Life is Wonderful

"I knew I'd see you again, but I didn't think it would be this soon," Greg said.

"Oh, I'm almost done here," Clarissa said. "I just wanted you to know that you don't have anything to fear from Damian. I, uh, robbed him of his power over you. So, how did it go with Marie?"

"Wonderful!" Greg said. "My only regret is that it took so long for me to figure out what she'd like. Did you know she sings and plays the piano? I'm telling you Clarissa, she's the piece we've been missing. You know, none of us can really sing. We do it because we have to. But if she's as good as I think she is, she'll be just what puts us over the top."

"But do you love her?" Clarissa said.

"Yeah, yeah I do," Greg said. "The longer we spent together, the better it felt. She's what I've been missing in my life. And we didn't even have sex. I think I'm going to wait until she's Mrs. Greg Baldwyn before I, uh, before I make love with her."

"Before you fuck her," Clarissa corrected with a peal of laughter that sounded like a chorus of seraphim. She'd always been a little earthy, and she wasn't offended by the occasional f-bomb.

"Clarissa," Greg said, suddenly a little solemn. "Thank you. I wish you could stay and we could be friends, but I know you have to go back."

"Oh, you'll see me again," she said. "I'm not leaving until I'm sure Damian's been sent back to hell where he belongs. And I think you'll see me when it comes time for you to join us in heaven. I'll be keeping an eye on you when I get back. You're a good man, Greg Baldwyn, and I predict great things for you."

They hugged then, before Clarissa opened the door and walked out. Greg looked back to see her leave, but she was gone from sight. Then he shut the door with a smile on his face and a tear in his eye.

The next day, Greg was up early and out the door. He avoided the main drags, but otherwise didn't make an effort to hide. His first stop was to his favorite music store, where he looked at electric pianos. He knew the owner, and got him to part with a loaner for the night, and if things worked out, then they would talk in a day or so about buying one.

He took the instrument to Steve's house and set it up in his garage. Steve and Lanny, the drummer, looked at him curiously when he set it up for the rehearsal they were planning for that afternoon.

He was grinning inside and out when he drove by Marie's place and picked her up. She'd been dying of curiosity about this surprise he had for her since he'd brought it up the previous night.

When they got to Steve's place and she saw the keyboard set up, complete with a microphone, Marie's eyes went wide.

"I don't understand," she said hesitantly.

"I've thought about this, and the one key thing we've been missing is a keyboard and someone who can sing, I mean sing well. You know most of these songs by heart, you've got a great voice and we need a singer. How about it?"

"Oh, I don't know if I could get up on stage," Marie said. "I'd be scared to death."

"Bullcrap," Steve interjected. "You know all of us, know a lot of patrons. We're all friends, and you could just think of it like fooling around with family members."

"Give yourself a chance, Marie," Greg said. "We're going to rehearse this afternoon, get you comfortable with the repertoire, and give you your shot. If it doesn't work this afternoon, I won't embarrass you by asking you to come up and play tonight. But if it does, we could be onto something good."

"Well ..." Marie said. "I'll give it a try."

Marie sat in front of the keyboard, and it was apparent from the start that she could play and play well. She had an improvisational style of playing that complemented what Greg and Steve were doing, and when she started singing, it was in a clear alto voice that was perfect for the blues.

She flubbed a few of the lyrics of some of the songs she wasn't as familiar with, but she was dead-on with other songs that the band hadn't played before.

It was when they were taking a break that she started fiddling with the keyboard, playing softly, slowly. And when she started to sing, softly, almost to herself, everyone in Steve's garage stopped and stared.

"It's summertime, and the livin's easy," she sang, oblivious to the effect she had on the rest of the room. "Fish are risin' and the cotton's high."

Greg looked at Marie with a dumbstruck look on his face. She got through the whole first verse before she realized what she was doing, then stopped, slightly embarrassed.

"Boy, still waters really do run deep," Greg said softly.

"It's my favorite song," Marie said. "Somehow, it always soothes my soul when I'm feeling a little funky."

"You think you could sing that on stage?" Greg said.

"I guess so," Marie said.

"OK, let's work that into the third set, make it a real slow showstopper," Greg said. "We're all agreed, then. We're taking this band back, doing what we do best."

