Soul for Sale Page 5

  Ten

  The next morning, Madelyn’s cell phone rang at seven thirty. Gwen was running late and couldn’t meet her for coffee. Madelyn considered going straight to work, but decided to go to Sal and Al’s anyway.

  First, she visited the man selling flowers on the corner from buckets brimming with the freshest bunches of seasonal blooms. She bought a small bouquet of sunflowers, lavender and leafy green sprigs. When she arrived at the coffee shop, she handed the bouquet to Sal. “Good morning.”

  Sal’s face lit up with her smile. “Aren’t they beautiful!” She threw her arms around her. “A hero and a sweetie to boot.” As she brought the bouquet to her nose, Sal’s face glowed, probably reflecting the yellow of the sunflowers. She beamed up at Madelyn. “I’m going to introduce you to my nephew. He’s moving here from Seattle this weekend.”

  “How nice.” The place had begun to seem so homey; now Madelyn would have to find a new coffee shop. The thought of building a new little community depressed her. It took too much time, a luxury Madelyn didn’t have.

  She ordered her coffee to go. As she walked to the Whitney Center, leaves cascaded from trees positioned evenly along the sidewalk in an array of burnished gold, red and orange. She nearly smiled at the life-sized zombie figure holding a sign showing the daily specials outside a café. Again, Madelyn’s universe had shifted ever so slightly. Before going inside the building, she inhaled the warm autumn air, unusual for so late in the month. The tiniest glimmer of hope took root, but she kept it at bay. Disappointment could swallow hope in an instant.

  During her break, Gwen sat in Madelyn’s office, mouth agape as she listened to yesterday’s details. No point in keeping it from her now; if Madelyn should disappear, she’d need someone to take care of Brutus.

  Clipped heels sounded in the hallway. Madelyn and Gwen stiffened as Evelyn walked in, holding last night’s Evening Gazette. “You’ve had a busy week. If only you’d put as much effort into your work.”

  Madelyn’s chair swiveled as she stood. “I do. The report is finished, with every change made, and you’ll submit it on time. I give two hundred percent to this job, although you take full credit.”

  Her supervisor’s breezy tone indicated she was nonplussed. “Thank you, Madelyn. I will make note of it.” Raising a pointy brow, Evelyn turned and walked out.

  Gwen widened her eyes. “Wow.”

  “Oh, who cares.” Madelyn plopped onto her chair. “Now, about tomorrow night. How many times have you run through your routine?”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Let’s see. About a thousand?”

  “It’s going to be great.” She lifted her coffee cup in a toast.

  Gwen touched her cardboard cup to Madelyn’s. “If not, I’ll go down in flames.”

  Coffee choked in her throat. “Don’t even joke about that.” She hoped she wouldn’t be the cause of the flames.

  Eleven

  Bodies packed every space inside Just for Laughs as Madelyn entered. All the tables and bar stools were filled so Madelyn went to the end of the bar and ordered a white merlot. If tonight was going to be her last, she might as well enjoy it.

  A man wearing a silky grey shirt and black slacks tapped the microphone onstage. His slicked-back hair gleamed in the spotlight as he welcomed the crowd. Madelyn jockeyed for position so she could fully view her friend, and vice versa. It was important Gwen knew she was here for her.

  The man introduced Gwen. Looking like a cabaret singer, she walked onstage in a black sleeveless top, black slacks and deep red lipstick. People clapped politely. Gwen had remarked yesterday it would be tough to win them over, but Madelyn hadn’t known the extent of that truth until now.

  What they lacked in enthusiasm, Gwen made up for in confidence and energy, as if she’d already transformed into a star. Waitresses walked between the stage and tables to whisk glasses to and from their trays. Each refill made individuals grow more restless. More boisterous. A table full of young guys jeered and yelled for Gwen to wrap it up, let the real act begin.

  Thrown off her routine, Gwen stammered. The microphone squealed with feedback, though she stood silent, looking out over the room with wide, beautiful eyes. One of the guys told her to get off stage, then he glanced over at Madelyn.

