Devil. Angel. Switch!

Now I had to trot out the old dependable lie. "You know this is tough on me, don't you, Marty?" My stricken look was real, at least. "It's great that your kids get to see their grandma, but after what she went through..."

"Right Dad," he said, relenting. He put an arm around my back, and squeezed. "I'm glad you're happy with LuAnn, I really am."

I smiled and nodded, showing relief, which was really for Marty finding his own way to change the subject.

On the drive back to the hotel, I made light conversation about everything else that day, and LuAnn went along with it, praising the grandkids and saying what a nice place Marty had (which she'd also said to him). With my mood, I faked it till I made it, I thought. Our sex that night was pretty much our usual late-night bang. LuAnn didn't wheedle me for cuddling, maybe thinking that I'd gone through enough that day. And so, not in contact, we drifted off.

***

"Ron." The voice was warm.

The face was relaxed and content. I had seen that often enough. But seldom focused on me.

"What is it, Myra?"

Her eyes twinkled in amusement. "Did you ever wonder if you were wrong?"

We were together...but where? I could see nothing around or behind her, only her face. At peace, it seemed. Smiling at me.

"Wrong about what?" I asked. My voice sounded flat, toneless.

"I never left you, Ron," she said. "I was taken away." Now I could see her neck, her bare shoulders, her auburn hair. "Find me, Ron. I'll be here."

I did not jerk upright in bed, bathed in a cold sweat. But waking up disturbed and disoriented were quite enough, thanks. I could discern nothing in the room's darkness, but in a few seconds I recognized the slight buzz of LuAnn's sleep breathing. At my back I felt the bunching of blankets from her left side. I inhaled the sanitized waft of the hotel pillow. I moored myself to these sensations, and slowly grew calm.

***

Bloodstream full of caffeine, I logged in to the video meeting. I knew two of the five guys from earlier gigs with this pop-up store chain. There was space in what LuAnn called my pig sty for me to fake a studio. I had the lights set up to make me look ten years younger, and the backdrop was festooned with the company's logo. I was stoked.

Was all of this taking me away from the settled, stress-free guy who was okay with loafing around with LuAnn?

"You already have leases on seventy-nine spaces for this year," I pitched. "Stockage points and logistics are locked in to support nearly all of them, and short term deals can be made for the rest in less than a week. In a normal year, great. In 2020, you either don't open at all and go broke paying rent, or you open and hemorrhage money on daily expenses.

"So here's what you do. You don't just sell stuff, you stage Halloween parties every day. Instead of one visit per fam per season, you get four or five because of the parties. Bring in different stuff each week to get repeat business. This slide has a sample schedule. Big outdoor decorations, then pumpkins, then lawn projectors, and so on.

"The employees' costumes will include dependable face masks. You hand out sanitized trick-or-treat bags from product-placed snack and candy producers. Hold games that keep everyone six feet apart. Spray cobwebbing on Pop-a-Shot and console games. We can get them cheap, from that kid adventure chain that just went belly-up.

"If necessary, limit the number of people inside, which gives you lines outside that everyone driving by will see. If they're desperate to give their kids something to do, they'll remember. There's still time to get local TV ads. In the spaces that are big enough, put up partitions and have two parties, one for the little kids and another for 13-and-older. Use the same piped-in music from before. Haunted house mazes work even better now, because distancing makes kids go through one at a time.

"Yes, you'll spend extra for this, but on this slide, you'll see that it isn't much, compared to what you're going to lose if you do nothing. If you decide in 48 hours, we can make it happen. Any questions?"

When I logged off, an hour later, I had what amounted to a blank check.

When the caffeine wore off and the Asian Fusion delivery was ingested, I got a fleeting regret that LuAnn had decided to leave me alone that day, so I could concentrate. I guess that worked, but now having gone from Once to Future Master of the Universe, I was ready to ball, like I used to do at trade shows, when I was a non-grieving widower. I always respected my feminine quarry, but never cared.

"That's how you loved, after me," said Myra, laughing.

How, where—

"There's so much love," she said, from swirling mist, "so many kinds."

"Myra...why?" I might have become more than a voice.

The mist blew away. Myra was nude. Unseen sensation told me that I was too. Rarely had I seen her this way, exposed and happy, after the fourth childbirth. Her breasts sagged slightly, with dark, distended areolas, but they still thrust outward. Her hips and thighs were thick, and the sight stirred me.

