Three’s Company Chapter Seven The Devil on Your Shoulder
Three’s Company
Chapter Seven: That Devil on Your Shoulder
Cain took the other elevator up to his suite, smiling and not really understanding why. Was it because he wouldn’t be dining by himself tonight or that he may have just made a nice friend? He shrugged his shoulders, and opened the door to his room.
He quickly showered, picked out a nice pair of black pants and a crème colored shirt. He ran his hands through his hair, dried it a little, and slapped on some cologne. He brushed his teeth, and walked out feeling alive and refreshed. Taking the elevator back down, he kept playing with his top button, undoing it and buttoning it back up. He finally left it unbuttoned, but before the door opened, decided that chest hair would be the least thing a woman would want to see at the dinner table.
He ordered a scotch and waited. Although his watch was off, he was still an hour early. He hated being late for anything, contrary to popular belief. This gave him time to get himself situated so as not to look like such a dork. He strived to make a good impression to anyone, and he didn’t want to botch this up as well.
The band was playing the kind of music he wished to hear tonight, which was a plus. This part of the hotel was off from the rest of the larger part of the entertainment section where Carrot Top (he cringed, there was that word again) and Criss Angel would be performing. There were more shows that could be seen and the company would pay the bill, but he wasn’t interested in any of them. He was old school. He loved the shows where flair was within the entertainer and not all over the stage splattered out like guts from a recently deceased watermelon. Ah, Gallagher the prop comedian that must have been Mr. Top’s inspiration for…his comedy. He sighed. Comedy went the way of the old Vegas. The old shows, the old performers which was where it was. When class meant class and women wore hats and gloves. Men had fedoras and ties, held doors for their ladies without thinking another thought about it. He wondered, had he been born in the wrong era? It seemed so. Nothing seemed to fit. His taste in music, his work ethic, even television went to shit lately. There was nothing good on. Reality shows that are written to be scripted to the point of mind numbing lip drooling madness. Five twenty something drunk people in a rented flat on the beach somewhere getting drunk, sleeping with anyone who will spread their legs and fighting with whoever will fight with them. That’s television. Housewives who haggle over who has the biggest closet, largest bank account, whose husband is sleeping with whom, which one of them will have a career first and so on. Then you have the naked series of, wild, afraid, dating and real estate. A nice combination of blurred frontal features and bare asses of old peoples sagging parts or young people’s perky bums. He stopped watching Discovery and the rest when there was nothing else to Discover. He knew how Alexander the Great must have felt when he looked upon the lands he conquered and spoke his famous words…” Sex and sleep alone make me conscious that I am mortal.” Wait, no. Those weren’t it, but that was close, he was sure of it.
He looked at his watch again, and looked up toward the entranceway. There was still no sign of her. Eh, too good to be true, he thought to himself. He moved his tumbler over, and as the waiter noticed, came to ask if he would like another. What was the harm, he thought. “Sure and make it a double.” He wished they had a Glencairn glass, but without a good Scottish Whisky, it really didn’t matter. It was now 11:10, so by actual time probably twenty after if he was guessing. He would finish this one off, and go up to bed. He was tired. The trip out here and the overthinking had given him a slight headache. He wasn’t up for company tonight anyway. He downed the drink in two gulps, almost got strangled, regained his composure before making a total scene, fished for a tip out of his pocket, and went to leave.
Call it Fate. Call it what you will. Some things aren’t meant to be, even where innocent friendship is concerned he thought. “Now, how do you know it would have just been innocent Cain?” The devil on his shoulder said. “I just know.” “No. No you don’t by golly, and furthermore, you would have taken advantage of that poor little girl and just ravaged her right there in your hotel room only to leave her the next morning a broken soul.” He shook his head, putting his finger in his ear to clear out the sound. Why was it, every single time the devil on his should always had to sound like Cary Grant? “I dunno, did you ever think that maybe Clark Gable or William Powell was taken?” The voice stated in a matter of fact manner. “Yeah, I guess so.” Cain mumbled as the cashier stared at him. He paid his ticket, shoved his hands dejectedly in his pockets and walked back to the elevators waiting for the long ride back up to his room.
The doors dinged opened, he stepped in, pushed the button and heard someone scream. A clatter of plates crashed to the floor, as he stepped out to see Irida on the ground, white dressed ruined by leftovers, covered in splashed fluids of all kinds. Her hair was disheveled, her glasses had been knocked from her eyes, as Cain saw this, he dived to save them from a couple not watching where they were going, tripping the both of them up in the process adding to the melee that had already transpired.
Like a super hero but without the cape and mask, he had saved her glasses. If only he could stand up quickly and do that perfect AHA! moment. The other side of the coin looked like a scene from a Marx Brothers Comedy. Plates, glasses, food, liquid and a few distraught people were tossed about the hallway.
“Cain! I’m so sorry! I was late, I had to check in with my Director, had to give information on the presentation, things, questions, he was grilling me about what I learned.” Irida was to the point of tears as he helped her up, not worrying about anyone else, they seemed to be managing but not bothering to see to this tragic creature in front of him that obviously started the whole chain reaction.
“I…this…I got off the elevator, saw you get in, wanted to catch you before you went up and then..”
Then the tears started. Cain fished out his handkerchief to hand to her, watching her swipe at her eyes, while she was looking on the carpet for her glasses. They were still in his left hand, and realizing he still had them, gave them to her. She put them on haphazardly, reminding him of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He thought it was the dark hair in the updo. Her slim sleeveless gown fit her like a glove and covered her, accentuating those curves that she tried to hide earlier in the day with the suit that she wore. . All of it came together to create that illusion of innocence and sass.
“Come on Lovely, let’s blow this Popsicle stand”. He said in his best Cary Grant voice, immediately realizing that the devil on his shoulder was laughing at him.
Darkness Calls 