by R. E. Vance
There was a lot of work, but not all of that work was the tangible stuff of fixing and cleaning. Some of that work involved a certain human and a certain fallen angel, bonding. And who was I to stop that from happening? “Fine,” I said, “Set up the computer and get the reception desk ready. Penemue can regale you with all the tales while you do that.”
EightBall nodded and ran down the stairs to get the secondhand desktop that I bought in a garage sale.
↔
As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Penemue and asked, “Have you told him?” I didn’t need to clarify. When the GrandExodus happened, demons rose from the ground, giants tumbled down from the mountains and angels fell from the sky—all being thrown from their former homes without warning. The Others’ arrival was sudden and violent and devastating, and in the confusion, Penemue fell on EightBall’s childhood home, killing his parents.
It was terrible, but so much devastation happened in those first hours. And say what you will about Penemue, the one thing for certain was that it wasn’t the angel’s fault. You don’t blame the guy who you threw out the window for falling on your car.
But that logic never held with Penemue. “No. Not yet,” he answered with a sigh.
“Choose your moment well.”
Before he could answer, EightBall was already back, monitor in hand.
↔
The rest of the morning went pretty smoothly given that most Others don’t possess what I considered a conventional work ethic. The fairies frequently chased each other around the hotel, as the dwarves insisted on drinking beer while handling equipment that, I am positive, was labeled ‘Do not operate impaired’.
Well, at least EightBall and Penemue seemed to be getting along.
I was instructing a particular giggly fairy not to glue glitter onto the outside of the elevator doors when I heard a familiar voice say, “Hi Jean … Is now a good time?” The question was said with a kind, but nervous voice, and was punctuated by a hiss.
Crap … Medusa.
↔
Don’t get me wrong, I liked Medusa. She was an officer in the Paradise Lot police force with a bubbly personality and an infectious smile rare to most downtrodden Others. She was, indeed, one of the more affable mythical creatures to walk this new GoneGod world. The reason why I didn’t want to see Medusa was that she had a major crush on me. And I wasn’t interested. Just to be clear, it wasn’t because she was repulsive—seems that legend got that part about her all wrong. She was pretty. Beautiful, even—if you could get past the nest of live snakes on her head. Her cheeks were tanned, with plenty of freckles and two dimples that only deepened when she smiled. I don’t remember ever seeing her without those happy indentations making an appearance.
The problem was the age-old cliché of ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ In this case, that was completely true. I wasn’t interested because there is this girl whom I love very much. Her name is Bella and she died trying to make this world better. Before she died, I made her two promises …
The first promise was to help Others as they found their way in their new, mortal life.
The second was to love her in this life and the next. Both were promises I planned on keeping.
Besides, I had a ton of stuff on my ‘To-Do list’ and falling for Medusa wasn’t one of them. I mentally prepared myself to let her down easy. After all, she was relatively new to being mortal and she—like so many—was just doing her best.
I turned to face the queen of gorgons and was struck by the sight before me. The last time I saw Medusa was six months ago. Back then, she wore childish press-on nails, glossy lipstick and way too much blush. She reminded me of a teenager experimenting with accessories. A girl still growing up. But the person who stood before me was no girl. Medusa had traded in her flashy, meaningless glamor for a more natural look—light eyeliner, a bit of blush and a subtle red lipstick that highlighted her smiling lips.
She was beautiful.
Medusa stood in the foyer in her police uniform that she buttoned to the collar, her more than amble bosom pressing against her tight cop-blue blouse. Whereas before she was careless with her posture, slouching, now the gorgon stood with authority, a stance that demanded respect.
Hellelujah! I guess a lot can change in six months.
“Ahh—what are you doing here?” I said, not my best opening line ... but, cut me some slack. She was a beautiful woman and, of all the things I’m terrible at, talking to a beautiful woman topped the list.
She didn’t meet my gaze. Who could blame her? I was being a jerk.
Without looking up, Medusa handed me an envelope. “I thought I’d drop this off on my way home from work. It’s a letter from Paradise Lot officially exonerating you from the damage done to the surrounding property near the One Spire Hotel,” she said. “I thought I’d deliver the good news myself.”
It was good news, indeed. When my last hotel exploded in a very literal way, the street out front was torn up and the nearby building was damaged. For a while, it looked like I was on the hook for the damage, which meant that I would have had to live forever just to pay the fines. I took the letter and looked at a clearly disappointed Medusa. “I’m sorry, it’s just been one of those days,” I said by way of an apology. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.” Her arms rested across her chest—clearly I was not forgiven, which given that I wanted to end her crush wasn’t a bad thing. But then again—she had gone out of her way and I clearly hurt her feelings and … “You’re looking very … very professional,” I heard myself saying.
Her cheeks deepened a couple shades of red and several of her snakes hissed. Marty, the large green viper that nested near her widow’s peak, scowled at me. Marty and I have a history, and for a reptile, the guy could hold a grudge. “Thanks,” she said, “I’ve been reading a lot on how mortal women dress. Elle Magazine taught me about posture and make up, and Playboy talked about the virtues of a push-up bra.” She grabbed her lush breasts and I would have blushed, too, had not my blood gone south.
