13
The Groom Wore Wings
Melanie Fletcher
“There you are!”
The Greek god Debris lowered his Prada sunglasses, blinking at the sea nymph in front of him. “Lisa?” he said in unfeigned delight. “Sweetie, you look fabulous!”
His twin brother Detritus (also Greek, also a god) slid his own designer eyewear up just to be different, eyeing the leggy brunette. “Girlfriend, you are looking on point,” he said in approval. “Kate Spade?”
“Kay Unger,” Lisa said, glancing down at her dress. “But that’s not important right now. I need your help.”
It was common knowledge in the Greek pantheon that the Nereid Ligea, with her sisters Iaera and Pasithea, had made quite the splash in human society by founding It’s Divine Event Services. The company had quickly become the premier party-planning service in south Florida, with the trio of sea nymphs (now known among mortals as Lisa, Jennifer, and Patricia) using their magic to fulfill the demands of the fussiest society hostess or whacked-out Bridezilla.
Debris and Detritus had recently helped the Nereids out on a particularly sticky wedding. The challenges had included a couple who were up-and-coming Hollywood stars with accompanying egos, paparazzi-piloted drones peeking into hotel room windows, the alcoholic mother of the groom who loathed the bride with a passion, a pre-ceremony fistfight among the bridesmaids over who was going to nab the Oscar-nominated and exceedingly well-hung best man, and floral table decorations unexpectedly infested by fire ants.
While the Nereids managed the engaged couple, drunken mother, and unwanted drones, Debris had whipped up stunning replacement table settings after a quick visit to Publix, and Detritus had spiked the bridesmaids’ hopes by seducing the best man in the church’s basement. It had been a ball.
Both gods leaned forward. “Is it another wedding?” Debris said hopefully.
Lisa settled on the end of Debris’ lounge. “Sorry, sweetie, no,” she apologized. “But all three of us are swamped so I really need someone to help out who can handle the supernatural.”
Both twins’ eyebrows rose at that. “Supernatural how?” Detritus asked.
“You’ll understand when you meet my client. Please, just go and chat with her. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll understand, but I think you’ll change your mind once you meet her.”
The Nereid held out a Post-it note. Debris plucked the pink paper out of her hand, frowning at the words written on it. “Shady Oaks Nursing Home?”
The old lady seated in the recliner gave them a sassy grin. “I know this must be a little unusual for a company like It’s Divine, but—”
“Unusual is our forte,” Debris declared, plucking the woman’s spotted hand off the armrest and giving it a gallant kiss. “So you want us to throw you an eightieth birthday party.”
“Yes. And I want it somewhere fun with a specific DJ to provide the music. I want my friends here to come, but I also want it to be open to the public. This needs to be one hell of a party, and not just for old farts.”
“I see.” Debris pursed his lips in thought. The request itself didn’t sound too difficult. Putting together a rave was something he and Detritus could do in their sleep.
It was the person making the request who was unusual. Captain Margaret Henderson (Army Nursing Corps, retired) looked delicate and frail in the crocheted afghan wrapped around her bird-like body. But her eyes were bright, and her manner was just as alert and forceful as it must have been back when she was in charge of Army nurses during the Vietnam War. Age hadn’t weakened her mind or personality, and she knew exactly what she wanted when it came to her birthday party. It had to be loud, fun, and full of good dance music, and at some point during the festivities, she wanted the DJ to play her favorite song.
Neither Debris nor Detritus mentioned the other notable thing about Miz Maggie, as she told them to call her, but it was obvious to those who could see beyond the mortal veil.
Somewhere in her past, Captain Henderson had been loved by something divine, as evidenced by the streaks of purest white in her aura. It explained why Lisa had wanted to take this job. Earning the goodwill of other divine creatures, even those not in your own pantheon, was always a smart tactic.
