The Devil's in My Bathroom Read online

CHAPTER FOUR: Dynamic Debbie

  Debbie Bailey moved to New Lake City from Memphis with her family when she was five. She caught the acting bug in first grade when she played the lead tree in a school play. She became head cheerleader in high school and was president of the Drama Club. Cute and perky, sweet and innocent, she was the Holy Grail of girls on the list to be asked out by the high school boys. She never thought of herself as the most popular girl in school and wouldn’t discriminate when it came to dating. She would go out with any boy that asked. She wasn’t promiscuous by any means; she was just friendly. She dated boys of all races and religions. She loved learning about different cultures. Her popularity continued throughout her four years of attending Rollins University, where she graduated with a degree in Performing Arts. Her willingness to date anybody kept her choices wide open when it came time to fall in love. Unfortunately, that event wouldn’t happen until after she met Antonio Satanelli.

  Nick opened the door, expecting to see Tony. Instead, there was Debbie, carrying a bottle of champagne. She was absolutely stunning. She was wearing a short blue dress and an electric smile that lit up the dingy apartment. Her shoulder-length blond hair was as bouncy as she was.

  “Hi, guys,” said Debbie. “Hope we’re not too late.” She gave Nick a hug. “Sorry I woke you this morning.”

  “I had to get up sooner or later,” said Nick, with a sigh of relief. “Where’s Tony?”

  “He’s bringing some of my clothes over next door. We figured I would stay overnight since the party is right here.” Debbie gave Andie a hug. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Hi,” said Andie. “You look great. What’s the champagne for?”

  Debbie started jumping up and down like a little schoolgirl. “Okay, guys, get this. I got the call this morning. They gave me the lead role in the new play that the Community Theatre is putting on.” She had been trying for months to get a part in anything. This was her first break.

  “That’s wonderful,” said Andie. She was sincere. Working with Debbie at Wainwright & Grimes proved one thing to her - Debbie needed to be on stage rather than behind a desk.

  “Where’s Benny?” asked Debbie. “We saw his Yugo outside. His Lexus must be in the shop." Fortunately, Benny kept his 1985 Yugo as a reminder of his humble beginnings.

  “He’s in the bedroom by himself,” said Andie. “It’s a long story.”

  Tony entered the room. In Nick’s eyes, the light that Debbie had brought in turned to immediate darkness.

  “Buon giorno,” Tony cheerfully said. He was carrying a small bag.

  “Hi, man,” said Nick, as he shook Tony’s hand out of courtesy. His grandmother had taught him to be kind to strangers, and Tony was definitely strange. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Deborah and I stopped at the little bug shop,” said Tony.

  “The what?” asked Nick.

  “Flea market,” Debbie said. She was used to Tony’s literal use of the English language and often had to translate.

  “Peculiar name for a shop,” said Tony. “I saw no fleas.” After a hushed pause, he added, “I guess nobody understood my little attempt at subtle American humor. I did see a few compact discs I knew you did not have, however, and I thought you might appreciate having them added to your collection.”

  “Thanks,” said Nick. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

  “They were quite inexpensive and I really wanted to perform a nice gesture on your behalf for the invitation you extended Deborah and myself,” said the ever so proper Tony.

  Nick took the bag from Tony. He removed the CDs, one by one. They were by AC/DC, Grateful Dead, Eagles, and Van Halen. He noticed various song titles – Hell’s Bells, Friend of the Devil, Good Day in Hell, and Running With the Devil.

  “These are great, Tony. You really didn’t need to do that for me,” said Nick, as he tried to feign thankfulness.

  “You are quite welcome, my friend,” said Tony. “May I partake in the use of your sanitary facility? My toilet next door is about to be repaired by a plumber at this time. It seems to have an absence of flushing power, which can be quite…”

  “Okay,” interrupted Nick. “We get the picture. No problem. Go for it.”

  Tony walked into the bathroom. Andie ignored Nick’s display of devil paranoia, and started talking to Debbie about Benny. They went into the kitchen, leaving Nick alone on the couch. Nick had been skirting the dark side for the last seventeen years. Now he thought the Devil really was in his bathroom. He remembered his first meeting with Tony…

  Nick had met Tony about six months previously. He was hungry and couldn’t find any place to eat at four o’clock in the morning. His favorite all-night diner, Uncle Bob’s, was closed – according to the notice from the Board of Health, stapled to the front door. Nick strolled into the neighborhood 7-Eleven, in hope of finding something to soak up the alcohol swimming in his stomach. He had been scouting local bands, searching for the next star of Apocalypse Records. He was getting tired of traveling around the country and finding another local band would make things easier. He had no luck. All the bands he saw that night were horrible. He knew the current band he was working with wasn’t enough to fill his quota. Behind the counter was a tall, well-dressed gentleman, with dark hair, and even darker eyes.

  “Buon giorno,” said the man to Nick. “Welcome to 7-Eleven. How may I help you?”

  Nick was taken aback to hear such a proper Italian accent from a convenience store clerk.

