A Lee Martinez

by Divine Misfortune (v5)

  “Why not?” said Bonnie.

  Janet wasn’t usually intimidated by the gods. She had enough experience with powers to remove most of the mystery and romance from the divine. She’d mingled with gods. Flirted with a few. And screwed several. But she’d never been on a date with a god. Not a real date.

  She realized this on the drive to the restaurant, and for the first time ever, she wasn’t sure what to say.

  “So…” She started without having any other part of the sentence mapped out. Her improvisational skills abandoned her.

  “So…” replied Lucky.

  They didn’t say anything for a few minutes. The radio didn’t even have the consideration to fill the silence with music. Instead, it played commercials. Janet flipped through the channels, but the radio refused to cooperate and she finally gave up, stopping on an Oracle Friends’ Network ad.

  Lucky snorted. “That is such a scam.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned closer. “Nobody has had a destiny in a thousand years. Not an official destiny anyway. Things got too big for that a long time ago. It was a lot easier to preconfigure the paths of fate when there weren’t so damn many of you mortals running around. Now it’s pretty much impossible. I think the last guy the Fates tried to guide was Gary Hamelin. And we all know how that worked out.”

  “Never heard of him,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, my mom swears by them. Said they helped her find some lost keys one time.”

  “Oh, yeah, they’re good for stuff like that, I suppose. Just don’t expect them to be infallible. It’s a good way to end up doing life in a Peruvian prison.”

  “Gary Hamelin?” she asked.

  “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

  They shared a light chuckle, and for a moment, Janet thought the ice was broken. They’d already hung out, already slept together. But there was still an uncomfortable aura around this date.

  “Why did you ask me out?” It’d been on her mind for a while now, though she hadn’t intended on inquiring. But she was desperate for any conversational thread, and this one just sprang spontaneously.

  “Oh, no reason. Why did you say yes?”

  “I had a choice? I thought if I refused you’d transform me into a spider or a flower or something like that.”

  “Fruit basket.”

  “What?”

  “I usually transform people into fruit baskets.”

  She studied him from the corner of her eye, noticing the slight smirk on his muzzle.

  “Oh, you are so full of shit,” she said. “You don’t do that.”

  “You got me. And you’re full of it, too. You didn’t say yes because you were worried about being smote by a disappointed god.”

  “Okay, so you got me,” she admitted. “So you would’ve been disappointed if I’d said no?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think gods dated mortals much anymore. Not like official date dates. If you know what I mean.”

  “Kind of fell out of fashion,” he admitted. “Mind if I turn up the radio?”

  “No, no. Go ahead.”

  “Dancing Queen” came out of the radio. Lucky’s ears fell flat. “Oh, Tiamat, I hate this song.”

  “Go ahead and change it.”

  “Thanks.” He fiddled with the tuner until he found a song that pleased him. “That’s better.”

  “’Waterloo?’”

  “Yeah,” said Lucky. “Great song.”

  “But isn’t ‘Waterloo’ by ABBA?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And isn’t ’Dancing Queen’ by ABBA?”

  “Correctamundo.”

  “And don’t they sound almost identical?” asked Janet.

  “What’s’a matter? Don’t you like ABBA?”

  “Who doesn’t like ABBA?” said Janet.

  “Hecate,” said Lucky. “Huge Bee Gees fan. But what can you expect from a goddess of darkness?”

  “Don’t change the subject. You were just telling me that you like ‘Waterloo’ but not ’Dancing Queen.’ Even though, by and large, they’re the same song. At least stylistically.”

  “Oh, sure, stylistically,” agreed Lucky. “But ’Dancing Queen’ is a vapid little emptiness. ’Waterloo,’ on the other hand, is a noble study into humanity, a continuation of the great Greek tragedy tradition. Yet it’s also a triumph of the mortal spirit, an unwillingness to surrender against the inevitable darkness, and even an ability to find comfort in defeat.” He snapped his fingers along with the tune. “She can’t refuse, but at least she feels like she wins when she loses. Think about it.”

