Divine and Dateless

by Tara West

  I eyed him suspiciously, waiting for his shell to crack. “How long do I have to stay there?”

  He tossed up his hands. “That all depends on how fast you earn your credits.”

  I came to my knees, searching his gaze for any sign of deceit. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Hey, it’s not so bad down there. I got you an apartment in my building.” He bit his bottom lip as he flushed all the way to the dark roots of his thick hair. “I can’t promise mind blowing orgasms, but I make a mean plate of spaghetti.”

  “Good morning, dear.” Grandma tapped on my bedroom door as she pushed it open. She looked refreshed and beautiful in a flowing pink dress that could have been ripped off a 1950s Vogue magazine. “I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in. I figured you’d still be sleeping. Have a good night?” She flashed a flirty smile at Grim. “Your valet is a brutish brunette now, huh? So I assume the answer is yes.”

  “This isn’t my valet.” I thumbed at the man who was crushing my dreams. “This is the Grim Reaper who dropped me off yesterday. He’s taking me to Purgatory.”

  Grandma stepped back, and with an exaggerated movement, splayed a hand across her heart. “What?”

  I wasn’t buying the look of mock surprise in her eyes.

  I scowled even harder at him. “He says there was a clerical error.”

  “Look.” Grim groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re only one floor down. With good behavior, you’ll be back up here in ten, twenty years tops.”

  “Twenty years!” I gasped.

  “Good behavior!” Grandma snorted and then shook her head. “You obviously don’t know my granddaughter.”

  So much for her assertion last night that God didn’t make mistakes. She’d probably suspected I was sent to the wrong floor all along.

  “I’m sorry.” Grim’s lower lip turned a pout, making him look somewhat cute, though he was still an asshole. “My hands are tied. Boss’s orders.”

  I sank onto the bed as my world imploded. No more family, no more beautiful apartment, and no more hot sex. I sure hoped they sold batteries in Purgatory, because I was going to need an awful lot to get me through twenty years of misery. Unable to stop the well of tears from overflowing, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” Grandma sat beside me, wrapping a slender arm around my shoulder. “Grandpa’s just a few floors down. I’ll see you every weekend when I pay him conjugal visits.”

  Great. Even Grandma was on Grim’s side. The finality of my fate made me sob even harder.

  Grandma patted my back as if she was trying to burp a baby. “There, there. Everything will be okay. I’ll bring cheesecake.”

  My digs on floor thirteen looked suspiciously similar to my crappy apartment on Earth.

  I spun a slow circle, surveying my surroundings: compact kitchen with an ancient, baby puke-green fridge, a two-burner stove, and chipped floor tiles. To the side was a small dinette with mismatched chairs, and rounding out the circle was a cramped living room with stained shag carpet, a secondhand sofa, and an old, clunky television.

  I eyed Grim through slitted lids. “I thought you said I wasn’t going to be on level two.”

  “This was the best I could do, Ash.” He shrugged and flashed an apologetic smile.

  What happened to Mr. Jerkface from last night? I was beginning to suspect this guy had a split personality or else he was another illusion.

  “Ashley,” I said in a huff as I turned up my nose.

  “I’ve got to get back to work.” He spoke through a sigh as he dug a card out of his pocket. “Here. You’ve got an appointment in two hours with your creditor.”

  “My creditor?”

  I eyed the little white business card. It was crinkled and musty, as if it had spent the night in Grim’s pocket. The name on the card was smudged, but the street address and suite number were still readable, and the 12:00 p.m. appointment time was clearly written in blue ink.

  “Your creditor tracks your credits,” Grim explained. “He also gives you advice on how to earn more credits, so you can move up to the next floor.”

  I recalled earlier that morning when Grim told me someone had miscalculated my credits. I clenched my hands as heat filled my body and infused my skull. My head felt like a steaming kettle ready to explode. “Is he the one who screwed up my credits and sent me to Heaven?” I said through gritted teeth.

  Grim gave a succinct nod.

  “Great,” I spat. “I’ve got a few choice words for him.”

  Grim wagged a finger. “Choose your words with caution, Ash. You need to maintain a good relationship with your creditor if you want to shoot up faster.”

