A Lee Martinez Read online

“I just called to say I love you,” he said.

  “Uh-huh. Love you, too.”

  The line was silent as Teri formulated her own reply.

  “So we’ve been smote, right?”

  “I’m fairly certain we have been,” he agreed.

  “Damn. And to think I was feeling sorry for that little bastard.”

  Phil winced. “Honey, I don’t think it’s a good idea to profane our new god right now.”

  “Sorry. I knew this was a bad idea. Why didn’t you talk me out of it?”

  “Why did you talk me into it?” he replied.

  “We have to fix it. Maybe we could renounce him.”

  Phil said, “I don’t know. That costs a lot of money. Lawyers in the Divine Court aren’t cheap. Plus it takes time. Sometimes months.”

  He imagined having another day like this, one right after another. Even if it didn’t eventually kill him, he wasn’t looking forward to it. Teri had the same thought.

  “So we appease him, right?” she asked. “That shouldn’t be too hard. He said we could just call him when we were ready to commit.”

  “I left the number at the house.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said through clenched teeth. “It was just some bad luck.”

  “I suppose you’re going to blame Lucky for that, too.”

  “This is no big deal,” he said. “We can handle this. It’s just one bad day. Tonight, you’ll pick me up—”

  “Yes, about that. Someone else will have to take you home tonight. I ran over a hubcap, and it broke my axle.”

  “Damn it, do you know how much that’s going to cost us?”

  “More than a jar of pennies,” she replied. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want this fixed. Now.”

  He heard a thud on the line.

  “Ow, son of a bitch! My paperweight just dropped on my foot. Jeez, that hurts. Phil…”

  “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  “Make it quick, okay?” she said. “I have an important meeting at two and I know if I end up setting the boardroom on fire it’ll probably earn me a write-up.”

  He hung up and tried to save his work. Sickly green filled his monitor and smoke rose from his computer. Phil quickly unplugged it.

  Elliot popped up. “Do I smell something burning?”

  Phil waved away the smoke. “I need to borrow your car.”

  Elliot narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why don’t you have yours?”

  “Flat tire.”

  “This isn’t wrath-related, is it?”

  Phil considered lying, but he wasn’t very good at it. “Maybe.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Remember that time I caught you and Ginger in the broom closet during the vernal equinox party?” said Phil. “And your wife was about to discover you, too, if I hadn’t stalled her, if I remember right.”

  “That’s no fair. I was drunk. It was just a little making out anyway. Nothing serious.”

  “I’m sure Amy would’ve been fine with seeing you and Ginger dry-humping next to the mops.”

  Elliot threw his keys at Phil.

  “We’re even now. But please be careful with that car. I just bought it, and my insurance doesn’t cover acts of gods.”

  4

  Bonnie would later think about how random it all was, and how an entire life could change because of a stolen motorcycle. They never found the thief. She sometimes liked to believe that it was destiny, that an emissary of fate had snatched her prized Harley as part of a larger plot. Perhaps right now the cycle was being used to tow the sun across the heavens, too. She could live with that.

  She knew better. If there was one thing her dealings with the divine would teach her, it was that there was no larger plan. Mortals might not like that. Gods might do their best to deny it. But Whim was the true ruler of the universe. Bonnie had bought her Harley on a whim. Someone had stolen it on another whim. It was a whim of public transportation that there was a bus stop just a block from her apartment, and a whim of nature that the morning was so beautiful she left early to sit on the bench and enjoy the crisp weather.

  A lone woman occupied the bench. She was disheveled, with dirty brown hair. She wore a dress that must have been beautiful a decade ago, but now was tattered and dirty. She sat slumped. Her face was hidden and she wore gloves, so Bonnie couldn’t guess her age. Bonnie wondered if the woman was homeless or a burned-out hippie or something else. Bonnie had expected more people since it was the morning commute, but maybe the woman had scared them away.

