coffee being

I had coffee with the archangel, and he said he’d try to pencil me in for lunch with God. The liar.
Sucker that I am, I call up my lunch date and postpone. I get his voice mail instead. I leave a message and hope my voice doesn’t betray my two timing. “Hey Satan, I’ll meet you for dinner instead. Got a client”.

I trudge to work to the yogi’s sublet; my first customer. He doesn’t even bother turning off the TV as he goes about his business, happily dropping maply syrup into the whorls of hair matting his chest.
I try not to throw up as I wrestle coconut oil down his chest, but he’s too busy watching Regis and Philbin to bother.

Next stop with the bored rich housewife who enjoys wearing nothng but her diamonds, and treats her servants and me like we’re animated pets. I overcharge her by the minute, and she happily pisses away her husbands checks as he screws his secretary in the building across town. So trite. I decide to take the day off and go wait for God. I’ve been waiting months for this.

I’m walking, when I get a call from an unknown number, “Hello?” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Is it Him? Could it be?

“Hey darling, there is no way you can cancel on me, I’m having the shittiest morning. I’m picking you up immediately. Where the hell are you?”

Satan! husband. lover. demon.

Exasperating man. If only he wasn’t so sexy. “I’m about to go uptown honey, have to cancel. About to cross over in three steps.” And even as I say it, I can hear the roar of an engine pull up behind me.

I turn around, and he’s jumped out of his convertible, suit and all, and grabs me from behind. “Gotcha!” he nuzzles my neck, and I try not to squeal too loudly on a public sidewalk. Damn.

“Got you a present!” he’s holding a House of Graff box. My knees go weak. I’m sure Gabriel can pencil me in some other time.

I get into the car, and try not to think of the aftermath.