  “Oh, I will,” said Janet with strained sincerity.

  “Music has always been the greatest expression of mortal philosophy,” continued Lucky. “The path to enlightenment is found in the lyrics of Spinal Tap.”

  “That’s not even a real band. Next you’ll be extolling the virtues of the Monkees.”

  “Nah. Every ounce of the Monkees’ artistic merit left with Peter Tork.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  He flashed a devilish smile. “You’ll just have to figure that out on your own.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Usually, but most mortals are either too awed or too afraid to call me on it. Take Phil and Teri. They’re good kids, but they’re always walking on eggshells around me.”

  “But I don’t,” she said.

  “No, you don’t. You’re a rare breed of mortal, Janet. You aren’t afraid and you aren’t disdainful. No pressure. No expectations. You have no idea how attractive we gods find that in a mortal.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Plus, you’ve got a great ass.”

  Janet gave him a light slap on the shoulder. “I do believe you’re going to make me blush, Mr. Luck God.”

  Bonnie tailed Lucky and Janet to an Italian restaurant. The god and his date went inside while Bonnie and Syph waited in the parking lot for a few minutes.

  “What now?” asked Syph.

  “Now, we go in.”

  “Isn’t that a bit rude?”

  Under ordinary circumstances, Bonnie wouldn’t have considered it. But she was fighting for her life here. Good manners were a restriction she was willing to ignore. She was actually hoping for an ugly scene. Anything to snap Syph out of her funk.

  They were in luck. The place was busy and the hostess offered them the only available table, which was within view of Lucky, who sat in a booth with his back to them. It gave her time to think this through.

  The waiter, Steve, spilled out tonight’s drink specials. Bonnie didn’t pay attention. She cut him off, ordering a beer.

  “And you, ma’am?” Steve asked Syph.

  The goddess offered no reply. Her unblinking stare focused on Janet.

  “She’ll take a water,” said Bonnie.

  “Great. Can I interest you in some appetizers?”

  “Just the drinks right now. Thanks.” Bonnie nudged him aside to get a better view. He took the hint and went to the kitchen.

  Lucky and Janet shared a laugh.

  Syph scowled. The wax bubbled on the small candle in the center of the table, and its flame turned black.

  Bonnie fanned the flames, metaphorically.

  “They certainly seem to be having a good time.”

  The goddess tore ten long slashes in the tablecloth and wood with her fingernails. A spiderweb of black and blue veins darkened her face and neck. She literally hissed.

  “That bitch.”

  “Hold on,” said Bonnie. “Don’t you think you’re aiming your wrath at the wrong target?”

  “Who does she think she is?”

  Steve returned with their drinks. Syph ran her finger along the edge of her glass, and the water boiled.

  “Can I take your order now?” asked Steve.

  “Two specials,” said Bonnie qu
ickly.

  “Ma’am, we don’t have any specials.”

  “We’ll take the enchiladas then.”

  “We don’t serve—”

  She grabbed his pad. “Steve, we are in the middle of something important. I don’t know if you’re really that oblivious or you haven’t noticed that this is a goddess of tragedy and she’s in a really, really bad mood. Either way, why don’t you just bring us whatever you like best?”

  “Actually, I don’t eat here. Confidentially, I hate Italian food. And the cook doesn’t wear a hairnet.”

  Bonnie ground her teeth. “Spaghetti. We’ll take two orders of spaghetti.”

  “Meat sauce or marinara?”

  “You’re screwing with me.”

  “A little bit,” admitted Steve.

  Janet flipped her hair and scratched Lucky’s ear.

  Syph slammed her fists on the table and the entire restaurant rattled. Every candle on every table erupted, sending up geysers of flame, melting the plastic holders, and scorching the ceiling.

  Everyone in the restaurant, including Lucky, looked in Syph’s direction.

  “Spaghetti,” said Steve. “Got it.” He bolted for the kitchen.