  I was about to tell Mr. Jerkface to stop calling me by my nickname when I was startled by a knock at the door.

  The door, which was already ajar, swung wide. A tall and buff twenty-something Hispanic woman stood in the doorway, smiling profusely as she held out a tinfoil-covered tray. “There you are, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious,” she said with a thick Latin accent. “I made you some brownies.”

  She looked like she was auditioning for an ’80s girl band, with rhinestone heeled boots, a fuchsia mini skirt, wide hoop earrings, and gold bangles jingling on her arms as she sauntered up to us with an exaggerated swagger. Her blue eye shadow and black mascara was layered on so thick, I was surprised she could hold her eyes open. Either she’d painted a large black mole above her lip or else Purgatory had a tick problem.

  Grim’s face lit up like Fourth of July fireworks as he took the tray from her. “You didn’t have to do that, Inés. Thanks.”

  Inés’s bright pink lips turned a pout. “I hope it helps your hangover.”

  I was momentarily distracted by Inés’s Adam’s apple, which bobbled as she spoke. But then it hit me. Uh, oh. I hoped Grim didn’t have a drinking problem. That would explain his sour mood last night. He was probably impatient to go get his fix.

  Inés leaned forward, her purple and black leopard print nails digging into Grim’s taut forearm as she spoke. “I heard you had a rough night.”

  Grim’s face colored as he shrugged. “It was nothing. Don’t you worry about me.” He cleared his throat before nodding toward me. “Inés, I’d like you to meet Ash.”

  She turned to me with an affectionate smile. “Hola, chica. You just come from floor twelve?”

  I shook her outstretched hand, wincing beneath her firm grip. It was my turn to flush. I sure hoped everyone here didn’t ask me this. I’d hate to have to explain myself for the next twenty years.

  “No,” I said as she released me, and I shook the feeling back into my hand.

  “She came from the Penthouse,” Grim said.

  Inés’s booming yell morphed into a girly shriek, making her sound like a linebacker who’d just inhaled a helium balloon. “Aye Dios Mio!” She scooted away from me, making a sign of the cross. “You must have done some pretty bad shit to get kicked out of Heaven, but don’t you worry.” She held out a hand, bobbling her head like a diva on speed. “Inés don’t judge nobody.”

  Grim heaved a sigh. “She wasn’t kicked out. Front desk counted her credits wrong.”

  Inés planted one manicured hand on her hip. “Who’s her creditor?”

  Grim chuckled. “Mr. Loveass.”

  Love Ass? Did I just hear him correctly?

  “No wonder.” She waved two long fingers in front of her face. “Not that I’m judging, but that fool can’t add two plus two.” Then her mouth fell open, and she shrieked before making another sign of the cross. “Forgive me, Lord.” She looked up to the ceiling, holding her hands in a prayer pose. “Inés didn’t mean to speak bad of nobody.”

  “Inés, could you do me a favor and show Ash to her creditor appointment?” Grim’s gaze didn’t meet mine as he angled his head in my direction like I was the wrong size shoes that needed to be returned.

  “Sure thing, hotshot,” Inés cooed.

  “I’ve got to get back to wo
rk,” Grim said. “Thanks again for the brownies.” Since Inés was nearly his height, he barely had to lean down to kiss her on the cheek.

  I didn’t know why that kiss bothered me, but it did. It was just a peck, hardly even a kiss, the kind I used to give my college buddies when we met for lunch.

  I felt a pang in my chest when Inés swatted at him while batting her lashes. “You always know how to make a lady blush. I bet those brownies aren’t half as tasty as you, Mr. Delicious.”

  Grrr. I really wanted to like Inés, so why did I have to fight the urge to walk up to her and stomp on her flashy boot? Not that I’d win that battle. Her biceps were almost as big as my thighs. Besides, she was right. He was more delicious than a brownie. At least his twin had been. Damn me for thinking the real Grim would probably be just as tasty, if not better.

  “Ash, again, I’m really sorry for what happened.” When he turned his attention on me, those annoying butterflies in my chest began to flutter. “If there’s anything you need, I’m two doors down. I’ll be home this evening. Night, ladies.” He placed two fingers to his brow as if tipping an imaginary hat.

