Bob’s Memoir: 4,000 Years as a Free Demon
66
On the Go
“IT WOULD BE awfully damn nice if you could just open a gateway to and from Areola whenever and wherever you wanted to without depending on the satchel to function as your portal,” Doug said. I’d had to leave him in LA, as I was off across the heartland doing interviews. There were just so many loose ends. We’d hired nearly a thousand non-Areola personnel to work on the production of season two, in addition to those special individuals who were jumping in and out of the natural world from my satchel.
“You mean open a gateway to Areola from wherever I happen to be, regardless of where the satchel is? And open a gateway from Areola to anyplace in the natural world? I don’t know if that can be done, Doug.”
It was an interesting concept and I don’t know why I’d never thought of it before. I had often thought of Areola as being in the satchel, so I needed to be where the satchel was in order to protect Areola. This would be a completely different understanding of what that meant.
“Bob! Did you hear me?”
“Sorry, Doug. You just got me thinking. What was it?”
“There’s something fishy about this Roxie you’re interviewing. Things on her application aren’t squaring away with what we know now. This friend of hers we arranged to get her to where you are is a stripper. We thought she was working temporary secretarial jobs.”
“Yes, just like Roxie.”
“You know?”
“She confessed to being an exotic dancer at The Gold Standard in Des Moines. You could have our contact check that out. I get the feeling that we didn’t dig very deeply into the applications we accepted. Was that intentional?”
“Well, the girls ranked them, including how genuine they appeared to be, but it’s obvious we aren’t getting deep enough. It’s not like we can call their references. We completely missed your new Doctor of Physics in Cleveland. She’s getting along great in Houston, by the way, but really misses Cleveland Bob. I told her I’d put in an order for something that would bring him back to Houston.”
“Houston has to be a big adjustment for her. By the way, how long is this rain in the Midwest supposed to last? It’s still pouring down out there.”
“Severe storm warnings continue through eight p.m. tomorrow evening. I guess that’s this evening now. You’ll have to put her on the road and make sure you can visit her again.”
“That might be a problem,” I answered. “We might have to do the big reveal here in the cabin before she goes. She is uncannily aware of things not being exactly what they appear to be. She had a quick brush with a camerawoman this evening. Even though she didn’t see anything, she thinks the house is haunted.”
“Well, you know how to play it. Offer her a ton of cash to keep her mouth shut and remind her of her non-disclosure.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“So, the big problem today is that you need to be in Italy on Sunday to meet Mia D’Angelo. She’s going to be touring the cathedral in Firenze, compiling historical notes for the Società di Antropologia Religiosa. She is a member of the Order of Shebites, a non-monastic order of nuns and outspoken critics of the Pope,” Doug said.
“I’m going to interview a nun for a place in my harem?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes. But don’t get in the habit,” Doug laughed. I just groaned.
“Unlike many of our contestants, her life reads like an open book. She’s been in the news since she was fifteen and told the pope that he was wrong about the church’s stand on celibacy and the acts of priests through the ages had proven it. She quoted Paul in saying ‘Better to marry than to burn,’ and that she sincerely hoped the priests who abused nuns and children were burning in hell.”
“And they allowed her to become a nun?”
“The Order of Shebites snatched her up immediately, rushed her off to their chapter house, and helped her refine her position. She is actually vacationing to conduct her research for the Society of Religious Archaeology. The Shebites are devoted to the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom and take their name from the Queen of Sheba, praised both in the books of Solomon and in the Koran.”
“Wow. Am I up to this?”
“Only time will tell, Bob. Good luck with Roxie tomorrow.”
I was in the kitchen drinking coffee and looking at various news and weather reports when Roxie came into the kitchen, dressed in one of my oversized T-shirts and, I presumed, panties. Annie had equipped her with whatever she needed for the night and this seemed to be her choice of nightwear.
She stumbled to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.
“Up early. I suppose you’re eager to get out of here.”
