"So," I began, "You're the Devil."

He couldn't hear me over the jukebox and noise from the kitchen.  Those eyebrows went up, so I politely repeated myself.  Only louder.

"You're the Devil?"

He flashed a weary grin.  His bearing was that of a man who'd stayed up for days.  I suppose when you meet the Devil, you expect fire and brimstone.  And horns.  The Devil was none of these things.  In fact, he was kind of cute, albeit in a scruffy way.  Dirty blond hair fell across his blue eyes, which were slightly blood shot.  In jeans and a loose shirt, he was hardly dressed to impress.  At least they were tight jeans.  I guess that was a little sinful.

Still, he was hardly menacing.

The Devil shrugged and took a drag on his cigarette.  Smoke swirled amidst the steam from the kitchen behind him.  If it weren't for the smell of bacon and hamburger, I guess he might have looked more convincing that way. 

"Yeah," he grinned, "That's right."

 My chest and forehead were getting damp with perspiration.  The humid air was stifling.  I don't know why I went into these little diners, especially in summer.  They were always noisy and hot.  And the food tasted like refried grease. 

I guess the Devil made me do it. 

Of course, he didn't look uncomfortable at all.  After all, he was the Devil.  His hair wasn't even frizzing.  I envied that.

"Okay," I smirked, "Prove it."

The Devil sighed and rolled his eyes.  Leaning forward, he spent a few moments tugging a wallet out of his back pocket.  Like I said, they were tight jeans.

When he finished his exertions, the Devil offered me his driver's license.  Sure enough, it listed him as "The Devil".  Surprisingly, his photo was quite handsome, too.  Really sharp, with his hair smoothed back.  Darn it.  I looked like I had a hangover in mine.

I handed it back to him.  "Don't people ask questions when you use this?"

"You'd think so," he shrugged, "Most people pronounce it Thay Deveel.  I guess they're trying to be polite."

"Alright . . ." I chewed my lip.  "Are you here to tempt me into selling my soul or something?"

The Devil seemed put out.  "Damn it, why does everybody ask me that?"

My brow furrowed.  "Isn't that what you do?"

Scratching behind his ears, the Devil frowned.  "Hell, I've got better things to do.  You people are good enough at getting yourselves into trouble.  It gives me a lot of free time."

His eyes, roaming around the diner, fixated on the portly waitress.  She was several tables down, chatting with a burly trucker.  The jukebox launched into a dreary country tune, muffled and barely discernable.  Something about beer and no good women.

I'd just devised a clever question to ask the Devil when he interrupted.      

"Can we get some service?" he demanded pointedly, to the room at large.  The waitress glanced our way, chewing gum a few hours old, and continued chatting up the grizzly truck driver.

Disgusted, the Devil sank down into his chair.  "See what I have to deal with?"

He scratched at the linoleum with his fingernail.  I was impressed that the Devil kept his fingernails rather neat.  I mean, most men don't really bother.  "People have no respect anymore."

I wiped at a trickle of sweat at my forehead.  "Having a bad day, huh?"

The Devil nudged his coffee cup around the table in mysterious patterns. "Yeah," he grinned, "Life is hell."

"Mmmmmm."  I sympathized. I wiped the sweat from my brow. I didn't know about the Devil, but I was melting in here. "Alright . . . so what about God and all that?"

The Devil scratched the stubble on his chin and sneered.  "What?  Isn't the Devil interesting enough?"

"I think people are more afraid of him."  I could feel the sweat roll down my chest as I shrugged.  He didn't seem to notice. "He's a greater mystery."

"Look," he leaned forward, "Let me tell you something about God.  He doesn't care about you or anything that happens.  He doesn't even know why it's here.  He just wants the credit and none of the blame."

I shrank back as the Devil rose from his chair, "And can we PLEASE get some fucking SERVICE?!"

The waitress sighed and kept chewing.

The Devil settled petulantly back into his chair, rapping irritably on the table with his knuckles.  That's where the Devil lives up to his reputation.  He's got a temper.

I waited for him to calm down.  "Of course," I ventured, "You would say that.  You're the Devil, remember?"

He laughed under his breath and ran a hand through his tangle of hair.  "Heh.  Nobody listens." 

The Devil slumped in his chair, taking a few hits off of his cigarette.

"You know," I smiled, "Those things are going to kill you."

The Devil smirked.

"God," he continued more quietly, "Leaves you to it because he hasn't got a plan.  He's got no answers."    

"And you do?"

The waitress interrupted the Devil.  "What can I get for you folks, today?"

He turned his head to gaze in wonder.  She placidly chewed her gum.

"Uh," he frowned, "Give me the bacon and hash browns.  And more coffee."

"Iced tea, please," I panted, and rolled a mop of damp hair back from my face.  "Why is it so hot in here?"

"Feels fine to me," the Devil remarked amiably. 

I glowered at him.

She ignored us.  "Don't ya want something to eat, sugar?"

"No, thank you," I grimaced, "I feel a bit faint."

"Okay.  Suit yourself," she shrugged, and ambled off.

The Devil chuckled as he lit another cigarette.  "What's so great about a God who created this?"  He gestured at the room around us.  "Stop wasting your time."

"So what do you do that's so important?"

He toyed with the sweetener packets.  "I try to make life interesting.  Get people out of their suffocating routines."