“I think we can do that,” Debris continued, twirling his sunglasses around by one earpiece as he ran through possibilities. “There’s a new club that’s just about to open down on Clematis. I think I can call in some favors and get them to host us as a pre-opening party—”
“Okay, Miz Maggie, I got your lunch—” A handsome Latino orderly with a tray backed into the room, turning and blinking when he saw Debris and Detritus. “Aw, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had guests. I’ll bring this back later.”
“Don’t you move, Arturo,” Maggie ordered, waving him in. “Boys, this is Arturo Rojas, one of the best damn orderlies I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. Arturo, this is Detritus and Debris. They’re with It’s Divine Events.”
Arturo’s eyes widened even more. “Oh, wow. You guys did the Chris Payne and Selena Alvarado wedding!”
Detritus batted his eyelashes. “Not to mention the best man.”
Maggie gave her orderly a fond look. “So they know their stuff?”
Arturo nodded like a bobblehead doll. “They throw some of the best damn parties in south Florida,” he said, enthused. “Damn, Miz Maggie, I had no idea you knew them.”
“Well, I just met them,” Maggie said. “And it’s a good thing you’re here. Boys, Arturo’s boyfriend Reese is the DJ I want for my party.”
To the gods’ surprise, the orderly reacted as if the little old lady had punched him. “Uh, Miz Maggie, I don’t know about that,” he mumbled. “I mean, Reese is good, but—a party? You know what he’s like.”
She waved off the objection. “Sweetheart, you know I love Reese’s stuff,” she said. “It’s time the rest of the world heard it, too. You just leave all the details to me and these nice boys here. Now put that tray down and scoot.”
With another concerned look at Debris and Detritus, the orderly did as he was told. Once he was gone, Detritus leaned forward and said, “So, what’s the catch?”
Miz Maggie’s eyes twinkled. “I knew you boys were smart.”
Catch One was Miss Delilah Montgomery, the manager of Shady Oaks Retirement Home. Or as Maggie referred to her, “Der Commandant.” Miss Montgomery ran the retirement home on rails and according to her own strict views on propriety.
Maggie said that she had approached Miss Montgomery with the idea of holding the party in the home’s entertainment room. Der Commandant had refused on the grounds that dancing, alcohol, dance music, late night dilly-dallying, or anything that raised a resident’s blood pressure were not appropriate activities for those “in the sunset years of their lives.” And by God, Delilah Montgomery was not going to let a bus full of her residents out of her sight for an evening of mayhem and debauchery.
The gods shared a knowing look. “Someone certainly needs to get laid,” Debris murmured.
“Don’t look at me,” Detritus muttered back. “Finger-wagging nursing home administrators are not allowed on my 1200 thread count sheets.”
The issue of Der Commandant was put to the side for a moment in order to deal with Catch Two, aka Reese Dilly, Arturo’s boyfriend and putative DJ. The problem became more apparent when the gods headed over to the warehouse where Reese worked, making ceramic tchotchkes for Florida tourists. The owner, a swarthy individual by the name of Vlad who clearly wanted to return to the porn mag he’d been perusing, glared at them when they asked for Reese. “He’s busy,” Vlad grunted. “You can talk to him after he gets off work.”
Detritus gave Vlad a disarming grin. “I bet you get all the honeys with that attitude, you big bear, you. But seriously, we need to talk to him now.” The god pulled out a black leather wallet that contained a realistic FBI ID card he’d willed into existence. “If you don’t mind.”
Vlad straightened in his chair and squeaked, which was a disconcerting sound coming from a swarthy individual. “Um, he’s in the pouring room. Just go straight on back.”
“Thank so much!” Detritus caroled. Within moments, he and his twin were in a grubby room where a tall, handsome man in a lumbersexual beard and some of the worst clothing choices either of them had ever seen since the 70s was busy pouring plaster into a set of forms.
Detritus introduced himself and explained their mission, then paused. “Just out of curiosity, sweetie, where on Earth did you get those clothes?”
