B.L. walked through his East Hell neighborhood, smartly dressed; white suit, Rolex, new saddle oxfords on his feet. That’s right, feet. He never really had hooves, that was just another myth he had to deal with. Oh, and no horns, either, although the skin on his face and neck was always irritated and red. Heat rash.
East Hell was scenic and tranquil these days, what with the change to a total disco environment and the new dress codes. Hollywood on its best day couldn’t have come up with a better picture. He stopped and tipped his hat to the approaching attractive woman.
"Hello Sally".
"Hi, B.L., you’re lookin’ good!"
"Thanks."
"When are you and me gonna get together?"
"Uh, soon. I’ll call you."
"I’ll be waitin’."
He kept walking, didn’t look back.
Image, of course, was everything now. B.L.’s personal poll numbers were up. He was showing a 59% approval rating Topside, and the talking heads at 1600 Heavenly Way were getting very, very nervous. Hell.com was taking a million hits a day, and it was time to talk to a topside realtor about acquiring some property. Something tropical. Quiet. Slow parties. Real sunsets. His little piece of East Hell on earth.
Today was his day off, and he decided to just walk about, take some time evaluating the changes, small and large, that had changed his world forever. His new assistant, Jason Freddy, was running the office in his absence. Jason, the drummer for the highly regarded band, Satan’s Lovers, had been sitting in with B.L. and the Icemen regularly. Jason had hit it off with B.L. from the first, and within weeks had gained enough confidence and trust to begin handling B.L.’s office work and day to day drudgery. Recruiting was his strong point, since he moved so freely back and forth between the music scenes in East Hell and Topside.
Of course, going to and from Hell was easier these days, all you had to do was catch the No.30 Bus from Union Station in North Bergen and transfer to the Underground No.6 at 141st St. The ride was luxurious and smooth, and peanuts and soft drinks were served to the passengers.
This and other thoughts were on B.L.’s mind as he reached home, walked into his living area, and stretched out on his oxhair lounger, ready for a nap. Within minutes, he dropped into an early afternoon slumber, snoring with passion.
It seemed like he had just closed his eyes when he was roused by what sounded like someone screaming. No, wait. It was several people screaming in unison, accompanied by the regular tunk, tunk, of a cowbell.
What in blue blazes...? He slid off the couch. The noise seemed to be coming from Amanda’s room. He walked down the hall and knocked on her door. The noise was definitely coming from the bedroom.
"Amanda? Sweetheart?"
Amanda opened the door. She was the only one in the room. The screaming burst from the speakers of her sound system.
"Amanda, turn that down! What is that awful sound?!"
Amanda laughed. "Daddy, it’s the Big Booty Band! They’re on TV and everything right now. This is their new hit!"
"B.L. was annoyed. "That’s not music! That’s nothing but screaming! I don’t want to hear that in this house again. Understand?"
"Yes." Amanda bit her lip but couldn’t hold back the tears. "Daddy, it’s not fair!"
She threw herself on the bed and sobbed uncontrollably. B.L. wanted to comfort her, but stood at the door, silent. I wish your mother was here. He went back to his lounger and sat down to think.
He opened his cell phone and dialed. "Sally? It’s me, B.L."
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