Chapter Four

Dating

“Dude,” said Huxley, “your jacket is glowing.”

Sam cautiously tugged at the sleeves of his smart black dinner jacket. “I think that’s just the acid talking, Huxley.”

Sam checked his watch for approximately the twentieth time in the entire stretch of the last five minutes. Dates made him nervous. He had gone into art specifically to avoid interacting with other people; if people wanted to get to know Sam, they could just analyze his paintings. That, coupled with the fact that Sam hadn’t been on a date since he was in college, probably explained the feeling he had that he was going to be sick all over his best shoes.

“How do I look?” he asked his roommate.

“You’re like a walking blacklight,” Huxley said, and giggled.

Sam frowned and made a mental note: never ask someone in tie-dye and on acid for fashion advice.

“Thanks,” said Sam.

“You’re going to do great, man,” said Huxley. “That Abbie is a good chick. I could tell. She had, you know, she had a good vibe, man, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I think.”

Sam considered another factor that might be contributing to his nervousness: the fact that he was the first man Abbie had ever slept with. There was something strangely romantic about it, he thought; the combination of innocence and raw passion that brought them together. If his conceptions of sex were any indication, it also meant that he now had an inflated ideal to live up to if he wanted to meet Abbie’s expectations for a relationship.

But did she even want a relationship? Abbie seemed so open and free-wheeling, like a hippie who had missed the free love movement by a few decades. Leaving this morning before Sam woke up told him that she had either no knowledge of traditional relationships, or simply no interest in them. There was some indiscernible quality about Abbie that drew Sam to her, but he didn’t want to get hurt like he had been with Alicia. If Abbie had no interest in a steady, exclusive, romantic relationship, how could he know she wouldn’t end up in the arms of another man like Alicia had?

Maybe he would have to go on “good vibes.”

Sam checked his watch again. 6:30. It was snowing again, and the drive to Bella Sera in the expensive part of town would take all of five minutes. Too early and he would be left sitting in his ill-heated and oft-malfunctioning Chevy, shivering and watching for Abbie through the snow. Too late, and – well, guys who show up late on dates probably fare even worse.

He threw a winter coat over his shoulders and headed for the door. “I have no idea what’s going to happen with this girl,” he told Huxley. “We might be back here later.”

“Cool,” said Huxley. He had made his way to the window, where he was watching snow fall through the warm orbs of the glowing streetlights. “I might be back later, too.”

Sam grinned and shook his head, grabbing his keys on the way out.

Bella Sera

Sam had never been inside Bella Sera, but the reviews he had read told him the food was almost exclusively Italian and expensive. The waiting area was decked out in lush reds and whites, which reminded him of spaghetti, and lit by gilded antique lamps that made him feel like he was enjoying the sunset on a patio in Rome.

He had been smart enough to stop in after meeting Abbie and make a reservation, and clever enough to ensure a place by slipping the maitre’d a wad of cash. What he hadn’t counted on was the fact that a thin little man in a suit worth more than Sam’s education would take over for the evening shift, and he refused to let Sam even peek into the dining room until the other half of his “party of two” arrived.

“I just want to see if she’s in there,” said Sam. “I didn’t tell her I made us a reservation.”

“Perhaps the next time you invite a lady to dinner, sir,” the maitre’d said down his nose, “you will be a gentleman and escort her to the restaurant.”

“I don’t know where she lives,” said Sam.

“Hmph,” said the maitre’d, burying his nose in the reservation book.

Sam sighed and looked at the large clock next to the dining room door. The ornate face told him that it was already 7:08 P.M. Where was she?

Sam finally heard the restaurant door open behind him, letting a gust of wind into the room. “See,” said Sam, “I told you she’d be here.”

“Excuse me?” said the elderly man standing in the doorway, wiping the snow off his boots.

“Never mind,” said Sam. He slumped back in his chair.

Four excruciating minutes and two false alarms later, Abbie walked into the restaurant. She was hugging her arms to her sides, still wearing the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing the night before, but she had wrapped a wooly scarf around her neck.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said.

“Where’s your coat?” asked Sam, rising quickly and throwing his own coat around her shoulders. “You’re freezing!”

