Necrophiliac's Honeymoon

by Paul Neuhaus

  A knock on the door. Amanda nearly shit herself. “It’s the bad guys,” she said.

  The knock came a second time. “I don’t think the bad guys’re polite enough to knock. I’m gonna see who it is.” I got up out of bed and put on my shirt. It was long enough to cover my panties. I walked over to the door and opened it a crack. The chain was still in place. Standing in the hallway was a little guy with shifty eyes, a black beard and tight black curls. Ringlets. It was our tail, Josh Groban, showing himself at last.

  “You’re gonna wanna talk to me,” he said.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Constantine Constantinides.”

  I cocked my head. “Constantine Constantinides? Isn’t that a little like being named Jack Jackson?”

  He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Apparently, I wasn’t the first one to point out the problem with his name. “What do you want from me, huh? Did I name myself? No, I did not. My parents live in Pacoima if you wanna look them up and give them shit.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. No need to get testy. Why should I let you in, Constantine Constantinides?”

  “Call me ‘Connie’. Everyone else does. And, yeah, before you shoot off your mouth, I know it’s a chick’s name. Ha ha. Boy’s got a girl name. Just save it, alright.”

  My smile grew wider. “I wasn’t gonna say nothing. You still haven’t told me why I should let you in.”

  “You should let me in because Eurydice sent me.”

  Say what? This I had to hear. I undid the chain, threw open the door, and said, “Come right in.”

  Connie said hello to Amanda as he walked by her. Amanda was mortified. She had her covers pulled up to her chin. I grabbed her clothes from where she’d left them on the floor and tossed them to her. As for me, I didn’t care if Connie saw my legs or even my Strawberry Shortcake panties. I wasn’t attracted to him, I just didn’t care. He sat down and so did I. During the first part of the conversation, Amanda put on her sweater and pants underneath her blanket.

  Constantine lit a cigarette.

  “This is a no smoking room,” I said.

  “Thank gods I haven’t reached a point in my life where I’m afraid of the Holiday Inn corporation.”

  “If they come in here tomorrow after we’ve left and smell smoke and tack on a penalty to my credit card, you’re gonna need to be afraid of me.” I slid a half empty glass of water across the table toward him.

  Connie gave me a sour look and dropped his cigarette into the water.

  “Now... You said you were sent here by Eurydice.”

  “That,” he said. “Was an exaggeration. To get you to let me in. I don’t know Eurydice personally, but I’d like to think I represent her interests.” He had a gold ring on his right hand. After some wriggling and hard pulls, he got it off and handed it to me.

  I looked at the ring. On it was the Omega. The unpronounceable symbol Dwayne used on his album. The final. The best. “I don’t get it,” I said. I passed the ring to Amanda who was now sitting, fully-dressed, on the end of her bed. Amanda passed the jewelry back to Connie who replaced it on his finger. Amanda clearly recognized the Omega.

  “No doubt you’re wondering why I’d wear something with the symbol Orpheus adopted for his record. You do realize now you’re dealing with Orpheus, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I figured it out about an hour ago.”

  “The Omega’s the symbol of a freakin’ old secret society. Founded by Eurydice’s father and two brothers. All three of them thought Orpheus was a bum. I mean he was a musician, am I right? They thought he was nothing but bad news for their girl and were against the marriage from the start. Eurydice dying on her wedding day more or less proved them right.”

  “Hold up,” Amanda said, chiming in for the first time. “The way I heard it, Eurydice was minding her own business when one of those horny, half-goat guys showed up and chased her into a snake pit.”

  “Hogwash,” Constantinides replied.

  Venables and I looked at one another then back at our visitor.

