Who’s Your Padre?

“I know this is a weird question, but who’s your Daddy?” I asked my guest with the slightest grin on my face.  “After all, it is Father’s Day.”

The Devil looked up from the Sunday paper and sighed.  As always, he was stylishly dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, and had his hair slicked back from his ridiculously handsome face.

“Angels don’t have fathers,” Lucifer answered curtly.  “I suppose my former employer would want me to say that He was my father since He created me and the rest of those halo polishing, harp playing sycophants who hang out with Him in Heaven, but I’d never say that.”

“Sounds like someone has serious Daddy issues,” I countered with a chuckle.

The Prince of Darkness glared at me angrily, and for a moment I thought I was going to soil myself, but then he flashed a devilish grin.

“Young ladies with Daddy issues make up a large percentage of my clientele, so that comment is ironically amusing,” he conceded.  “Maybe it also explains why I turned out to be so damn evil.

Satan laughed uproariously, which is something he rarely did, so the sound of it was both unexpected and disturbing.  I’m sure I will have nightmares about that for weeks.

“So I guess Father’s Day is as blah for you as it is for me,” I commented as I handed him a bottle of Snapple from the cooler and then grabbed one for myself.

“At least your father didn’t cast you of of Heaven and damn you to Hell for all eternity,” The Devil pointed out and then took a long sip of iced tea.  “I did have a dream father figure, though.  Do you remember that show Fantasy Island?  I was convinced that Mr. Roarke would have been my perfect Dad.”

I almost spit out my Snapple at his revelation.

“Ricardo Montalban was your ideal father?” I asked in confusion once I had swallowed my beverage.

“Not the actor, but the character,” Lucifer answered  defensively.  “He was this handsome, charming, sharp dressed man, who offered people anything their little hearts desired.  Sound like anyone you know?”

Once I gave that a moment to sink in, I realized that he had a point.

“That does sound like a certain someone who visits me every Sunday,” I had to admit.

The Prince of Darkness’ eyes lit up as he continued, “I convinced myself that Mr. Roarke was my father and I was simply carrying on the family business.  Just on a much grander, permanent scale.  And with the beautiful tropical island replaced by the horrors of Hell.”

“Sounds a little too close to home now that you’re saying it aloud,” I observed.  “Did you ever think they were stealing your story and turning it into a primetime hit?”

“It crossed my mind,” Satan agreed.  “I actually spent some time on the set, posing as a suit from the network’s legal department, saying I was investigating a claim that the producers had stolen the idea.  I fit right in looking like this.”

I nodded and sipped my Snapple because I could totally see The Devil as a high priced entertainment attorney.

“So what happened?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer.

“I ended up hanging out with Ricardo a few nights after shooting, and then for one very long weekend,” Lucifer replied nostalgically with a glimmer in his eye.  “He might have been Mr. Roarke on set, but when we were out partying, he was more like Khan.  The ladies melted for him.  It was a wild and crazy time.  Best father/son bonding ever!”

“I take it you didn’t sue,” I guessed.

“He taught me things that I still use to this day to talk a person out of her soul,” The Prince of Darkness shared with a huge smile.  “Of course, Ricardo was using those methods to talk her out of her clothes and into his bed, but I’ve adapted them for my use.  How could I ever sue a father for teaching his son the family business?”

“Sounds like a Happy Father’s Day is in order then,” I decided.  “To both our Dads, real and imagined.  May they rest in peace and know they are forever loved.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Satan exclaimed and then downed the rest of his Snapple.

I think I saw him wipe away a tear, but I pretended not to notice…