Double D

It’s tough to be a dame in Chicago.

Even tougher when you spend all your time in dive bars on Water Street, just waiting for some big hunk of a man to buy you a drink so you can chat him up and make all his dreams come true.

Why, yes, darling, I would like a drink. How’d you ever guess? I’ll have a Southern Comfort Manhattan, bless your heart. Smooth, but powerful, just like you.

Light me up a cigarette, will you, big guy? Might as well add to the cloud hanging low off the ceiling like the morning haze over the steel mills near the Indiana border. Unfiltered if you got ’em. I like to taste the flecks of tobacco leaf, all sickly sweet and tangy, in between draws. Gives my tongue something to do, you know.

Nah, sugar, I’m sure you’re right. The girls back in Tupelo, Mississippi, they ain’t nothing like me—not that I wasn’t all sweet and innocent and giggly once upon a time. Now, I’m sweet and tangy, just ready to taste.

Awww. Why’d you have to go and kill the mood, honey, by asking a question like that? You corporate types, you’re always thinking business, business, business. ABCD. Am I right? Always Be Closing the Deal.

Well, jelly bean, you’re right and wrong, all at the same time. Just like me. It so happens I am a working girl, just not the type you’re thinking of.

How can I tell what you’re thinking of? Honey, unless you swivel that stool so you’re facing the bar a bit more, everyone here can tell what you’re thinking of, if you get my meaning. Trust me, cherub, I love enthusiasm, but we have to strike a bargain, first. Right?

See, snookums, that’s where you were on target. I am a working girl of sorts. Y’see, I’m a Double D.

And there it is. There’s the eye drop, right on schedule, like you were watching an art dealer fumble a Ming vase or your Aunt Matilda let go of the baby. You just can’t help but look down to witness the spectacle. Well, eyes back up here, fella. Not that they ain’t nice and soft and … a bit of a spectacle, but I ain’t talkin’ about my headlights. I’m talkin’ about my job. And, yeah, I was telling the truth when I said I could make all your dreams come true.

Y’see, I’m a Double D, but that stands for Dream Demon. And that means I can get you anything your heart desires, Toto. Anything at all.

Don’t laugh so hard, sugarcakes, you’ll suck in too much smoke and have a conniption. Don’t believe me, right? This just ain’t advertising, cowboy. This is the real deal. Anything you want, I can arrange.

I’ve seen that smirk of doubt before, big shot. Nobody thinks a dame can get them anything they want, unless … well, you know … all they want is the dame. I can do that, of course, if you want to sell yourself short. Yes sir, you can have all this … two girls if you want. Hell, you can have a guy or a midget or a Mexican donkey, if that’s what floats your boat, but you don’t need me for that. Just go to the front desk at any of the big hotels in the Loop and ask for the “Businessman’s Special.” They can hook you up with all the debauchery you can afford.

But, I’m much better than that. I can get you anything at all … your fondest dream come true … for a price. That’s what Dream Demons do. We make deals and deliver dreams.

Still don’t believe me, do you? Okay, I’ll prove it to you. Yes, right here in the bar … and, no … I don’t do dreams for free, not even little ones. Just look into my eyes and I’ll prove I’m a Dream Demon. Up here, hot shot, at my eyes.

Jeez! You’re the jumpy type, ain’t you? Spilled your drink and let the lit cigarette fall out of your mouth. You gotta be more careful. You could start a fire that way—there’s time enough for that later.

Any professional women you know can turn their eyes completely coal black? I didn’t think so. Only demons do that. Look it up in the good book, if you want.

Well, hell’s bells. You’ve got no reason to face the bar anymore. Must’ve scared you good with the old Eyes of the Abyss look. Not that you weren’t scared before, but it was the excited kind of scared, with maybe a touch of worry about whether I was going to tell your wife or your secretary or maybe steal your wallet while you were in the bathroom. Now that you think you know who I am, it’s more the is-she-going-to-turn-me-into-a-pillar-of-flame-and-rotisserie-my-firstborn kind of scared.

I like it. It suits you. And, to be truthful, I do deserve a certain amount of respect. All working girls do.

By the way, I’m nothing but truthful. With me, a deal is a deal and the terms are straightforward. You tell me your fondest desire and I deliver.

Say, Einstein, you are clever. Must be the up-and-coming kid at the company. Straight to the crux of the deal: duration of your dream life. My boss, he thinks long-term. So, us Double Ds, we don’t quibble about details of duration. Why fuss and argue about five years, ten years, twenty years, when they are all just drops in the bucket? You ask, you automatically get a lifetime guarantee.

Sure, now that you mention it, I do have a bit of discretion about how long the lifetime lasts. Generally, we just let things run their natural course. No sense meddling with cosmic events unnecessarily. Besides, satisfied customers can be a great source of future referrals. But I do confess to having an ability to act with discretionary authority to manipulate the lifetime part of the guarantee when someone is too big of a jerk or goes blabbing to the press or tries to weasel out of his end of the deal.

I don’t take kindly to that kind of trouble, so I shut it down right quick.

Acts of God. Ha! If only they knew.

And I can and sometimes do interpret things a bit on the literal side for parties of the second part who rub me the wrong way. And, yeah, I mean that literally. Some cad gets handsy with me at the bar, I don’t do him any favors in the negotiations. I may just be borrowing this body, but it’s mine for the moment and I don’t allow no trespassers on my property, even if I am an attractive nuisance. You want to mow the grass, you stay in your own yard. Understand?

Good. Now where was I? Ah, price. That’s right. Just what you’d expect. You get your dream life, my boss knicks the soul out of your body as you exit this mortal coil. Yep, as you exit. You want to go through life soulless, go into advertising. With my deal, you get free, unfettered use of your soul during your lifetime. You just can’t sell it to somebody else, ‘cause we’ve got a prior claim—kind of like a first mortgage.