"What about Damian?" said Tyrell, the bass guitar player. "You haven't dealt with this guy on a one-to-one basis, man. He's got some bad mojo."

"You let me worry about him," Greg said with more confidence than he felt.

As it turned out, he didn't have to deal with Damian at all.

Somehow, Damian had convinced himself that Greg was still a non-factor in the Bluesrockers, and he was still the leader of the band. He had plans for that night's show. He was going to take out his rage and frustration on the audience that night, show them that Lucifer was the king.

But as he neared the backstage door for the night's gig, he was confronted by an apparition in white standing in the doorway. His rage boiled white-hot as he realized who it was.

"YOU!!!" he screamed.

"Yes, me," Clarissa said merrily. "How's your cock doing? Having fun with it?"

Damian screamed in impotent rage, but Clarissa just gazed at him impassively.

"This way is barred to you, by the power of Christ," she said, her voice gaining authority with each word. "You have no power over Greg Baldwin; he is out of your reach. So you can go back to hell where you belong!"

And as she did, she pulled out the gold crucifix that was the symbol of angelic power and held it up where its light shone directly into Damian's eyes. He shrunk back in fear as Clarissa stood her ground, then he slunk back into the shadows and disappeared.

The early crowd was fairly light, as patrons were a little wary about what they'd heard about the new Bluesrockers and the new leader. They were curious, however, when they saw the keyboard set up, wondering what to make of it.

Steve Dumas led the band on stage for their first set, and started the show with the song that had been their standard opener with Greg, Little Feat's "Skin It Back," then broke into the instrumental that they used to introduce the leader.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Steve Dumas announced from stage front. "The old Bluesrockers are back, better than ever. We have a couple of surprises for you tonight, and I'd like to introduce the first one at this time. Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors, brothers and sisters, let's have a fine hand for Greg Baldwyn!"

The audience seemed genuinely glad to see Greg back and able to play again, and Greg quickly led the band through a searing sequence that started with "Crossroads," continued through "Roadhouse Blues," then "Jesus Just Left Chicago." As the band grooved behind him, Greg went up to the mike.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I recently had an epiphany," he said. "I learned that we have had a diamond in the rough hanging around this place for three years now, and nobody knew. Well, now we do. So, tonight, we have a very special guest we'd like to bring up tonight. Marie? Please, come up and join us, would you? Ladies and gentlemen, Marie Booth on the keyboards."

Marie sat her tray on the bar, took off her apron and turned to Julie, one of the other waitresses.

"Can you cover for me?" she said. "I think I'm being paged."

"You go, girl," Julie said, staring appreciatively in disbelief.

At first, Marie just played, getting comfortable with being on stage, and it was during that part of the show that a handsome black man in his early 30s slipped quietly into the club, took a seat at the bar, ordered a drink and sat back to watch the band.

There was nothing noticeable about him, which was how he wanted it. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a polo shirt, rimless glasses and his hair was cut short, but not shaved. After a couple of songs, during which Marie got her first chance to sing, he took out a small pad of paper, a pen and jotted down some notes.

It was early in the band's final set that Manny pulled into the parking lot, as was typical on a Tuesday. He usually showed up late to count the gate, because he didn't trust anyone else to do it.

He was already in a foul mood, because he'd been unable to locate Delilah, and there was evidence in her bedroom that had disturbed him.

But his mood turned to one of shock when he heard the music that was being played and saw Greg on stage jamming like crazy. And that wasn't all. They had brought in some woman to play keyboards and sing, and when he realized who it was his rage was overflowing. That mousy waitress could not possibly be up there playing and singing.

Something was wrong. He had been assured that Greg had been taken care of, that he was one push away from suicide.

Suddenly, he was seized by fear. He stormed up to his upstairs office, and was relieved to see it was empty. He shut the door and locked it, then walked nervously to the bar he kept along one wall and poured himself a glass of bourbon, downed it, then poured himself another one and downed that one as well.

Downstairs, the audience was reacting enthusiastically to the new Bluesrockers, and for Greg it was like watching a flower bloom before his eyes. The longer she played, the more confident Marie became. She had a quiet yet powerful stage presence, and her playing was strong.