  Bonnie almost walked away but decided she was being judgmental. She wasn’t going to let a snap judgment ruin her day.

  “Hello,” she said as warmly as she could.

  The woman turned her head. Her hair fell across her eyes and obscured everything but her chin. It was smooth and pale. Too pale. As if her skin had never been exposed to sunlight. Or any light at all. Like an albino. She didn’t smile.

  “Hello.” There was a slight rasp in her flat voice.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” The woman raised her head. Her hair clung to her face, refusing to show any more of it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Bonnie decided the woman was weird, but harmless. If she did scare away the other commuters, it just gave Bonnie more room on the bench. She sat down. A chill passed through her.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” said the woman, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You shouldn’t have sat there.”

  The woman sighed deeply and a frozen wind swept across the bench. The birdsongs turned shrill. Darkness blotted out the sun, and a gray shadow fell across the bus stop and only the bus stop. The rest of the world was just as bright and warm as before, but the miniature eclipse enveloped the stop in raw, all-consuming hopelessness. There was no other word for it.

  The darkness passed. It didn’t fade so much as bleed into the ground and slide into place as the woman’s shadow. The cold lessened but didn’t disappear. Bonnie jumped off the bench and rubbed her hands together.

  “It’s too late for that,” said the tattered woman.

  Bonnie’s cell rang. The ring tone told her it was her boyfriend.

  “I’m sorry,” said the woman.

  Bonnie flipped open the phone. “Hi, Walter. You would not believe what just happened to—”

  He broke up with her. He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t feign politeness either. Just told her it was over, and hung up. She didn’t have time to absorb the news, much less formulate a response. She tried calling him back, five times, but he didn’t answer.

  “I’m sorry,” said the woman, “but I did tell you not to sit there.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t? Are you certain about that? Because I’m pretty sure I did.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

  Bonnie dialed her boyfriend again with the same result. She left another message.

  “Well, maybe if you had said something to me before you sat,” said the tattered woman, “I could’ve warned you. It’s only polite to acknowledge others.”

  “I said hello.”

  “Did you? That’s something, I suppose.”

  Bonnie dialed her phone again but snapped it shut before the call went through. “I talked to you about the day, too. About the weather!”

  “I suppose.” She grunted. “Though you didn’t sound like you really meant it.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “So you admit it?”

  “Of course I admit it,” said Bonnie. “It’s the weather. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just polite conversation.”

  “I guess that counts for mortal politeness in this new age.”

  Bonnie paced in a tight circle, staring at her phone, willing it to ring.

  “He’s not going to call,” said the tattered woman. “It’ll just be easier to let him go
.”

  “But we’re in love.”

  “You were in love, and I guess you still are. More than ever now. But he’ll never speak to you again.”

  A palpable misery emanated from her, a wave of icy numbness. The bench grayed. Its color ran down the street and into a storm drain. Bonnie felt every ounce of the rising melancholy. She wanted to die then. Just collapse and wither away until she was nothing but dust. Then she hoped the sun would explode and vaporize the entire planet, erasing every remnant of this moment from the memory of time.

  Bonnie had to get away. She ran back to her apartment, shut the door behind her, and wiped away her tears. The weight of despair lessened, but it didn’t fade. Not completely.

  Someone rattled around in her kitchenette. She knew who it was without having to look.

  The tattered goddess floated into view. She carried two glasses of tomato juice and offered one to Bonnie. “Here. Drink this. It won’t solve your problem, but it’s chock-full of vitamins.”

  Bonnie slapped the glass out of the goddess’s hand. Juice spilled across her carpet, couch, and wall. “You did this! You did something to Walter!”

  “Actually, I did something to you,” said the goddess. “Your boyfriend was just some collateral damage.” The goddess sipped her juice, leaving a red mustache on her pale flesh. “And I did say I was sorry.”

  She brushed her limp hair away, allowing Bonnie a brief glimpse of the goddess’s face. Her large, sad eyes were as colorless as the rest of her.

