"Today's lesson," said Charlie, "or parable, if you will, is about returning shopping carts at the grocery store."
Leslie heard sophisticated groans from the other demons. Today they sat in rows, facing the blackboard where Charlie stood, wearing a dress shirt and trousers, with a smiley-face badge pinned to her suspenders. Leslie herself was front and center, hands resting on her notebook: there was nothing to write yet.
This was her first real session since the talent show, and she knew some of her peers had seen the dance with Shadow Man. There'd been a few looks and noises cast in her direction. Though not openly salacious, for the most part, the fellow guests seemed to take pleasure in thinking she had sunk to their level with sexy dancing. One of us. One of us.
Leslie did her best to ignore them.
"This cart thing better be good," Charcoal threatened Charlie.
"Yes! Now. Everyone knows," Charlie continued, "that when you take a shopping cart, there's an expectation to put it back nicely where you found it. I really think it's a polarising action, because nobody forces you to return the cart, and there's no reward for doing so. You may not even see the next user's grateful smile! It's doing a good thing for its own sake… right? This decision about the cart return separates the truly good from the truly… not as good!"
Impatient grumbles.
"What's your point?"
"I thought we'd talk a bit about why people abandon their carts near the store entrance, or in a parking space, instead of the designated areas. Why would someone do the wrong thing?"
Leslie raised a hand. "Laziness?"
"That's one idea!"
Angel Dust shrugged with one set of shoulders and borrowed Leslie's book to doodle with. "It ain't that cut an' dry," he said. "Some of us got betta things to do than return a cart."
"Yeah. Places to be, people to kill."
"Plus, they employ people to collect carts. Let 'em do their job."
Charlie had a patient smile on her face, so far undisturbed, but Leslie expected it to crack sooner or later. Once order prevailed, Charlie turned to write a few things on the blackboard.
"Do you think," she suggested, "if you saw someone abandon a cart, or you saw carts all over the parking lot… you'd be more likely to leave yours?"
"Do you think if I fucked off, these other bastards would be right behind me?" Charcoal quipped, and his friends agreed.
Leslie sighed.
"What are you huffing about?" said Charcoal. He'd picked up on her exasperation.
"Nothing," she said, keeping her back to him.
"No, don't sigh like that and tell me it's nothing. What, you're enjoying this shopping cart allegory?"
"I just think you're missing the point, is all."
"We don't gotta be spoon-fed, OK, Shadow Slut?"
Charcoal's creative insult was met with a chorus of chuckles. Leslie's jaw clenched, but she didn't look round. The best response was no response. Unfortunately, Charlie decided to make it a teaching moment.
"Now, why would you say a thing like that? Peer pressure? You figure your friends will think you're a big man if you attack someone for, um… expressing her agency as a woman?"
"Charlie, no," said Leslie.
"You know it's wrong to do that, and it'd cost you nothing to keep such thoughts to yourselves. What Leslie did was very brave-"
"Charlie, please?"
Charcoal spoke up again. "Woah, double standard! I'm sorry, Les being a whore onstage is fine with you, but I'm the evil one if I abandon a cart?"
"We don't believe in evil here! You can be self-serving, inconsiderate-"
"Whorish?"
"-but not evil! The overarching point here is to treat others how you want to be treated… whether that's putting a cart where it belongs, or treating someone with respect." Charlie's nerves came through in her voice, but she pressed on regardless. "Yes, it's hard to be altruistic in Hell, but sometimes the best way to change other people's behavior is to lead by example! Return your cart, and everyone else might just do the same!"
Leslie glanced over to Angel, who looked up from his doodle (a moth version of Vaggie burning herself on a lightbulb) to confirm the current topic of discussion.
"Are we talkin' about that golden rule shit?" he asked. "Do unto others, yadda yadda?"
"Yes we are, Angel."
"Well, in my experience, people - the non-idiots - only do stuff for explicit mutual benefit. Y'know, the tit-for-tat we brought up ages ago? Kinda like the agreement with Al."