  Even though I was reminded of the old cheesy western movies my mom used to make me watch, my stupid heart might have sighed a little. As he turned and strolled out the door, I couldn’t help but let my eyes linger on that round, tight ass in snug denim.

  “Ai yai yai.” Inés swept a hand to her brow with a dramatic sigh. “That man is a heartbreaker.”

  No matter how badly I wanted to deny it, Inés was a woman after my own heart. How could I possibly hate her?

  “Honey, what happened to your hair?” Inez waved a finger at me while clucking her tongue. “You get into a fight with a light socket?”

  “What?” I shrieked as my hands flew to my head. “Omigod!” My hair felt like an electrified mop.

  I nearly tripped over the shag carpet as I rushed to the bathroom and examined my reflection in the foggy, cracked mirror. My puffball had returned with a vengeance.

  What was I going to do? I didn’t think Purgatory had enough hydrating oil to fix this mess. Had I descended all the way from Heaven like this? Oh, God! Had Grim noticed? I pushed down a lock of frizz that sprang back into the air. Of course, he’d noticed.

  Fuckity fuck fuck!

  Although, why did I care? This was all his fault. He’d only given me a few minutes to change into my old dress before whisking me out the door. I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to my uncle because of Grim’s stupid schedule. I thought my hair had still been wet when we’d gotten on the elevator, but sometime between now and then, my demonic possessed hair had come back to life. I wondered what else had changed, but then I looked down at my legs, painfully aware I was no longer swimming in my dress and my thighs were once again rubbing each other. My skinny self was gone! This was so not fair!

  I flopped onto the chipped, cream-colored porcelain toilet and buried my face in my hands, unable to hold back the flood of tears. In the blink of an eye, my life had gone from absolute perfection to shit, and I feared it would only get shittier.

  “There, there, honey.” I thought I heard my hair boinging as Inés patted my head. “Don’t cry. Come back to my place. I will make you pretty.”

  I sniffled as I looked up at her. “I want to go back to Heaven.”

  “I know, chica.” She shook her head, clucking her tongue. “I would be pretty upset too if someone took away my cheesecake.” She tugged on my shirtsleeve, speaking in a voice laced with sugary sweetness. “Come on, honey. We don’t got no cheesecake down here, but I got more brownies at my apartment.”

  I shook my head as I wrapped my arms around my waist. “I’m not hungry.”

  “The tide is high. We need to get moving on before your appointment. Let’s go!” Inés boomed in a surprisingly masculine and firm tone that left no room for argument.

  Wow. Death was getting more and more awkward.

  It turned out Inés was a hair stylist, and she ran a small salon out of her apartment. My lucky day that her ten o’clock cancelled. Also my lucky day she said I could pay her back in a few weeks after I earned enough credits.

  Walking into Inés’s apartment was like opening up a time capsule to 1980. She’d converted her dining room into a studio, complete with a deep sink, one of those chairs with a big dome blow-dryer, and a styling station. A little pink stereo sat on a shelf above the sink, and she hummed along while it played “Rapture” by Blondie. I tried not to listen to her off-pitch singing. Instead, I gazed at the ceiling, painted in bright tie-dye like the rest of her walls. But I got a headache if I stared at the obnoxious colors too long.

  After soaking my hair in a strange foamy cream that smelled like the upholstery of my grandpa’s old car, then scrubbing my scalp with water so hot I was pretty sure Inés had imported it from Hell, she was finally combing through my wiry strands with a firm hand. And when I say a firm hand, I thought I felt bits of my scalp tearing off with each stroke. But I didn’t dare complain for fear I’d piss her off. Inés was my only friend in Purgatory, if I didn’t count Grim, which I didn’t.

  She’d positioned me over the sink, fanning my hair out behind me while she dragged a comb through it. She had my head bent so far back I feared my neck would snap.

  “I ain’t never seen a white girl with hair this kinky.” She swore in Spanish as she worked out a knot. “What did you do? Too many dye jobs?”

