As Fate Would Have It Read online

  AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT

  By Michael Louis Calvillo

  A Bad Moon Books Digital Production

  Bad Moon Digital is distributed by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition © 2011 Michael Louis Calvillo

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  AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT

  I

  Compulsion

  “Then he cut them limb from limb and made ready his supper, and ate them as a mountain-nurtured lion, leaving naught—ate the entrails, and the flesh, and the marrowy bones. And we with wailing held up our hands to Zeus, beholding his cruel deeds; and helplessness possessed our souls.”

  - Homer, the Odyssey

  Cold Cuts

  The house was completely dark. Heather stood on the porch while Montgomery hung half in, half out and felt around for the light switch. A few quiet clicks sounded as he tried the switch, but still no light.

  Montgomery let out a little sigh, “I swore I left the porch and entry lights on.” Apology tinged his words. “The power must have gone out. It’s a pretty old house.”

  Heather inhaled deeply. Fall was in full swing and the night air smelled incredible. She didn’t mind spending a few extra moments soaking it all in. Summer had finally relented and she was excited about her fall wardrobe. This was her first date since the season began and it took her nearly two hours to decide what to wear. Not because of Montgomery, he was nice and surely deserving of a well-dressed date, but it took her forever as there were so many new clothing options available to her, what with the change in weather.

  While her date pondered power, she looked herself over and then folded her arms close to her chest and hugged herself, snuggling up warmly inside her St. John’s hound’s tooth gabardine coat. It was absolutely beautiful. A work of art. Fashion at its finest. Not to mention, she looked freaking gorgeous in it. She bought it the previous winter and the poor thing hung, lifeless, abandoned, all spring and all summer, only to be disturbed by the addition of something new, found on sale amongst the summer racks.

  “I guess I should go around and check the circuit breakers.” It came out more like a question than a statement and Montgomery looked to her for some sort of response.

  He was a chef. A highly regarded, distinguished chef at the fanciest restaurant in town, Maize, and he didn’t look too comfortable with the idea of resetting circuit breakers or any other sort of home repair.

  Heather met him a few days ago. She was shopping at the Galleria with her friend Ashley, whom she had to practically drag out of her shitty little apartment for the excursion, when they bumped into one another. Literally. Or rather he bumped into her in a klutzy, off-balance teeter that sent them both sprawling.

  From that goofy first encounter, kneeling, apologizing profusely, helping her pick up the contents of her purse, to their phone conversation setting up this date, to their dinner at a Chili’s (“Slumming it,” Montgomery joked), to this unnecessarily complicated impasse on the front porch of his house, he struck Heather as a bit neurotic. Super-quirky what with the way he wore his hair in an unruly mop of dark tangles, what with the way he was always scratching the back of his head while nervously formulating his sentences.

  But he was cute.

  And tall.

  And he drove a Maserati.

  Hell, he was a wonderfully welcome change to the dregs she was used to dating. Ashley and Henry’s loser friends: fucking vampire wannabes with their eyeliner and drug habits and minimum wage jobs. Lackluster idiots. Montgomery was a little older (middle thirties), a little wiser and whole lot more established.

  “Do you have any candles?” She smiled, letting him off the hook. Heather figured there were plenty of other ways in which to be manly. Just the idea of him dialing an electrician because he could afford o
ne made her tingle from within.

  “Loads of them.” Montgomery returned her smile and seemed relieved as he ushered her in to the dim entryway and gently took hold of her arm. “I’ll find some, but let’s get you comfortable first.”

  He shut the door and total darkness engulfed them. Heather glanced around nervously and a sudden chill ran the length of her spin. There was no light whatsoever, no spots or specks or shafts of moonlight, nothing. Save for her feet firmly situated on the tiled entryway, it was as if they were floating in a starless void of complete black. She was about to comment when Montgomery jumped in with an explanation, “I like it really, really dark when I sleep so I blacked out all of my windows, which usually isn’t a problem. In the time I’ve been here, I’ve never had to contend with a power outage.

  “I guess we will just have to rely on my sense of direction.” He took her arm and led her through the shapelessness until a loud thunk signified his leg smashing a solid surface. Montgomery let out a mock squeal of pain. “Though I am losing copious amounts of blood and I will probably never walk again, I’ve found the coffee table,” he announced as he turned her to the right. “Behold, me lady, the sofa.”

  Of course, Heather could see nothing of the sofa, not even a shadow or outline. Montgomery murmured, “Trust me?” Letting go of her arm he took hold of her shoulders, positioned her with a slight turn, pushed her softly, and after a split second of fear, free falling backwards into the abyss, she touched down safely upon the couch.

  “I’ll be right back with the gift of light and a nice merlot.” From somewhere in the darkness he squeezed her shoulder and then faded away.

  Heather settled in and felt the couch crinkle and crackle beneath her.

  Weird.

  She ran her fingers over the cushions on either side of her.

  Plastic.

  Why was his furniture covered in plastic?

  She shifted her feet and her Manolo Blahniks twisted in more of the stuff.

