“Senator Clinton’s office,” she intones as professionally as any young woman wearing flip-flops and a toe ring can. “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Beezle who?”

She listens a moment and nods.

“Oh. Well, if you’ll wait a second Mr. Bub, I’ll see if she’s available.”

The scene shifts to a private office. A much older blonde with a much harder face lifts the receiver.

“Senator Clinton,” she says.

“Hil, baby,” spouts the insidious voice at the other end of the line. “This is Lucifer. We need to talk.”

An awkward silence ensues.

“Lou?”

The caller is not amused.

“Don’t play coy with me, blondie,” he snarls. “You know darn well who this is. It’s me. Mephistopheles. The Prince of Darkness. Lord of the Flies. And I want to know what your people are doing about damage control since that jerk Falwell made the crack about you and the presidential race. Better call in the plumbers, baby, ’cause we got a leak.”

The denial is swift.

“What, you think someone on my end started that? As if things aren’t bad enough, I’ve got to deal with whacko evangelists stirring up their right-wing base.”

“How do you think I feel? You think I like it when some overrated pulpit-pounder says a junior senator from a liberal state scares his people more than I do? It hurts, Hil, it hurts.”

She is unmoved.

“So what do you want--sympathy? Look, I thought you were supposed to have powers. Destroyer of Souls and all that. Why don’t you just whack the guy?”

“I’d love to. But the thing is…” he trails off.

“The thing is what?”

“The thing is--look, I know you’re not going to believe this.”

“Get to the point.”

“The thing is, Falwell’s got connections. All the way to the top, if you know what I mean.”

Her next remark makes even the caller wince.

“Perfect,” she moans. “And you phone and want to give me grief. Look Lou, you know how it is in this business. You got to dance with who brought you. And frankly, these days you’re looking a heck of a lot like a wallflower.”

“Hold one second, doll,” he replies, though not without a hint of desperation. “Don’t think you can just stiff me like that. We got a deal--a relationship. Cross me and you’ll regret it. Remember what happened to Howard Dean?”

“What? His Iowa implosion? Like he needed help with that.”

She sighs.

“Look Lou, nothing personal, but oh-eight isn’t going to a picnic. I need someone who’s really got pull with the powers of darkness.”

“You don’t mean--“

“I do. Goodbye.”

She pauses a moment as a soul-rending shriek spirals through the office, then dies. With a single jab she summons her intern.

“Brit,” she asks nicely. “Can you put me through to Kofi Annan?”