  Lucky stood and started walking over to the table.

  Bonnie whispered to Syph, “Be strong.”

  He stood before them.

  “Hi,” Bonnie said and immediately regretted it.

  Syph pushed forth a smile. “Oh, hi, Lucky.”

  He took a seat at the table, steepled his fingers, and frowned. “What are you doing here, Syph?”

  She fiddled with her fork. “Nothing.”

  Bonnie wondered if she should say something, but she decided to let the situation unfurl on its own. She would’ve excused herself, but she had a vested interest in how it turned out.

  Lucky’s ears fell flat. “Syph…”

  “We’re just having dinner,” replied the goddess lightly, unable to look in his direction. “This is Bonnie. She’s my follower.”

  “Syph…”

  “We’re allowed to have dinner!” said Syph a bit too eagerly. “I don’t care what that restraining order says.”

  Caught in mid-drink, Bonnie sputtered and choked.

  “We’ve been over this,” said Lucky. “I get North and South America, Asia, and Antarctica. You get Africa, Europe, and Australia.”

  Syph spoke into her chest. “Australia is barely a continent.”

  “Fine. I’ll trade you Antarctica for Australia if it bothers you so much.”

  “Whatever. I’ve been thinking. We’re two mature, immortal beings. We should be able to work this out in a reasonable way without all the drama, right?”

  “We should,” said Lucky suspiciously.

  “Honestly, I don’t even see what the big deal is. Maybe I overreacted a bit at first, but that was before I realized that you’ll come to your senses. Eventually. All I have to do is be patient.”

  “Fine. Be patient. Just be patient somewhere else.”

  Syph laughed. She tried to pass it off as casual and light, but it was forced and high-pitched.

  “You always were a witty one.” She nodded at Janet. “Who is that?”

  “Nobody,” said Lucky.

  “Is she your date? Are you dating a mortal?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I can’t believe you’d actually stoop to dating a mortal.” Syph chuckled coldly and elbowed Bonnie in the ribs. “What century is this anyway?”

  Bonnie made a noncommittal gruntish sort of noise.

  Lucky forced an impatient smile. “She’s nice.”

  “I’m sure she is,” said Syph. “She’s also doomed to dust.”

  “Syph…”

  The goddess threw up her hands. “It’s true, isn’t it? She is mortal, after all. They all find their way into the grave sooner or later. Usually sooner.”

  Lucky stood on the chair, put his hands on the table, and leaned forward. “You’ll leave her alone.”

  “Of course, of course. She seems lovely, doesn’t she, Bonnie?”

  Bonnie stuck her beer in her mouth by way of reply.

  Lucky’s fur bristled as an electrical crackle passed between the god and goddess. The dim lighting flickered.

  The manager, a tall woman in a pantsuit, approached the table.

  “I’m sorry. Is there a problem here?”

  Bonnie expected the manager to be blasted to atoms by a withering glance from the god and goddess. Lucky and Syph both smiled.

  “No problem.” He hopped off the chair. “Just a couple of old friends catching up. Nice to see you, Syph. Sorry you couldn’t stay longer.” He walked away, and all the divine energies dissipated from the atmosphere.

  The manager exhaled, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She made an offering of complimentary bread sticks to the goddess, but Bonnie turned them down. She grabbed Syph by the arm and dragged her out of the restaurant. Syph protested, but Bonnie ignored her. She knew it wasn’t at all wise to manhandle a goddess, but she didn’t care. She shoved Syph into the car and didn’t say another word until she’d driven a few miles away.

  “I was actually looking forward to the spaghetti,” said Syph.

  “What just happened in there?” Bonnie tried to keep the edge from her voice, but it didn’t work.

  “I talked to him. Just like you wanted me to.”

  “That wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  Bonnie was so distracted, she ran a red light and was nearly hit by a truck.

  Syph suggested, “You might want to drive carefully when your passenger is a goddess of tragedy. You never know when a bus full of orphans is nearby.”

