Love, Love, Love

by Deborah Reber

  Laura stirred from a very deep sleep, and she felt the soft contours of her bed and the warmth of her blankets wrapping her like a cocoon. Oh, what a crazy, delirious dream, she thought. One for the record books, no doubt inspired by reading too much mythology.

  In her rococo nightmare, Cupid had come to Fimbrey as a high school student, and Peter was dating Megan! Everything was turned upside down. I’ll have to cut out the Roman gods for a while, she decided, at least after eating a whole pizza.

  Her stomach felt tied in knots, and her memory was very cloudy. Laura wondered what time it was, and she noted that it was dark in her bedroom. She couldn’t see a thing, but she could hear the drone of traffic outside. That meant it had to be later than it seemed, because she didn’t normally hear much traffic in the middle of the night.

  The days are growing shorter, thought Laura as she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She looked for her slippers on the floor by her bed but couldn’t find them, and that’s when she decided to turn on the light. Her hand fumbled for the lamp on her nightstand, because it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Her fingers finally found the knob near the base and twisted it, and the room was illuminated.

  “Whaaa!” she screamed when she saw unfamiliar paintings and luxurious chaise longues. Laura dove back under the covers and pulled them around her shivering body, until she realized she was still wearing her clothes. The sweater, the jeans, the strange bedroom … and the duffel bag on the floor.

  Whoa! she thought, sitting up again, it isn’t a dream! She looked more closely at the room and realized that the French doors led to a balcony, and beyond that there was a huge, sprawling city. It was lit up like the glowing chariot … the one from her dream.

  A door whispered open, and she turned to see an elegant older man, who nodded to her. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

  “Mercury!” she exclaimed with a gasp.

  “And still have your mind,” he added. “You passed out on the way here. I thought we were going to lose you over Kansas.”

  She blinked at him. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “We left Ohio early Sunday morning, and it’s now Monday morning,” he answered. “Over twenty-four hours you’ve slept. I’m sorry, I had forgotten what effect travel by sky chariot has on mortals. As I told you, we’re rather rusty at this.”

  “It’s okay,” she answered numbly. “I remember it all now … we’ve got to find Venus.”

  “We’ll try.” Mercury sighed and sat in one of the luxurious chairs. “I looked in the miratorium—do you know what that is?”

  Laura nodded. “Like a crystal ball, only it’s a bowl of water.”

  “Yes,” he answered, “but Venus knows how to cloud the image. I thought I saw a hotel, which is why I brought you here. This is a hotel in Beverly Hills where she often stays when she’s recovering from plastic surgery or liposuction.”

  “Liposuction?” asked Laura with distaste. “What is she, like three thousand years old?”

  Mercury rolled his eyes. “Yes, and she needs lots of help to keep looking beautiful. I thought we might get lucky, but she’s not here.”

  “Who would know where she is?”

  The dapper god gazed at his manicured fingers for a moment and seemed to be thinking. “There are a few she trusts … her posse, as you would call it.”

  “Let’s find them.” Laura started toward the door, energized by her determination to set things right.

  Mercury cleared his throat, and the girl stopped in mid-stride, knowing it was going to be bad news. “There’s just one problem,” said the god. “Her posse is all satyrs.”

  “Satyrs?” she asked with a squeak in her voice. “You mean … like randy goatmen?”

  “Yes,” he answered gravely. “Randy goatmen, and age hasn’t tempered them much. Dionysius and Cupid also hang with her, when they feel like it.”

  With a groan the elder rose to his feet. “Perhaps we should check all the hotels in Los Angeles first.”

  “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad,” insisted Laura. “The posse, I mean.”

  “Venus has some local haunts we should check,” said Mercury. “I’m certain about the hotel I saw in my vision, but I don’t know which one it is.”

  When Laura started out the door, he gripped her arm and pointed to the duffel bag. “Don’t forget the bow and arrows—that’s your passport into my world.”