  “Take it back. Please, I’ll do anything.”

  Her relationship with Walter had been good, but nothing spectacular. She loved him, but it wasn’t head-over-heels. Just some good times and reliable, comforting familiarity. So why did she miss him so much now? She ached for his touch, his smile, his clumsy but competent sex. Even things that she’d found annoying somehow seemed endearing at this moment.

  She stifled a sob. Her lip quivered, but she swallowed the pain.

  “That’s good,” said the goddess. “Bury it deep. You’ll last longer that way.” She sighed and a nearby frame holding Walter’s photo cracked.

  “Will you stop doing that?” asked Bonnie. “Stop sighing!”

  “Sorry. I can’t help it. Or you.”

  Bonnie slapped the second glass out of the goddess’s hand. The juice covered Bonnie’s shoes, but none of it splashed the goddess. “Get the hell out of my apartment!”

  “I can’t do that. You invited me into your life, and here I shall remain until…”

  The goddess sighed, and Walter’s photo burst into flame. Bonnie stomped it out, but not fast enough to prevent a scorch mark in the carpet. The loss of her apartment deposit didn’t add any joy to her day.

  “What do I have to do to get rid of you?” asked Bonnie.

  “There’s nothing you can do.” The goddess floated to the couch and had a seat.

  “But you just said you’re in my life until…”

  The goddess turned on the television. “Oh, good. You have cable. The last one didn’t.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You said I was stuck with you until…” Bonnie paused to give the goddess a chance to insert the end of the sentence, but she didn’t oblige.

  “When Harry Met Sally is on,” said the goddess. “I hate that movie. So tragic when they die in that car accident.”

  “That doesn’t happen in the movie,” said Bonnie.

  “It does when I watch it.”

  Bonnie stepped in front of the television and glared at the goddess.

  “Your pain will end, Bonnie. Eventually. In the mercy that ends all mortal pain.”

  “Death? You’re saying I’m stuck with you until I die?”

  The goddess shrugged. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, it’s worse for me. You’re only the victim of heartbreak, but I’m the goddess of it.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “As I keep telling you, I have no choice. Do you think I want to ruin your life? Or anyone’s? I wasn’t always like this. Once, I was… different. But that was a long time ago. Now, I am what I am, and pain and suffering are all I bring to those who allow me into their lives.”

  “But I just said hello.”

  “You also sat on the bench.”

  “That’s absurd. You’re telling me that just because I sat on a bench with a goddess of heartbreak that my whole life is ruined?”

  The goddess almost sighed, but caught herself this once. “I know it’s unfair. You were just being friendly. You shouldn’t have to carry this burden, but look at it this way. By carrying the pain, you are keeping someone else from having to carry it. Your sacrifice will allow others to know love and joy. It won’t be in vain.”

  “Well, whoop-de-fuckin’-doo.”

  Bonnie stormed into the kitchen and drank tomato juice right out of the carton. It spilled down her blouse. She didn’t care.

  “Nothing would make me happier than to leave you alone,” said the goddess from the living room. “Well, actually, something would make me happier, but let’s not dwell on impossibilities.”

  Bonnie leaned against the refrigerator. The emptiness inside her would stay, she realized. A yawning, devouring cold that would eventually consume her. She yanked a dirty steak knife out of the sink and held it in tight white knuckles.

  She had to end it.

  The goddess stood in the kitchen doorway. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. I really am.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  Bonnie charged. She pushed the goddess to the floor and stabbed her in the heart. Bonnie plunged the blade in over and over and over. Every stab stoked the flames of rage, fueled by a need to feel anything besides nothing. Five minutes later, her fury faded but the emptiness remained.

  The goddess, her sad face etched with boredom, looked up at Bonnie.

  “Are you through?”

  There wasn’t a drop of blood on the knife, nor a mark left on the goddess’s flesh. Bonnie dropped the weapon and dragged herself to the sofa. The goddess sat beside her.