  “No,” I winced. Judging by that gleam in her big brown eyes, I feared she was getting off on ripping my hair out.

  “Soak your head in chlorine?”

  I heaved a sigh. “I electrocuted myself.”

  I didn’t want to be known in Purgatory as the idiot who’d glued the switch on her blow-dryer, but Inés wasn’t giving up. Besides, as I warily glanced toward the dome beside us, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sit under it. Call it a crazy phobia, but being killed by a blow-dryer kind of made a person not want to go near another one. As a matter of fact, I was pretty much scared shitless of anything that plugged into an outlet.

  “Ahhh. Now I see. Don’t worry. A few more deep conditioning treatments, and I can fix it.”

  My eyes bulged as I gaped up at her. “You mean I have to go through this again?”

  “Not today.” She wagged her comb at me. “You don’t want to keep your creditor waiting. You need him on your side.”

  She picked up a bottle of goo and squeezed it into her hands. I scrunched my nose when I was hit by an overpowering sickly sweet smell. “What is that?”

  “It’s my special-made hair gel. We Ricans get the kink, too.”

  I made a face, wishing the drape wasn’t trapping my hands so I could cover my nose. “It smells funny.”

  She narrowed her eyes and then threw in a few head rolls for good measure. “You want to look like this forever?”

  She was right. The last I’d seen of my reflection, I’d looked like a dandelion on steroids.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  Inés flashed a triumphant smile, coated my head in slime, and then combed through my knots all over again.

  Would the torture ever end? Purgatory was starting to feel a whole lot like Hell.

  “The blow-dryer incident,” as Inés kept calling it, didn’t go over so well. It started out with more torturous combing. That wasn’t so bad as I distracted myself by looking at pictures of ’80s girl bands plastered all over the sides of her mirror. The problem arose when Inés whipped out the little pink plastic shell of terror. The minute she plugged it into the wall, I was out of the chair and practically scaling the walls. There was no way I was going to let her dry my hair with that thing.

  After a lot of coaxing, pleading and about a dozen swear words in Spanish, Inés finally relented and towel dried my hair before putting it in a braid. I patted the top of my head, and she swatted my hand away. My hair felt a little less springy, but it was still damp, so I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  Even though she said I was by far her
worst-behaved client, Inés took pity on me and invited me for coffee.

  I followed her into the living room with cream shag carpet that practically swallowed my bare feet, and sank onto a purple velvet oversized chair, tucking my feet beneath me while sipping on the steaming liquid.

  Mmm. Hazlenut cream. Inés might have been the Dr. Kevorkian of hair stylists, but she sure knew how to make a good cup of joe.

  She sat across from me, palming a large cup in her hands. “Honey, you got to stop looking so glum.” She eyed me like I was a wayward dog who’d just crapped on the carpet. Then she set her coffee down and held a big plate of brownies under my nose. “Come on,” she said. “One bite won’t kill you.”

  I heaved a sigh as I grabbed a brownie off the tray. “Couple more years,” she said with a wink, “and you’ll be eating cheesecake again before you know it.”

  My shoulders fell as I bit into the brownie. It was delicious and sinfully chocolaty, but it sure didn’t beat cheesecake. It most certainly didn’t beat last night’s marathon sex, either.

  Wow. Who would’ve thought I’d have to die to discover sex was better than chocolate?

  “I don’t want cheesecake.” I groaned as I took another bite. It really was delicious. “I want my grandma, my uncle, and my beefcake.”

  Her eyes lit up as she leaned forward. “Oh, you had a valet, didn’t you?” She took a long sip of coffee before daintily wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Tell me, honey, what’d he look like?”

  “He looked like….” I paused as I searched her gaze. Did I really want to go there? Then I realized it probably didn’t matter. If Grim was like every other asshole I’d dated, all of Purgatory would soon know he was my fantasy fuck. “Grim,” I finally answered through a groan.

  She gasped and then set her cup on the coffee table with shaky hands. She got up and sat beside me, taking my hands in hers. “You mean your fantasy man was O’Connor?”

  “I guess.” I shrugged, pretending nonchalance. As if last night wasn’t the best night of my existence. “Is that his name?”