The DJ looked down at his impromptu tank top made from a faded Brady Bunch t-shirt that had been attacked with what looked like pinking shears. The cutoff shorts in an improbable black and red calico floral, liberally spattered with dried plaster, didn’t help. “St. Vincent’s,” he said. “Look, I can’t afford designer clothes like you guys. And I like thrift shop stuff.”
“That’s fine, hon, but there’s a difference between popping tags and shopping exclusively from the Goodwill sale area,” Debris said, prowling around the DJ and analyzing the goods. “Even Macklemore couldn’t make this outfit work.”
“Tim Gunn himself couldn’t make that outfit work,” Detritus said with a thoughtful tongue pop. “Well, you know what that means.”
His brother grinned. “Oh, yes I do.”
The twins clapped in unison. “Shopping trip!”
Reese stared at them in dismay. “But I can’t afford—I mean, I’m working—”
“Less talking, more walking,” Detritus said, plucking the bucket of plaster out of Reese’s hands and shepherding him towards the door. “Don’t worry, your boss isn’t going to bitch.”
“Much,” Debris said merrily, handing the bucket off to Vlad, who had picked that moment to appear. “Darling, finish up Reese’s plaster thingies, won’t you? We’ll bring him back in a few hours. Maybe.”
Vlad didn’t so much beetle his brow as armadillo it. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” he growled, “but you ain’t Feds, and I’ll be damned if—”
Detritus sighed. What he was about to do was a major no-no, but he didn’t have time to be delicate. “You don’t mind if Reese takes the rest of the day off, do you?” he purred, extruding some divine mojo and wrapping it around Vlad like an invisible blanket. “Especially since he’s clearly one of your best workers.” He eyed the hunky DJ. “In fact, you were thinking of giving him a raise.”
He squeezed the mojo, and Vlad blinked. “I was? Oh, yeah, I was,” the man said, much more amiable now. “Okay, buddy, take the day off.”
“Fabulous, thank you!” Detritus sang, grabbing a mystified Reese’s arm and guiding him out with a beaming Debris bringing up the rear.
Behind them, Vlad stared dreamily into his bucket of rapidly hardening plaster.
“I had no idea those shops even existed,” Reese said five hours later, peering over the stuffed shopping bags in his arms.
“Consignment stores are a godsend to the fashion forward but financially frail,” Debris said. “Now, can we hear some of these mixes of yours?”
The tall, bearded man blushed. “Uh, are you sure? I mean, Arturo likes it, but he’s my boyfriend, so—”
“We need to hear it first if you’re going to be DJing at Miz Maggie’s party,” Debris said firmly, guiding him back towards the sleek BMW M2 coupe the gods had borrowed for the afternoon. They stuffed the bags into the miniscule trunk and got in. “The sound system in this beast takes memory sticks, so if you have anything digital on you, hand it over.”
With some effort, Reese produced a neon green flash drive from his jeans pocket. While he tried to get comfortable in the tiny back seat, Debris popped the drive into the car’s sound system and selected a track at random.
The twin gods immediately understood why Maggie wanted Reese to play at her party. His music was a glorious combination of modern house with luscious 70’s funk and glam rock hooks, anchored with deep R&B bass lines. There were even hints of disco here and there, luring the listener to get down and boogie.
“Honey, we can book you for multo parties with this kind of sound,” Debris enthused. “And not just in Florida, either. New York will love it, and Ibiza will go positively insane. You’ll be able to tell Vlad to go stick his head in a bucket of plaster within three months, mark my words.”
The DJ squirmed uncomfortably. “Um, does that mean I’d have to play live? Like, in front of people?”
Detritus, now behind the wheel of the coupe, glanced in the rearview mirror. “That’s kind of the idea, pumpkin. Is that a problem?”
Reese grimaced. “Yeah, that’s . . . not so good.”
“How ‘not so good’?”
“I don’t play in public. Like, ever. I don’t mind putting mixes on memory sticks or CDs for other people, but I get scared in crowds.” Broad shoulders sagged. “I thought Arturo told you. Do I have to take all that stuff back now?”