"You made me very happy, Ron," she said, approaching, reaching for me. "Because you made me this way. I gave life, because of you."

Was it real blood that rushed to my groin? I wanted the Myra that I had made, that she had made me make.

"And you were as good a father as any child could ever have." Her hair still had luster. I buried my face in it.

Her hands pressed on my back. I was erect.

"Join me now," she said, "and you'll find the love I always had for you."

This one ended fuzzily. It seemed as though Myra was kissing me, slowly and deeply, but it resolved to me in bed, whining "Damnit, Marty!"

***

A week later, after I put in a string of 15-hour days, the stores opened. Every night, whether I slept alone or with LuAnn, whether the sleep was fitful or calm, I dreamed of Myra. Some dreams were vivid, some were vague, but they all had the same theme: That I should go to her, and stay forever.

I was being haunted by my dead wife, and we were getting really close to fucking.

The most vivid moment was when she had both hands on my dick, slowly stroking, and I was kissing her left tit, which was warm and smelled of milk.

Not one of the dreams was wet. I woke up twice with wood, but that's pretty much my average in a week without being haunted.

When I write it like that, it seems like a total freakout. But It didn't bother me once I was entirely awake and getting on with my day. They were dreams. They had no staying power. I wasn't aware of them when I was, for instance, banging my girlfriend, or arguing with her (about sex practices or sleep hugging or where we should live).

***

I had sold the investors on this party-in-the-store concept, but honestly had no idea if it would work. On opening night I took LuAnn to the biggest one in the metro area, in a defunct big-box electronics store.

On the way there, she brought up one of our issues, but took a different approach.

"Maybe we're not made for each other," she said sadly. "I thought we'd have smooth sailing after that first time together. But we haven't. We keep running into problems. I was hoping that opposites attract."

"LuAnn, I love you!" I said, too loudly. "I'm glad that we're together!"

"And I love you too Ronnie!" she said, with histrionics matching mine. "But maybe we're too old, and set in our ways, to be really happy."

I sure thought that this was true of her. I considered myself flexible. But was I, really?

"Maybe we can make ourselves for each other," said LuAnn.

I looked at her, alert for the smart side of LuAnn. But I didn't get what she meant, and said so.

"For Halloween," she said, "I could be a devil, and you could be an angel."

I could tell that she meant this not just in costume terms. "So we'd each, like, try to see things from the other person's side?"

She was still thinking this through herself. Her smile both intrigued and worried me. "I think I have the legs for a she-devil outfit. And, oooh, think of what I could do with a pitchfork!"

It was trite and unimaginative, yet also brilliant. At least as something to keep us occupied for a while. We just happened to be going to a place where we could buy the trite, unimaginative costumes we'd need.

My notion about the line out the door seemed to be holding up. Lu and I stood dutifully six feet behind a clutch of two adults and three kids, themselves spaced behind another family group near the entrance. A teenage girl in a princess dress worked the door, waiting for groups inside to leave. The lights were bright and there was plenty of little-kid noise from inside. The past week had worn me raw over this gig, but seeing it in action gave me a smug grin.

It was getting chilly, but I didn't pull rank and cut in line. I was a contractor, so I didn't really have standing in the company. And I wanted the customers in front of us to get in there and buy.

We moved in soon enough, as harried-looking parents hauled out whooping kids with swag bags and still-wrapped costumes. The princess at the door wore pink leggings that matched the dress. I asked, "Are those your leggings?"

"I bought them at a real store," she said, shivering.

"I'll get the manager to pay you back," I said.

She smiled, and so did Lu, who told me, "See? You're an angel already."

The manager, one Paul Turazian, had pushed through a modification that both the chain bosses and I were skittish about: Splitting the store into three zones instead of two. It had the all-ages party and the 13-and-up party, but also an 18-and-up party. No liquor would be served, but the merchandise and ambiance might go beyond gross, to sleazy.

One reason I was there was to see if the plug should be pulled on the 18-and-up.

