Unfinished Muse

by R. L. Naquin

  Elmore came up for air and sipped his Coke. “Adopted.” He went back to eating.

  Jilly made a face, then slid her plate of goop over to him. “What about you, Wynter? Parents?”

  “One. My mother is eccentric, but hardly godlike. I don’t know anything about my father. I never knew him.” I tasted my macaroni and cheese. It was gritty and had some sort of meat-like substance in it. I slid the plate to Elmore.

  I’d have to pay Mom a visit. She’d never given me a straight answer before when I asked about my father. But that would have to change.

  For the rest of lunch, we all avoided talking about the second thing that had apparently put us there—our supreme, rock-bottom sucktitude. I didn’t blame any of them for not bringing it up. I didn’t much feel like talking about my ongoing battle with quitting everything I touched.

  Including my disgusting lunch. I ate the peaches out of my fruit cup, but nothing else looked like anything I recognized. Even the peaches were questionable.

  They tasted a lot like regret for having missed the fabled donuts earlier.

  On our way back to Thebes, we passed through the lobby. Phyllis still sat on a table next to the rubber tree plant, both of them waving their leaves in animated conversation. Patrice looked my way, and I ducked my head.

  At any moment, I’d wake up from this bizarre dream, late for work at my crappy call-center job, knowing I still needed to break up with Freddy over lunch. That had to be the answer, because none of this was real. It couldn’t be.

  I averted my eyes as a winged lion with the head of a woman sauntered past pushing a mail cart.

  Nope. Not real. Not possible.

  And yet, with no other plan, I continued forward, following my new acquaintances back to the conference room labeled Thebes. Because, why the hell not? If nothing else, the nasty mac and cheese had left a very real taste in my mouth to prove its existence.

  We all returned to the seats we’d been in earlier, and Mrs. Moros waited while we got settled.

  “For the rest of today,” she said, “we’ll watch a filmstrip that gives a history lesson. You need to be acquainted with the gods and goddesses in order to understand the various departments.”

  Filmstrips? What year are we in, 1960? What are we, twelve?

  She swung around and glared at me. “That’s two.”

  I slunk down in my seat. I didn’t know what happened at three, but it couldn’t be good.

  Mrs. Moros scowled and paced as she spoke. “Tomorrow you will return here to receive the first of your placement tests. Throughout the week, you’ll be assessed for your knowledge, abilities, and intelligence.”

  She stopped pacing and managed to glare at the entire room at once. “I don’t expect all of you to make the cut.”

  Without another word, she flipped a switch. The room went dark, and a movie started.

  It wasn’t a Hollywood blockbuster, but it wasn’t an actual filmstrip, either. I really did feel like I was back in high school. Mrs. Moros left, and we watched a movie. If I were in school, I’d assume she went for a smoke.

  Since I wasn’t in school and this place was weird as hell, I thought it was more likely that she’d left to trick us and was actually in the room, invisible, watching to see who paid attention.

  Paranoid? Sure. But a snake lady served me a vile lunch, and I walked past a sphinx coming back to the room. A little paranoia was warranted.

  The movie went over all the basic Greek gods, which I mostly remembered from school and stories Mom read to me when I was little. Then it explained the mission of the Mount Olympus Employment Agency. First, to guide humans to their greatest good. And second, to provide a life purpose to the bastard children of the gods.

  Bastard. Nice. I’d thought that word had gone out of style other than as a general name for people who cut me off in traffic. I’d have to try it out in front of Mom and see if it helped me get any more information out of her about my father.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected. More call center work, I supposed. General office drone stuff. Maybe placement in a retail location. I didn’t know for sure. When I heard employment agency, I assumed it would be temp work. This was something else altogether.

  The departments were familiar, but only from stories, not as actual jobs. The Furies department dispensed justice. The Fates department was responsible for planning—though I was hazy on what they planned. The Muse department provided inspiration. Graces, Oracles, Dreams, Cupids…my head spun with all the possible jobs I might be placed in. None of them seemed inviting. And the sad truth of it was, I wasn’t particularly good at anything.

