Debris & Detritus

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Debris & Detritus Page 18

by Robin D. Owens


  * * *

  Jeanne Lyet Gassman

  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 y
ou 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.”

 

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