My Sunday guest looked up at me in concern.
“You’re wrinkling my suit,” Lucifer pointed out calmly. “Plus, this is an extreme violation of my personal space. I know it’s your house, but still.”
He was right. Somehow, in my panicked state, I’d managed to climb up on the lap of The Prince of Darkness and grab hold of his fancy suit jacket.
I’d like to say I had to idea what had come over me, but I knew exactly why I was having a meltdown in the living room of The House on the Hill.
I had to go back to work tomorrow after a three day weekend, and I really was not looking forward to having to do so.
“I’m so sorry,” I offered apologetically as I let go of his lapels and eased over onto my own cushion on the couch.
“All is forgiven,” Satan granted with a slightly troubled smile as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his jacket.
I fished a bottle of Snapple out of the cooler, and gulped down three-quarters of its contents before coming up for air.
“I just really don’t want to go back,” I admitted as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Work is so stressful, and I’ve spent the last three days peacefully in full Writer Guy mode. Between the screenplay, The Nite Show, and the blog, I was always working on something. I don’t want to go back to being a desk jockey.”
I looked over at the Ruler of the Eternal Underworld with pleading eyes.
“I realize that work can be Hell, but you need to do it in order to keep the roof of The House on the Hill over your head until you can support yourself as a writer,” The Devil used logic that was as pointed as his pitchfork. “Based on how things are going lately, though, you might not need to keep up this double life much longer.”
I shrugged and let out a long sigh.
“I get that. Completely,” I conceded. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Being chained to a desk and a slave to the time clock goes against the basic fiber of my being.”
“That’s why you keep writing,” Lucifer reminded me. “You shepherd those crazy stories out of your head and onto the page, and eventually, there won’t be a need to go to your other job. Don’t ever give up on that dream, or I’ll make your life a living Hell. And that’s a promise you know I can keep!”
He flashed me a charming, yet devilish smile.
“Thank you for believing in me and threatening me,” I said with a tip of my Snapple bottle. “Both things drive me to keep at it, but the latter lights a hotter fire under me.”
We both laughed. I still didn’t want to go to work tomorrow, but at least I wasn’t completely freaking out about the prospect. At the moment.
“I read that new teaser you posted for the screenplay, and it’s pretty damn creative,” The Prince of Darkness praised. “If my old boss is truly as fair as everyone likes to say he is, a talent like yours will not be wasted. And if he doesn’t come through for you, just say the word and I will make it happen, son!”
If I’m going to conquer Hollywood, who better to have my back than Satan, right? Something about that idea made me feel a little more confident.
If you haven’t read the second teaser for my screenplay, you can click here to find it: Running Home