We checked out the other spaces first. Black drapes, with vague ghost shapes painted in gray, hung from the ceiling to cover bookfold partitions with portals edged in orange and black crepe. Thus were the spaces divided, with all-ages at the front, 13-and-up next, and 18-and-up beyond it. The workers, mostly high school kids, enforced distancing and age ranges, and looked pretty ragged from the effort. A space that might normally be used for face painting was now used for painting jack-o-lanterns and black cats on single-use kid-sized face masks.

I noticed one issue right away: The music and console-game noise made it hard for workers and customers, all masked, to make themselves understood. I'd deal with that in the next video chat.

The adult-size costumes were in the 13-and-up. I advised Lu to get the largest size available, assuring her that this wasn't about her current silhouette, which was excellent. It was about third-world sizing and production, and corner-cutting by what I loosely referred to as manufacturers. Then I got hold of Turazian, identified myself, got him to compensate the princess at the door, and hauled him with us into the 18-and-up, which had yet to see its first customer.

All three workers in the 18-and-up were male, and they weren't in nearly as much horror-movie make-up as the kids working in the 13-and-up. They were also older, likely in college. One guy was quite fit, with werewolf muttonchops and a torn shirt open to the waist. His mask was painted with fangs which, if real, would not allow a mouth to close. Behind him, a guy in something like an Elizabethan doublet and hose, with gray makeup on all of his skin (and mask), stared intently at LuAnn. Another guy, done up as a fancy-dressed vampire, delivered the entry pitch: "Are you ready for real excitement? Step this way if you dare!" Then he edged back, seeing that his boss was with us.

LuAnn giggled, looked at me, then looked again at the werewolf. I half-smiled for her sake, but mostly checked out the displays. They held pretty much what would be in naughty-nightie stores: peek-a-boo peignoirs and below-the-boobs corsets. I was on the alert for serious bondage gear, with strong leather and metal spikes, which to me would go way too far for this venue.

Fortunately, all I saw were the usual cheesy materials and shoddy workmanship that have been hallmarks of packaged Halloween costumes for decades. A thin, probably harmless imitation of a riding crop was included with a woman's black vinyl outfit that was given the evasive label of 'sorceress.'

I asked Turazian, "Are there female employees on this side?"

He shook his head. The scariest thing about him was his comb-over. "They'll work all-ages and 13, but don't want to be in here. I'd like to have one or two. You know, to help women decide on what to get."

He sounded just defensive enough for me to ask, "And what else?"

He hesitated, then drew me aside and said, "Look, this isn't going to happen, so don't worry about it, okay? I hoped to get some women to model these outfits for customers. Just a runway walk. Maybe with these guys out of the room."

Before I could say anything, I heard snippets from 'these guys,' in a far corner of the space. Vampire said, "Now that's what I call a GILF!" Werewolf, laughing, said, "You perv!" The other guy, I guess a romance-novel ghost, snapped at them, "She's a nice lady!" They probably didn't realize how their voices carried in that space. Turazian, I think, was too intent on me to notice them.

I kept my voice low but my intent clear. "Do you honestly think you'd keep your license if the city found out you paid women to expose themselves? What's in here right now might just barely be okay, but I don't know that yet. If this is how you operate, Turazian, next year you may have to take your hustle elsewhere."

I hated to say all that, but I'm a libertine only in my personal life. So much for my earlier belief in my flexibility. If this was my angelic self, it was a bummer.

Having ripped Turazian a new one, I began closer inspection of the wares and presentation. While I was trying to assess the room's sleaze level, I overheard LuAnn talking to the Ghost about the nighties displayed along one wall.

She asked, "Would you like to see a girl in something like this?"

"My lady," he replied, going well past the limits of his English accent and speech pattern, "I would gladly serve a woman in such finery as this." Then he gave a slight bow. LuAnn tittered, eating up the attention.

By this time there were seven real customers in the room, two of them women. The other two workers did their shticks for them and chatted them up about the merch. The Ghost stayed with Lu. He bowed to her at least three more times, and even she thought he was going overboard. She showed him that she already had an outfit from the 13-and-up, but thanked him and praised his salesmanship and behavior. By that time I had confirmed that nothing in this room Went Too Far, and we were able to take our leave.

***

In the car on the way to her place, she asked me, "What's a GILF?"

I showed her a crooked smile. "You really want to know?"

Alerted to expect the worst, she slumped in her seat and said, "Go ahead."

