Jonathan Williamsby got his degree in law when he was twenty-five, became a full partner just before his thirty-second birthday, and continued the next four decades working sixteen-hour days, six, sometimes seven days a week.
By the time he allowed himself to slow down enough to appreciate the retirement he’d earned, he discovered that he was too old and too tired to enjoy it.
But Jonathan Williamsby had a plan. It was a desperate plan, but if it worked, he’d have a chance to live his life, at least a part of it, over.
Exactly a year earlier, he was working at home late one night when Fast strange man had suddenly appeared in his study. Amazed that someone would dare broach the tight security of his home, he was too stunned to pick up the phone immediately. Once he heard the man’s offer, he was glad he hadn’t called the police. They would have though him demented.
The man had made a proposal, they’d discussed alternative terms, and in the end had found a compromise that they both could accept. He’d had a year in which to fulfill his end of the agreement, and tonight he would deliver.
The fire had burned down to a few softly-glowing embers. He was as comfortable as a man his age could expect in his high-backed leather chair behind an ornately carved antique oak desk. As perused the contract a final time, his attention began to drift. Who was it, he wondered, who’d said that youth was wasted on the young? He forced his attention back on his work, but he already knew the deal was water-tight. Contracts were his business.
The clock on the mantle struck midnight, and he counted the chimes. One, two — the elegant old three-story Victorian he called home suffered a mild shudder, and a wisp of smoke came up from nowhere, drifting across the hand-woven Oriental carpet that adorned his gleaming hardwood study floor — six, seven — the smell of burning sulfur was palpable — eleven, twelve. As the final chime faded, the smoke thickened and congealed into the figure of a man.
Jonathan’s guest looked the epitome of success in a smartly-tailored suit, his predatory face outlined by dark, slicked-back hair. Holding his briefcase like a protective shield, he could have passed as a dangerously successful Wall Street broker or a ruthless Century City legal counselor.
“Mr. Luxferre’,” Jonathan greeted him cordially, “punctual as always. Can I get you a drink?”
Luxferre’ sat in the chair across the desk, back straight and formally stiff. “Thank you, but I prefer not to drink when working. If you don’t mind,” he said, opening the case, “I’d like to get down to business. I have a tight schedule.”
“No problem.”
“It’s been a year since our last meeting, and I assume you’ve had ample time to fulfill your end of the contract?”
Jonathan smiled, his eyes alive in his old face. “I have. A very lovely woman, a novice but talented trial lawyer from my firm. And my bride of six weeks.”
“And she has willingly agreed to the necessary terms?” Luxferre’ was skeptical.
“It was clearly spelled out in our prenuptial agreement. In return for certain concessions on my part, she has agreed to assume certain of my liabilities. Including our contract.”
“And she understands fully the agreement to which you and I are both party?” Luxferre’ asked.
Jonathan nodded. “That doesn’t mean she won’t complain when you take her.”
Mr. Luxferre’ relaxed. “Don’t be concerned about that. I’m accustomed to complaints. This evening alone, three clients tried to renege on their contracts at the last minute.”
“What happened to them?” Jonathan asked.
“Oh, the usual.” Luxferre’ was vague. “Our legal department is good. Our contracts can’t be broken. But I still have a few more meetings before I can call it a night, so let’s proceed, please.”
Jonathan pressed a button on his desk console. Moments later, the door opened. “Morgana,” Jonathan said, “please join us.”
She paused in the doorway, obviously aware of the drama inherent in her entrance. Thick, curly auburn hair cascaded to well below her shoulders. Her eyes stood out round and dark against a pale, flawless complexion. Her shape was voluptuous beneath the thin silk robe wrapped and tied loosely around her waist. She was an image of heavenly beauty, divine passion.
Both Jonathan and Luxferre’ stood. “Gorgeous. Perfectly gorgeous.” Mr. Luxferre’ was pleased.
Then she spoke.
“What stinks in here?” her voice was shrill and carping. “Have you been smoking again? You know what the doctor said about that!” She entered the room fully with a stride that was long, lean and forceful. “I myself don’t give a damn whether you drop dead tomorrow, but just don’t do it tonight while the help’s gone.”
“Morgana, I’d like you to meet Mr. Luxferre’. Mr. Luxferre’, my wife.” Luxferre’ held out his hand. She ignored it.
“I’m busy, what do you want?” She crossed her arms impatiently.
“You are leaving with Mr. Luxferre’,” Jonathan said.
Mr. Luxferre’ added, “Your husband and I have a contract, and you are part of the terms.”
“What are you talking about? Is this some kind of kinky sex game?” Morgana didn’t look like she wanted to play.
Jonathan maintained an outward composure he didn’t fully feel, but years of negotiating billion-dollar contracts with lawyers and businessmen more ruthless than he had taught him to conceal his feelings. “This isn’t a game, Morgana. Mr. Luxferre’ has agreed to make me young. And you are the cost.”