  “Orpheus had a kink. As far as I know, he still does. He liked to do it au naturel. And by that, I mean, he liked to fuck in the woods. In itself, that ain’t a big deal. I mean who doesn’t like to fuck in the woods? But with our boy it was an unhealthy obsession. Right after the ceremony, Orpheus grabbed his good lady wife and pulled her into the nearby forest. He was in such a big hurry, he was just yanking her along. She tripped on a root and fell sideways into the not-so-proverbial viper hole. Exit Eurydice. Like any childish deadbeat, ol’ Orph’ didn’t know what to do. Finally, he came running out of the trees, crying like a baby and saying a satyr chased Eurydice to her death. Everybody at the reception was all distraught and they comforted Orpheus, but, right off, Eurydice’s dad called bullshit. See, Orpheus had the stones to finger a particular satyr. Guy by the name of Aristaeus. Dad and the bros decided they’d have a talk with Aristaeus. They tracked him down—he was living under a tree or some shit—and they put the screws to him. Worked him over good. Turns out the alleged killer had an airtight alibi. The whole time he was supposed to be chasing Eurydice, he was doing the orgy thing with a brace of wood nymphs. The girls were only too willing to prop up Aristaeus’ story. No doubt they went into a fair amount of salacious detail, too. Wood nymphs got loose lips, as I’m sure you know. Anyway, the boys came back to their village spoiling for a fight. The only problem was Orpheus had gotten the hell outta town. A wise move when you’re a liar with three bruisers on your tail. Pop and the two brothers made a vow. They were gonna track down Orpheus and clean his clock at any cost. To cement the deal, they all got Omegas branded into their inside right wrists. To commemorate their adoration for Eurydice—she was a great kid by all accounts. They thought of her, at the moment of her death as being perfect. Her in her final and best form. The Knights of Eurydice were formed.”

  “The Knights of Eurydice? Never heard of ‘em,” I said.

  “Of course, you never heard of them. What’d be the point of having a secret society everybody knew about?”

  “Alright fine. I’m guessing there’s more to the story...”

  “Right. So those first three Knights—that’s not what they called themselves, the name came later—basically tracked Orpheus all over Greece. They were always one step behind him, but they never quite caught up. In time, they heard about his little stunt with the Underworld and the singing and the bringing Eurydice back, and the losing her at the last minute. Eurydice’s father was even more furious at that point. Not only did Orpheus get the chance to bring the girl back from the dead, he botched it. Plus, there was a matter of honor. Eurydice’s pop went on record saying Orpheus was the biggest, dumbest coward in Greek history. After all, if he really loved Eurydice and wanted to be with her, he would’ve manned up and got himself killed so he could join her in the Underworld. Instead, he tried to cheat the system. Anyway, long story short, our three avengers never did catch up with lyre boy. Their mission was never completed but the idea behind it stuck. The Knights of Eurydice is about helping women in trouble. Vouching for them in a world where no one else will. Fortunately, the scales have leveled somewhat since old school Greece. But that doesn’t mean our work is done.”

  “Huh,” Amanda said.

  After the moment it took she and I to digest Connie’s story, I said to him, “So, you’re like a feminist freemason...”

  “As good a description as any, I guess.”

  “Why’ve you been following me?”

  He turned the ring on his finger as he spoke. “Because maybe I’ve got a chance to finish the work Eurydice’s old man and brothers began. I mean, let’s face it, Orpheus AKA Dwayne’s kind of a shithead. He deserves what’s coming to him. The fact that he’s active right now has me and my boys worried.”

  “Why now as opposed to any other time?”

  “We’re coming up on the, what, like eight thousandth anniversary of his wedding day. We th
ink he’s gonna try and lay hands on Eurydice and consummate the union. If he can do it in Greece on the very spot of the ceremony, so much the better.”

  “When’s the big day?”

  “The seventh.”

  “You act like something terrible’s gonna happen if he finally seals the deal...”

  “Something terrible will happen. You know how magic works in Greek stories. It’s usually tied to some big event. As a people, we’re fixated on narrative. Endings have power for us. What’s the biggest open-ended story you can think of in the Greek tradition?”

  I scowled. “Orpheus and Eurydice.”

  “Right. If the Music Man can finally seal the deal, huge cosmic forces will be unleashed.”

  I looked at Amanda. She hung on our every word. “That could explain why Medea is interested.”