"See," he explained, "Most people wake up in the morning and shuffle off to work, have a miserable day and shuffle back home to sleep.  Just so they can blow their paychecks on the weekend and repeat the whole thing."

Hamburger sizzled in the background.

"I came up with that one," the Devil sheepishly confessed, "Early on, as a joke.  Who knew it would be so popular?"

"Mostly, though," he smiled, "I try to enjoy myself."

"That doesn't sound much like the Devil," I noted, wiping matted hair from my forehead, "No blood contracts or anything?"

"Well," he admitted, rather uncomfortably, "I sold insurance for a while, back in the fifties."

The Devil actually looked rather ashamed. 

"But just," he assured me, "As a gag."

The waitress returned momentarily.  "Just so y'all know, we're kinda backed up right now.  I hope ya don't mind the wait."

I pleaded with my eyes, blinking away sweat.

"That'll be fine," the Devil sighed.

"Look," I huffed, straining to be polite, "I'm dying in here.  Can I please at least have my iced tea?"

The waitress thoughtfully blew a bubble. 

"I'll see what I can do," she mumbled.

The Devil giggled in frustration as she shambled away.  "How can you take God seriously with shit like this?"

I glared at him.  "It's not God's fault."

He brushed this off.  "Sorry.  All part of the grand design, I'm sure."

The Devil was beginning to get on my nerves.  Or was it the heat?  I never realized how many pores I had before.  I was sweating in places I'd never noticed before.  Grimacing, I peeled my blouse away from my skin.

"You know," he grinned, "If you don't like it here we can go back to my place."

"If Hell is this hot," I frowned, "I'll take my chances with God."

Shrugging, the Devil produced a matchbook from his shirt pocket and lit up another cigarette.  The acrid smell only added to the nauseous heat of the muggy air.  "You get used to it," he shrugged.

Hair was matting to my head.  I fought for breath.

"You must be a popular guy," I snapped.

The waitress returned.

"Here y'all go," she announced in a singsong voice, and placed a coffee cup and tea glass on our table. 

"Thank you!" I breathed.

"I'll try to get yer food as soon as I can," she assured the Devil, "But Danny's swamped."

The Devil laughed under his breath.  "Yeah, yeah.  I can wait."

I sputtered as I took a sip of tea.  "HEY!  This is warm!"

"Oh."  Her face fell. "Well, honey, I guess the ice melted.  I'll try to get ya another."

She took the glass from me and vanished back into the crowd.

The Devil snickered.  "'Not God's fault' my ass."

Rising to my feet, I slung my purse over my shoulder.  "Look, I've got to get out of here."

A guilty look stole over the Devil's face and he plaintively grasped my sleeve. "Hey, hey.  I know, it's hot.  C'mon, we're just getting started."

My glare silenced him.  I was red-faced and dripping wet.  "Look, you can stay here if you want, but I'm leaving."

"Okay, okay."  He was visibly upset.  "How about my place?"

I gestured about the room.  "Where? Hell?  Isn't this hot enough?"

"Nonononono." He held his hands up, trying to pacify me.  "Look, I've got a place down the street . . ."

A hysterical laugh coughed out of me.  "Is that what this is about?  The Devil is trying to pick me up?"

His face scrunched up apprehensively.  "Well . . ."

I shook my head in disgust.

"Look," I jabbed a finger at him, "I'm leaving."

The waitress, returning with a fresh glass of iced tea, stopped as she saw us.  She shuffled uncomfortably on her feet.  "Uh, sugar, I got your tea."

"See?" the Devil pleaded, "She got your tea.  C'mon, sit down."

I blew a damp curl out of my mouth.

"Thank you," I smiled thinly, and took a sip.  Little bits of melted ice slid painfully down my throat and sat sourly in my stomach.

The Devil waited hopefully, arms outstretched.  "C'mon."

The waitress prudently retreated.

"C'mon," the Devil repeated more easily, managing a smile.

I scowled at him as I drained the glass.

"I'm going home," I informed him, raking back my hair.  "I can't believe I went along with your line.  I mean, 'Hi, I'm the Devil, wanna talk about it?'  You need to get a life."

The Devil's smile faded.  He looked more like a little boy, befuddled and disappointed.  Again, he actually looked a little cute.  But that was the Devil's real power, I realized, if he was the Devil.  His disarming vulnerability.

"Don't give me that," I warned, "Just leave me alone."

Reluctantly, the Devil released my sleeve.  His shoulders slumped.  "Okay."

I shook my head and left.

"Nobody listens," the Devil sighed. 

"The Devil and Me" was written while I was on the job over a period of several weeks.  (I know, I know, I should've been working!)  Originally the story was much shorter, and was written in about two days.  Unfortunately, I apparently deleted the original story while in a mood.  Which is a shame, since it was really quite snappy.  After a while, I realized I was quite fond of the little story about the Devil trying to pick up a girl in a diner, and rewrote the whole thing from scratch.  It captures the tone of the original, even though it took quite a bit more effort to write a second time.

I'm still not sure what possessed me to write the story.  I don't believe in the Devil personally, but he is such a fun figure to play with!  I also find something quite charming about a Devil with nothing better to do than try to impress women with his larger than life image.  It's a pathetic, but almost sweet, portrait of the prince of darkness.  Maybe subconsciously this Devil represents men in general.  Who knows? ;-)