“Oh, not so much,” she said. The T-shirt she’d chosen was a vee-neck and way too large for her slight frame. It fell off one shoulder, hung up on the rise of her breast. It was apparent by both the bare shoulder and the obvious nipple outline beneath the fabric that she was braless.
“It’s still raining. We can call Bill and ask him to get your tire fixed as soon as he can. You probably picked up a nail or something,” I suggested.
“I left my keys with the clerk so he can pull it in where it’s dry to work on it,” she said. She lightly touched my head as she walked behind me to get to the refrigerator. Then again as she went to a seat at the table. “I called Joan and she said to wait until it was safe to travel. The cat can be on her own for a day without a problem.”
That was news to me. I knew we didn’t have a cell signal out here. I’d talked to Doug on the landline. I tried not to respond to her declaration.
“That’s good,” I said. “This weather isn’t projected to let up until eight tonight. They’re calling it the drought-breaker. Problem is, of course, that the ground is so dry they’re afraid there will be more run-off than soaks into the ground.”
“It seems like every four or five years, we get ‘the storm of the century’ out here in middle America. Sometimes it’s snow; sometimes it’s rain; sometimes it’s wind. Doesn’t make a difference. Four or five years later we get the same weather report.”
“Well, you are welcome to just hang out here for the day. I don’t think we have anything particular planned.”
“I hope to get to know you better,” she said, reaching out to put her hand on mine. “Much better.”
Now that was a difference from her response to me the night before. She seemed afraid to be in the same house with me then. I recognized the touch. It was the same way that a stripper touches a guy when she’s trying to get him interested in talking, buying a drink, or having a dance.
“Hey! Are you putting the make on my boyfriend?” Annie said, coming into the room and seeing Roxie’s hand on mine.
“Not exclusively,” Roxie said. “I wouldn’t mind sharing with you a little, though.”
“Uh… Where does all this sudden interest come from, Roxie? Last night you could hardly stand to be in the same room with me,” I said.
“Too sudden? Damn! I was afraid of that. I’ve always been lousy at the transitions. It’s either shy damsel in distress or wanton seductress. I never manage anything in between.” She sat staring at her coffee. Annie gave me a curious glance and then shrugged and got her own coffee.
“You just surprised us,” I said.
“Does that mean I’m out of the running?”
“What?” Annie and I said at the same time.
“I should have known it was too good to be true. Stranded on a stormy night and who should come along, but The Bob and one of his harem? I was so afraid that I’d blown it by being too reserved last night that I overdid it this morning.”
“What makes you think I’m The Bob?” I laughed.
“Oh, it wasn’t that hard to figure out. When you work in the business like I do, you learn to read people pretty well. I knew you weren’t just who you said you were when that John at the Convenience Store was talking to you. It’s one thing to treat a customer courteously. It’s another when the customer is your boss.”
“That’s pretty amazing,” Annie said. “Do tell us more. Bob, you could have a good time with Roxie and then tell her she didn’t meet the qualifications.”
“I don’t think so. Did you hear what The Bob said about hunting down fakers? Not going to happen here.”
“You two are so good. I’m pretty sensitive to things. Even when you stopped to change the tire, I had the feeling we were being watched. Then when you pointed her out, I figured it was just Annie who was watching, but the feeling persisted. In the C-store, I thought it was just the security cameras until I saw how John looked at the two of you. He doesn’t have much experience, does he? Nice guy, but I could see he owed some kind of intense loyalty to Bob. When we got to the house here, there was the ghost touch. I’d heard about your stealth technology. I didn’t turn fast enough to see her, though. When I said I talked to Joan this morning, you didn’t miss a beat, even though you know very well there’s no cell signal out here. I bet that’s only in the house and two steps outside there would be a good signal. Plus, there’s this.” She held up her phone and showed me a picture of bare feet.
“Whose feet?” I asked.
“You tell me. She was in the hall when I came out of my room. I had my phone in my hand to see if I could get a signal, but then I thought I’d just take a picture of the place. As soon as I switched on the camera, I saw the feet. I didn’t raise it up to see any more of her. I could tell, though that she was moving backward to keep me in focus. I remember signing the document that said all my interactions with The Bob would be recorded candidly.” She sat there looking at us and smiled. “Well, how’d I do?”