“I haven’t gotten one yet,” she said.

“But it’s the middle of winter.”

“Yeah...” She trailed off before perking up and saying, “So, are you hungry?”

“Starving,” said Sam. He turned to the maitre’d. “Baker, party of two.” He slathered on some faux pretention and added: “We have a reservation.”

“As I have about you,” he replied. “I’m sorry is your,” he cleared his throat, “lady friend planning on wearing that into the restaurant?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” asked Abbie.

“Nothing,” said Sam, reaching into his pocket. He pulled a few bills out of his fold and handed them to the maitre’d. “If anyone doesn’t like her clothes, you can buy them a blindfold. Okay?”

“Right this way, sir,” the man grumbled.

The dining room of Bella Sera went a long way towoards convincing Sam that you get what you pay for. It was gorgeous, a huge room bathed in warm beige colors and rich brown wood, spotted with more than a dozen small, elegant tables. A large mahogany bar stocked with a trove of expensive liquors stretched across the far wall. Music that made Sam think of The Godfather played gently from hidden recesses. The fine aroma of Italian food drifted out of the kitchen and off of the plates of a small crowd of diners. The scents, the sights, the sound; since becoming a tortured bohemian, Sam had forgotten what luxury was like. It was like walking into a Botticelli painting, minus the religious bent.

“Wow,” said Abbie.

“Yeah,” said Sam.

The maitre’d led Sam and Abbie to a small table in the far corner of the room, near the kitchen and the bathrooms. A waiter whose accent was obviously more Bostonian than Italian presented them with menus.

“Welcome to Bella Sera,” he said. “I’m Tommy, and I’ll be your waiter this evening. Can I get you anything to drink from our wine cellar?”

Sam gulped. He didn’t want to break the bank on his first date with Abbie, but he didn’t want her to think he was cheap either. He had to get something that would make him look classy, but wouldn’t cost a lot. It was a very tight wire to walk.

“I’ll take a Pepsi,” he said.

“I’ll have a water,” said Abbie.

The waiter was nonplussed. “Okay,” he said. “A Pepsi and a water to start. Fantastic.” He walked away.

Smooth.

Be Our Guests

“You’re kidding,” said Michael.

“I’m sorry,” said the maitre’d, “but I can’t let you in without a reservation.”

“We just need to step in,” said Gabriel. “We won’t even order anything.”

The maitre’d rolled his eyes. “That’s helpful,” he said.

Michael groaned and stalked across the waiting area, dragging Gabriel with him. They had spent all afternoon waiting anxiously for Abbie and Sam’s date. Michael practiced what he would say to Abbie; Gabriel practiced his incantations; Raphael even went to the trouble of going out and getting them fairly respectable clothing from a second-hand store. Somewhere along the line they had forgot about Man’s pesky need for reservations.

Raphael was leaning back in a plush chair, flipping through a menu. “We can’t afford anything here, anyway.”

“Gabriel,” Michael said quietly, “we have to get in there. What kind of spell can you cast on him?”

“Well, I can’t cast a Seizure Spell at a place like this,” said Gabriel. “Someone could come and see him.”

“What about doing something with his mind? Or his memory?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’d have to touch him to get into his mind.”

“So what, then?” asked Michael. “God’s archangels are reduced to waiting in line at a stuck-up Italian Restaurant because they don’t have reservations?”

Gabriel thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.”

“What?” said Michael.

“Well,” said Gabriel, “I’m not sure this will work, but I could try a rare combination of spells that I’m not too well versed in.”

“Gabriel?” said Raphael.

“Let me think,” said Gabriel. “I’ve been practicing with a spell that grants temporary invisibility from the Earthly plane, but it requires great concentration. While I’m casting it, you two will have to carry me into the dining room.”

“Uh, Gabriel?” said Raphael again.

“When we get in the dining room, you will have to give me a signal so that I can cast an experimental darkness incantation long enough for us to find a place to hide. Once we do that–”

“Gabriel!” said Raphael.

“What is it?” asked Gabriel harshly.

