The Complete Zagzagel Diaries Read Online Free

tipper, was he?”
    Incensed, belongings and towel forgotten on the floor, she struck. I parried, toppling from the arm of the lounge, but regained my footing. With a growl of contempt, leg straight and high, she whirled…
    …and arms to her side, the bared flesh of her back pressed to my chest, incapacitated by my embrace, she screamed through clenched teeth. “Damn you! What do you want with me?”
    “I told you. You need me.”
    From her sudden stillness, I thought maybe she’d been broken; maybe my presence had begun to sink in.
    “I don’t need anyone…but, you already knew that about me, didn’t you?”
    Her shift in tone sprung all available red flags, but I was hard-pressed—not literally—though, one minute longer pressed firmly against and moving in sync with those well-practiced gyrations and MISSION FAILED would be scored permanently across the annuls of her history and mine. “I know you don’t really want this, Deena.”
    “You sound awful sure, for someone in your position.” Her words continued as controlled as those wicked, wicked hips—all lines between charlatan and jezebel blurred.
    Papa help me… . I released her, stepping away. My sudden departure left her staggering offbeat, sinking lifeless to the carpet. No outburst. No rehearsed comeback. She curled, almost fetal-like, and softly wept.
    I retrieved her robe from the bedroom and covered her. “Come on, young one—Up. Get up.”
    As she rose, she turned her tearful, raccoon-masked gaze to mine. “Why?” she asked, voice trembling in the mass of confusion as she awkwardly slipped into her robe.
    A box of tissue set on a side table. I handed it to her. “You’re not meant to be unhappy.”
    She motioned, her arm sweeping the room. “Do I look unhappy to you?” She hiccupped, dabbing at the streaked makeup before blowing her nose…. “Never mind—Don’t answer that.”
    Introspection was good…so was a quick recovery. I hoped, in this case.
    On her feet, tissue discarded, she retrieved two wine glasses from the cupboard and filled them both to the rim. “Care for a drink?”
    How long had it been since the fermented fruit touched my lips? I couldn’t recall but accepted her offer. I sipped, and from her seat at the bar, she threw it back, but I understood.
    “Who are you, again?”
    She was ready. “Name’s Zagzagel. But friends call me Zag.” With pride, I proclaimed one of the few lines that held none of Big Papa’s inhibitions.
    “And you’re here to…?”
    “Help you find truth.”
    She balanced on the base of the stool, stretched over the bar, and retrieved a pack of smokes and an ashtray. Go ahead, baby…. Lord knows—hell, I knew, she was going to need the calming effects.
    “Do you mind?” she asked, already lighting one up.
    “Not at all.”
    A plume of exhaled smoke rose in the air as she turned my way. “So? Spit it out.”
    If it were only that easy. “Listen, Deena…it’s not like—”
    “I get it. Okay?” She crushed out the cigarette with a heavy sigh. “You’re an angel of God sent here to warn me about my evil ways—that I will surely go to hell for my whoring around—yada, yada, yada….”
    My shoulders drooped, just a little, as I shook my head. I’d never hear the end of this from Big Papa. He wouldn’t understand her need —the human need— of touch; much less, would he try. But as I met her gaze, I didn’t care if I ended facing him head on, like two rams butting horns. “Come here,” I said.
    She stood, only a hint of trepidation on her face, and met me in front of the sheer-paneled windows. “What?”
    Arms outstretched, I beckoned her. “Come here, Deena.”
    She melted into my embrace but did not return it. I held her, rocked her gently. “Feels good, no?”
    With a slight nod, she relaxed in my arms.
    “Why do you do what you do, Deena?”
    “I don’t know.” The whispered untruth flitted over my skin.
    “Why do you degrade yourself so?”
    Her body