  *

  For two days Laura Sweeney and Mercury roamed Los Angeles in a Rolls-Royce limousine piloted by a burly driver named Lar. Laura recalled that Roman households often had their own domestic gods, who were called the Lares, and she wondered if Lar was one of them. She had a lot of time to ponder this question, since they visited every plastic surgeon, luxury spa, private club, and fancy hotel in town. But they found no sign of Venus under any of her pseudonyms.

  Laura’s senses were blown by all the wonders she had seen in the city—museums to massage parlors—but they weren’t getting any closer to their goal. Nobody had seen Venus, who had several human guises and identities. After questioning so many people, Laura felt as if she were part of some surreal TV cop show. As they cruised a street north of town, night began to fall on another day of frustration.

  They stopped at a busy corner on a main boulevard, and Mercury leaned over to whisper something to their driver. Yawning, Laura gazed out the window and saw what looked like a pleasant residence hotel on the corner. The sign read MOUNT OLYMPUS RETIREMENT HOME.

  She chuckled and pointed. “Look, there’s a place we ought to check, Mount Olympus.”

  “Venus never visits the old gang,” answered Lar sadly.

  Realization dawned on Laura as her gaze traveled from the driver to the messenger god. “Is that where you live? Now I remember—Cupidity said something about a retirement home.”

  “Yes, that’s our home,” answered the elder, sounding tired and frail.

  “Can I see it, and meet the rest of you?”

  Mercury gave her a crinkled smile. “No, you don’t want to meet us. You should think of us as we exist in the old books and stories, not as we are now. Our time is past, and this fiasco only proves it.”

  Laura suddenly felt very sorry for the aged immortal and his forgotten kind, who had only wanted to do a favor for a girl they didn’t even know. “You’re so close to home, why don’t you spend the night here?” she suggested. “And tell me where to find the satyrs, because time is running out.”

  The elder nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose it is the moment when you prove yourself. If you’re successful and find Venus, tell Lar to call me. I would go with you, but the leader of the satyrs is Pan, who is my son. We don’t speak anymore, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh,” said Laura sympathetically. “I hope I’m still speaking to my parents after this.”

  Mercury assured her, “While you continue the search, I’ll go back to Ohio and make sure you aren’t missed.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Lar, “but I heard on Dionysius’s grapevine that the gang is at Pinkie’s Pool Parlor, looking for Cupid.”

  “All right, take her there, Lar,” said Mercury. “She’ll have better luck with them than I would. I’m going home.”

  “Very good, sir.” Lar parked the limousine in front of the retirement home and rushed to open the passenger door for Mercury.

  “Pinkie’s Pool Parlor?” asked Laura hesitantly.

  “That’s where we would be looking for Cue,” answered Lar with a smile.

  “Tell Pan … tell him I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father,” said Mercury hesitantly. “His mother and I had too many differences. See you tomorrow, I hope.” Lar helped the frail god out of the Rolls-Royce and escorted him to the door.

  A moment later the chauffeur returned and said, “That was very noble of you, my lady, to let him rest. He’s always cared more for humans than any of the rest of them. Just hold your own with the satyrs, my lady, and don’t take any guff.”

  Laura nodded, with a si
ck feeling in her stomach. When she pressed the button and rolled down the window, the odor of salt, sea foam, and hibiscus invaded her senses. Giant cypress and pine trees waving in the cool evening wind told Laura that the landscape was changing. Through her haze of disappointment she realized that she was on a fantastic adventure, carrying a magical weapon. Someday they would make movies about her!

  I’d settle for a date to Homecoming, she decided, just before falling asleep in the gently rocking vehicle.

  Laura awoke when the heavy car bounced over a rut in the road, and she bolted upright with a start. She looked around to see a drab street that was barely lit by a few orange streetlights. Most of the storefronts were empty, but a few showed signs of life, especially the flickering neon that spelled out PINKIE’S POOL PARLOR. A fleet of big-hog motorcycles were parked in front of the establishment. In the driver’s seat, Lar hummed softly to himself as if nothing was amiss.

  She gulped. “That’s where we’re going?”

  “Where you’re going,” he answered. “I’m going to stay out here, unless I hear you scream.”

  “Satyrs?” she muttered fearfully. “Open the trunk and let me get my bow.”