That was a good question. Role-playing for the purpose of seeing who a person is might be okay, but I really don’t like outright lying. I could probably convince her I wasn’t me, but eventually she’d find out I was me and be very upset that I lied to her when directly confronted. I guess I needed to come clean.
I leaned over to kiss Annie, then opened a gateway. She blew a kiss at Roxie and stepped through to disappear.
“Well, that nailed that,” Roxie breathed.
“Mmmhmm. I guess we should just formalize the interview now. Hi. I’m Bob.”
Her response was not quite what I expected. She whipped the T-shirt off and stood in front of me in all her naked glory.
“Uh… Not that I mind your naked body, but it’s not required at this stage,” I said.
“After all this, if I don’t at least get to fuck The Bob, I’m going to be broken-hearted,” she answered. She circled the table and seated herself in my lap. “Now, what kind of questions do you have for me?”
You might not believe this after all this time, but I’m still not that good at talking to naked women I don’t know very well. I’m not a natural seducer. I think that comes from Pinaruti’s legacy. Since he didn’t know how to conduct a conversation with a woman, he imbued me with a certain level of irresistibility. Fortunately, not so much that every woman I meet instantly wants to fuck me, but enough so that if they want to fuck me, they’ll make the first move. Sometimes I actually turn them down.
But just talking to a naked woman who has just plopped herself in my lap and invited me to interview her—while her hands, mind you, were constantly caressing my arms and touching my cheeks—left me a bit tongue-tied.
It wasn’t at all that way when I talked to the nun. Sister Mia D’Angelo was a pleasant woman in her late twenties with a real thirst for knowledge. She was making notes as she walked through the duomo. I paused beside her and looked up at the duomo.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Every brick cut precisely to the measurements needed to create the eight-sided dome.”
“One hundred fourteen and a half meters from the floor to the top of the lantern above the dome. You know that’s more than the length of a football field!” I responded.
“Oh, my, you know your architecture, don’t you?”
“I studied this particular cathedral extensively.” I cut myself off before I added, “as it was being built.” She would definitely not understand my being in Firenze when the cathedral was built. I’d intended to come back and help with the dome, but just before I headed that direction, Esmira managed to trap me in the infinity room.
“What can you tell me about it… uh…?”
“Bob,” I supplied offering my hand. She took it warmly.
“Mia.” No last name. No ‘sister’ or other honorific. Just Mia.
“Well, let me see. You probably know there was a competition to see who would become the architect for the dome. The walls had already been erected and it remained for someone to engineer the dome. DiCambio had actually built a model of the dome that was fifteen feet high, right over there. But the engineering had never been done at the scale of this dome. Before or since. Brunelleschi won the competition to engineer the dome, closely contended by Ghiberti. There was some competition by two patrons of the architects that resulted in Ghiberti being awarded an equal sum to Brunelleschi’s.”
“I have read that the two architects were not only competitors, but were close friends,” Mia said. “Ghiberti even took over the construction when Brunelleschi became ill.”
“It was an illness, I believe, that was feigned, specifically to get his rival out of the way,” I said. Mia looked at me sharply for an explanation. “You see, the tools we would use today to measure and cut the bricks of the outer shell had not yet been invented. Simply measuring the model and scaling up left quite a lot of variances. After laying several courses of bricks, modifying the sizes by a technique he did not share, he feigned his illness and begged his dear friend to continue his work so the dome would be completed. Ghiberti took over, but did not have the technique for making the courses turn out correctly. After a year, he gave up in frustration. At that time, Brunelleschi miraculously recovered from his illness and came back to work, finishing some years later. The dome, I’m told, was finished before Brunelleschi’s death, but the lantern was constructed after.”
“And what was this special technique that Brunelleschi used to make his course of bricks fit perfectly and that Ghiberti could not do?”
