Why are you doing this to me? To us?” Jessica sobbed. Her body collapsed on her desk, her sandy-brown hair covering her face and her arm scattering a plethora of travel brochures onto the ground. “I’ve been good to you. I’ve taken care of you. I’ve loved you with all I am and more, and this is how you repay me?”
Silence reigned in her one-bedroom apartment, and Jessica pushed herself up. She brushed the hair out of her tear-stained face, grabbed a recently opened Diet Coke, and was about to curse her betrayer, her Nikon D5 DSLR camera, to the fiery pits of hell when her cell phone rang. Had the caller ID not shown it was her editor, and had she not already known he’d call her nonstop until she picked up, she’d have let voicemail answer.
“Hi, Chris,” she said, picking up the line. “How are you?”
“Wonderful. Couldn’t be better,” he said. His words were fast and a half octave higher than normal, which meant the truth was opposite to what he was saying. “I wanted to see how your trip went now that you’re back and settled in.”
“I’ve been home not even a half hour,” Jessica replied. “Hardly settled.”
“Long enough for you to update your Facebook and Twitter,” he said. “Good enough for me.”
Jessica stifled a sigh and smacked her head. Of course he saw that, but at the time, she was on cloud nine and eager to download a slew of pictures from her camera. Now she was in a pit of despair with a corrupt memory card and one, maybe two salvageable shots at best. “I know, but I’d love to get a shower before I sit down and talk shop for an hour, if that’s okay with you.”
“You don’t need my permission,” Chris said with a nervous chuckle. “I’ll get right to it then. How did the shoot go?”
“Good.”
“Good? That’s it? Not amazing? Fantastic? The best thing since sliced bread?”
Jessica’s gut tightened. Did she dare tell him the truth? No. Not yet. Not while there was some slim chance someone could rescue the pictures off her SD card. Who did she know that could work miracles? Someone on her friend’s list, for certain. She decided to run with that. “Shoot was all that and more. You’re going to flip out, I promise.”
“You hesitated.”
“You’re reading too much into this,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “You’ll have a gorgeous spread for the next journal.”
Chris let out a soft whistle. “Wonderful. Sorry if I was a little uptight. Some of the execs got on me for okaying the trip, said it wasn’t a good use of company resources to fund a month-long excursion to Indonesia.”
“That figures,” she muttered.
“No worries though,” he said. “Send me what you’ve got. I’m sure they’ll be happy.”
“No. You know I don’t give anything out before the post-processing is done.”
“Tomorrow is fine.”
“Do you know how long it takes to get one shot done?”
“Do you know what they’re going to do to us both if I tell them to wait?”
Jessica groaned. “I’ll work tonight and give you one shot tomorrow,” she said, doublechecking that yes indeed, one file on her card was still readable. “It’ll be a week before I can get all the rest done. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. But I need those shots a week from today.”
“You’ll get them,” she said before ending the call.
Jessica leaned back in her chair and cleared her eyes. Tension mounted in her shoulders and neck, and her head lolled to the side. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of a hairy eight-legged creature climbing the glass side of its tank.
“What?” she said to her pet tarantula. “I’ll think of something. I’ve got a few days. Worst case is what? I fly back out to Indonesia on my own dime, live off credit cards, and declare bankruptcy in time for Christmas, right?”
Mr. Peepers stayed silent, which was fine with her. As much as she loved her pet—the easiest thing she’d ever cared for when it came to a critter—given the day she’d had thus far, she might have thrown herself out the window had it talked.
The doorbell rang. And again. And again, and again. Figuring things couldn’t get worse and it might be cathartic to behead whoever was soliciting whatever at her door, Jessica answered it.
There, standing at the foot of her door, was a man dressed as if he were about to run the Boston Marathon, jogging lightly in place with two fingers pressed into the inside of his wrist.
“Jessica Turner?” he asked.
“Yes,” she warily replied.
“The same Jessica Turner who once courted a Mr. Alexander Weiss?”