  Chances were, I’d wash out and be assigned to the cafeteria. If that happened, Phyllis was getting a good pruning.

  When the movie was over, the lights came on by themselves, and we all looked around. Mrs. Moros wasn’t in the room, and she’d given no instructions as to what to do. We waited. Gradually, first in whispers, then a little louder, the crowd grew restless.

  Hal was the first to make a decision. He hauled himself out of his chair, stretched, then gathered his things. “We waited. I know it’s only three, but I’m done. See you folks in the morning.”

  The door swung shut behind him, and we sat frozen with indecision. One person wasn’t enough to cause a mass exodus.

  A woman with dark hair and thick glasses stood and gathered her purse. “My kids will be home soon. If she’s not going to give us further instructions, I could use the time to scrape some dinner together.” She turned to a younger woman next to her. “You need a ride?”

  Before the two women were out the door, three more people were packing up to go.

  I didn’t want to be the first to leave, but I sure didn’t want to be the last, either. I waited until a group of five was walking out and ducked into the crowd. Nobody stopped us. It seemed ridiculous that I worried some supernatural creature would come storming after us waving a spiked club for leaving orientation early, but the possibility wasn’t as out there as it would have been when I’d first arrived.

  At the lobby, I split off from the group and grabbed Phyllis.

  “There you are!” Her leaves fluttered at me in a disconcerting way. “What took you so long? The film should have been finished a half hour ago.”

  I blinked. “Nobody said we could leave.”

  Her voice was worried. “Were you the first to go?”

  “No.”

  Her leaves rustled in a sigh of relief. “Good. You weren’t the last, either?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You did well, then. It was a psychological assessment. There will be a lot more this week. Looks like you’re doing great, though! Are you ready to go home?”

  I tucked her under my arm, thinking of all the things one could do to damage a houseplant. Over-watering. Under-watering. Chemicals. Fire.

  I bit my lip. Phyllis was a talker as long as it suited her. But when it came to information I might find useful, she hadn’t said a damn word.

  I could jam her down the garbage disposal. Drop her in boiling water. Borrow a cat and let it pee in her dirt.

  I knew I’d never do anything to harm her, but it was comforting to think about it while I was mad at her for holding out on me.

  Phyllis quivered with excitement. “See you tomorrow, Sadie!”

  The rubber tree waved at us as we walked out the door.

  ~*~

  I was not late on the second day. My hope was to get through the entire week without being noticed again by Mrs. Moros. I kept my thoughts as quiet as I could, took notes, and didn’t squirm.

  Fear is the ultimate motivator.

  After another vile lunch on day two, our tiny captor sent us to Crete for our first real assessment tests. Not the real Crete, of course. It was a huge lecture hall with writing surfaces that folded out of the armrests. The right armrests, not the left.

  Which meant, as a lefty, I had to turn halfway in my seat to use the damn thing, but that wasn’t anything new to me.
I was a little disappointed that a company as old as Ancient Greece had the same lack of regard for the downtrodden left-handed souls of this world as did the American school system.

  Mr. Randall, a skinny man with a mop of black hair on his head, controlled the room. He had an overbite, which left his front teeth peeking from beneath an excellent ‘70s porn ‘stache. He spaced out our group of thirty-two, presumably so no one could cheat, and furnished us each with a thick stack of papers and a pair of number-two pencils.

  Trying not to be too obvious, I glanced at my lap to be sure I was fully clothed. Yesterday had proved to be real, but today might as easily be a naked-testing dream. Unfortunately, my black skirt was right where it was supposed to be. Hard to believe I was actually disappointed not to be naked in public. Nope. I was going to have to take the Ancient Greece version of the SATs.