“He never revealed it. I have studied the structure and all the most scientific data concerning how the dome was built and how it stands. I believe there was only one way he could have managed it, given the tools and measurement systems he had.”
“And that was?”
“Magic,” I whispered. Mia’s eyes lit up.
“Mister Bob, why don’t we have dinner together. I would like to explore this a bit more with you.”
“It would be my delight, Miss Mia.”
Holding a conversation with reasonably but attractively clothed Sister Mia D’Angelo was easy compared to conversing with naked and sensual Roxie.
“Why did you decide to apply to be on To Boldly Go?” I asked. Somehow, my hand had found its way to cup her delightfully full breast with its hard nipple pressed into my palm.
“It’s a long story. Joan and I decided to become dancers while we were still in high school. We even practiced dancing and stripping with each other, and got kind of involved, so that’s how we discovered sex. We even had a little party once where we invited some classmates over and danced for them. It gave us good practice at controlling where guys put their hands and what we’d allow them to do. We got a reputation as being real cock teases, which is exactly what we had set out to do. When we turned eighteen, we went to a club and applied. Most of the boys we knew weren’t old enough to go to the club, since it was a bar and restricted to twenty-one and older clientele, even though they let eighteen-year-olds work as dancers.”
“Sounds like you got everything you wanted.”
“Mostly. When my parents found out I was dancing, they kicked me out. No discussion. They’re hyper-religious and absolutely would not tolerate having me as a stain on their reputation. Joan and I got a room one of the club managers was renting and moved ourselves to Des Moines. We were happy, even to pay the rent with a weekly fuck for the manager. It was only until we got on our feet and could get a place of our own. And it was easy. I pulled down around a thousand a week after the club took its fee. And we both decided we could create a good cover for ourselves by working as temporary secretaries. So, I work wherever the agency sends me four days a week. Three nights a week, I dance my ass off and rub guys’ cocks through their pants until they pay me.”
“And you like what you do?” I asked. She had managed to get a hand between us to do a little rubbing on me as she talked. I discovered her legs had parted in an open invitation to explore.
“Yeah. But that’s the difference. Joan and I do it because we love it and that’s what we always wanted to do. But there are lots of girls who are there for less positive reasons. Some of them got hooked on drugs and started stripping to pay for the next dose. A lot of them pick up johns while they’re dancing and that inevitably leads to STDs or arrests for prostitution. Some of them are just desperate because they made a mistake in their lives and figure the only asset they have left is their tits. And there are some who were coerced.”
I stiffened in a bad way and Roxie petted at my chest, saying “Down boy.”
“I have no problem with a woman choosing whatever path she wants to take,” I said. “I have a great deal of problem with people who force a woman into a path.”
“I think we’ve all heard that message loud and clear,” Roxie said. “And here’s the thing, Bob. I’m here of my own free will. I’m naked in your arms with your finger in my pussy because that’s where I want to be. There’s something perverse in me that just wants to fuck you. Though, you know you could bring Annie back and we’d have a really good time. But I don’t expect you to choose me for your crew. What use would you have for a stripper in space when you’ve already got a dozen or more women who run around naked all the time. Guys don’t pay me because I’m the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen. They pay me because I’m the most available right now. I don’t know how I could ever become the most available for The Bob.”
“What is it you really want, then?”
“Joan and I have put together a pretty good-sized bankroll in the five years we’ve been dancing. But it’s not enough. What I really want is for you to bankroll a buyout of my club. I want to get the druggies off drugs. I want to free the girls who are being beaten by a boyfriend at home if they don’t bring home enough tips. I want to turn our club into a refuge for girls who love what they’re doing and will enjoy every minute they are in my club. Like I do. You know, we could get this big boy out to play now,” she said, squeezing my cock.
Rather than bore you with another story of screwing a beautiful stripper, let me get back to my dinner date with Mia in Firenze.
“I’m doing research for a report on the anthropology surrounding the great cathedrals of Europe,” she said when we were seated in a trattoria. “I look at the local culture and glean as much as I can about the people I find. The evidence of the gothic and new romance styles of cathedrals from about 800 to 1400 AD puts them at the same level as the great pyramids of Egypt in terms of the mystery of construction,” Mia said.