  She knew that dark look. It felt as if someone had dumped ice cubes down her back as he continued heckling Gwen. With every second, he grew darker until he was no more than a black emptiness in the audience.

  Madelyn caught Gwen’s eye and waved the guy off. She moved her lips in an exaggerated way, mouthing at Gwen to keep going. Gwen gripped the mike, stared at the floor momentarily as if in silent prayer. When she raised her head, she was transformed again as she asked the guy if he was someone she used to date.

  She pulled the mike from its stand and placed her hand on her hip as she moved to the front of the stage. “Because you remind me of this jerk I dated in college. Hoo boy, what a jerk he was. A lot like you.”

  The crowd fell silent. Some women exchanged nervous glances, and spoke to one another behind hands shielding their mouths. Some men punched the shoulders of nearby friends with a laugh.

  Reverb squealed as the mike echoed Gwen’s breath.

  It was a universal theme: a good person being beaten down by a bully, any bully. In some, it drew discomfort. In others, invoked ire.

  In Madelyn, it fostered support. She cheered, “What a jerk! You tell him! Wooo!”

  Gwen glanced her way. She threw more zingers at the guy, asked other women at nearby tables if maybe they’d dated a guy like that. At first the women just looked at one another, then the transformation swept across them, too. They smiled. And nodded. One yelled, “Yeah!” so Gwen pointed at another woman, then another, shaking her head as she asked them the same question, involving them all in a widening circle of power and protection.

  The guys in the audience began to urge her on as well.

  “Yeah, Gwen!” Madelyn shouted. “Woooo!”

  As Gwen ended her routine, she gave several sweeping bows, her vivid red lips wide in a glowing smile. Everyone cheered as she exited the limelight.

  The club owner bounded onstage and thanked Gwen, adding he hoped she’d come back before Letterman invited her on his show, because then she’d be everywhere, like this next guy.

  The table where the heckler had been sitting lost its dark undertones, and now looked the same as every other table in the room, clapping for the main attraction as he strutted onstage like he owned the place.

  A door to the stage opened and as Gwen walked to the bar, Madelyn held out her arms. “Congratulations! You were amazing. I’m buying you a drink.” She signaled the bartender and asked for a Cosmopolitan.

  Although still made up, Gwen looked less like a cabaret star and more like her old self in costume. “I almost wasn’t. That guy spooked me so badly, I was about to quit. I kept thinking: I have to get offstage and go home and never do this again.” She rubbed her arms. “He was so creepy.”

  Madelyn took the drink from the bartender and handed it to Gwen. “No way. You’re too good to quit.” She’d been playing the role of Gwen’s career cheerleader for three years, but she meant it. The audience response proved it.

  Her smile was grateful. “When I saw you there, my friend, I knew I had to give it everything I had. If I was going down, it was going to be in flames.”

  “You didn’t go down. This is your dream. Don’t ever give it up.” Their shared personal mantra, repeated to each other and to themselves every day.

  Gwen threw her arm around Madelyn’s shoulder. “Oh listen, I love this bit.” Together, they stood in the dark room, listening. Laughter swelled, then dwindled to chuckling as the comedian handled the audience like an old card trick.

  As people walked to the bar to order drinks, an occasional guy or girl complimented Gwen on how great she was, and asked when they could catch her next act. One guy returned three times, then lingered for a more in-depth conversation. When he walked away, Gwen said
, “Would you mind terribly if…”

  Madelyn’s gaze cut to the retreating guy, who looked back at Gwen with a smile. He wasn’t retreating for long. “Hey, no problem. Go for it.”

  Gwen didn’t need cheerleading for that. “Sorry, I don’t mean to leave you by yourself.”

  “Don’t be silly. He’s cute.” It was standard operating procedure when either of them met an attractive guy; the other would fade into the background. Madelyn was scheduled to fade away anyway, though she wasn’t sure how much.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Gwen sipped as she followed him with her gaze.

  He weaved his way through the tables toward them again.