  The sound of a car crash drew her attention to the movie playing on the TV and the depiction of twisted steel and broken glass. And blood. So much blood.

  The goddess opened her mouth.

  “Don’t,” interrupted Bonnie. “Just don’t say it.”

  5

  Phil hit every bug on the drive from the office. By the time he made it home, the windshield was a mess of smeared insects. There was no wiper fluid, but he managed to avoid driving Elliot’s car off a cliff, though by the end he was peering through a few inches of semi-clear glass. He pulled into his driveway and cringed at the sound of breaking glass. Even with supernatural bad luck, he didn’t see how it was possible to run over three separate bottles and a rusty nail, flattening all four tires.

  He walked very carefully across his lawn. Somehow, he managed to step in dog crap anyway. Twice. He left his shoes on the porch.

  The card wasn’t where Phil had left it. He searched all over the house for it, stubbing his toes on every piece of furniture before slipping on a new pair of shoes. He checked under the couch cushions, in every drawer. He looked in the refrigerator, behind the entertainment center, and in the trash.

  He couldn’t find it. He gave up after an hour.

  Phil sat on the couch and stared at the phone. What kind of god didn’t have a prayer? It was a little old-fashioned but a lot harder to lose than a business card. Phil pulled out his wallet and checked it. He’d already checked it a dozen times, but he didn’t have any other ideas.

  The card fell into his lap. He questioned if it had been there the whole time and it’d just been his bad luck to not see it until now. Or had it materialized in his wallet after his god had deemed that Phil had suffered enough?

  The phone rang for about twenty seconds before someone answered.

  “Yello.”

  He didn’t recognize the voice.

  “May I speak to Lucky, please?” Phil asked.

  There
was a pause.

  “He’s asleep right now,” replied the voice. “Can I take a message?”

  “Asleep?”

  “He likes to sleep in. Am I speaking to Phil?”

  “Uh… yes.”

  “Hey, Phil. I’m Tom.”

  “Hi… Tom.”

  Awkward silence as Phil tried to figure out what to say next.

  “Could you maybe wake Lucky?” he asked. “This is a bit of an emergency.”

  “Love to help you,” said Tom, “but no can do. I’ll leave a message on the refrigerator. He’ll get it when he wakes up. In the meantime, you’ll just have to stick it out. It’ll only be another couple of hours of misfortune. Take my advice and sit still, don’t do anything, and you’ll be fine.”

  “But…”

  “Talk to you later, Phil. Praise Luka.”

  “Praise Luka,” echoed Phil reflexively.

  He followed Tom’s advice and planted himself on the couch. He went to the kitchen once to get some soda. He turned on the TV, but without the remote control, he was stuck watching soaps. When he went to use the bathroom, the toilet clogged. Even though he only peed. When he tried to fix it, the plunger got stuck.

  The phone rang at half past eleven. It was Teri, not Lucky, calling to check on Phil’s progress. She sounded exhausted, rattling off a short list of the misfortunes that had befallen her. He was only half-listening. He gave her the same advice Tom had given him and told her he was expecting a call, and that he’d let her know when things were corrected.

  Noon rolled around. The phone didn’t ring. He gave it ten minutes, then decided it couldn’t hurt to call again.

  “Yello.” It was Tom.

  “Hi, this is Phil. I called earlier—”

  “Yeah. I remember. Hold on a second…”

  Phil made out Tom’s muffled shout.

  “Hey, Lucky! It’s Phil!”

  Lucky’s reply was too muffled to decipher.

  “He says he’ll be right over after he finishes his cornflakes and takes a shower. Forty minutes, tops.”

  Phil almost complained but decided it would be smarter to play it safe. He stared at the TV and zoned out. The doorbell rang an hour later. Phil jumped off the sofa. In his eagerness to answer it, he slammed his hip hard into an end table. The lamp fell over and shattered. Grumbling, he limped the rest of the way.