Debris shot his brother an exasperated look. Apparently new clothes weren’t going to solve Catch Two after all.
After dropping a still-apologizing Reese off at his apartment, the gods decided to take another crack at Catch One. Detritus was hoping that Der Commandant would turn out to be a brassy, blowzy matron who was a hard-ass because she enjoyed throwing her weight around with her elderly charges. That would make mojoing her much easier, not to mention more enjoyable.
As it turned out, Fate needed a laugh as much as anyone else.
Delilah Montgomery was indeed somewhere in her late forties, but stick-thin and dressed in a prim beige twinset with a darker brown skirt that hit just below her knee, support hose, no-nonsense horn rims that millennials would call “authentic,” and sturdy Dr. Scholl’s shoes. Detritus suspected that if he pushed up her left sleeve, he would find a folded Kleenex tucked under the band of her watch. Her mouse-brown hair had been scraped back in a prim bun, and her eyes were magnified by her glasses into two pools of washed-out blue. All she needed was a wimple and a wedding ring, and she could walk straight into any nunnery in the country.
“I do my best to keep all of the residents as healthy and content as possible, considering their ages and medical conditions,” she informed them with a huff after they’d flashed yet another governmental ID, this time from the Florida Department of Elder Affairs. “Their sunset years should be ones of peaceful contemplation. To that end, Shady Oaks provides balanced meals, wellness checks, and regular trips to the doctor and dentist. It’s important to keep their minds stimulated as well, so we have weekly luncheons, a monthly outing to museums and other age-appropriate attractions, and holiday celebrations at the end of the year. My staff is vetted and has to pass drug screens, and all of my records are in order. You’re welcome to check them if you like.”
Balanced meals, luncheons, and museum visits. Detritus shuddered. “That’s not necessary, Mrs. Montgomery—”
“Miss.” She blinked, rabbit-like. “I’m not married. I consider taking care of the elderly to be my life’s work.”
Detritus glanced at his brother, but the other god was peering in interest at the bookcases in the office. “And I’m sure you do a splendid job,” the god said, trying to sound professional. Or if not professional, then at least not like he was mentally rolling his eyes and gagging. “That being said, we had received word of a resident who wanted to throw an eightieth birthday party for herself. She said that you turned down her request.”
Miss Montgomery’s lips tightened. “That would be Miss Henderson. I appreciate her service to our country, but I’m afraid her plans for this—event—were completely inappropriate for the other residents. Dance music would greatly increase the risk of falls, heart attacks, and strokes, and drinking alcohol is contraindicated with many if not most of the medications the residents take. I offered to hold a party in the common room and play some nice orchestral music on our sound system, but—” The woman grimaced. “Well, what she said to me isn’t something a lady is supposed to know, much less say out loud.”
You go, Miz Maggie. Detritus could just imagine what the former Army nurse had said to her prim and proper custodian. There was no help for it; he’d have to use more divine mojo. “I appreciate your concerns, Miss Montgomery,” he said, extending his power around the woman, “but considering Miss Henderson’s age, plus her service, as you mentioned, I was wondering if there was some way we could see our way clear to a compromise?”
Miss Montgomery’s eyes widened, and Detritus got ready for her to capitulate. He almost fell off the chair when she said, “Absolutely not. I have a duty to my residents, and I won’t shirk that duty simply because Margaret Henderson wants to dance herself into a broken hip.”
It was Detritus’s turn to blink. “I—are you sure? Don’t you want to, I don’t know, think about it or something?”
“I have. There will be no orgiastic birthday party for Miss Henderson.” She leaned forward, glaring at him. “And I’m more than a bit offended that you would come in here and try to change my mind, Mr. Detritus.”