  “That’s the spirit!” answered Lar, sounding relieved. He popped the trunk lid, and Laura climbed into the breezy night. This grungy patch of urban blight hardly seemed like cheerful southern California anymore, but she didn’t think they had driven that far. Laura grabbed the familiar duffel bag and slammed the trunk shut.

  Even before she got to the door, she heard raucous male laughter and loud rock music. When she opened the door, the music became louder and sounded very foreign, with lots of flutes and bongo drums. With a start, she realized that it was live music, being played by what looked like a country and western band. On stage were several shaggy cowboys, wearing cowboy boots and chaps. Two of them were playing pan pipes—reeds of different lengths tied together—two played drums, and the fifth played a ukulele.

  They were wrapped up in their playing, so Laura strode down between the pool tables until she was close enough that they had to see her. That was when she noticed that the musicians weren’t wearing chaps over their cowboy boots—those were gigantic hooves at the ends of their hairy legs!

  They gave the song a rollicking finish, then set down their instruments and stared at Laura. One satyr smiled, and his mischievous green eyes twinkled. A dark one seemed to lick his lips, and another one lifted a mug and toasted her. She quickly reached into the duffel bag and took out the bow and arrows. I have to show them, anyway, she decided.

  The one with the green eyes laughed. “Oh, look, isn’t that cute. She’s come with a darling little weapon!”

  The satyr rose to his hooves and stalked toward her. His tight T-shirt didn’t do much to hide his silver-gray pelt, and she could see that his upper torso was well muscled. Below the waist, he was a goat. “I’m sorry, dearie, but you missed the party,” he said with a bow. “However, visitors like you are always welcome.”

  The other satyrs laughed and stared lustfully at her, and Laura lifted the bow and took aim at each one in turn. The elder creature kept circling her, and he said, “That toy is not going to hurt us.”

  “I think it will,” answered Laura with determination. “It’s Cupid’s bow, and I know how to use it!”

  That brought the silver-haired satyr to a halt, and it made the others stop laughing. “Don’t come any closer, but take a good look at it,” ordered Laura, thrusting the bow into the light over a pool table. The weapon tingled in her hands as if it were especially eager to inflict love misery on these creatures of the woods and the cue stick.

  “By Hades, that is his bow,” said a drummer, who still had some dark hair in his pelt. “Pan, be careful there. I like you, but not that much.”

  “Understood,” said the gray beard. “Why should I believe any of this?”

  Laura lifted her chin and blurted, “Because I’ve been hanging out with your father. Nice fellow, great dresser—dig those wingtips. Hey, he’s sorry he wasn’t a better father to you, but I guess he couldn’t get along with your mother.” She wanted to ask what species his mother was, but she dared not.

  The satyr blinked at her in amazement and acted as if he had just been shot with Cupid’s arrow. After a moment, he scratched one of the horns that poked up through his silvery mane and asked, “Is Cupid in danger?”

  “Yes, he’s in Denton, Ohio!” she answered, as if that explained it all.

  As the satyrs muttered among themselves in a language she couldn’t understand, Laura lessened her tension on the bowstring. “Listen, Cupid is not in physical danger, but he has amnesia. He’s not in his right mind.”

  “Oh!” roared the satyr with the ukelele. “Then he’s perfectly normal.” One drummer laughed, but Pan did not.

  “Would I have his bow if he was normal?” asked Laura in desperation. “Listen, I only want to know where Venus is. Tell me where to find her, and I’ll go away.”

  “Ah,” said Pan, stroking his belly as he stepped to her right, “we can’t give away our friend’s position to the enemy, now can we?”

  She lifted the bow, pulled back the string, and took aim at his sculpted but hairy chest. “Take one more step, and you’ll be a monogamous satyr. I’ve already done Cupidity, and I can take care of you, too.”

  “Who did you say?” asked Pan, halting his effort to outflank her. “Who’s Cupidity?”

  “Cupid … now that she’s a girl. Vulcan put her in a disguise—a really hot disguise.”

  “Oooh, gossip!” they cried. “Tell! Do tell!”