  The first section of the test was on the gods, goddesses, and heroes of Greek mythology. Believe it or not, I did pretty well on that part. Mom had raised me on stories of angry goddesses, heroic deeds, and disobedient mortals, much like other kids were brought up on fairy tales. Staring at the questions on my sideways desk, it occurred to me that my entire life had been a series of clues to my mysterious heritage, and that maybe the reason I hadn’t lost my mind over the crazy shit I’d seen the last few days was due to my mother preparing me for it all.

  Really needed to pay her a visit.

  My number-two pencil flew over the page and filled in the lettered bubbles. A) Perseus. C) Hera. D) All of the above. A) Andromeda. I wasn’t simply doing pretty well. I was sailing through it. Mom was either getting flowers or a rant from me when I saw her. Probably both.

  Long before Porn ‘Stache Randall called time on the first section, I’d already finished and checked over my answers. A few people around the room groaned. Papers shuffled.

  “Please turn your booklets to section two. Do not begin until I instruct you to do so.” Randall the Whisker-faced clasped his hands behind his back and sniffed so hard I worried his moustache would disappear up his nose. He perched on the edge of a desk and stared at his watch long enough to make everyone uncomfortable in the silence. “Go!”

  The first question in the new section popped the self-satisfied bubble of elation I’d been floating in.

  Q1: Under what circumstances would you reveal yourself to your client? A. You and your client are already acquainted in everyday life. B. The client is in mortal peril. C. Revelation would assist in completion of the assignment. D. The given assignment is flawed and requires alteration. E. All of the above. F. None of the above.

  I hovered my pencil between mortal danger, all of the above, and none of the above. How the hell was I supposed to know anything about company policy? The question didn’t even mean anything to me in the first place. Clients? Revelation?

  Greek mythology had been a fun little trivia quiz, but this made no damn sense at all. I thought I was training for some sort of office job. Possibly even factory or retail work. Clients? I sucked at working with clients.

  The best I could hope for was to wash out before the end of the week so I wouldn’t have to follow through with any of it. But then, I’d be back to where I’d started, with no job, no money for the next month’s rent, and the very real threat of having to move in with my mother. Again.

  I sighed and chose “All of the above.” Then I erased it and chose “Mortal peril.”

  The rest of the questions weren’t much easier or less mysterious. Several questions dealt with the etiquette of mounting a winged horse. Another wanted my opinion on love at first sight. Three questions were devoted to my possible knowledge of arts and crafts, and two had to do with Ouija boards and tarot cards.

  There was no rhyme or reason to the section. None. And the answers could have been any of the choices given.

  When Moustache Randy called time, I’d only made it through three-quarters of the section. On the bright side, that was it for the day. I’d expected more sections, but apparently two were enough.

  We all filed to the front and handed over our bizarre tests and our number-two pencils. Oddly enough, Randall seemed more concerned that he should receive all the pencils than he was that the tests came in.

  “Mr. Turnbrook.” His beady eyes followed a short, blond man on his way out the door. “Two pencils, if you please.”

  Mr. Turnbrook—I thought his name was Steve, but I wasn’t sure—rummaged in his back pocket and found the second pencil. “Sorry.” His brow wrinkled, and he shrugged as if he’d genuinely forgotten but didn’t see what the big deal was.

  Randall sniffed again. That moustache must’ve had a hell of a root system to stay anchored like that.

  Under Randall’s watchful eye, I dropped both pencils into the box on the table and placed my test booklets and answer sheets in their proper piles. My steps were measured and careful as I left the lecture hall. If I didn’t keep control of myself, I’d bolt down the hall, through the building, and out to my car—possibly cackling like a crazy woman the entire way.

  A few people gathered in a group, griping in hushed voices. I grimaced at them on the way past to express solidarity, but I didn’t stop. In the reception rotunda, I scooped up my potted companion and strode out the door without a word.

  “Well, that was rude,” Phyllis said as I shoved her into the car and wedged her in between the bucket seats so she wouldn’t topple over in traffic. “You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye to Madge.”