And when she sang "Summertime," you could hear a pin drop. She poured into the performance all of the frustrations she'd had in her life up to that point, and all of the joy she knew she had to look forward to.

At the bar, the black man who had been taking notes nodded his head appreciatively. It had definitely been worth the effort to get there.

Manny had about convinced himself that nothing was going to happen, when he heard a knock at his office door.

"Who is it?" he asked fearfully.

"I've got the gate, boss," he heard his doorman say.

Manny unlocked the door and opened it to see Damian Porter standing there. Manny tried to shut the door quickly, but Damian flicked at it lightly and it swung open. Manny backed away as Damian entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

"But, but... I thought it was ..." Manny sputtered.

"Come now, Manny," Damian said. "Didn't you know that we can imitate anyone's voice to gain entrance anywhere we want? One of the little tools that Lucifer teaches you when you arrive in hell. You'll learn them all, quite soon, in fact."

"Wait!" Manny squealed. "This isn't over yet. We can still get rid of Baldwyn, still salvage this."

"No, Manny, WE can't," Damian said. "Someone interceded on his behalf, and that ... person ... got to him before he could take his life. I can't reach him, because he's protected now. So ..."

"No, no, no!" Manny cried out, "Wait!"

"You knew the deal when you made it, Manny," Damian said. "If I can't have Greg Baldwyn's soul, then I must take your's. And unlike him, I don't need for you to kill yourself for me to take your soul. That only applies to innocents like him."

"Wait! Can't you wait awhile longer?" Manny said. "I'll take him out myself!"

And he rummaged in a desk drawer for the pistol he kept there.

"It's too late for that," Damian said. "I must return now. I have been ... incapacitated. It is imperative that I go back and regain my strength. Come, Manny, it is time."

Damian swept his hand in an arc and a crevasse, with fingers of fire spilling out, seemed to open across the floor of the office. Sparks of flame spit from his fingers as he closed on Manny, then gripped him by the throat and dragged him toward the fiery opening.

Manny's unholy scream was drowned out by the din from downstairs as the Bluesrockers finished their final set, to the tumultuous approval of the crowd, which had swelled impressively as word got around town of the performance.

No one would ever really figure out what happened, but just about the time the band finished packing up its gear, which they did after every show, someone smelled smoke. Then Marie looked up and saw flames racing across the ceiling from the upstairs office.

Fortunately, no one was injured in the blaze, other than Manny, whose charred body was found in the wreckage. But by the time the fire department arrived on the scene, the entire building was involved, and the best the firemen could do was simply prevent the fire from spreading.

Greg and Marie had their arms wrapped around each other as the Bluesrockers watched the Crossroads Tavern burn to the ground. Marie was weeping, but Greg was somewhat impassive. Somehow, he knew what had happened.

Just then, he saw a modestly dressed black man walk up to him.

"Greg? Greg Baldwyn?" the man said.

"Yeah, that's me," Greg said, holding his hand out in greeting.

"My name is Tom Dixon, and I represent Checkerboard Records out of Chicago," the man said. "I've been trying to work it to come down here for six months to hear you guys, and I've got to say it was worth the wait. You were sensational."

He handed Greg his business card, and Greg nodded as he looked it over quickly.

"Uh, thanks," Greg said. "This was Marie's first gig with us, and I thought it went real well. She's actually been a waitress here for three years, and I just learned she can play piano and sing."

"Really?" Tom said. "I'm floored. Look, I'd like to buy you all some breakfast and maybe tell you a little about our company."

"Well, I can't say no to a man who wants to buy breakfast, especially after a night like this, and I'll listen to whatever you have to say," Greg said. "Any of you guys have any objection?"

The smiles of his friends in the band gave him the answer he expected.

As he turned to escort Marie to his car, Greg happened to look to his right. Standing at the edge of the woods was a figure in white, with golden hair. Clarissa Goodbody put her fingers to her lips and blew Greg a kiss, mouthing the word, "goodbye" as she did, and Greg blew her a kiss and saluted.

When he looked back a second later, she was gone. He laughed then, loud and hearty.

"What's gotten into you?" Marie said as they reached his car.