  “I’m just looking,” said Nick. He peered into the frozen sandwich area and saw nothing appetizing. He did notice the clerk’s reflection in the glass. The image seemed evil. Nick turned around and saw a friendly face staring right back at him. He looked back into the glass and saw an even more demonic face glaring into his eyes. A quick turn around produced almost the same result. This time, the face on the clerk seemed even friendlier.

  “You seem to have some difficulty locating a food substance to fulfill your hunger,” said the clerk. Nick grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter in an effort to get out of the store. He placed them on the counter and took out his wallet.

  “These are not the food items you wish to purchase, Nicholas,” said the clerk.

  Nick freaked out. “How did you know my name – and what makes you think I don’t want peanut butter sandwiches?”

  “Do not get upset, my friend,” said Tony. “I saw your name on your driver’s license when you opened your wallet and I saw you across the street, trying to go to Uncle Bob’s. Judging from the smell of your breath, I came to the conclusion that in your inebriated condition, you were craving the only thing the diner serves at this hour, corned-beef hash and eggs, to soak up the alcohol, which I might add, is overtaking your body as we speak. The cost of an Uncle Bob’s meal at this time is $2.95. The loaf of bread you are pretending to buy is $3.50, while the rather small jar of peanut butter is $4.50. With tax, you would be spending $8.56 as opposed to the $4.16 you would be spending on the meal with tax and the customary one dollar tip.”

  Nick stood there, dumbfounded, frightened, but a little intrigued. “How about some nachos?” he asked.

  Tony smiled. “That would be more to your liking at this time.” He prepared the nachos, leaving off the jalapeno peppers, and gave them to Nick.

  “What about the peppers?” asked Nick.

  “I do not believe your stomach could handle them in your condition,” said Tony.

  Nick was upset. “Look, man, I was born in Lafayette, Louisiana. I’m a natural-born Cajun. I was weaned on gumbo and Tabasco sauce. Don’t tell me what I can’t handle. Just give me the damn peppers.” Nick paid for the nachos and left as he gave Tony a sour glance. He started eating them while walking home. Suddenly, he felt queasy. He ducked behind a large waste bin and threw up. He glanced to the side and noticed what appeared to be a homeless old man, laying down about five feet away. The man, who had a scraggly beard and salt-and-pepper hair, looked at Nick and chuckled.

 
“It looks like you just ate Satan’s meal,” said the man.

  “What in the hell do you mean by that?” asked a startled Nick.

  “Exactly,” laughed the old man. Nick took off at lightning speed. He ran the rest of the way to his apartment, jumped into his bed, and pulled the covers over his head. He pulled them off briefly, just long enough to make a quick sign-of-the-cross, then hid underneath again. He wasn’t taking any chances…

  “I cannot seem to find any toilet paper,” was the muffled voice Nick heard from the bathroom. It sounded like Tony, but it could have belonged to someone – or something – else.

  “Check the closet,” yelled Nick. “And lock yourself in there while you’re at it,” he mumbled.

  Benny walked out from the bedroom and announced, “Well, the legal department is looking into Zipper’s death. They don’t have any more information than what the police are giving.” He noticed Debbie walking back from the kitchen with Andie. “Oh, hi Debbie,” he said.

  Debbie gave her sympathetic regards to Benny. “I’m so sorry. How are you, Sweetie?”

  Benny smiled. “I’m fine.” He broke down and hugged Debbie while crying, “No, I’m not.”

  “Let’s go talk in the bedroom,” said Debbie, as she led Benny by the hand. Andie sat next to Nick on the couch.

  “Are you still on that Devil kick?” she asked.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Nick. “He is Satan.”

  The bathroom door opened. Out walked a smiling Tony.

  “I found some toilet paper in your closet, Nicholas. I hope you did not mind me looking in there,” said Tony.

  “As long as you didn’t see any skeletons,” said Nick.

  “Ooh, that would have been quite interesting,” said an intrigued Tony, “but why would you keep the bones of the dead in your closet?”

  “It’s just an expression, man,” said Nick.

  “Oh, I see. By the way, where is Deborah?” asked Tony

  “She’s in the bedroom, consoling Benny,” said Andie. “I think I’ll go in there and see if she needs any help.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said an edgy Nick, not being thrilled of being alone with Tony at that moment.

  “No, you stay out here and entertain Tony,” smiled Andie, as she went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Nick wasn’t too thrilled. “Thanks a bunch, friend,” he yelled to the closed door as he started walking towards it.

  “I sense an uneasy sentiment from you towards me today, Nicholas,” said a concerned Tony.

  Nick was nervous, but tried to maintain his composure. “No, it’s not you, Tony,” lied Nick. “It’s just that I had a really rough night and I feel like hell.”

  “Really?” said Tony, as his eyes lit up.

  Nick freaked out. “No – I didn’t mean hell, I, um, I meant that I feel like shi, uh, I feel real bad.”

  “You wanted to say the word shit, didn’t you?” replied Tony.

  Nick was caught. “Yeah, you’re right. I did.”