  Bonnie pulled into a supermarket parking lot.

  “What was that thing he mentioned? Something about a restraining order?”

  “Oh, that.” Syph folded her arms and shrugged. “That’s nothing. Just a little misunderstanding, that’s all. I did some things, some embarrassing things. Maybe I overreacted when we had our problems. I admit that. Anyway, it’s not a restraining order per se. It’s more of a voluntary territorial division arbitrated by the Court of Divine Affairs.” Syph turned her head away and mumbled, “More silly than anything else.”

  “What did you do?” asked Bonnie despite herself.

  “Oh, I just kept him from making any mistakes until he realizes he really does love me. Lucky always did fancy the mortals a bit too much. I just helped him to understand how fleeting their affections were.”

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? To him. That’s why he wasn’t surprised to see you.”

  “It was your idea to talk to him,” said Syph. “Really, it’s your fault.”

  “I notice you didn’t mention the restraining order—”

  “Voluntary territorial division,” corrected the goddess.

  “This is what you do? You follow this god around, ruining his love life, along with whatever random mortals you come across?”

  “You make it sound so…”

  “Pathetic?” interrupted Bonnie.

  “The pursuit of love is never pathetic.”

  Bonnie laid her head on the wheel and laughed for a solid minute.

  “And to think that I was actually feeling sorry for you earlier tonight. Now I find out you’ve devoted your endless life to making everyone as miserable as you are.”

  “You don’t understand, Bonnie. The path to true love is never easy. Not even for immortals. He loves me. I know he does, even if he doesn’t. If I can help him to realize that then everything will work out the way it was always meant to.”

  “Okay, you’re creeping me out now. Do you have any idea how unbalanced that sounds? You can’t make someone love you.”

  Syph chuckled lightly. “Don’t be absurd. Of course I can. I’m the goddess of love.”

  “More like the goddess of stalkers,” replied Bonnie. “Did you ever stop to think that if you’d just let this go, stop fixating on
this one rejection as the defining moment of your unending life, that you might be able to leave this trail of doom and gloom behind you? Maybe what happened to you has nothing to do with Lucky. Maybe it’s your own damned fault for refusing to move on.”

  Syph’s brow furrowed. Her jaw clenched.

  “You just don’t get it, do you? But you’ll see. I’ll show you.”

  She stared straight ahead at a little old lady carrying a bag of groceries in front of the parked car. The bottom of the sack fell out, spilling oranges, a carton of eggs, and a jar of jelly that shattered on the pavement.

  “Oh for cryin’…” Bonnie exited the car and helped the woman salvage what groceries she could. When she returned to the car, the goddess was gone. Gone, but not forgotten. The heaviness still weighed on Bonnie’s heart. And three words were burned into the pleather cushions of the passenger seat.

  I’ll show you.

  14

  Over the next few weeks, things fell into place for Teri and Phil.

  Lucky spent less and less time at the house. His dates with Janet grew more frequent, and he usually slept over at her place four or five times a week. They spent more time with Quick than with their own god. Sometimes they would go days without seeing Lucky at all, with only rumpled Hawaiian shirts in the hamper to tell them he’d popped in for a visit and grabbed a shower and something to eat before heading back to Janet’s place.

  When they suggested that Quick use the guest room, he refused. The room was more than just a closet full of Lucky’s clothes and an unused bed. It was the shrine to their god, the sacred space devoted to his appeasement. Even if he didn’t use it for much, it still counted as tribute.

  Quick was stuck on the sofa, but he was quiet and a decent cook. And he was considerate enough to leave the house every so often to give them their privacy. Usually, he’d just go for a slither around the block for a few hours or sit in the backyard with a glass of tomato juice and a book. It wasn’t very godlike behavior, but he had long ago abandoned the ways of tribute and favor.

  “I’m just trying to get my head together,” he’d explained. “I don’t really need to mess around with that game right now.”