a lesson in negotiation

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đ The devil is in the details
by Sarina Dorie
âI assume you want to make a deal,â the devil said to me.
âUm...â I stared in disbelief at the apparition that appeared before me in my cramped craft room.
The devil wasnât red with horns and a pitchfork. She looked a bit like my Aunt Susy, plump and motherly.
âYou used the magic words,â she prompted with her friendly smile. âYou said, âI would give anything to be Miss Belly Dance USA.â â Then she reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew a ticket to California where the competition was happening.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. âAm I dreaming?â
The devil walked over to my sewing machine, scrutinizing the green metallic fabric. Stretch satin had been a struggle to work with; I had somehow sewn the waist closed. It was going to take more than a seam ripper to undo what Iâd destroyed. It was expensive fabric too.
The devilâs lips stretched tight across her face. âYou also said, âI would make a deal with the devil if only I could win the Belly Dance World competition.ââ
âSo youâre the devil?â
She puffed herself up to her full five feet. âOf course, dear. But just between you and me, that costume isnât even going to get you to the semi-finals.â
âMy costume?â My mind was still reeling from the appearance of the devil.
She removed a wand from her apron pocket and waved it over the green fabric dotted with blood from when Iâd accidentally sewn my hand two days before. I still had the bandages over my thumb. As the devil worked her magic, my costume transformed into the vision I imagined, a mermaid-like skirt with rhinestones and beadwork covering the belt. The bustier on the table beside it looked like a completed costume from Egypt that would have cost at least a thousand dollars. Just as I hoped, the green fishnet and spiky headpiece gave the ensemble a hint of tribal fusion aesthetics.
I gazed at the perfect tribaret costume in wonder. âYouâre kind of like a fairy godmother.â
âThatâs right. And I really donât ask for much in return.â She batted her eyelashes innocently. âItâs nothing more than what I charged Cinderella.â
âWait? Like the fairy tale Cinderella?â I was suddenly rewriting the entire fairy tale in my head. Had that fairy godmother actually been the devil?
She waved me off like it was nothing. âDo you really think I would give that girl a Prada dress and turn a pumpkin into a coach without asking for something in return?â
âWhat did that cost her?â
âThe usual,â she said with a shrug. âJust her immortal soul.â
Dread settled in my belly like a lump of ice. That was what being an award-winning belly dancer was going to cost me if I took the easy way to live my dream. Or I could slave away and work myself to the bone at the local competitions until I had enough prize money and titlesâand still I might not reach my dreams.
A crash came from the living room. I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave a supernatural being unattended, but when I heard cursing, I ran to see what had caused the commotion. The nightstand I was using as an end table, and the potted vase on top, had been overturned. A guy in a leather jacket had fallen onto the wooden floor. It looked like he might have tripped over the sword I accidentally stabbed into the couch earlier and hadnât been able to free.
Just another one of my epic failures. Those barrel turns with swords could be lethal. At least it was only my couch that suffered a casualty this time. Last week, my fan veils had somehow managed to wrap around someoneâs neck in the restaurant where Iâd been performing.
âWho are you?â I asked.
The man lifted himself to his feet and dusted himself off. âIâm a devil here to make your wishes come trueâfor a price.â He was tall and slender, his hair and leather jacket reminiscent of James Deanâbut the piercings on his face gave him a modern appearance.
I looked to the fairy godmother devil who ran into the room behind me. âBut I thought she was the devil.â
âA devil,â the man corrected. âWeâre from the same agency.â
She lied to me. Not a good sign for someone I intended to make a bargain with.
âCurse you, Brutus!â the she-devil said.
âExcuse me. This is my client,â Brutus said with a British accent. âHow dare you try to claim this prospective soul before me.â
âYou snooze, you lose,â my fairy godmother-devil said. âI already told the agency I was taking on this client to help her become Miss Belly Dance USAâassuming she agrees to sign my little black book with her blood.â
My stomach churned at the weight of what that meant. Did I really want to sell my soul to the devilâor a devil?
Brutus turned to me, his voice cloying. âForget about Miss Belly Dance USA. You could be Miss Belly Dance World, right? I can do that for you. With my help, I can give you the fame you deserve. Only I can ensure you have the best shimmies and belly rolls you need to win.â
I considered his offer. âI can already dance. I just canât afford the ticket, costume, time off work, or the entrance fees. Also, I donât have the cleavage to fill out my costume.â Or the time to practice. I would give anything to become a professional belly dancer.
âI see the problem.â He rubbed his chin knowingly. âYou need a boost of confidence.â He crossed in front of the first devil, looking like he was attempting to casually block her from view.
The she-devil grabbed my sword from where it was wedged in the couch and yanked it out. She aimed it at Brutus, who edged away from her.
âBack off. This soul is mine.â She turned to me and smiled sweetly. âWeâve already established I have the ticket and can assist with the costume. I can also help you with your cleavage and confidence.â She cast a dirty glance at her rival. âAnd she doesnât need your help with her skills. Sheâs already an incredible dancer.â
âIs that the spin youâre going to try to sell her on?â He snorted. âYouâre going to claim I donât appreciate her natural ability, and I want to change her style and skills, so Iâm the bad guy? Did you already give her that cheesy fairy godmother spiel? Now you just want to give her money, breast implants, and a costumeâand pretend thatâs all she needs to win.â
A third devil exited from my coat closet and strode into the room. They wore a pink feather boa, bangles, harem pants, a sequin-covered bustier and a beard covered in glitter. âDid someone say they would give anything to become a professional belly dancer?â They winked at me.
âNo! Get out of here, Yamil!â Brutus said.
Yamil sauntered over to me. âHoney, we need to go studio hunting so you can open up your own business. You want to teach classes each night instead of working in a stuffy ad agency during the day. Am I right? Plus, I have a list of restaurants and events where you can get paid to dance.â
âNo, she doesnât want that,â the she-devil said, brandishing my sword. âBack off!â
âWe canât divide her soul into thirds.â Brutus crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking. âI got her wish from the agency first. This soul is mine.â
They all started shouting at once. I had made three wishesâbut gotten three different devils to bargain with. I was pretty attached to my soul, but if I did sell it, I had no idea how to tell who was offering the best service.
âIâll make you rich!â Yamil said.
âIâll make you famous!â Brutus said.
My fairy godmother shouted over them both. âYouâll win the most awards by signing my little black book!â
With all their bickering and attempts to impress me, I could see I was the one with the advantage. I fully planned to exploit that, and I didnât feel bad about it either. These devils took advantage of peopleâs desperation and longing to give them a fleeting wishâthat would end when their life did.
âIf Iâm going to sell my soul to the devilâor a devilâI want to make sure Iâm getting the biggest bang for my buck. I need to get a sample of each of your services and test your powers out at the local competitions to see who I want to make this bargain with.â
It obviously was a sellerâs market, so I was the one with the power. Just because I asked for a sample, didnât mean I needed to sign a contract.
A few of her favorite things include: gluten-free brownies (not necessarily glutton-free), Star Trek, steampunk, fairies, Severus Snape, and Mr. Darcy. She lives with twenty-three hypoallergenic fur babies, by which she means tribbles. By the time you finish reading this bio, there will be twenty-seven.
You can find info about her short stories and novels on her website.
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