"What am I doing down here?" asked Hef. He scratched his head, genuinely bewildered to find himself in hell, and found a pair of ears there. A few tugs told him they were permanent fixtures. Across from him sat the devil. She was gorgeous.
"This is also news," he said by way of opening gambit.
The devil smiled. "Oh this body? It’s just something I threw on."
"I assume my torment is to look but not touch," said the eternal playboy, suddenly nervous about what he might find if his hands wandered south of the border of the belt on his robe. At least he'd been allowed to bring his wardrobe; if you're going to be spending forever somewhere, it's best to be comfortable.
"I've got a proposition for you," said the devil, a sly gleam in her eye.
Hef was nonplussed. Was he really in hell? His soul had told him it was damned as soon as he'd woken up here, but his head was recalculating the odds. "A proposition, you say?"
The devil nodded. "I want you to be my right hand man."
"What does the job entail?" asked Hef, surprised that position hadn't already been filled by someone like Hitler. He still didn’t quite know what was going on here, but he was warming to the possibilities.
"Follow me and I’ll give you a taste," said the devil.
The first room she took him to was furnished in such luxury he could have been back in his mansion. It was groaning with vases and innumerable fancy knick-knacks, which a man was busy dusting. He looked at them frantically. "I don't see any dust!" he fairly shouted, redoubling his efforts.
That didn't seem so terrible. "How long has he been at it?" Hef asked the devil as they left the man to it.
"Time doesn't exist here," said the devil. "But it seems like forever to him. I've informed him he can start on the hoovering when he finishes. I think he's desperate for a change – any change. Unfortunately for him, there is no dust."
The following room was a reverse call centre with rows of men on phones. By the look of it they weren't happy: those who weren't gibbering wrecks banging their heads against their desks were attempting to slash their wrists with anything handy. One guy's eyes had rolled clear out of his head; he was crawling on the floor searching for them, but they kept rolling away.
"Volunteers are calling from limbo," said the devil. "Mansplaining."
Hef shuddered, but it could be worse. "Where are all the demons?" he asked. "I thought there would be demons."
"Demons are a dime a dozen," said the devil. "Almost everybody up top has at least one already. It seemed like overkill."
Gloria Steinem welcomed them at the next door. "What are you in for?" he asked, genuinely surprised though secretly pleased, considering the screwing she'd given him
back in the day."Fraud," she said. "Welcome to the eighth circle." She offered him a cup of
Kool-Aid from the bar, which he declined.
"That's harsh, don't you think?" he asked the devil as they passed through a room of hobby-horses munching contentedly on keyboard warriors.
"Au contraire," said the devil. "As Madeline Albright
observed, there is a special place in hell for such women. St. Peter and I had a bit of a tussle over her, it's true, but he gave in when I offered
Ambrose Bierce in exchange.
"Maddy's here too, btw – that one was
no contest."
The tour over, the devil eyed him speculatively, eyebrow arched as Eve's had been just before the fall. He felt a stirring in his groin. Something was very wrong, but he couldn't yet put his finger on it.
"Go ahead and put your finger on it," said the devil playfully.
Now positively columnar, Hef reached down inside his robe and grasped, then gasped.
said the devil. "With your square peg and boules de bleu, there's no more suitable man for the job."
We are not amused
I apologise unreservedly for the direction in which this is about to continue, and shall endeavour to avoid such vulgarity in future.
Soon-to-be birthday boy
John Alcock (11 April 1715 – 23 February 1806) wouldn't normally get a look in: right place, right time. Actress of the silent film era Dorothy
Cumming follows the day after, but I remind myself that I have free will, and therefore won't be going there.