  “It is quite suitable to use language of the profane nature around me,” implied Tony. “If it is in your nature, so be it. Do not change in my presence to appease me. Sit, Nicholas. We never get the chance to converse without Deborah around. I have lived next door to you for five weeks and know so little about you.” The apartment had become available after the previous tenant, Sister Mary Francis, died of unknown causes.

  Nick was reluctant, but responded, “Okay, so what do you want to talk about?” They both sat on the couch.

  Tony said, “Nicholas, I know there are many questions you would like to ask me.”

  “Not really,” said Nick. “You cannot fool me, my friend.”

  “Okay, you’re right’’ said Nick. “I have a lot of questions.”

  Tony smiled. “Go ahead, my amico.”

  Nick turned loose. “Why do you have all these religious degrees and work at a 7-Eleven? I mean, why don’t you work in a church, or a school, or something like that? Not that I’m knocking 7-Eleven, well, their nachos kind of suck, but – oh, hell. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

  “A fair question. It is time you know a little more about me, Nicholas.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Nick.

  “A vulgarism. Good for you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You need not apologize,” said Tony. “It shows you are being yourself. Actually, my – let me remember how to say this in your language - monetary status, at this time, does not require me to be employed by anyone. I work at the convenience establishment only for the joy of meeting interesting people.”

  “I bet you meet all kinds of interesting people working the night shift at that place.”

  “Exactly. In fact, I just began the spring semester to obtain my doctorate in Theology. I’ll be doing a thesis about people of the night.”

  Nick understood. “People of the night? That sounds right up your alley – but what’s the deal with this religion stuff?”

  “Religion fascinates me. By the way, what religion, if any, do you oblige to?”

  Nick was about to admit something he wasn’t proud of. “Well, I was raised Catholic. I just have a hard time waking up on Sunday mornings to go to church.”

  “Interesting. Is it because you cannot wake up, or is it you do not wish to attend the weekly mass ritual?”

  “It’s really none of your damn business.” Nick had lost faith in the Catholic Church after he lost Jamie and Maw-Maw.

  “Catholicism. The weekly mass ritual, celibate priests and nuns, altar boys, and of course, the Pope. I was raised Catholic myself, so I understand your disillusion. You know, my parents actually live a few blocks away from the Vatican.”

  Nick had a hard time grasping the idea of Satan being of the same religion as he, or even having parents. “I didn’t realize you have folks that still live in Italy.”

  “Yes. My parents have a very successful business in Rome they have been operating for over forty years.”

  “What is it?”

  “They fabricate and sell souvenirs.”

  Nick thought how fitting this was. “Pontiffs for profit. How interesting. So your folks do the tourist paraphernalia thing.”

  “Yes,” Tony said. “And needless to say, they have supported me in my decision to study Theology. In fact, they have been more than generous in my monetary allowance.”

  “Must be nice,” said Nick.

  “I have made investments with some of the excess monies, and could survive quite nicely without the financial support of Mother and Father.”

  “What sort of investments?” asked a cautious Nick.

  “I bought stock in the Fernelli Boot Company.”

  Nick thought for a second. “Don’t they make snakeskin boots?”

  “Yes, and it is owned by a fellow Italian, Lucille Fernelli.” The pieces were falling into place. Like a puzzle, Nick was just fed clues to remove any doubt of Tony’s true identity.

  Nick started thinking out loud. “Lucille Fernelli – Lucy Fernelli – Lucy Fern – Lucy Fer – Lucifer. Lucifer?” Oh, shit. If this isn’t Satan himself, he’s got to be second in command, he thought. Nick got up and ran to the bedroom, swung open the door and screamed, “Hey, you guys. Come out here, now.”

  Andie, Debbie, and Benny came out.

  “What’s wrong, Nick?” asked Debbie.

  Nick was hysterical. “Nothing’s wrong, except for the fact that we’re supposed to be having a party here and almost everybody is crying in my bedroom. I don’t like to hear crying in my bedroom. Screaming – well, that’s okay, but definitely no crying.” He ran into the kitchen. “Where is that gumbo? I don’t smell anything cooking. I gotta start making it – damn.”

  Tony looked at Debbie. “I am afraid I have somehow upset our friend.”

  “Don’t worry about Nick, sweetheart,” said Debbie. “He was probably having some sort of flashback.”

  “I did not know Nicholas was involved in any
war,” said Tony.

  “It was nothing like that,” said Andie. “Nick lost his mind in the late seventies.”

  “I never told you about that.” said Nick.

  “About what?” asked Andie.

  “About,” Nick said, then froze for a couple of seconds. “Never mind.”

  “No, really,” said Andie. “About what?”

  Tony jumped in. “Oh, yes – the late seventies. The disco years.” He started singing and dancing. “I love the nightlife at the YMCA. Staying alive, shake my booty, ring my bell today, I’m a macho, macho…”

  “That’s it. I’m going to kill him,” screamed Nick, as he lunged towards Tony with his hands in the choking position.

  Benny grabbed Nick, inches away from Tony. “Hold on, buddy.”

  Nick calmed down after a few seconds. Here he was, in his own apartment, with Satan’s assistant singing disco songs – wrong and poorly – and he wasn’t allowed to kill him. He realized that there was no justice left in the world.