“Ahh,” I said, “I don’t think you should be reading Playboy.”
“But it is a men’s magazine and you are a man. I just thought that I’d read it to understand how you think.”
“Yes, but no … it’s not exactly the kind of magazine you should be taking advice—“
“Nonsense,” a voice with a slight Parisian accent said. “Clearly the advice she’s getting has the desired effect.” Astarte, the succubus from 3B, strolled down the stairs.
↔
When Medusa saw Astarte, she rushed over and hugged her with genuine affection—and not with the usual lust that I’ve seen so many embrace the succubus. It seems the two ladies went way back. As in pre-Christ, before agriculture kind-of way back.
Astarte looked at me with scorn in her eyes and said, “Now this sweet woman has taken time out of her day to see you. The least you can do is offer her a coffee.”
Chapter 2
Lay Me Down in a Bed of Vipers
I pointed out that I didn’t have coffee. Astarte said she had some in her room. I protested, claiming that I was far too busy to take a break. Astarte got EightBall and Penemue to promise to cover for me. I told her that my room was a mess. Astarte said hers wasn’t.
Of course, what she didn’t mention was that her room was lit in red with soft lavender incense burning, and that she had no chairs to sit on, which left the large bed or the dozen or so throw pillows on which to rest.
And her room was hot, as in take off your clothes hot.
I took off my jacket.
Astarte pulled out a tray with coffee and cakes on it and I realized that she had planned this. They had planned this. And I was a sucker stupid enough to fall for it.
All that we needed now was to be left alone, and as if reading my mind, Astarte’s phone rang. Reception—Penemue needed help with the fairies. Before I could say anything, Astarte was gone, and Medusa and I were sitting on a bed that had more firsthand carnal kn
owledge than the entire 1960s free love movement.
Hellelujah!
↔
“So,” Medusa said, absently petting Marty as she nervously looked over at me, “the coffee is good.” More of a prophecy than an observation, given that she hadn’t tasted it yet.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It is.” Hey—don’t judge me. It was good filler. “So, how’s work?”
Her eyes lit up, “Great! I got promoted and Officer Gruff thinks I got the chops to be a beat cop.”
“Chops?” I giggled, “Who does he think he is … Dick Tracy?”
“Dick?” Medusa’s eyes widened.
Being an Other, she was unaware of most pop references … and I should know enough to avoid making references to them. Especially the ones with suggestive words in the title. “It’s a comic book from the 1950’s and a word like ‘chops’ is quite archaic.” Medusa gave me a blank look. “You know … stuff like, ‘Look here, copper’ or ‘Hit the bricks’,” Medusa’s expression drained of all comprehension, “Or … oh, never mind … it was before your time.”
“Oh… OK.” Medusa looked around the room. “Astarte does have very specific tastes, doesn’t she?”
“No kidding,” I agreed.
“I remember her temple in ancient Sumer. It was kind of the same, except more candles. You know, because of not having electricity back then.” She delivered the line in a deadpan manner. “What? Before your time?” she fluttered her eyelids in mock surprise.
“Hah…” The corner of my lips took an upturn, “I deserved that.”
“Indeed, human Jean-Luc. You have a decided advantage over me having lived here all your life, but I’m learning,” she said. “For example, I’ve learned that when courting, one generally waits three dates before making love.” I choked on my coffee. “And given that this is not an official date, but rather a … non-date date, we are under no obligation to have sex.”
“Ahhh—” I started, but Medusa lifted a finger, silencing me.
“And the Tyra Banks Show taught me that not all courtships end in mating. Some end in friendship. Some end in love. Regardless, we don’t know what the future holds for us and given that we are having a coffee together in an admittedly strange setting, I’d like to just talk. Can we do that?”
I eyed the queen of gorgon, seriously impressed by how far she’d come along since I’d first met her. She was learning this world and what’s more, she was smart, brazen and direct about it. Hellelujah! I was prepared to turn down a bubbly teenager—but the woman who sat before me was far more difficult to dismiss.
I nodded in agreement.
“Good. We’ll decide on sex later.”
“Ahh—OK,” I agreed uncertainly.
↔
Over the next hour we chatted—mostly about the things she’d learned since becoming mortal. Stuff like how it was inappropriate for her snakes to bite people that annoyed her or how much she loved soft ice-cream and how everything was made better if you added marshmallows. You know, the important stuff. It was great conversation and if I’m honest with myself, I was really feeling a connection with the gorgon.
And then it happened. I didn’t intend it to, but I had let my guard down and the conversation was going so well that I didn’t notice her leaning in until it was too late. She kissed me. It was one of those firm, hard kisses—pleasant and warm. And for the moment before my brain caught up to what was happening, I kissed her back.
It probably lasted a second, but after seven years of never touching another woman’s lips, it felt like forever. It was more than that—it felt good and right, warm and safe. Like when I was with Bella. Oh crap … Bella. An image of her smiling down at me broke the spell I was under.
I pulled away from Medusa.