The neckline of her shell blouse gaped just a bit with her movement, and a delicate gold cross swung into view. Detritus smothered a groan when he realized why his mojo wasn’t working. Delilah Montgomery had to be a genuinely devout Christian. Divine mojo only worked on those who didn’t really believe in any gods at all, such as Vlad and a large proportion of Western Civilization, or on those who believed in their particular pantheon. And since it was obvious that Miss Montgomery wasn’t a secret worshipper of Zeus, Greek god mojo wasn’t going to work. He would have to fall back on his charm, the gods help him.
“Well, if that’s your decision, then that’s your decision,” Debris said cheerfully, surprising Detritus. “Thank you for your time, Miss Montgomery. We’ll let you get back to work.”
“Wha—” Detritus found himself physically lifted out of his chair and guided out of the nursing home by his brother. Once they were shielded by a pair of palm trees on the sidewalk, he turned on Debris. “What. The. Tartarus? I know she’s a stick-in-the-mud, but I could have talked her into it if you hadn’t interrupted.”
“Oh, balls. I saw her cross, too. She’s a wannabe nun who thinks it’s her job to keep old people quiet and medicated until they pop their clogs,” Debris said patiently. “That being said, did you notice what was on her bookshelves?”
“Uh, no,” Detritus said, throwing up his hands. “Kinda busy trying to do a job for our client?”
The handsome god shook his head in mock disapproval. “I love you, brother mine, but you really need to learn how to multi-task. Her bookshelves are loaded with romance novels. I saw everything from Sweet Savage Love to The Siren. Miss Montgomery is clearly a smoldering stick figure of repressed sexual desire. If we find an appropriate outlet for that, she’ll be too busy enjoying herself to notice her inmates going on a field trip.”
“Oh, no.” Detritus shuddered. “I like Miz Maggie, but I am not throwing myself on that grenade for her.”
“Like she’d have you. Besides, I wasn’t talking about you, doofus.” Debris pulled out a sleek iPhone and tapped in a number, holding it to his ear. “Hi, Cupid? It’s Debris. Oh, fabulous as usual. Look, could you send one of your cherubs to my location? We’re working with It’s Divine on a project, and we have a frustrated virgin named Delilah Montgomery who really needs a big Hollywood-style romance right now.” He listened for a moment. “Great! Yes, see you at the Saturnalia party. Kisses!”
He cut the call, smirking at his brother. “Handled.”
Detritus rolled his eyes. “Whatever. So, what are we going to do about our crowd-shy DJ?”
Debris’ smirk grew even more annoying. “I have an idea. But we need to stop at a mirror outlet first.”
Reese’s thick eyebrows approached his hairline. “Wow. That’s, uh . . . ”
“I think the word you’re looking for is brilliant,” Debris said smugly. In the corner, a phone-perusing Detritus made a rude noise. “Ignore my brother—he’s a twatwaffle when he’s hungry.”
“I know what you can go eat,” Detritus muttered.
Unfazed, Debris walked around the panels of tall one-way mirrors that had been set up around Reese’s turntables with the reflective sides turned inwards. “People can see you, but you can’t see them,” he explained. “All you can see is your own handsome face as you work. If anyone asks, you can say it’s an isolation chamber that allows you to work with the music without being distracted by outside interference. Not only is it technically true, but it makes you sound like an artiste.”
Arturo wandered in, still in his orderly whites. “Gotta say, babe, it looks kinda cool. Give it a try?”
The lumbersexual shrugged and slid through a gap in the mirrors, donning his earphones as Debris picked up a waiting mirror and slid it into the gap. Soon, more of that amazing music was pounding through the apartment. Arturo started dancing, and Debris did an impromptu little Hustle around his annoyed twin in celebration.
The music stopped and Reese slid off his headphones. “I think this is gonna work,” he called, enthusiastic now. “So where am I playing?”
“Tonight, it’s a place called Club Hosanna,” Debris informed him. “Tomorrow, sweetie, it’s the world.”