Leslie jumped in her seat. "What?"
"Uh… him helpin' to run the place," Angel said. He jerked his thumb at Charlie. "Those two have an agreement goin' on, remember? Minus handshake, but still."
Nothing to do with the talent show or the contract, Leslie realized. Of course not! What a terrifying two seconds.
"Yeeeeah," Charlie responded, her fingers pressed together like a church steeple. "Well… let's just say altruism isn't within Alastor's capabilities yet! That brings me to the next point. There's a stage between self-ish and self-less action." Charlie added more writing to the board. "Some places in the world will rent out the carts with a coin slot. You pay to release one cart from the others, and to get your coin back, you must do the right thing and go to designated areas."
"Yeah," said Kain from the back row, "I've seen that."
"Right! So, morally speaking, there's an incentive to be good. There's an agreement… so it's not doing good for its own sake. Does the incentive matter, though? Maybe doing a good deed is what counts, more than your motivation for doing it. Maybe the end justifies the means."
"Ohhh. Like giving to charity 'cause of guilt from the church?"
Leslie saw a twinge of concern in Charlie's eyes. "Uhhh… similar to that, yes."
"So basically," Kain said, "you're saying: listen to one kind of peer pressure over another."
Leslie sighed, under her breath this time. Although Kain wasn't entirely wrong, he was still trying to derail the session with asshole logic. When she turned to look at him, he waggled his tongue at her, and full of disgust, she returned to facing the board. Pseudointellectual prick.
"Redemption is not the same as giving in to peer pressure from God!" Charlie said.
"That's what it sounds like."
Angel Dust grinned as he completed his doodle with fine details and cross-hatching. It was pretty good, Leslie had to admit.
"So here comes the argument against incentivizing good deeds..." Charlie continued. "It comes with an expectation of reward, and people get angry or disappointed when they don't get one. But… do something for its own sake, and you'll rarely be disappointed that way. Let's bring it back to the shopping carts."
"Let's not," Crymini begged.
"Say you take the cart back just because. Does anything bad happen? No! You make a few people's lives easier. You also make the Man Upstairs smile down on you, which is necessary to get into Heaven! It's a bonus for living a virtuous life!"
Angel Dust handed the notebook and pen back to Leslie as he said, "So, we do good things to get into Heaven, but we shouldn't expect a reward? That makes a buncha sense."
"It's how you raise kids, isn't it?" Leslie uttered in a low voice.
"Right!" Charlie happily bared her fangs. "Children start off getting an allowance for doing chores, but that has to stop eventually."
Kain scoffed and said, "Some kind of fecking deadbeat dad God is. If you can get him down here to explain himself, then I'll clean my damn room."
And just as quickly, Charlie's smile faded. From her position, Leslie found it easy to communicate sympathy without the others seeing. Of course it wasn't Charlie's fault she struggled with these questions. The whole system was imperfect. Her best form of guidance, assuming the Magne family didn't communicate with heavenly bodies, was a book written two millennia ago, and even that was much contested.
God the deadbeat dad: all these years and not a peep.
Charlie noticed Leslie's frown and the corners of her mouth twitched in recognition. She addressed the whole room.
"Alright," Charlie admitted, "Heaven is a really exclusive spot, we all know that. But, I believe in the power of being better, and I believe in forgiveness. What we've got to do - ultimately - is be good for no reason. Make it a habit, no matter how silly it sounds. If you don't expect a reward, maybe you'll get one!" She etched a shopping cart on the blackboard and, using her chalk, punctuated it with a single stab. "Class dismissed."
o - o - o - o - o
Dressed for work later that evening, Leslie came downstairs, then froze in the hallway. Here, after a spell of no appearance, was Alastor, gazing hard at a portrait of the Magnes and the Von Eldritches. Music came from him, from his very self. She could easily imagine a radio where his heart should be, broadcasting this jazzy clarinet solo from its nest between the lungs. Still regarding the painting, Alastor burst into song with unreserved levels of volume and cheer.