“Sorry,” she blushed, “I know I said we were just talking but you were giving me that look. You know—where you really look at someone and Vogue Magazine said that the modern woman isn’t afraid of making the first move. And a kiss is not sex. Teen Today says that is OK to kiss on the first date as long as it doesn’t go past first base. I don’t know what first base is, but from the context of the article, kissing isn’t past first base, it’s before it. Waaay before it and ... Oh! I’m messing this up.” She looked down in defeat, all thirty of her snakes lowering their heads in commiserative misery.
“No, Medusa. Please, you’re doing great …” I said standing up. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t ready yet, and that I might never be ready ever. I wanted to say that she was a sweet girl who would find someone or someOther who deserved her. But instead I staggered, grabbing my head in confusion as the world blurred.
“You …” I slurred. “You … Ahh … why is the room spinning?” I asked suddenly feeling very, very drunk.
Chapter 3
Snake Hickeys Never Fade
My head swam with lush thoughts of my lips on hers as I staggered about the room. My limbs felt weak and uncoordinated, my vision blurred, but even so, a long forgotten confidence surged through me.
The feeling was unmistakable. I was drunk.
And not the light buzz ‘I’m the life of the party’ tipsy. It was a full on, boastful, ‘I can conquer the world’ hammered. At that moment I would have agreed to scale a mountain or have a bare-knuckle fight with a minotaur or … I looked over at Medusa who sat in her tight, tight police uniform, her bosom standing in attention for the babes in blue.
Babes in blue?—what the hell was wrong with me?
Whatever it was, Medusa was clearly affected too, because she rolled about on the bed, her hands rubbing down the sides of her long, lush body. “You know,” she said, her finger circling as she tried to point at me, “You’re really cute for a human.” She burst out laughing, “And I should know. My first kiss was with Adonis.” The finger that had earlier failed to point at me hooked onto the top button of her blouse. With a tantalizing swirl, she undid it, revealing the nap of her soft brown neck.
She undid a second button.
Medusa was hot. I don’t just mean beautiful—I mean, pulsating, volcano erupting, hurricane inducing, Armageddon inspiring hot! The same finger that did that thing with her blouse’s button invited me to come closer.
Hellelujah!
↔
We kissed. And not just kissed. Our lips pressing hard against one another as we fell into each other, two starved lovers finally getting the chance to indulge in a buffet of lust. I held her tight in my arms, pressing her body against mine as her snakes ran through my hair as little tingly lipless mouths gently nipped at my cheeks and neck.
My head whirled with thoughts of lust and desire. Oh my god-less, it has been too long since I’ve felt the touch of another and there was so much I wanted to do, to feel. This was what poets meant when they talked about aching loins.
“Oh Jean,” she said.
“Oh Medusa,” I replied, my hands finding their way under her shirt and up to her, “OWW!” I cried out grabbing my ear.
“What? What happened?”
My fingers touched something wet and, when I looked at their tips, I saw blood. “I think Marty bit me,” I eyed the rattle snake and the smug look he gave me confirmed my suspicions.
“Oh Marty,” she hissed, continuing to unbutton her police uniform, “He probably just got lost in the moment.”
“Yeah, the moment…” my voice trailed off as she took off her shirt. I grabbed my own shirt, seeking to pull it over my chin, when the silver ring that Bella gave me the last time we met caught on the collar. I looked at the metal band, rotating it with my thumb. Oh Bella, I thought. What am I doing?
Her last words ran through my head as I stared at Medusa. ‘Be happy,’ she said. Certainly doing what Medusa wanted me to do would make me happy. At least for a little while. But still—it was only seven months ago that I learned Bella was alone in the void that once-upon-a-time was Heaven, while I was stuck, mortal on Earth. I have been told by an entity who happened to be present at the beginning of time that it was dam
n-near impossible for us to be together again. But damn-near impossible is not impossible.
But Medusa was here and now … While I stood looking at the ring, I hardly noticed Medusa undoing my belt buckle and pulling down my pants. OK—if I’m honest, it was more like I pretended not to notice as the debate played itself out.
Just when I was about to succumb to the here and now, the door burst open and Astarte rushed in. “Jean! There’s something going on that is not…” she stopped, noticing the topless Medusa that sat on her bed. With a lustful smile, she disrobed with an unnatural speed. “Oh, this reminds me of Atlantis.”
“What … Just like that … you walk in and start taking off your clothes?” I said.
“Oh, Jean—two is a moment, but three … that is an event.” She let the last word linger like the vibrations of a recently rung bell.
“I don’t want an … an event!” I said getting up to my feet as I pulled up my pants. Rather, I tried to pull up my pants but only managed to get them over my knees before falling face first onto the ground.
Medusa burst out laughing, her finger unsteadily pointing at me, “You … you … fell!” she shrieked between drunken guffaws.
Turning over with all the grace of a beached turtle, I managed to get my pants on and—still on my back—pointed up at the half naked succubus. “What’s going on?”
Astarte shrugged as she fell into Medusa and said, “Who cares?”
“No,” I said with far too much force in my voice, “You came in here to tell me something. What was it?”
Astarte looked at me in annoyance. “Silly, stubborn human. Fine … I came in here to inform you that everyone is acting weird out there. Like they’re all … they’re all … Oh Marty,” she said petting the snake, “How have you been?”
