This is going to be such fun,” she cooed.

She flicked the monitor back on and considered what she might do. She couldn’t touch Richard now but Joel had expressed a wish too. And Strangefellows Day wouldn’t be over for another nineteen hours. She could tweak Joel’s appearance, push all of Richard’s buttons; he liked them busty; maybe a pair of 38DDs? She’d made a lazy mistake, letting Joel’s genetics control most of her appearance. Except for height, Joel looked pretty much like what she might have looked like if she’d been born female. And Richard seemed unlikely to fall for a girl with unimpressive measurements like 35-23-34. Willowy didn’t make it in most men’s fantasies.

Ah well, one had to indulge all the vices now and then and it had been sloth’s turn. To hell with that, she’d make his roomie into the sort of confection Richard couldn’t resist. Lust always made a good handle on men. She reached out, twisting reality in the way badly made wishes allowed her to do. Nothing happened. Had that lapsed Catholic’s faith been strong enough to block her from messing with Joel on the basis of some vague protection he’d appealed for?

Her head snapped up. “Why are we slowing?”

“Hitchhiker.”

“On the road to Hell?” She looked out the window. “Damn it, it’s a clarence! Run over the good-intentioned busybody!”

Thump! The extended sedan rocked heavily; the clarence had some bulk, a one-time-bouncer doing a little moonlighting, ex-purgatorius, perhaps.

Knowing the angel hadn’t really been hurt, Sophie screamed out the limo’s window. “Pride goeth before a fall, buddy! You just wanted to gloat!”

Slightly cheered up, she considered her Blue Moon project again. “Hmm. He wants to be able to protect her? Maybe I can arrange things that she needs more protection?” Cackling happily, the Devil in Drag got back to work. “If I do this right, I can break both their hearts and get them to hate each other. Love! What a crock!”

“Sic qua res, nil bonum venis,” said Bill. Just to prove his point, perhaps, he had on a Dallas Cowboys warm-up jacket to go with the Yankees cap.

“You better believe it, Bubb. Nothing good ever came from romance!”