"It's a porno acronym, for Granny I'd Love to Fuck." I then rolled out the full etymology to make sure she'd be sorry she asked. "First, the term motherfucker was morphed to produce Mother I'd Love to Fuck, or MILF. It was actually a recognition that women can still be hot after they have kids. Now the term GILF has extended that recognition." I glanced her way. "He probably meant it as a compliment."

"I'm not a mother or a granny," she said. Sitting up straighter, she said, "I think Diego was very sweet, saying what he did."

"Diego?"

"The boy who was the ghost. He told the others that I'm a nice lady. He was very polite, and respectful. And cute too, I think."

I let that stand. Makeup or not, he had Virginal Nerd written all over him.

In LuAnn's mid-century modern house, she had us to go to different bathrooms to try on our costumes. I had taken one for the team, paying full price for a pair of white wings on a chest halter, a wide-sleeved white knee-length tunic with vents in the back for the wings, and a gold-glittered halo affixed to a headband. I went barefoot, since my shoes and socks wouldn't contribute to the effect. Also, because of what I hoped would happen, the angel went commando.

I went to the master bedroom. Seeing that it was empty, I called at the closed door of the master bathroom, "I'm ready to appeal to your better nature."

"Just a minute," came the reply, amid the sounds of sliding fabric and crinkling plastic.

I was hardly the first man ever to wait for a woman to finish getting dressed. I sat on the end of the bed. After a moment, I heard a quiet "Ooooh," and rustles that might have gone with turns to pose in a mirror. Then the door opened.

What I saw first was her jolly grin as she barked "Booo!" Then I saw why she was so hyped. This crummy costume looked terrific on her. The satiny red bosom-covering corset was like a second skin. The fishnet hose flattered what she had done lately to improve her legs. She twirled a black and red plastic pitchfork like a baton. Dark red horns curled up from her golden hair. A pronged tail swayed behind black shorts. She had added a pair of her own black heels. She strutted towards me.

She looked me up and down. "Goody No Shoes!" she said, laughing at my bare feet. I was trying to think of something angelic to say, but I was enjoying her enjoyment so much that I got nowhere. Whether we would actually switch roles or not, this moment of fun for her made these antics worthwhile.

She poked the pitchfork under the hem of my tunic and lifted it. "Oooooh!" she said, eyes widening. "What a naughty angel!" She jabbed the fork to within an inch of my johnson. "Can that dance on the head of a pin?"

That cracked me up, and her too. It took a couple breaths before I replied, "You could dance on it." I wasn't going to be able to keep up an angel act.

"I'm going to corrupt you first!" she declared. She tossed aside the fork and flopped on the bed on her back. "Give me—oh, wait." She rose up enough to get the tail out from under her. "Give me your nasty kiss!"

"Yes, oh Princess of Darkness," I said, still laughing. I knelt and, knowing plenty about these costumes, gently slid the shorts down her legs—and then also the frilly white panties she'd kept on. After a few arm shakes to get my sleeves out of the way, I slowly separated her outer labia with my thumbs. The tip of her clit appeared behind the hood, gleaming with moisture. I set my tongue flat against it, then rolled the tongue to enclose it. From her throat came a moan combined with a trill.

In our months of lovemaking, LuAnn had become less skittish about cunnilingus, and enjoyed it greatly once it was happening. But she rarely sought it, expecting me to offer it. I couldn't recall a time when she had demanded the 'nasty kiss.' How could I refuse such a request? With tongue, lips, and thumbs, I nastied every surface in what she still called Down There.

Sex on a regular basis had also increased her lubrication, although we sometimes added lube if we didn't start with oral slobbering. I was providing plenty of saliva, while tonguing her swollen bud against my upper lip. "Oh more, please," she said, sounding anything but devilish. "Just a liii—YEEEEEHHH!" I was ready when her trunk jerked, averting injury to my jaws and teeth. I kept licking as she flexed, and stopped when she put her hand on my head, reaching through the halo.

I fondled her torso slowly as she calmed, partly to see what the costume would endure. There were wires holding the corset over the breasts. If I pulled it back it might break. I settled for fingering slightly inside the fabric, nowhere near nipples. She shivered.

"What's next in your diabolical plan?" I asked.

She raised her head enough to look down her body and make eye contact. "Won't you try to get me on the path of righteousness?"