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The year was 1935 and Anthony J. Crowley was one of the country’s most promising emerging talents in the fashionable art of tap dancing.
What none of his earthly admirers knew was that Anthony J. Crowley was, not only a performer, but also a demon from Hell, formerly an angel, fallen from the graces of Heaven after participating in the ancient rebellion against God’s despotic rule. At this time, his occupation consisted in spreading evil within human society on behalf of his satanic leader and he endeavoured to accomplish this task by tempting the people with the aforementioned dance, the energetic movement of which Heaven would have surely condemned.
Yet, among his acquaintances on Earth, there was one who was perfectly aware of his infernal background and, ironically, the reason for the possession of this knowledge was that he was none other than a proper angel of God, sent down by his celestial superiors with the command to do and promulgate good on a large scale. His name was Aziraphale and, if something must be told of him, it’s that he had a great fondness for all those little comforts which nature affords to mankind — such as reading, clothing and eating — and that, in order to make the most out of these amenities, he had settled himself as the owner of a moderately-sized bookshop in London and had never let himself be deprived of a prim outfit or a delectable meal.
Contrarily to sensible expectations, the two creatures were friends rather than enemies and shared much in common in terms of attitude and history. In fact, the sum of the demon’s actions could hardly be called a collection of pure evil, so as the angel’s behaviour had been far from immaculate as far as his duties were concerned and, in truth, after realizing that they had been working in vain against each other, cancelling out their efforts over millennia, the two of them had struck an agreement to relent their influence on humanity and thus maintain an amicable relationship, while retaining the appearance of contrast.
Such breach of alliances would have been severely punished if discovered by their respective sides and that worried the two beings, although with different measures. Whereas Crowley was prudent but ultimately relaxed, due to the unconcerned habits of his evaluators, Aziraphale felt the weight of his transgression with acuteness, especially so because, in addition to the repercussions of act itself, the plain concept of wrong-doing went also against his principles.
Aziraphale’s reserve had always been particularly vexing for Crowley, because the latter had been in love with the former since their first meeting in the Garden of Eden, where the demon had been placed to corrupt Eve with the forbidden fruit while the angel guarded the eastern gate.
So it was that, when Aziraphale flied to Venice, Italy, with the double intent of getting both a vacation and his collector’s hands on the first edition of an exceptionally rare book, Crowley followed him on the next plane with the idea of spending some undisturbed time with his friend. Indeed the whole affair had been organized by the demon himself for the very purpose; he had gone out of his way to obtain a book that the angel desired and he had devised to contact him for its sale through a respected dealer from whom he would no doubt accept an invitation.
At the restaurant of hotel where they were both staying during their permanence in Venice, Aziraphale was partaking of dinner with the book dealer who had connected them and who, despite her usefulness, had not been informed by Crowley of his identity and plan. That’s when the demon entered the room with a rhythmic walk and a black suit, then approached their table and greeted her.
“What are you doing here?” bewilderedly demanded Aziraphale, who had been wiggling with agitation since his eyes had caught sight of the other’s advance towards them.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Fell.” Crowley said, dismissing his worries with a wave and the use of his human alias.
“You rob me of the pleasure of introducing you two!” The book dealer intervened with amusement.
“Oh yes, we’ve met, quite a few times.” The demon told her. “You have an excellent taste in clients.”
“I am glad you think so! What shall you order? Let me ask the waiter to bring back the menu.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather open the negotiations with a dance.”
He pointed at the couples dancing around them in the saloon.
“Of course!” She answered enthusiastically. “After all you are the famous Anthony J. Crowley and who could object such a request coming from you? Mr. Fell, you cannot deny this man his wish. You two run along and dance and don’t give me another thought.”
Aziraphale did seem more flustered than keen on dancing, but reluctantly accepted at the continued insistence of the dealer, as he found no excuses for an exemption. He was in good form, already fed and dressed more than well enough for the occasion, with a long pale dress covered in ostrich feathers on the shoulders and on the lower part of the gown. The ensemble was exquisite in its manufacture and many might have recognised him as the most elegantly dressed person in the room.