Her jaw dropped. That was a name she hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Thought of? Yes. But heard? No. Well, not counting the news report she’d seen this morning at the airport about his untimely demise that was tied to a mysterious, skydiving whale.
“Is that a yes?” the man asked.
Jessica nodded, her mind still trying to get a handle on the ton of weird that had been dumped on her today.
“Message for you,” he said as he shoved a clipboard into her chest. “Sign here.”
Jessica signed on a line that was below a slew of other signatures, handed it back to the man, and then took the scroll he gave her. It read:
Aphrodite, patron of Cyprus and Goddess of Love, to the lovely Jessica Turner, photographer of all things beautiful and dear friend to Alexander Weiss. I have written to request your presence at a wedding in Olympus. Compensation for your time in monies, adventure, and whatever else your heart desires will gladly be provided.
P.S. Don’t forget your camera.
Jessica folded the parchment in half and looked at the man with the same look she gave one of her coworkers when he claimed he used to hunt grizzlies in Africa with a bowie knife. “I don’t know what game you’re playing or who you’re with, but I don’t appreciate you using my dead friend like that.”
“No game here.”
“Mhmm,” she said, crossing her arms. “I suppose that makes you Hermes, right?”
Hermes bowed. “The one and only. Now can we get moving? I still have twelve hundred deliveries to make before sunset.” When she balked, he outstretched his hand and added, “Take it if you don’t believe me.”
Jessica eyed him. He did have an air of…regality surrounding him, even if he looked like a fitness freak. And the wings on his shoes were a nice touch to his story. And they did look feathery, and incredibly authentic for ancient Greek footwear. But this was nonsense. There was no way this guy was a god. There was no way Aphrodite was real, or even if she was, that she’d extend her an invitation to a wedding in Olympus (though she did admit to herself that such an opportunity would be nothing short of amazing should it come her way).
Hermes dangled her Nikon D5 in front of her face. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got you packed.”
* * *
Alex sat on a cold stone bench at the center of Olympus’s largest garden. He was flanked on either side by the bright flowers of countless pomegranates, laurels and jacarandas. Although their fragrances were pleasing, and the breeze that blew through them was refreshing, they did little to restore his peace of mind. He longed an intact piano that he could play to reduce his stress, but instead of playing Schubert or Beethoven, he was now entangled in the affairs of the gods, his wedding was imminent, and Phorcys had just joined him.
“For the first time in eons, I am at a loss of words,” The Old Man said while his claws clacked loudly at his side. “My daughter is to be wed within the hour, and while my heart should be overflowing, it is not.”
“Not due to anything I’ve done, I hope,” Alex said.
Phorcys slithered behind Alex and draped a heavy claw over his shoulder. “Not in what you’ve done, but who you are.”
“Who I am?”
“Yes, who you are.” The Old Man put his other claw on Alex’s other shoulder. “You are not what I had envisioned for Euryale, but I cannot deny that she’s determined to love you more than any other.”
Alex swallowed and shifted under Phorcys’ pinchers, hoping he wouldn’t be sheared in two. “I thought you wanted her to find someone.”
“Ultimately, yes,” he answered. “And that is why I remind myself that her desires trump mine in this matter. But that doesn’t mean I must like it.”
Alex didn’t know what to say, and he’d learned not long ago that the wrong words to an Olympian could be far worse than no words at all. Thus he stayed silent as The Old Man came around and halted directly in front of Alex’s feet.
“I have only one question, Alex,” he said. “Will you love my daughter more than I love the sea?”
“Euryale has me smitten,” Alex replied. That much was true, regardless of how short an amount of time they’d spent together. She was easy to be around, intelligent, quick witted, appreciative of art, and in great shape. And though the snakes had freaked him out at first, they didn’t bother him at all now. “I can only pray that the love I have for her now will pale compared to the love I’ll have for her tomorrow.”
“Flowery words mean little to me.” Phorcys said. “Love does not pull a man like the currents pull a ship, rather it is an action—a dedication—like a captain intent on reaching port through any storm.”
“Of course,” Alex said. “When the heart beats for another, what can get in its way?”
