Satan In The City is a journal entry by Jack Rusher, published here Monday, November 01, 2004. It is part of Journal.
I was, for one day, the Devil.
The Costume
I drew stares as I walked down Orchard Street in a tailored purple zoot suit, spectators, vintage cufflinks, and a modernist tie with matching pocket square. When the make-up artist had finished adding the horns I became a one-man sideshow. The apprentice make-up artist asked what character I was going to play for the evening.
“A handsome devil.”
Marching Zombies
On the way to the first party of the evening I encountered an undead marching band on a downtown street corner. They were playing New Orleans funeral jazz, presumably for their own funerals. I stopped and danced the Charleston with the zombified czarina Anastasia Romanoff, who asked where I learned how to dance like that.
“Jazz is the devil’s music.”
At a Cocktail Party
Over drinks and hors d'oeuvres I tried to mingle.
“I’m a talent agent. What do you do?”
“I am the Lord of the Underworld. Do you do public relations? I need to engage a firm to assist me with a complete re-branding campaign.”
A Nubian princess of amazonian stature arrived in a baffling but sexy pastiche of a costume. She walked over to me, touched the tip of one of my horns, and said, “I love they way they feel: so fleshy and sexy.”
We locked eyes for a long time.
“Are you after my soul?”
“Among other things.”
Billionaires for Bush
I left with a contingent of liberal-minded revelers from the cocktail party to join the annual Halloween parade and march with the Billionaires for Bush.
Satan is, after all, both the arch-billionaire and chief council for the firm Halliburton.
Sitting in the subway
An angel leaned over to me on the subway and, parting her curly blonde hair, asked, “Excuse me, are you the devil?”
“Yes, I am... What is your position on carnal temptation?”
The Infernal Polyglot
Walking away from the parade I heard a woman’s voice calling to me.
“El diablo, el diablo!”
I turned to regard a tall latina with a bleached crew cut.
“Si?”
She hesitated a moment and then said, “Uh... Como estas?”
“Bien, gracias -- y tu tambien?”
Her eyes widened.
“Tu habla español?!?”
“Si, soy el diablo. Yo hablo toda las idiomas.”
“Italiano?”
“Sì, amo l’italiano.”
“Y Arab?”
“Salaam.”
“You are the devil!”
At another cocktail party
“What do you do?”
“I spread deceit and evil. This time of year it’s mainly ballot tampering and negative campaign advertisements. Did you see Swift Boat Veterans for Truth? That was mine...”
At a Bar
“Darling! Your costume is simply divine!”
“More infernal, really.”
“Where did you get that beautiful suit?”
“The Devil has a personal tailor on Mission Street in San Francisco.”