  “Sure, she’s a sorceress. If anyone could stand to benefit from all that pent-up power being released, it’s her.”

  “Well, all of this is damned depressing,” I said, turning back to Connie. “Do you have anything other than context for me? Do you have anything I can use?”

  “Yeah, I got something you can use. Why else would I risk getting pepper sprayed, clocked with brass knuckles and cuffed in the middle of the night in West L.A.”

  I smiled. Connie had done his homework. “Lay it on me,” I said.

  “You know Bronson Caves, right?”

  “Bronson Caves?” Amanda repeated.

  “They’re caves and they’re in Griffith Park. Did you ever see the old Batman TV show?”

  She nodded.

  “Bronson Caves is where the Batmobile drove out of.”

  Constantinides grinned. “Bronson Caves is where the Batmobile drove out of, but that’s not why I mention it. What else is Bronson Caves known for?”

  Then it hit me. “Oh, shit,” I said.

  There’re deep places in the world where hidden doorways lie. Even people brave enough to enter into those places usually miss the doorways. You kind of have to know what you’re looking for. I know what you’re saying, Doorways? What doorways? What’re you talking about? I’ll cut to the chase: I’m talking about entrances to Hell. Actually, “Hell” isn’t the right word. Christian Hell is an actively horrible place, what with the torturing and the burning. Greek Hell—AKA Hades, AKA “The Underworld”—is morally neutral. I’ve never been there, but from what I hear, the best word to describe it would be “chill”. It’s a drab, gray place where the dead mope around in swirling mists. There’s no shopping, there’s no sports, and there’s no booze.

  There’re some big rivers running through the Underworld—tributaries to the big one. The river Styx. I’m sure you’ve heard of it—if not from literature then from the shitty seventies band of the same name. (“Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto”. Fuck you.) The tributaries start on the surface in Greece. They’re still there today and, at each of them, there’s an entrance to Hades. But not every entrance to the Underworld is in the motherland. That’d be stupid when there are humans just about everywhere. There are a few entrances in the Southern California area. One of them is in Bronson Caves.

  As I fumbled into my poodle skirt and kicky boots, I said to Connie, “You didn’t happen to see him go out there, did you?”

  “To the caves? Not me. A buddy of mine. Another Knight of Eurydice. I was following you, he was following Orpheus. He saw him go in with a bundle; he saw him come out with nothing.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t understand...” Amanda said.

  “There’s an entrance to the Underworld in Bronson Caves,” Connie said.

  “So, what, Orpheus is gonna take another shot at Eurydice?”

  “You would think, but that’s not why he went to the caves.” Amanda looked from the little, curly-headed man to me. “He dropped my jug into Hell,” I said. “To keep it away from me long enough for him and Medea to do whatever it is they’re planning to do.”

  Venables sighed. “Huh. See I thought maybe he was holding your jug hostage. If you wanted to get it back, you’d have to give him Eurydice.”

  “That,” I said. “Is good thinking. I give you points for creativity. But I don’t have any special access to the Underworld or to Eurydice. I think my theory is the correct one. ‘Course I’ve been wrong plenty of times before.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  I tried not to sound impatient. “Out to Bronson Caves.”

  “To do what exactly?”

  “To get Hope back. I can’t do anything without her and the jug. You stay here. I’ll come back for you as soon as I finish what I gotta do.” I turned to Constantinides. “How many of you guys are there in L.A.? Do you have someone that could watch over my friend here? Someone you can spare?”

  “I’ve got one person I can spare. Me. Always down to help a lady. Part of the mission statement.”

  “Okay, good. I’m outta here.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. As soon as I put my hand on the knob, I was stopped by a shout.

  “Wait!” It was Amanda. As soon as she saw she had our attention, she lowered her voice. “Wait. Stop. Slow down. Stop treating me like I’m some kinda prop. I want input. I want input, dammit.”

  “Okay,” I said, looking at my watch. “Hurry it up.”

  She didn’t say anything. She picked up her shoes and put them on. Then she stood and joined me at the door.