"I'm just thinking about how wonderful life is," Greg said. "Wonderful, indeed. Marie, I don't know if I've told you this yet, but I love you, very much, and I'd be honored if you'd marry me."

"Oh, Greg," Marie said as she buried her head in Greg's shoulder and wept tears of joy. "It truly is an answered prayer."

And when they arrived at the all-night diner, a bell tinkled as they opened the door.

"You know something?" Marie said. "My mama always said that every time a bell rings, it means an angel has gotten their wings. What do you think, honey?"

"I think you should always listen to your mother," Greg said.

Then he looked up toward heaven, winked and whispered something no one else heard in the clamor to order breakfast.

"Congratulations, Clarissa, you deserve it."

------

SIX WEEKS LATER

Greg and Marie stopped in front of the door to their hotel room, the honeymoon suite at the Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis. He slipped the key card into the slot, turned the handle, threw the door open, then lifted Marie off her feet and carried her into the room.

She wrapped her arms around her new husband's neck and kissed him deeply as they walked into the suite. Then Greg set her on the floor and they walked to the bar for a drink, straight soda for both of them. They toasted each other then and stared lovingly into each other's eyes.

"This has been the happiest day of my life," she said softly. "You know, I never thought this would happen when I saw you with that woman that night. And, frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted you after that. But I loved you too much, and I figured you'd tire of her, or she'd tire of you."

"Oh, she was such a self-centered bitch," Greg said. "You know, it's funny, though. It's like she just dropped off the planet right there around the time of the fire. I wonder what happened to her?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Marie said.

At that very moment, Delilah Jones was strapped to a bed in a mental hospital outside Jackson. She was moaning and thrashing about, as she had been almost continuously for over a month, ever since she had been found wandering aimlessly along a Delta highway, naked, bruised and incredibly filthy.

She was bleeding slowly from her vagina and anus, both of which were dilated to unbelievable size. She had no recollection of who she was or where she was, no identification and no one in the area had any idea who she was.

The surgeons had managed to repair the damage to her body, although her colon had been perforated to the extent that she would probably have to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of her life. But the psychiatrists at the state hospital had had less success. They said it might be years before she regained her mental capacity, if she ever did.

Delilah may as well have been on Mars for all anyone in the honeymoon suite at the Peabody Hotel cared.

The previous six weeks had been a whirlwind. Greg had gone the next day and bought Marie an engagement ring, then they talked some more with Tom Dixon.

He told them some more about Checkerboard Records, which was a successful indie label specializing in Chicago-style and Delta-style blues. They had recently signed a distribution agreement with a national company and the future looked good.

The band didn't make any commitments, but they liked Tom and his easy-going style. Over the next few weeks, the band lined up some gigs elsewhere in the Delta, in Memphis and in Jackson. Their reputation as a tight, top-notch R&B band had suddenly taken off. And the more Marie played with the band, the better they got.

In the midst of all of that, Marie and Greg planned an intimate little wedding in the small church Marie had been attending for most of her three years in Clarksdale.

There was no question in anyone's mind about the love between them when they saw the look on Greg's face when Marie came down the aisle in her tasteful steel-gray dress, accompanied by an uncle.

After the reception, they had driven leisurely up to Memphis, where they sat in the lobby bar and had a drink as they watched the daily parade of ducks that were such an attraction at that venerable hotel.

And now they were at the moment they had been waiting for.

They stood in the middle of the room, just looking at each other. They came together slowly, and kissed softly, sensually as they circled each other in a loving embrace.

Their mouths worked languidly, their tongues picking up steam as their passion deepened.

Greg reached behind Marie's back and slowly drew the zipper of her dress down, then she stepped back and shrugged the dress off her body onto the floor. She stood in front of Greg in just her black bra, skimpy black panties and thigh highs.

She reached back, unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor. She held her small breasts out with each hand, offering them to her new husband. Greg smiled as he accepted her invitation. He filled his hands with her tits, lightly kneading her flesh, then moving his fingers to roller her hard brown nipples.

Marie closed her eyes and felt the sizzle of lust as worked his hands over her breasts. Greg wanted more, and he took what he wanted, bending down to kiss her precious little tips. He savored the feeling of her hard nubs as he tenderly kissed, licked and sucked her nipples.