After two quick calls to a moving company to transport Reese’s equipment and isolation booth to the club and a bus company to supply a minibus for Miz Maggie’s friends, the gods headed back to the nursing home, confident that they would find Der Commandant in the arms of her new cherub-arranged inamorato and the home’s residents free to boogie. “Now we just have to tell Miz Maggie to round up the usual suspects and have them meet us outside tonight,” Debris said as they materialized in front of Shady Oaks. “Then we whisk them off to the club, and Bob’s your . . . ”
He trailed off as he spotted a giggling septugenarian tottering across the lawn, followed by an octogenarian with a Zimmer frame and a lusty grin. On the corner of the building, an orderly and what appeared to be one of the home’s cooks were in a passionate embrace, tearing at each other’s clothes while they enthusiastically swapped spit. The fact that the orderly was a hair over five feet tall and the cook was not only taller than him but old enough to be his mother didn’t seem to bother either of them. From inside the home, more sighs and moans were drifting out to the sidewalk.
Debris said a very bad word in ancient Greek. “What did that cherub do?”
As if summoned, a pink cloud puffed into existence next to them, and a boggled-looking cherub limped out of it, golden bow dragging on the ground. “Oh. Uh, hi?”
“Hi, yourself,” Debris said in a dangerous tone, looming over the shorter demigod. “What’s going on here?”
The cherub gave the nursing home a hopeless glance. “The boss said I was supposed to come here and give—” he fished a sticky note out of his quiver and peered at it “—a Delilah Montgomery a big romance. I found a good match for her with a local neighbor—nice guy, young widower, kinda goofy but sweet—and shot them. Or tried to, anyway.”
Detritus smothered a laugh as Debris planted furious fists on his hips. “What do you mean, anyway?”
“They kept missing!” the cherub wailed. “I swear to Zeus, that lady moves like the dickens! I’d aim for her, and whoosh, she’d jink off and the arrow would hit someone else. I must’ve hit at least eight people by accident. Do you have any idea what the boss is going to do to me?”
“Send you to work for Tinder?” Detritus snarked.
Debris stared daggers at his brother. “So, you didn’t fix her up with the neighbor?” he demanded.
“No,” the cherub moaned. “Which sucks, because they really would make a great couple. But I can’t get her to fall in love with him if I can’t hit her with an arrow!”
Detritus glanced at his Rolex. They had three hours to get everyone rounded up and over to the club. “All right, junior. You go on standby. The A-Team will take it from here.”
The dejected cherub slunk back into his cloud while Debris folded his arms in divine irritation. “And who, pray tell, is the A-Team?”
“Us, silly.” Detritus popped his tongue. “Well, us with some help. The arrows are probably sliding off her for the same reason my mojo didn’t work, which gives a big middle finger up to love conquering all. So we call in the big guns in her pantheon.” He pulled out his iPhone and scrolled through the Favorites list, stopping when he got to the Ms. He double-tapped a name, grinning when he heard an urbane voice answer.
“Yeah, hi, it’s Detritus,” he said cheerily. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Yes, I have seen the show. That Brit actor they have playing you is absolutely adorable, isn’t he?” He winked at his waiting brother. “Anyway, we’re in south Florida right now, and we’ve got kind of a sticky situation here with a believer in your pantheon. Very prim, very proper, and very much in our way. I was wondering, ‘Seducer’ is still one of your titles, right?”
Two hours later, the gods hung back behind the now-familiar set of palm trees as a tall, blond man dressed in a black suit so minimalist it was stunning and holding a matching Bible escorted a smitten Miss Montgomery off the nursing home premises. “I’m so glad you had the time to talk to me. You have no idea how it gladdens my heart to speak to good Christians about our missionary work in rural communities,” the man said in warm tones. “So few people take an interest in what happens to souls these days.”
He glanced over at the hidden gods. A passerby might have been startled by the red flash in his eyes. You two owe me big-time for this. I’m not really big on good deeds.
Name your price, Detritus sent back. Just take her out and show her a nice time. And leave her soul right where you found it, mister.
Oh, please. That’s so fourteenth century. And I want my throne room redecorated.
Done.