  At their delighted smirks, Laura sighed. “All right, settle down, and I’ll tell you the whole story. But no satyr stuff near me. Okay?”

  As soon as Pan had heard Laura’s story, including parts where he laughed hysterically, he jumped to his feet and rallied his band of satyrs. “Everybody! Listen up—get your leathers on. We’re taking a cross-country bike ride!”

  “Yahoo!” cheered the satyrs, stomping around on their big hooves in the empty poolroom. “I want the three-wheeler!” cried one of them, dashing out of the encampment.

  “Wait a minute!” yelled Laura, “Are we talking motorcycles? I don’t want to go on a cross-anything ride—”

  “Do you want to find Venus?” asked Pan, cutting her off. He lowered his voice to add, “I know where she’ll be on Friday, but I can’t tell a mortal like you. Still, if I feel like going on a trip and inviting you along, who’s to know? It was an accident, right? If we leave now, we can make it by Friday, and I think we’ll end up close to Ohio.”

  Laura gnawed her lower lip. “Finding her on Friday will be cutting it awfully close to the dance.”

  “Just think how much time you’ll save having us with you.” The silver-haired satyr winked at her and added, “When we put our leathers on, we’ll look like any regular motorcycle gang. Don’t we clean up real nice, boys?”

  “Yeah! Sure do!” growled the randy goatmen.

  “All right,” relented Laura. If they didn’t know where Venus was until Friday, she had time to kill … if she could trust them.

  Ignoring her, the crew of five satyrs began to don oversized boots, leather pants, leather jackets, bandannas, and scuffed helmets. Soon they were transformed into an especially scruffy gang of motorcyclists.

  They gave Laura a helmet and her own sleek leathers, which fit perfectly. After she strapped the bow to her back, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, thinking, I actually look hot for once in my life.

  “Let’s ride!” yelled Pan, heading for the door. Whooping and hollering, his gang of satyrs stumbled after him. They leaped on their big hogs, and started the engines with lusty roars and clouds of greasy smoke.

  Pan turned to Laura and pointed to the rest of the banana seat behind him, then held out his hand.

  I agreed to do this—no excuses, she thought. With a terrified squeak, Laura grabbed his hand and climbed onto the back of the big two-wheeler.

/>   “Hold on!” shouted Lar, the chauffeur. He dashed in front of the motorcycles, waving his hands. “You boys will behave yourselves with Miss Sweeney, I hope!”

  “She’s under my father’s protection,” declared Pan. He zipped up his aged leather jacket, which was covered in road rash, and added, “She’ll be safer with us than with you and Pops. You don’t know the kind of place we’re going.”

  Laura shouted doubtfully, “I’ll be fine!”

  “I’ll get word to Mercury,” answered Lar.

  Pan revved his engine until it sounded like Jupiter’s thunder, and the chauffeur scurried out of the way. When the satyr waved his arm, the growl of engines reached a fevered pitch. Laura heard the click of the gears, and she gripped Pan’s waist as the chopper flew off the curb and shot into the night.

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Sweeney, this is Taryn’s father,” said Mercury, who was seated in an unmarked, high-tech van parked across the street from Taryn’s house. He and his crew of expensive minions were intercepting any calls between the two households, although so far there had only been two. “I know I don’t sound like myself, but I have a cold.” The god gave a polite cough.

  On the other end of the line, Edward Sweeney stammered, “It’s … it’s just that we haven’t seen our daughter since last Saturday or Sunday. I’m not sure when.” He added quickly, “I’ve been very busy.”

  “I’m sure you have,” answered Mercury with only a trace of sarcasm. “I can tell you that Laura has been a total delight to me and—”

  He paused to look at a technician, who read off a computer screen, “Melissa.”

  “Melissa,” said Mercury. “Yes, Melissa really likes Laura, who is a delightful houseguest. I think Taryn has brought her up to speed on her schoolwork, and she’ll return home at the end of the week. Now, don’t you worry about Laura … just get back to those pressing matters of yours. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” As Ed Sweeney’s voice faded away, Mercury heard him plead, “Honey, wait until I get off the phone!”