“Do not confuse reaction with action,” Phorcys said, much to Alex’s surprise. “I do not take kindly to those who hurt my daughters. Do you have any idea what I would do to you if you broke her heart?”
“I think I can imagine.”
“No, mortal, you cannot,” The Old Man replied, shaking his head. “I have fed blasphemers to the leviathan, piece by piece, who would now sing my praises for eternity had I placed them on Prometheus’ slab. Unless you wish to join them, do not cross me.”
“I have no intentions of doing that,” Alex replied. “Aside from keeping Euryale happy, what do you expect of me?”
Phorcys slapped him playfully on the side. “Rise to the challenge and tame the sea-born storm, Alex,” he said with a hearty laugh. “Or will you let your frail father-in-law intimidate you forever? Think where we’d be if Zeus had not stood up to his father, Cronos.”
Alex straightened and his brow furrowed. “You’d like me more if we argued?”
“I’d like you more if you would stop acting like a cowardly potter from Athens,” he replied, smacking Alex again. “You’re a son now, or will be shortly. Our family reigns with strength and power. We stretch lines across the shore and tell the waters how far they can go. The Scylla heels at our command, and fissures open at our whim. I’ll not have you be our weak link in Olympus.”
“Easy to say when you’re a god,” Alex pointed out. “Seems whenever I stand up for myself with any of you I’m either chained to a rock or threatened with some other everlasting torture.”
“Respect, Alex,” The Old Man explained. “A difference of opinion is one thing, but even the saltiest captain respects the power of the sea and dares not risk incurring her wrath.”
“So, you’re saying…” Alex said, his voice trailing off and his mind not sure where this was headed.
“Be mindful what steers your tongue,” Phorcys said. “Contempt will not be suffered by any of us, but neither will cowardice find our favor. Polite disagreement is what you must strive for.”
Alex grinned as his newest thought lightened his mood. “You’re telling me that if you ask something of me and I tell you to stuff it up your ass, respectfully, you wouldn’t care?”
“Stuff it up my ass?” The Old Man repeated the line once more before moving on, puzzlement never leaving his face. “Your kind has some interesting retorts. The imagery is unique to say the least.”
“So, you wouldn’t care?”
“Words do not bother us, Alex,” Phorcys stated. “Actions and attitudes do. The sooner you learn that, the easier of a time you will have. Surely the senators of your land would model such behavior. Perhaps you should learn from their wisdom.”
“I can’t stand politicians,” Alex commented. “All they care about is appearances. They’re completely incompetent at what they do. If they spent their time actually practicing their craft instead of writing stump speeches, the world would be a much better place.”
“Yet they know that even their enemies must be addressed properly,” Phorcys said as he brought Alex to his feet. “You’ve got a long way to go to be the son-in-law I desire, but worry not. As my gift to you both, I’ll craft you into a true champion, one who carries the favor of all the gods, as well as the finest of fishermen. The Charybdis will swallow your foes, and the tides will lap at your feet.”
“I’d rather have my Steinway.”
Phorcys grunted. Whether it was a grunt of indifference or disgust, Alex couldn’t tell. Instead of continuing the discussion, The Old Man led Alex down the garden path and back toward the festivities. As the two walked, Alex tried to imagine what eternity with Euryale would be like. He wondered what their home would be like, and if they would have children. More importantly, he wondered if they would have snakes for hair and whether or not they would turn their playmates to stone.
Phorcys halted outside the colonnade of the Banquet Hall. His jaw tightened and his claws snapped.
“What?” asked Alex.
“I smell the perfume of the goddess.” The Old Man took another whiff of the air. “She draws near.”
“Who? Athena?” asked Alex. Before Phorcys could respond, Alex had his answer. It was not Athena. A different goddess approached, clad in a thin, red, silk garment that did little to conceal a figure that could only have been forged in the heavens. As the goddess walked toward the two, her golden hair bounced playfully, and her eyes drew Alex into a world of blissful captivity and lust.