Fine. White teeth gleaming in a charming smile that was just a shade wolfish, the Morningstar escorted the nursing home supervisor away from her vocation.
Debris and Detritus grinned at each other. “Showtime.”
After separating the assorted cherub-struck couples (one particularly determined pair required a hose), persuading everyone to get cleaned up and dressed in their nicest attire, and juggling a last-minute cadre of orderlies and cooks who decided that in the absence of Miss Montgomery, they wanted to go dancing at a club, too, everyone from the Shady Oaks Nursing Home had been successfully delivered to Club Hosanna. The bouncer was somewhat taken aback by the shuffling line of senior citizens queuing up at the door, but a quick word with the manager and a quicker tip of a Benjamin had him smiling and ushering the folks into the building. Reese and his isolation booth had already been set up at the DJ space, and he was playing some slower tracks that felt like a musical welcome.
Miz Maggie, with her gleaming silver hair freshly set and wearing a silky black pantsuit that sparkled in the club’s dancing spotlights, held onto Debris and Detritus’s arms as they showed her around. “Oh, this is exactly what I wanted,” she breathed, watching as a few tentative couples hit the floor to Reese’s slowed-down mix. “I can’t thank you enough, boys. You worked wonders here.”
“It’s what we do,” Debris said modestly, summoning a flummoxed bartender who came over with three flutes of champagne. He handed them around, raising his to the old woman. “Happy birthday, Miz Maggie, and may you get everything you wished for tonight.”
An odd expression crossed her face, a cross between regret and hope. “Did you tell Reese about that one song I wanted?”
“Yup, and he has it cued up. It’s ready to go whenever you want.”
“Not just yet. But . . . good.” A corner of her mouth curled up as her mood changed, and she drained her champagne. “Well, then. How about you two tall, handsome men take a lady out for a spin on the dance floor?”
The night turned into one of the oddest but most enjoyable parties either of the gods had attended in a long time. The doorman had started selectively letting younger partiers into the club; to say they were a bit taken aback by the senior attendees was an understatement. But the occasional side eye and grumble disappeared when trays of free shots began making the rounds of the club. “Courtesy of the birthday girl,” every waiter said, nodding back at Miz Maggie, who was now ensconced in the best booth in the house. A gaggle of cute guys that spanned an age gap from barely legal to barely breathing were also wedged into the red leather banquette with her, competing with each other to make her laugh. She was clearly having the time of her life.
Reese edged up the music tempo, but enough of the more mobile Shady Oaks residents kept up the pace on the dance floor, while others camped out in booths or showed eager young south Floridians how to do dances like the Bump and Bus Stop. Debris and Detritus were careful to keep circling around the club and keep an eye on things, defusing any potential hotspots or disagreements and keeping the vibe bright.
By the time the management wheeled out a huge, magnificent birthday cake covered in sparkler candles and everyone in the club sang “Happy Birthday” to Miz Maggie, the gods were busy congratulating themselves on a job well done. It wasn’t until the cake had been blown out and pieces distributed to the laughing, happy attendees that Debris noticed Maggie raise a hand to her chest, a look of discomfort on her face.
She took a few steps away from the cake then grimaced and collapsed. Debris darted through the crowds to her side, beaten only by Arturo, who was already kneeling next to her, turning her over. “Miz Maggie, what’s wrong?” the orderly shouted over the music.
She tried to smile but shook her head. Her hand curled into a fist, pressing harder against her chest in a clear sign of cardiac distress. “Someone call 911,” Arturo bellowed. “We need an ambulance!”
Debris was abruptly aware of Detritus appearing at his side. “Oh, no,” the other god said sadly. “I was afraid of that. Can we do something?”
Debris shook his head. Mortals had such short little lives, and if it was Maggie’s time, then there wasn’t anything they could do about it. But there was something niggling at him, something hovering on the edge of his awareness—
—something with wings—
“Excuse me.” A tall, dark-haired man in old-fashioned solid green fatigues nudged them to one side, bending down and scooping Miz Maggie into his arms. “Not yet, Mags,” he said with a smile. “You still owe me a dance.”