Raphael pointed behind him. “We could just try getting in now.”

Michael and Raphael turned to see the maitre’d leading a pair of businessmen into the dining room, letting the door swing unwatched behind him.

Gabriel paused. “That could work too.”

The three angels quickly slinked through the closing door, stepping into the dining room and ducking into an empty booth. Michael spotted Sam and Abbie at a table near the kitchen, Abbie with her back to him.

“There they are,” he said. “Abbie might not want to come with us, so we can’t let her know we’re here until we’re close enough. Sam won’t recognize us, will he?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Won’t be a problem.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Michael had just started to stand when he heard a voice call to him from a nearby table. It was thick and smooth as molasses, dripping something like honey but far more sinister. It was a voice he recognized, even after this long. He stopped cold.

“Michael,” said Lucifer. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Michael turned. Sitting at a table near the bar, dressed in a fine burgundy suit, was his brother Lucifer. His skin was weathered and tan, but his square jaw lent him a mysterious dignity and attraction; he was more beautiful than most men. He was sitting with a large stone-faced black man that Michael didn’t quite recognize. Michael’s attention was focused more on the gun in Lucifer’s hand, barely visible under a cloth napkin.

“Come join us,” said Lucifer. He smiled. “I insist.”

The Fall

After the creation of Man, Lucifer made his presence before God very scarce. When God asked Michael where Lucifer was, Michael could not say, because he did not know. Michael and his brothers had seen very little of Lucifer themselves.

Michael did hear things.

Michael heard of dissent spreading like wildfire through Heaven. He heard of Lucifer calling angels aside and whispering in their ears confidentially. He heard of some angels fighting amongst one another, of some angels disagreeing with their place in Heaven. He heard of some angels questioning God’s Plan. He heard of some angels questioning God.

Lucifer.

God, being not a fool, heard such things too. And God was angry. He called his angels before him and bellowed, “Who would question Me, who created you, who created Heaven, the almighty God?”

The angels would not answer, for they still feared God. But they would not deny. And they would whisper.

Lucifer.

God asked Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, who would still bow before the Lord, “Do you question my wisdom?”

“No, my Lord,” said the archangels.

“Do you question my power?” asked God.

“No, my Lord,” said the archangels.

“Do you question that I am Right?” asked God.

“No, my Lord,” said the archangels.

“Good,” said God. “Go find who does.”

So Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael went forth through Heaven to appraise the loyalty of the angels. Most still had absolute faith in God’s Will. But some did not. They whispered that God was inept, that he was a fool, that Man was a blasphemy and a joke and that God was not fit to sit on the Throne. That someone else was better suited to rule.

Lucifer.

And the angels who dissented ran, to the farthest reaches of Heaven, where they could congregate. At the end of their search, the archangels surmised that a third of Heaven had lost the faith, thanks to the whispers of a lost brother who had disappeared but was still heard.

Before the archangels could report their findings to God, he appeared before them, bathed in arrogance and a thirst for power.

Lucifer.

“Brothers,” he said, “Join me.”

“Never,” said Michael. “Our faith lies with God.”

“You know there is truth in what I say,” he said. “We were first. We are superior. We are the chosen.”

“We are not God,” said Michael.

“We should be!” cried Lucifer. “We can do better. The old fool’s reign is up. He’s gone insane, expecting us to bow before this wretch that is Man. We are better than Man.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” said Michael.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Lucifer hissed. “I’m smarter than God. I should have his place on the Throne.”

“You won’t,” said Michael.

“There are others who agree with me,” said Lucifer.

“God will deal with them,” said Michael.

“WE ARE NOT GOD’S PLAYTHINGS!” screamed Lucifer. “Don’t you see!? If he will not listen to us, we will make him see things our way.”

“When God hears this,” said Michael, “there will be bloodshed. Many will die. You will never be allowed to look upon God again.”

Lucifer stared down each of the archangels. “So be it, brothers,” he hissed, and took off.

For just a moment, Michael considered not telling God about Lucifer. Lucifer was his brother, and he loved him. But this tresspass could not stand. There would be war over the throne. He feared that Heaven would run red with blood.

And so it did.