“Fortune is mine today,” she said, coming to a stop before the pair. The tip of her tongue grazed her lips. “How often does a girl find exactly who she is looking for?”
“Aphrodite?” asked Alex, unable to imagine any other name that would fit.
“He’s as smart as he is handsome,” the goddess said to The Old Man while tousling Alex’s hair. “I see why your daughter likes him.”
Phorcys took a half step forward. “Have you come to celebrate or have you a storm brewing behind that smile?”
“I’ve come to see who would be married without my say,” Aphrodite answered. “Rumors abound that Athena had her hand in this. I’m here to learn the truth of such whispers.”
Phorcys put himself between Alex and the goddess, and for the first time since Alex had met the god, he was grateful for The Old Man’s bulk. “I forced her hand,” Phorcys said. “I found it a fitting punishment for what she did to Stheno.”
“No need to be defensive, love,” Aphrodite answered, running a hand up The Old Man’s chest. “My quarrel is not with you, and may the hearts of Euryale and Alex forever yearn for one another. But I do have a score to settle with my troublesome sister.”
Phorcys remained steadfast in the face of the eternal flirt. “You shall bring no ill wind to either my daughter or son-in-law. Bring your grievances to Athena directly and leave us be.”
“You have nothing to fear, Old Man,” she purred, making Alex’s hairs stand on end. “When has my tongue spoken deceit?”
The Old Man laughed. “Your tongue has been entwined with many others, despite your vows to your husband.”
“My personal business is my own,” she shot back. The anger faded from both her face and her tone, and Aphrodite continued. “Despite your opinions on my affairs, I have never broken an oath or given curses in lieu of blessings. I only wish to bestow the greatest of pleasures upon our dear Alex.”
Alex stepped forth from behind Phorcys. “What do you want of me?”
“Only to listen to a gentle reminder,” she replied. “Though it’s one I hesitate to say, for I fear it might hurt you.”
Alex cocked his head to the side. Though he knew he was completely enamored with her already, he couldn’t imagine what words she might speak that he wouldn’t savor. She could ask him to gnaw off his arm and he was certain his only reply would be if she wanted that done above or below the elbow.
“I’ll take your silence to mean you’re eager to hear,” she said, toying with her hair. “Know this, Alex. The love you have for Euryale is like the rose that has been planted haphazardly, whose roots are not strong.”
Alex felt his mouth run dry, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. “I don’t follow.”
Aphrodite took his hand and pulled him close. She brought her forehead to rest against his and ignored The Old Man’s roll of the eyes. “I wish you the best in your marriage, Alex. But Athena may have erred in bringing you and your wife together as quickly as she did, despite her best intentions. Marriages have trouble, and the love required for them takes time to grow. Thus, I fear, when trouble comes, the rose that is your love will die with the storm, for your love for one another never truly took hold.”
“No,” Alex said, shaking his head.
Aphrodite placed a finger on his lips and drew him in with her eyes once more. “Fret not, sweet Alex,” she purred. “Come to me, if the need arises, and I shall see that the both of you are eternally happy. Understood?”
“Understood,” he repeated.
Aphrodite closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his cheek. Alex’s mind went to mush, and a few moments later she pulled back, running her fingers through his hair. “Promise you won’t forget?”
“I promise,” Alex mindlessly repeated.
“Good.” she replied. She then threw The Old Man a wink. “I’ll see you boys inside.”
As she left, Phorcys smacked Alex in the back of the head.
“What the hell was that for?” asked Alex after he stumbled.
“For looking at her as you should Euryale,” The Old Man explained. “Even if Aphrodite is irresistible, don’t ever do it again.”
“Oh Alex,” Aphrodite said, stopping a half step before disappearing inside. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I brought you a guest,” she said.
Alex turned, and his heart skipped at least two beats. Coming down the garden path was Jessica with her hair in a bun and life radiating from her eyes. Her hands clung to her camera while a Tiffany Blue cocktail dress clung to her body. Alex wanted to say something, anything, but she tied his tongue the very same she had on the first day of the school year, when he’d gotten assigned to sit next to the new girl.