  “I thought you wanted input,” I said.

  “This is my input,” she replied. “I’m coming with you.”

  I smiled, happy for the support, but also thinking she was full of shit. “You know where I’m going, right? I’m going to the Underworld.”

  “What, are these shoes not okay? They’re a heel, but they’re a low heel.”

  I smiled at her. Whatever happened next, I was happy to have met her. “I’m not dragging you to the Underworld.”

  “Why not. Is it all fiery and burn-y?”

  She had me there. “No...” I said, hesitating. “Actually, it’s supposed to be kinda laid back. Just a bunch of dead spirits milling about.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Venables said. She turned to Connie. “I don’t think that sounds too bad. Do you?”

  Connie shrugged. “As hells go, it’s one of the better options, I guess.”

  Amanda turned back to me. “See? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  I raised one eyebrow. “Well, for one thing, after this you’re not going to be able to use the word ‘alleged’ in connection with all things mythological. Not anymore.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’m not opposed to having my entire worldview torn down. I mean, that’s healthy, isn’t it?”

  In that moment, I decided to take her. Mostly because I knew that Hades had fucked off and Persephone—excuse me, “Stephanie”—had a pretty easy-going rep. “Alright,” I said. “But this is against my better judgment.”

  On our way out, Amanda turned to Connie again. “Thanks for the offer. I’ve never been protected by a real knight before.”

  Constantinides grinned at her. “I find that hard to believe. You are one happenin’ lady.”

  Venables returned the smile and the sudden spark between them was unmissable. I said, “Oh, fer fuck’s sake”, and we went out into the hall.

  Before we’d gotten ten steps, Connie dashed after us and slid a business card into my hand. “If you make any kind of headway at all, I wanna hear about it.”

  I nodded and slipped the card into my purse.

  Since Amanda was coming with me, I went down to the desk and settled accounts. While we were standing talking to the night clerk, Connie walked by and wished us luck. As he left, he and Venables shared another smile.

  “Really?” I said. “He’s your type?”

  “What do you mean? What’s the matter with him? He seems nice.”

  “He ain’t exactly the strapping, macho type, is he?”

  “Maybe I don’t go in for the strapping, macho type. Maybe all t
he strapping, macho guys I’ve dated have been dumber than dung beetles.”

  We went outside and headed for the Firebird. “So, it’s like that, is it?”

  “Like what?”

  “You want your mind stimulated as much as your doodads.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. Not a thing. I’m just saying there’s something really great about a doodad-centric relationship. There’s a purity. And I don’t mean that in a moral way. I mean it in an Oh my Gods, I just had an orgasm that made my head fall off way.”

  She took on a fake uppityness. “Listen, you have your genitals stimulated how you want your genitals stimulated and I’ll have my genitals stimulated the way I wanna have my genitals stimulated.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said.

  We were quiet for most of the trip out to Griffith Park. Mostly because it was night, and it was cold and because we were going to the Underworld. It was a first for both of us, and neither of us knew what to expect. Would we even find Hope? Would we be able to get out again once we did? What would Medea and Orpheus be doing in our absence? It was a whole bunch of unknowns.

  As we crested the hill between Santa Monica and the San Fernando Valley, Amanda finally spoke. “Just so we’re clear... These dead people... They’re not like zombies, are they? They won’t wanna eat our brains...”

  “Well, first of all, I don’t know. I’ve never been there either. I wouldn’t sweat it, though. I think flesh-eating zombies’re an American invention. George Romero. Night of the Living Dead. Credit where credit is due, you know? Most Greek stories talk about how the Underworld’s full of like ghosts. Like Scooby-doo style. Listen, if you’re having second thoughts, we could—”

  “No. I’m not having second thoughts. I was just—”

  “Are you sure? We’re probably gonna pass near your place. Do you want me to—?”

  “No, I don’t want you to. I was just getting a little tense, you know?”

  “I do know. I’m tense too. We can be tense together.”

  My friend took a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do that.”