"What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play… Life is a cabaret, old chum, come to the cabaret…!"
Leslie felt several emotions bubble and stir inside her, like a cauldron of witches' brew. How dare he have a singing voice, with charisma and vibrato. Of course! A natural entertainer! Why wouldn't he be good at yet another thing that lights my fire? Uncertain which musical the song was from, she decided to ask, which gave her an excuse to walk over. Her hands clasped behind her.
"Put down the knitting, the book and the broom," sang Alastor, waving his fingers, "It's time for a holiday…"
She was hoping for the signal. Several nights ago, when Alastor and Leslie made the contract, he'd established a soft rule for scheduling meet-ups. She would know to come to his office on any day he winked at her twice in succession.
"Life is a cabaret, old chum, come to the cabaret…!" He then stepped back, having magicked himself into the portrait, raising bunny-ear fingers behind Lillith's head. Finally he noticed Leslie.
"Hi," she said.
"Hello."
Leslie smiled expectantly, waiting for the double-wink; instead, Alastor patted her head and waltzed along the hall, accompanied by his music. She saw him poke a nearby demon in the belly to irritate him.
She lingered in confusion. He was avoiding her now… what a strange development. Her first instinct was to feel hurt; then she wondered if, perhaps, this was a form of negging to keep her surprised. Then Leslie remembered how she, in her first few weeks at the hotel, had avoided Alastor due to his reputation. Maybe instead, this was a taste of her own medicine, now that she was the interested party.
It begins.
o - o - o - o - o
Next day, Leslie was in the studio, sitting against the stacks of deconstructed cardboard boxes. She was looking at a typed version of the teaching lesson notes, punched into the phone for convenience. Then the incoming call tone gave her a shock. A weird number, not in her contacts.
She let it ring out. Half a minute later, it rang again. She sighed, clicking the green button, just in case it was a friend using a payphone.
"Hello?"
"Is this Leslie?" said a man with a uniquely stringy voice. He sounded almost cartoonish.
"Uh, yes. Why?"
"That Vaggie person told us you taught dancing. She gave me your number."
Leslie grinned after a moment. How nice of Vaggie. Then a thought occurred: her self-made flyers would need to be rewritten. At the time of their making, Leslie's phone and number were stolen, presumed dead.
"Sure! Yes. Dance lessons all the way. Can I get your name real quick?"
"It's Moxxie and Millie."
"Oh, two of you. Great." Leslie navigated to her home screen, then back to the notes app. "So, a lot of what I teach is performative… If you're looking for like an exercise class instead, we could skew it that way..."
"Hang on," the male voice said, then further from the receiver, he bellowed, "HONEY?" After a little plastic jostling, a woman spoke.
"Hi," she said, with a Southern twang this time. "You don't know who we are, but my husband and I helped adjudicate the talent show, and I just loved your duet!"
"Ohh," Leslie said, getting up, for she liked to pace in circles for long phone calls. "I remember! Yeah, I saw you guys holding hands; it was nice to see. Cute couple."
"Thaaaanks! Y'hear that, Moxx? She thinks we're cute together! Anyway, sweetie, we'd prefer dancing as a couple. Anything like what you and your shadow friend did would be loads of fun, I'm sure."
The boxes slid and fell onto the floor with a smack, which accentuated Leslie's gut reaction nicely. What about the Shadow dance was so intriguing, exactly? The moves themselves, or the passion? That frisson of foreplay before a live audience?
"Sweetie pie? You there?"
Leslie stammered a little, saying, "Er, yes, yep, m-hm. That's absolutely fine. We'll be cutting that style of jig in no time. Oh, but depending on your experience, some things won't be doable right away. Like the backflip!" she added.
"That's OK! It's just nice to try new things at all."
Leslie booked a session with the two imps and hung up with them on pleasant terms. Her positive mood lasted the remainder of her day. Teaching again! Somehow (and it was so strange, Leslie couldn't help thinking about it), that compromised dance with a silhouette worked out inexorably in her favor.