He smiled. “Well, it isn’t much, but I’ll split mine with you. Cupids don’t have much patience. They’ll wander off if you can hide long enough.”
“You sound like an expert.”
“Hey, I’m two years older than you. They’ve been after me longer.”
I laughed. “All right, if you’re sure it’s not trouble.”
“It isn’t like the shop is busy today.”
I glanced around the warm interior of the shop for the first time. Hand-carved wood was everywhere. Small furniture, shelves, animals. All the folksy wooden things the tourists bought in droves, but it was winter now and the tourists were gone. I always wondered how some of the shops made it through the off-season. One of the good things about being a lawyer, crime was always in season.
Tom brought a rocking chair he’d made himself to sit beside his own chair. He gave me a lap-size linen napkin to spread over my business skirt and shared a huge roast beef sandwich and apple pie. The pie was delicious and I said so.
“Made it myself.” He seemed embarrassed but pleased. Since I couldn’t boil soup without burning it, I was impressed.
I called my office and said I’d be later without explaining the reason. We spent a very pleasant time drinking fresh coffee and talking about small things. Nothing major or earth shattering, but comfortable.
Tom glanced at the clock. “I hate to say it, but it’s probably safe for you to leave.”
“My God, it’s two. I had no idea it was that late.” I smiled. “Maybe I’ll be needing a wooden shelf or two for my condo, soon.”
He grinned and, I swear, blushed. “I’d like that.”
There was a little click down in my solar plexus, pleasure. Who needed Cupids? I limped in my high heels, one heel on, one heel off, but it was better than going barefoot on freezing cobblestones.
Tom let me out the back door, just in case. We both looked up and down the alley. Nothing, empty, home free. “Thanks for everything, Tom.” I shook his hand and felt that warm tingle as our skin met. Probably nothing would come of it, but it was nice anyway.
I turned just before I rounded the corner and waved. He waved back, smiling, then his face changed and he was running for me. “Behind you!”
I whirled. The Cupids were flying in at my back. I flung myself onto the ground. A white arrow buried itself into the cobblestones near my head. Tom was running toward me, shouting.
A white arrow took him through the chest. He staggered back, eyes wide and surprised. He stumbled back a few steps, then fell backward onto the cobblestones. I screamed, “Tom!” I heard the whir of wings above me. I turned, slowly, and stared into shining blue eyes. A small feminine mouth smiled at me. The little gold bow pulled back, a white arrow pointing at me.
A second Cupid with slightly paler hair and baby-blue wings floated off to the left, bow trained on me. I wasn’t getting away this time.
“Get it over with, you ugly little harpies,” I yelled. I threw my shoe at them, the one with the broken heel. The Cupid dodged effortlessly. How could something that chubby be so graceful? I saw the arrow leave the bow, then felt a sharp pain in my chest, over my heart. Then nothing but darkness.
TOM and I woke in the alley and did the only thing we were able to do, fall in love. It was a nice wedding as weddings go. Our mothers sat in the front rows beaming at us. Both of them admitted to having bribed the Cupids, but it had all worked out for the best, they said, smiling smugly.
We smiled back; what else could we do? Arrows of true love had hit both of us. We were in love, married, happy, vengeful.
My mother is a widow. Tom’s mother is divorced. All we need now is a corrupt Cupid, with a sweet tooth.
THE EDGE OF THE SEA
This is another story that I wrote when I lived in California for a few years. It’s the only time in my life that I’ve lived near the water. I’ve almost drowned four times. At one point I had my dive certificate. I thought it would help me overcome my phobias. Then I had a diving accident, and now I’m claustrophobic on top of being afraid of water. Oh, well. This is a very sensual story, and was the first peek of that side of me as a writer. But it is a melancholy story. The idea of it—that fear and longing that the ocean fills me with—will be visited at more length in an upcoming Anita book. Some of the characters introduced in Danse Macabre will be helping me explore some of the themes of this story in more loving, and even more frightening, detail.
ADRIA woke to the sound of the sea. She lay under the cool wash of sheets, wondering what had woken her. Moonlight spilled through the white curtains. The rushing hush of the sea poured underneath the balcony. It filled the bedroom with an intimate whispering noise. What had woken her? There was a sense of urgency, as if she had forgotten something.
She sat up, brushing strands of dark hair away from her face. She called out, not really expecting an answer, “Rachel?”
The only sound was ocean, a purring roar along the sand.
Adria slipped on a pair of jeans that lay rumpled by the bed. Her nightshirt flapped almost to her knees, a man’s extra large. She padded barefoot over scattered fitness magazines and clothes. The living room stretched perfectly neat, like a magazine cover, where no one lived. Rachel’s neat and tidy hand was visible everywhere.
Adria’s hand brushed the music box on the end table. It sang a few forlorn notes. The music boxes were Rachel’s hobby. She called them her vice.
Adria walked across the thick white carpet to the short hall. It led to the bathroom and Rachel’s bedroom. The door stood ajar, moonlight spilling into the black hallway. Adria froze, pulse thudding against her throat. The urgency she had woken with turned to fear. They had shared the house for almost two years. In all that time Rachel had never left her door open. She had a habit of listening to music as she fell asleep. The sound would leak through the house if the door were open.