  I didn’t have any idea who Madge was. As far as I’d seen, Phyllis had been sitting by herself on a shelf with no humans or plants around her. I didn’t care enough to ask, though, and pulled away from the curb without a word.

  “I had a lovely day, thank you for asking, Wynter.” Phyllis slapped me on the arm with one of her braches. “I know you’re listening. Don’t make me sing to you, sweetheart. Tell me how your day was.”

  I glanced at her quivering leaves and back at the road. “It was a big, fat, stupid waste of time. How the hell should I know whether you’re supposed to feed marshmallows to a flying horse after it’s taken a dump? Why would I ever need to know that?”

  Phyllis’s leaves shook and she emitted an odd, high-pitched giggle. “Are you concerned about your score?”

  I scowled. “No. I just don’t see why they made me answer questions that made me look stupid.”

  “Oh, honey. Everyone looks stupid when they take that test. That’s part of why they give it.”

  I snorted. “Excellent. You’ve dragged me into a workplace that intentionally demeans me. I might as well sling burgers. At least there I might retain some dignity.”

  Phyllis sighed. “Be patient, Wynter. By Friday, the assessments will be over and you’ll get your assignment. I’m terribly excited for you!”

  “It’s only Tuesday. Can you at least tell me what to expect tomorrow?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you a little.”

  “Thank you.” Finally, we were getting somewhere. “More tests?”

  “Of sorts.”

  I turned onto the turnpike and headed east. “What does that mean?”

  “Tomorrow is a little different.” She drew her words out, obviously stalling.

  My grip on the steering wheel turned my knuckles white. “Different how?”

  “Well…tomorrow is the physical challenge.”

  I dropped my head back against the seat. “Seriously?”

  She sighed again. “Of course, dear. If they don’t assess your physical abilities, how can they tell which jobs won’t kill you?”

  Chapter 4

  An hour later, I pulled into my mother’s driveway, grabbed my talking plant, and stepped out of the car.

  On my way up the walkway, I nodded at a ceramic garden gnome riding a lawn flamingo. “Frank, good to see you, buddy.”

  For a split second, the sun glinted off the statue and made it look as if he’d winked. I glanced away quickly and kept walking.
Frank gave no other indication of coming to life and answering me—he never had before when I’d greeted him but my understanding of what was real and what was make believe had become a little skewed. If my mother’s tacky yard decorations were about to come to life, I didn’t want to be around to see it.

  A person can only take so many impossible things in a single week.

  As always, I paused at the front door and debated whether to walk in or knock. Mom always made faces at me if she had to answer the door, reminding me that I have a key for a reason. But what if she had a boyfriend in there and they were getting freaky? Or she’d decided to become a nudist—again. Or had the furnace cranked up and was in her underwear doing hot yoga?

  I raised my knuckles to knock, then changed my mind. Whatever my mother was doing, it was bound to be something most other moms wouldn’t be doing. She’d think nothing of throwing the door open, stark naked, while the neighbors watered the lawn across the street.

  She wasn’t an exhibitionist, really. And she wasn’t vain. She simply had this odd way of assuming that whatever she was currently into would be interesting—or at least considered perfectly normal—to everyone else.

  I patted the flowerpot under my arm. “Well, Phyllis. We might as well find out what she’s doing today. Brace yourself.”

  “I’m sure she’s lovely,” Phyllis said.

  “Uh huh.” I lifted my chin, bracing for the worst, then opened the unlocked front door and stepped inside.

  No matter how much I prepared myself for what my mother might be doing, I was never fully ready.

  The light in the living room was so bright I had to squint until my eyes grew accustomed to it. The overhead light was on, and every surface held a table lamp with the brightest possible bulbs screwed into them.

  Mom was in the dead center of the room on her elbows and knees, nose nearly pressed into the carpet. Her lips moved, and she whispered something I couldn’t hear. I waited for her to pause, not wanting to interrupt whatever the hell was going on.

  I honestly couldn’t even make a guess.