When they joined the other couples on the floor, Crowley put one arm behind Aziraphale’s back and held his hand with the other. From the first came many a smile, from the second much confusion.
“Our dealer seems very good at her job.” Aziraphale commented after a few moments, to spare them the torment of silence. “I have had only good experiences with her and I have never heard a bad word regarding her business practices.”
“Yes, she’s one of the best in her field.” Crowley replied. “Also she seems to have done an excellent job at pairing us.”
“It seems like a strange coincidence, not only because it is me and you but also because I never knew you to be interested in books.”
“Oh, I definitively have an interest that is at least adjoined to books and I wouldn’t know about chance or coincidences, all I know it’s that it’s-” and, with that opening, he leaned his cheek onto Aziraphale’s and broke into a song which followed the tune set by the orchestra:
“Heaven, I'm in Heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek
Heaven, I'm in Heaven
And the cares that hung around me through the week
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak
When we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek”
These words, paced to the time of their dance, meant to Crowley all that they expressed. Before his fall from Heaven, he had used to be a star-making angel, growing lights and shaping nebulas, and, while he was grateful for the freedom that Hell had granted him afterwards, he had much nostalgia for the certain aspects of the situation he had lost as a consequence of his disobedience towards God. He could not condone her way of controlling the will of all creatures, but he did miss the home he had built for himself in the skies. After all, he had never really intended to fall, he more of sauntered vaguely downwards by hanging around the wrong people.
It was only when he was with Aziraphale that he could rediscover a level of beatitude similar to that which he had experienced in his previous life; only in his arms he could feel the peace he had felt while he laying the constellations in the firmament as he swirled to the music played by other angels.
Aziraphale paused for a bit to coquettishly rest by a pillar and catch his breath. He could not stop himself from smiling when Crowley kept jokingly singing:
“Oh! I love to scare a whole town
And to hear the people shriek
But it doesn't thrill me half as much
As dancing cheek to cheek
Oh! I love to go out luring
The rebellious and the weak
But I don't enjoy it half as much
As dancing cheek to cheek”
They resumed dancing and Crowley went on singing, while he slowly led his companion towards the balcony and away from the other couples.
“Dance with me
I want my arm about you
The charm about you
Will carry me through to
Heaven, I'm in Heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek”
They finally reached the balcony and, from then on, Crowley ceased to chant and let the instruments be the only narrators of the stage. There they danced, both with grace and proficiency, at first sweetly and at times violently, and undeniably with the harmony of two lovers. Twirls were interspersed with tapping and lifts were succeeded by dips. It was all the spectacle a public could have ever wanted, yet, at some point, a laugh escaped from behind Crowley’s teeth.
“Angel,” he started with a smile, “you are losing your feathers!”
“Why do you said that, Crowley?” Aziraphale enquired with perplexity. “I don’t have my wings on this body, it’s a human one!”
“I’m not referring to your wings, but to your dress!”
“My what?”
And, as they kept twirling, Aziraphale finally noticed a rogue feather detaching from his gown and, immediately after that, the dozens of others sprawled around the floor.
“My poor dress!” He cried. “It is utterly ruined!”
“Don’t act so alarmed, you can just miracle the damage away.” Crowley pointed out.
“But I would always know it was there!”
“Besides, that dress was never fit for dancing, you should have chosen something minimal.”
“I came for dinner not for dancing!” Aziraphale said, distress starting to dominate his mood. “And anyway, angels are not even allowed to dance. Someone could see us!”
“Then let’s go somewhere where we can be alone!”
“Let’s return to the table.” Aziraphale said with finality, suddenly extracting himself from the dance and rushing towards the saloon. “We are here to discuss the sale of that book.”
“You can have the book for free!” Crowley cried after him.