I know, I know. The whole eternal damnation to the pits of hell thing is making you hesitate. Am I right? Of course, I’m right. Those nuns, they really pound that into you. Child cruelty, if you ask me. Hell’s actually a pretty nice place. Streets might not be paved with gold, but they are paved with good intentions. And trust me, you’ve got a much better chance of meeting up again with your loved ones—friends, relatives, fraternity brothers, whatever—in hell than you will upstairs. Not exactly a well-attended party there. Besides, you can’t even have a pleasant conversation up there about the meaning of life, even if you do find a friend to chat up. All those cherubim and seraphim singing “Holy, Holy, Holy” all the time make it really hard to communicate.

I can see the wheels turning, bucko. Take your time. The bar doesn’t close ‘til 2 a.m., not that I’d recommend strolling back to your hotel at that time of night. Rolling drunks is a great Chicago tradition. St. Patrick’s Day is like Christmas to the local thugs.

If you do stay late, though, you can walk back to the convention hotel through the Emerald City and you’ll probably be alright.

You’ve never heard of the Emerald City? Most tourists haven’t. That’s what the locals call lower Wacker. Y’see, there’s an entire street below Wacker Drive, used for deliveries and somesuch. They light it with green lights for some reason. In any case, tourists don’t know it’s there, so the muggers don’t lurk in the green shadows. Follows the curve of the river, but you can access it right here near Michigan Avenue.

But enough of that. You got any dreams, mister?

You’ve decided already? Jeepers, you are a born executive, aren’t you?

Wait a minute. Let me guess. A girl’s gotta have some fun on the job, you know.

Hmmm. You don’t seem the power-hungry type, so it’s gotta be money or love. Am I right?

Money … money’s always more complicated than people think it is. They think they can wish for a million bucks and they’re set for life, no worries and no complications. But it just doesn’t work that way and it’s not because anybody on our end of the deal is messing with you. It’s just because money is always complicated.

Say you wish for a big load of cash and I pay off on the deal, ‘cause that’s how things work with a Double D. Suddenly you got a big load of cash and everybody, they want to know where you got it. Who’d you rob? Where’d you find it? And even if you convince them that you ain’t a crook, then the government wants to tax it. Or maybe somebody tries to steal it, whether with a gun or some clever investment portfolio, it doesn’t make a difference, not in the end.

And, of course, everybody’s got their hand out, ‘cause you got the greenbacks and they don’t. So, your life is an endless line of sob stories and con men and women. You’ll end up especially leery of the dames, since you won’t ever be sure that they’re making nice ‘cause you’re a swell fellow, rather than them just being heartless gold-diggers. With cash, you spend all your time on edge until it’s all gone.

After that, you spend all your time regretting your choices—your choice of wish and every choice after that, too.

And, of course, some people get greedy. They wish for a million wishes, so that’s what they get. A million wishes. Hell, you can do that without me, wish a million times—nothing in that wish says any of ‘em will come true.

You’re a sharp tack, so I figure you figured that all out already. You’re the kind of stud who thinks about all the angles. You got that dreamy look that comes from sitting back and thinking about what really makes you happy, what makes your motor purr. But you don’t just want your motor to purr, you want it to rev up whenever you want and keep running forever, like them big diesel train engines, that they start up and just never turn off for twenty, thirty years.

Maybe you’re thinking about how to phrase the request. After all, you don’t just want to love someone or just have someone love you, you want it to be mutual. And you’re not looking just for spiritual love, you want the sweaty stuff, too. Once, twice a day. And three times on Sunday.

That squinty-eyed look tells me that you’re figuring all the permutations, too. So let me be clear: you ask me to grant a dream that’s romance related, I won’t sell you out. The lifetime guarantee, that goes for the both of you. None of this tragic love that’s cut short when your sweetie gets hit by a Mack truck the next morning when she runs out for eggs to make you breakfast. A deal’s a deal.

Double Ds, we don’t double deal.

But that goes both ways, lover. If I make a deal for my boss to take your soul when you die, he expects to collect. Don’t go thinking that if you ask for true love, you somehow skate through a loophole because your soul is already given to your true love, or some claptrap romantic nonsense like that. I told you already, when we make a deal, your soul gets a first mortgage on it. When that debt comes due, the boss forecloses on your soul. My boss ain’t a softer touch than the local bank manager, and you know what bastards those guys can be.

Last call? Jeez, it’s later than I thought. Time to cut to the chase, lover. What’s your temptation? Make your decision. Fulfill your fantasy. Tell me your dream and I make it come true for the price of your soul. No limits; no exceptions.

What’s it gonna be, boy? What’s it gonna be?

…

Damn you to hell for all eternity, buddy. I never expected that. Why’d you go and have to do that?

Still, a deal is a deal. You want all Dream Demons banished from earth forever, that’s what you get, even if it means you’re spoiling the party for everyone. I wouldn’t have guessed you to be such a sanctimonious type, not from the way you stare at a gal.

Go ahead, take a good long look. I can dawdle for a few minutes, ‘til closing time. After all, I’m not in a hurry to get to where I’m going, to where you’ve sent me.

Let your gaze wander all over my body. I don’t mind. I’m the last Double D you’ll ever see, that anybody will ever see.

Well, at least until you join us in hell. We both have that to look forward to. And if you think Double Ds are imaginative in making dreams come true, wait ‘til you see what we can do with nightmares. After all, there’s a whole army of us with nothing to do for eternity now, but think of ways to torture you.

You’d better settle up your tab with the barkeep now, hon.

We’ll settle up later.