She scowled, then her expression changed to panic as she realized he was serious. She lurched toward the door, but before she could get away, Luxferre’ grabbed her arm. She swung around an slapped him soundly on the face. He ignored the sting, grinning at her devilishly. “To hell with you!” she screamed at him.
“To hell with both of us,” he replied, then touched a point on her neck. She crumpled to the floor.
“What have you done to her?” Jonathan asked, alarmed. “You said she wouldn’t be harmed physically.”
“Merely a temporary condition, I promise,” Luxferre’ answered smoothly. “A technique I picked up along the way for transporting uncooperative subjects. No, she will not be physically molested, tortured or otherwise degraded. It is her soul, sir, that we desire. A beautiful body, of course, is an added bonus, and we will allow her to keep it until her beauty fades.
As he hefted the unconscious woman over one shoulder, Jonathan looked down at his hands, wrinkled and speckled. Before he could comment, Luxferre’ said, “It will not happen overnight. During the next two weeks or so, you will find yourself gradually improving physically. Your muscle tone will return, the gray will fade from your hair, the aches and pains of old age will diminish until you again have the composition of a healthy man in his late thirties. What you do with it from that point is up to you. The aging process will return to its normal direction and at a natural speed. But you have managed to buy yourself, if you maintain a healthy diet and good exercise, an easy additional thirty or forty years for this life.
“Now I must be going.”
And with that, Luxferre’ and his armload disappeared in a puff of smoke.
##
Days went by, and true to Luxferre’s promise, Jonathan began to grow younger, more vital. He dismissed all of his household staff so they wouldn’t question the change. He notified the office that he was no longer available for the occasional consultations he’d been providing since his retirement, that his wife was quitting without notice, and that he and Morgana were going to be out of reach for an extended period while on their belated honeymoon. He closed up the house and moved to a new home in another city that he’d set up a few months earlier.
And he waited.
As he waited, he wondered whether he’d make a grievous mistake. What if there was something he’d missed, some angle he’d overlooked? Some element in his plan that had not been fully explored? What if he’d damned Morgana to eternal hell undeservedly?
One sleepless night he sat in the living room of his new beach house, surfing channels on the wide-screen TV while outside the glass walls waves a soothing background rhythm. Flipping idly through his TV Guide, he looked to see what new distractions might be airing at midnight, when he caught a whiff of a familiar, sulfurous odor. The oversized windows suddered briefly. Luxferre’ was back.
What Jonathan saw was not the coolly tailored, carefully controlled man of their last meeting, but a harried, panicked, exhausted fellow with a cuffed, dirty shirt.
“I want to cancel the contract,” Luxferre’ said just before he fell into a nearby sling chair.
“No way.”
“But you knew what you were doing when you gave me that shrew!”
“Not my problem,” Jonathan said with an icy smile. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Scotch neat, please,” Luxferre’ answered.
The bottle and two tumblers were already set up on a side table. Jonathan poured, then handed glass to Luxferre’, who drank it down in one gulp.
“She throws things, he said plaintively.
“I know.”
“She nags all the time.”
“I know.”
Luxferre’s voice bordered hysteria. “She called me a demented angel, and she’s been ‘reorganizing’ the office. I can’t find anything.”
“So why don’t you just dump her,” Jonathan asked, not entirely unsympathetic.
“I can’t. Per the contract, she’s mine. Mine to keep. Forever.” Luxferre’ was ready to cry. “The only way I can get rid of the harridan is if you take her back.” The devil’s eyes were pleading.
“Well,” Jonathan leaned back and put his feet on the coffee table, “maybe we could negotiate a new contract…”
##
They lay curled up together on a thick sheepskin in front of a roaring fire. The flickering light caught the sheen of her thick hair, the sparkle in her dark eyes. He held her with one strong, muscular arm as he gently stroked her face with his other hand.
“Was it rough?” Jonathan asked gently.
Morgana laughed, a deep, rich, playful laugh. “The heat was bad, but all those hours in the sauna helped.” She wrinkled her beautiful nose. “The worst part was the stench.”
“And he never suspected anything.” It was more a statement than a question.
“I didn’t give him a second to think about it. I had him and his minions scrubbing floors, painting walls, rearranging furniture — hell has never looked as good as it did when I left.”
“Want to go back to trial lawyering?” he asked her.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m considering an acting career now.” She smiled and he knew she wasn’t serious. “I love law, and I love you. What more could a woman ask for?”
“Especially now that I’m young and handsome?”
“Especially now that you’re young. You’ve always been handsome to me.”
He gave her a long kiss, then looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I’m probably the only man in the world who can honestly say that my wife has been to hell and back for me.
“But I married an angel.”
END