“How so?” I asked. “I’ve seen the great pyramids and they are at a scale far above the cathedral.”
“Yes, but what intrigues me is that neither society had the technology to build them. Here in Firenze, there weren’t even enough trees to cut to build a scaffold high enough to reach the dome.”
“And the scaffolds they had shook and were as likely to collapse or pitch a man off them as to help in the construction,” I said, remembering going around the building muttering binding spells to hold the scaffold together.
“I didn’t even think of that. Imagine even building a wooden scaffold out of today’s lumber materials that would reach a hundred meters in the air!” She paused to scratch a note in her journal. “When I look at the tools that were used and the precision of the scale, I have to believe that some sort of supernatural assistance was available for the construction. Even if it was only to guide a man like Brunelleschi in inventing tools like the lewis for lifting stones, he had divine help.”
“Or demonic help,” I suggested. She stopped abruptly and looked at me long and hard.
“Are you a Satanist?”
“No. Not at all. I merely suggest that supernatural help might come from a number of non-human beings. We call it divine if it comes from the God of the Christians.”
“And demonic if it comes from the God of the… uh… Romans,” she laughed.
“Or from any other being summoned from the primordial mass and imbued with such power as the summoner grants it.”
“I do not believe in superstitions of that sort.”
“What sort of superstitions do you believe in?”
“I… Don’t twist my words. I’m not superstitious.”
“Do you believe in prayer?”
“Of course.”
I simply held my hands up to present the case in point.
“Prayer is not the same as magic. Its answers come from God.”
“And how, exactly is that different than a… Roman praying to Jupiter and receiving an answer?”
“All answers come from God.”
“Then God might answer in any form? If Brunelleschi prayed to a god of masonry for an answer to lifting the heavy blocks and the God of Christians answered, how would he know the difference? And therefore, I submit, if he prayed to the God of Christians for an answer and the god of masonry answered, is that not, too, God’s will?”
“I have debated these very points within the sisterhood. But to acknowledge any other god than our Lord is heresy and I have trod dangerously near that in many instances,” she said.
“Like the celibacy of priests?” I asked.
“Are you an inquisitor?” she demanded. “I have treated fairly with you and have answered honestly, decrying heresy.”
“I am not of the church in any way,” I said. “I am not here to examine you on its behalf. I merely recognized you from… it must have been twelve or fifteen years ago. Quite a write-up in the news.”
“Thirteen years. The Sisters of Sheba gave me refuge and helped me formulate challenges that would not step over that line. They gave me a superb education.”
“Yet, you are still seeking another answer. One that does not seem to be found in the stones of the cathedral.”
“You seem to know me so well, Bob. I am on a quest for knowledge that seems to be officially denied and buried so deeply that people no longer think it exists,” she said. I poured another glass of wine, pleased to see it was from a small vineyard east of the city. Some things are more durable than even the temples we build.
We continued a stimulating chat that covered cultures and customs of a thousand years. When at last, I paid our check and we rose to go, we had put away two bottles of wine along with our meals. It was a beautiful night.
“Bob, I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I would like to see you again,” she said as we were ready to part ways.
“I would enjoy that,” I said. “But are you permitted a liaison with a man, Sister Mia?”
“I did not ask to sleep with you,” she said. “Though, were that to happen, I don’t believe my vows would interfere. I seldom find a man with thoughts as deep as yours. Most merely recite their catechism and are done with the conversation. You seem to have a depth of experience I would like to tap into.”
Yes, I actually thought she had depths I would like to tap as well. I wisely did not give that thought to my tongue.
“Then I would be delighted to go out with you whenever and as often as you would like,” I said.
“Good. Let’s meet at the museum tomorrow afternoon. I want you to explain what magic you believe might have been used in the construction of the duomo.”
“It will be my pleasure, Mia,” I said.
Then she surprised me by moving close and kissing me on the cheek. She tittered a bit, then turned to walk away.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