  “He’s coming back already.” The club was so crowded; she didn’t want to be the one person in the room with no one to talk to.

  Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I dragged you out here, after all.”

  “No, of course not. I’d planned to head out after you were finished. It’s been a crazy week and I’m tired.” She’d counted on her friend giving her a ride home, but she could call a cab.

  Before Gwen could make a half-hearted attempt at arguing, she said, “You were so great tonight. We are going to celebrate – some other night.”

  “Definitely. Soon.” Gwen hugged her, then turned to the guy.

  Soon was a relative term, Madelyn knew. By their mutual appreciative stares, Gwen wasn’t likely to have much free time in the foreseeable future, whereas Madelyn’s time might be unlimited.

  She headed to the lobby and pulled her cell phone from her purse. From her address book, she looked up the number of the cab company and entered it. In less than three minutes, a yellow taxi pulled up in front of the club. She climbed in and told the driver her address. Just for Laughs slid out of view, its carnival of color and noise quickly in the distance.

  The streets were quiet, trick or treaters having gone home hours ago.

  Madelyn sent a text message to her sister in Arizona, whom she hadn’t seen in two years. When she glanced up, she gripped the back of the driver’s seat. “Wait, what street is this? I think this route will take longer.”

  The driver’s lack of a response pulled her gaze to him. She gasped.

  Where the driver should have been sitting was a charcoal smudge in space in the outline of a figure. One with a need for speed, she thought as the engine roared and the taxi accelerated.

  She pulled on the door handle. “Stop this car now!”

  The taxi careened through traffic, missing other cars by inches. Surely a policeman would notice such erratic driving. Hopes faded as streets became emptier. The taxi turned a dark street corner, where it slid into an unlit alley.

  Jiggling the door handle was still useless. “Open this door!”

  A voice, neither male or female, came from within the space as if carried on the wind. “I have an offer for you.”

  “Let me out!” She banged on the window.

  The hushed voice continued. “The initial bargaining ended in an unfortunate manner. If you are interested in a better deal, you will be paid with great riches and immortal fame.”

  Madelyn’s mesmerized as the space in the front seat swirled with lightening clouds. An image of an art gallery took misty shape. A sign welcomed visitors to her opening art exhibit, the launch of her new career. Greeting a group of guests, Madelyn smiled. Not the ordinary, everyday version of herself, this was post-makeover, a made-for-TV Madelyn. A procession of images revealed each success to be larger than the last.

  Transfixed, she didn’t move, didn’t speak until the images faded to black.

  The whispering voice went on, “It’s everything you’ve dreamed of. Everything you’ve worked for. Right at your fingertips.”

  “That’s crazy. How can it be at my fingertips?” Her hands were avoiding contact with as much as possible.

  A whispered rush of words tumbled through the air. “It’s very simple. On the seat beside you is a contract. Simply sign it. It couldn’t be any easier.”

  A parchment scroll lay on the seat. She unrolled it, scanned through the calligraphy until she saw it: the price. Her soul.

  How many times could she legally sell it?

  Immortal fame, the figure had said. The air inside the taxi grew too close. She wanted nothing more than to get away from this thing.

  The parchment shook as her hands trembled. “You know, I think I’ll have my lawyer look this over.”

  A rumbling like thunder shook the taxi.

  She dropped the scroll. “On second thought, I don’t need a lawyer. The answer is no!”

  Twisting sideways on the seat, she stomped the glass with both feet. It shattered in thousands of shards. The door fell away. She scrambled from the car and ran hard to put as much distance as possible between her and the shadows. Behind her, metal groaned and glass crunched. Ahead, a street light was dim, but she aimed for it, her breath already heavy. Her feet pounded against the road with little gain, as if she were on a conveyor belt ready to dump her into the waiting arms of… who?

  Not him. Instinct told her he had nothing to do with this. She’d brought it on herself, and it was up to her to deal with it.