Six years later, in 1941, Aziraphale ended up at gunpoint in a London church, after unwisely offering his help to the English secret services to handle a group of German spies. As the Nazi had it in their minds to procure a collection of rare books for their führer, he had been supposed to act as an intermediary and deliver the volumes as bait, with the ultimate aim of having the Nazi present at the encounter arrested. The church had seemed to him a safe meeting spot but, unfortunately, it turned out to be a case of double game and his contact with the English intelligence a German spy in her own right, having she at last confessed to have involved him for the sole purpose of gathering the books and be later disposed of.
The death of an angel’s physical vessel was neither terribly frightening nor final, but it was hard to get one’s restoration on Earth approved and it required a lot of paperwork.
Just before the deceitful woman was able to pull the trigger, Crowley marched through the main door in his black suit and started tap dancing towards the altar, where Aziraphale was waiting for his fate to be decided.
“Sorry, consecrated ground.” He explained, with all the signs of aching showing through his brow. “Oh! It's like being at the beach in bare feet. I can only walk on the tip of my shoes.”
“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale demanded, half in shock, half in relief. They hadn’t seen each other since his escape in Venice and he had missed his friend dearly.
“Stopping you getting into trouble.” The demon replied.
“Mr. Anthony J Crowley. Your fame precedes you.” Said the German woman moving her gun from the angel to the demon. “That's such a pity you must both die.”
“I supposed that is a danger for anyone here.” Crowley said, his feet incessantly tapping on the floor. “In about a minute, a bomb will fall on this church. It took a demonic miracle to redirect it here, and it will take an angelic miracle for some of us to survive.”
He nodded to Aziraphale expectantly and bought his time blabbing until a soft whistle alerted the occupants of the building.
“Now, don’t you hear this sound? It’s the sound of the bomb falling on us.” He said dancing around, seconds before the impact.
As predicted, the bomb destroyed the church and killed all of the Nazi spies. As subtly requested by Crowley, Aziraphale had readied a shield for him and his friend to remain alive; they were surrounded by ruins, but they were unscathed.
“That was very kind of you.” Aziraphale said, but then he remembered. “Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown-”
Crowley easily put an end to his despair by handing him the volumes, all intact.
“Here they are,” he said,” in no worse condition than the one they came in. A little demonic miracle of my own.”
At that moment Aziraphale’s heart swelled with love for the friend who had come to save his person from his ingenuity and his books from his inattention. None of his kin had ever shown for him the amount of care that Crowley had persistently given him through the centuries.
“Lift Home?” The demon asked.
“Yes!” The angel answered. “To my bookshop.”
When alone in the intimacy of the shop, Aziraphale could not resist thanking his companion in that fashion which would be most pleasantly received.
“My dear Crowley,” he said, “would you not like to dance?”
“To dance?” The other exclaimed.
“Why, yes!”
“Of course, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I do not mind it at all. On the contrary, I quite wish for it.”
“Well then, just give me a moment to change into something less appropriate.”
With that, he pivoted on his foot and morphed his suit into a gorgeous red dress brimming with ostrich feathers.
“Oh, my!” Aziraphale exhaled.
“To which tune shall we dance?” Crowley enquired.
And the angel began to sing:
It only happens when I dance with you
That trip to Heaven till the dance is through
With no one else do the Heavens seem quite so near
Why does it happen, dear, only with you?
The lyrics ringed true as far as his feelings for his friend were concerned. Heaven was his side, his home, the root of his values and yet he had come to realize that Heaven was not as a great place as it sounded, with its dubious government and the uniquely flawed character of its inhabitant. It was only when he was with Crowley, who much understood and encouraged his personality, that he felt real and perfect bliss.
Feet tapped and feathers flied and, as he sang to the notes of the heart, he reflected on how completely happy he was that night for no simpler reason than being with the one he loved.
Two cheeks together can be so divine
But only when those cheeks are yours and mine…
Meanwhile, God watched the pair from her divine residence. It had took her a disguise as a book dealer for the two of them to dance the first time and one as a German spy for the two of them to dance a second. What disguise should she put on next?