for Leo, are you.”
“No,” Satan said.
“Because everything that kid touches these days turns to gold. Everything.”
“I’m not here for Leo,” Satan said. “I just need a new Death.”
“Who isn’t Leo?”
“Who isn’t Leo.”
“Okay, phew. That is a load off my mind. A huge load. Let me just pack that up in a box and drop it off the Memory Cliff and let’s move on down the road. New business. You need a Death, I am here to service your needs. I want you to picture this: Nic Cage.”
“I don’t want Nic Cage.”
“He’s up for another Oscar this year. Big buzz on Nic Cage.”
“No.”
“Give it a chance. Close your eyes. Visualize with me. You’re in the hospital, tubes running out your nose, your nearest and dearest draw close, dressed in widow’s weeds – if they’re widows, otherwise, business casual – each breath is harder than the one before, and then...cardiac arrest. You cross the threshold between life and death. The machine that beeps goes beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee... A great wailing goes up amongst your kith and kin, your vision fails, and with dimming eyes you look up and hovering over you in a hooded black cloak is Nicolas Cage. ‘Come with me,’ he whispers.”
“I don’t see it,” Satan said.
“Do me a favor. Live with it. Give it a chance to grow on you. Nic and I have the same dietician, he’d eat this part up. Now what about a girl Death? Ellen Page? She’s hot right now. Lost all that Juno weight.”
“It’s not a starring role, Enar. It’s the personification of an abstract, metaphysical concept.”
“Ellen Page was in Inception. That was very metaphysical.”
“I don’t need a name, I just need someone who can do the job.”
“What about Morgan Freeman? He’s got gravitas.”
“I don’t want Morgan Freeman.”
“Did you see Invictus? He played Nelson Mandela in that one. So brave.”
“He’s a name. I don’t want a name.”
“So you’ll take anyone?”
“Who isn’t a name.”
“What about Sam Worthington? He was in Avatar and Clash of the Titans but no one can ever remember who he is. Forgettable face, great abs.”
“Again, he’s a name. Who do you have who isn’t a name?”
“Well, everyone we deal with is kind of a name,” Enar said. “I mean, thanks to you, all of our clients are big, big names with deep brand equity. If you want someone who isn’t a name, as far as our roster is concerned, you’ve only got two options: Michael Cera’s a little past his prime, so you could come back for him in two movies, or I could give you Kevin Spacey now, and you could just cross your fingers and hope he doesn’t do a John Travolta and make a comeback in a few years.”
“Those are names,” Satan said. “I can’t use any names.”
Satan felt so frustrated that he unscrewed the cap on his bottle of water and took a sip.
Enar watched Satan drink his Evian with a sinking feeling. In Hollywood terms, they were having a “Bottle Meeting” in which someone came in, you chatted, and they went away with an unopened bottle of water in their hand. It was mutually understood that in order to make that happen no one drank their water during the meeting. You could hold the bottle, you could roll the bottle between your palms, rearrange the bottle, place your hand on the neck of the bottle as if you were about to twist open the cap, but actually drinking the water in the bottle Was Not Done. It was freaking Enar right out.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said to Satan. “It’s way outside the box, but you’re a way-outside-the-box kind of guy with unique and distinctive needs.”
“What?” Satan said.
“Chance Morris.”
“Is he a name?”
“He’s my sister’s kid.”
“You can get him to sign the contract?”
“Essentially. I might have to change a few words here and there, take him out for a couple of drinks, but sure. He’ll sign. My sister’s been after me to get him a job.”
“Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright. I’ll take him.”
Enar tried to fist bump Satan, but Satan went for a handshake. Things got messy.
“I thought that today I’d be helping you out, but here you are helping me out. This is what’s known as a win-win.”
Enar gave Satan a hug.
“I love you man,” he said.
“Okay,” Satan said, trying to disentangle himself.
“Um, Satan?” Enar said. “Do you still have my soul?”
“I do.”
“Do you think I could come see it sometime?”
“I’m sorry, Enar. You know that’s not how it works.”
Enar nodded, sadly. Satan patted him on the shoulder.
“I’ll be looking