  Just once she dared glance back. The taxi sat smashed into a crumpled heap, as if hit by a tractor trailer. The pavement beneath it shivered, then cracked. The split widened and grew as it crawled toward her, threatening to swallow her. From within its deep opening, a black emptiness rose up, erasing the landscape as it filled the sky. Madelyn sensed a strong presence within it as it loomed toward her.

  With a quick scream, she hurried her pace. Its presence behind her grew stronger and she felt it widening as it continued to rise and hover above her. Its heat nipped her heels and scraped her back. It stretched and arced over her. Her legs slogged through the air, heavy as if they were underwater; she couldn’t move any faster. The blackness pulled at her, as if trying to suck the life force from her body. Struggling grew more useless by the second. The effort had become monumental, weakening her.

  So she stopped. She turned to face it.

  Her breath heaved, but her voice came out calm, powerful. “What do you want from me?”

  A whoosh of a voice responded, “What you originally offered – your soul.”

  The blackness enveloped her completely like a horrific version of a snow globe. Three-dimensional images of her life played within its surrounding structure, with Madelyn at its center. Her own personal planetarium, projecting visions of what her future would be like as an artist whose fame rivaled a rock star’s. Fans asked for autographs as she stepped out of a limousine. Prints of her artwork sold faster than production could keep up with orders. As she worked in her spacious studio in a gorgeous mansion atop a hill, sketches formed at the end of her paintbrush and charcoal pencil with seemingly no effort.

  The scenes were fantastic, but not unrealistic.

  “That will be my life.” It was inevitable. Her fate awaited her.

  The parchment appeared and dropped at her feet. “Sign,” said the sibilant whisper.

  She folded her arms. “No. I mean – that will be my life. I don’t need your help to get there.”

  The blackness swirled around her, slowly at first but building its momentum to hurricane proportions.

  Closing her eyes so she didn’t become dizzy, she enunciated very clearly: “My soul belongs to me and will never belong to anyone else.”

  The noise sounded like the roar of a cyclone thundering all around. The ground shook so fiercely, she was sure it would crack wide open and she’d fall down an endless tunnel to nowhere, like Alice, but her Wonderland would contain much scarier things.

  She jammed her fingers in her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Whatever was out there, she didn’t want to see it coming. But it would hear her. She would never stop repeating her mantra. Over and over, she chanted: “I am too good to quit on my dream. I am never giving up my art or my soul.”

  The cyclone screamed around her with a force s
he knew was not of this world. Faithfully, she repeated her mantra and kept her eyes closed. The louder it became, the calmer she said it. The more she believed it.

  Screams pierced her ears at close range, but she remained unshaken. Then, like a banshee being sucked into the netherworld, the screaming faded. The rumbling beneath her feet settled to a tremble, then stopped.

  Still squeezing her eyes, she opened one to a slit barely wide enough to see. It looked like any residential street downtown, quiet except for an occasional car passing. She uncorked her ears. In the distance, a car horn beeped. A dog barked.

  She let out a long breath.

  A woman on the other side of the street walked her standard poodle, projecting an I have a can of mace in my pocket kind of look. Madelyn didn’t ask her where they were; she ran. The dark thing had gone, but there was no telling how long it would stay that way. For all she knew, it might be out gathering reinforcements.

  As each foot pounded the pavement, she put more space between her and her brush with disaster. Block after block, she sprinted until she’d lost count of the number of streets. Breathless, she halted, near collapse, her lungs close to exploding. The street sign read “Elm Street” – she was one block from her home.

  Her muscles quaked with over-exertion. Her feet dragged as she forced herself to jog the rest of the way. As she rounded the last corner, she grabbed the street signpost. Her breath was so labored, she doubted she could walk, let alone run. Lights twinkled in the windows of her apartment building. In her dining room window, sat the silhouette of a cat.

  “Brutus! I’m coming!” With renewed strength, she rushed to the door, and dragged herself up the stairs. Her key rattled in the lock. Once inside, she slammed the door shut, locked the knob and pushed the dead bolt in place.

  “I made it.” She laughed as she attempted to catch her breath.

  She went to the window, scratched Brutus, who was keeping the night watch.