“Dude, she’s not dancing!” Arturo said, scrambling to his feet. “She needs to get to a hospital!”
“No,” the man said, his tone kind but firm. “She owes me a dance, and I intend to collect.”
The old woman blinked, focusing on the man. One trembling hand rose, coming to rest on his cheek. “It took you long enough,” she said, her voice wobbly.
“I’m sorry. I had to wait until—well, you know.”
And suddenly, Debris understood everything. He turned and scrambled through the crowd to Reese’s DJ booth, yanking open the mirror “door.” When Reese slid off his headphones he shouted, “I need you to play the song now!”
“But—”
“Now!” Debris screamed.
Reese cringed but did as instructed. The throbbing tones of house music abruptly ended, replaced by the lovely soaring sound of an old-school studio orchestra that segued into the smooth tones of Billy Preston.
The dark-haired man in the fatigues carried Miz Maggie out onto the floor. He eased her onto her feet, keeping his arms around her until she could stand on her own. The rhythm of the music caught them, and the two slowly moved into the classic steps of a waltz. As the spangled lights of the disco ball passed over the couple, the years fell away from the Army nurse, figuratively at first and then literally. Grey hair turned blond, wrinkles smoothed away, and tentative movement regained strength and surety as Miz Maggie and her suitor twirled around the dance floor. By the middle of the song, the old lady had been replaced by a vibrant woman in her mid-30s, dressed in Army fatigues that matched her paramour’s. The two gazed at each other as if nothing else existed in the world.
The entire atmosphere of the club had changed as well, becoming an unabashed haven of joy. Arturo slipped past Debris into the isolation booth, sliding behind Reese and wrapping his arms around the other man. Resting his chin on Reese’s shoulder, they watched Miz Maggie twirl around the dance floor in the arms of her lover.
Near the end of the song, shadowy wings erupted from the back of Miz Maggie’s suitor, wrapping both of them in feathers of obsidian and jet. When the music ended, the lights went out for a second, but both humans and gods could feel the magic rolling through the building, fulfilling a decades-old promise.
When the light came back on again, the couple was gone.
As the crowd started chattering excitedly, Detritus joined his brother. “Called it,” he said smugly. “Angel of death. They’re so dramatic.”
“Oh, shut up,” Debris chided, bumping Detritus’s shoulder with his own. “Just be happy for them.”
“I am. Think her body will show up in her bed tomorrow?”
“Most likely. Shouldn’t surprise anyone—she was eighty, after all. And if anyone makes a fuss, we can try some mojo—” He felt his phone buzz in his jacket. Pulling it out, he read the text on the screen and chortled. “Oh, dear. It’s Luce. Remember the neighbor that incompetent cherub was trying to hit? He saw Luce out with Delilah and threw a punch at him. Apparently, Der Commandant’s arid little heart grew three sizes at the thought of two men fighting over her, and she and the goofy neighbor are eloping to Vegas. Luce says we need to redecorate his bedroom as well, to cover ‘wear and tear.’”
“Meh. Whatever.” Detritus reached out and pulled a pair of perfect margaritas out of the air, handing one to his twin. “Here’s to another successful job, brother mine.”
Debris clinked his salted rim against Detritus’s. “Gods, we’re good.”
About the Story
Five Facts About This Story:
1. I was invited to contribute to this antho because I write erotic romance about Greek Gods as Nicola Cameron. Seriously. 2. In my head, Debris and Detritus are played respectively by a de-dragged Courtney Act and Willam Belli from RuPaul’s Drag Race. 3. It took me almost a year to finish it because I could not find a good plot handle until two weeks before the deadline. Yay pressure! 4. Lisa the Nereid has a much larger role in my/Nicola’s fantasy romance novel Deep Water (Olympic Cove 3). 5. Miz Maggie’s last name is a nod to Florence Henderson, who died shortly before I finished the piece.