  Why was his floor covered in plastic?

  Was he painting?

  There was no mention of it at dinner. She didn’t smell paint. This was usually the kind of thing you told someone about wasn’t it?

  Like, “Pardon the plastic, I’m remodeling right now,” or something.

  Weird.

  It made sense she supposed. Neurotic, remember? He washed his hands before and after dinner.

  “Clean freak huh?” She shouted into the darkness.

  Montgomery rifled through drawers in what must be his kitchen. “What?” he called back.

  “The plastic slip covers. Are you a messy eater or something? I promise I won’t spill my wine,” she teased.

  “No. Sorry. I’m remodeling. I’ll be right there.” The joke fizzled as he failed to acknowledge it and continued searching for candles.

  Over the plastic and settled in, Heather figured it was time to decide how far she was going to let things go.

  By agreeing to come home with him she opened up the possibility for intimacy, but she didn’t want to come off as whorish or loose. She was attracted to him, not exceptionally so, but he was cute enough and she shouldn’t have a problem getting turned on provided he was able to press the right buttons. All systems were pretty much go – she had shaved her legs and trimmed her unmentionables and was wearing an incredible negligee beneath her lovely winter clothes.

  And No, in case you were wondering, she wasn’t a slut; there was never a conscious decision to prepare for sex (how gross!). She didn’t put on special lingerie or engage in a special hygiene routine just for him, she did so to feel pretty and empowered, but given the circumstances Montgomery might just get lucky. He was charming and didn’t fuck up once all through dinner. He made appropriate compliments and told cute stories and his eyes twinkled “Catch” whenever he smiled that infectious smile of his.

  The only foreseeable problem was his nebbish-ness. He was a bit geeky (in a good way) and didn’t seem like the type to get close on a first date. This was good and bad. Good in that she could probably rock his world and have him eating out of her hand. Bad in that in order to get their relationship going she might have to ho out and become the aggressor.

  If she made a move and initiated, Montgomery might appreciate her forwardness and they might stand a pretty good chance at weathering a relationship. If he shied away from her advances she could simply apologize and blame his manly hotness for sucking her in (guys couldn’t really argue or find fault in such an excuse). If he became the aggressor she would probably hold him off for a few more dates just because she could. Whatever happened between them, this definitely wasn’t going to be a booty call. There were going to be lasting ramifications. Heather wasn’t looking for mindless sex, she would rather leave such to the mindless, instead she wanted a professional boyfriend who had his shit together and when she found the right one she wasn’t going back to dating losers ever again. In this regard, Montgomery was potentially her knight in shining armor.

  Her mom and some of her girlfriends swore by the rule that if you slept with a guy right out the gate there was no way in hell things would work out. Heather thought this was bullshit. It was certainly true in some situations, but then there were plenty of couples who gave in to animal attraction their first night as a means of forging a lasting relationship out of the heat. Yet, if push came to shove, Heather had to admit she would probably chicken out. Her sexual history was scattershot and kind of embarrassing. She had a body and face that oozed sensuality, but a mind that was quick to derail heat with immature humor. If she was serious about the future she would have to step it up a bit. It was a sad state of affairs when a guy wouldn’t stick around unless you slept with them, but alas, it was what it was.

  And with Montgomery?

  Who knew?

  She had a good feeling about him though. Maybe he was the one. Maybe he was worth it.

  Her best friend forever, Ashley, disagreed.

  She said that she had a bad feeling about him right after the run-in at the mall. She said that there was something off in Montgomery’s eyes, something wrong and she didn’t want her going out with him alone – Ashley offered to go with them and run interference or something. Heather told her to “Screw off.” She didn’t see it. Montgomery was harmless. He didn’t have a crazy look about him. Not then and certainly not now. Maybe Ashley was just jealous, stuck with Henry like she was. Or maybe it was the drugs coursing through her system, fucking up her rationale. Either way, wrong or right, right or wrong, Ashley cautioned her about going out with Montgomery like she was her mom setting ridiculous limitations. Which was extremely annoying and prompted Heather to hang up the phone mid-fight.

  But at the same time there was no denying that Ashley had always looked out for her and (much to Heather’s chagrin) she always turned out to be right.

  Always.

  In every aspect of their lives, ever since they had met in the sixth grade thirteen years earlier.

  A year and a half ago she stepped in and prevented Heather from trying heroin even though she was going to do it herself with Henry and a couple of “cool” friends that Henry had met during a brief, tri-state tour with his stupid punk band.

  Heather was livid. Not so much about the heroin, she tried alcohol and weed and speed and didn’t really like drugs anyway, but she hated being controlled and told what she could or couldn’t do.

  In the end, it was for the best though. Ashley was right, as usual. The idiots were all addicts now, strung out and ruining their lives day by day.

  And though Ashley was like her big sister (even though they were the same age), if Heather couldn’t get her to quit heroin she had to get away from her and Henry and their parasitic friends before they eventually died, or worse, somehow took her down with them. Maybe Montgomery was her chance.

  Age twenty-four and not getting any younger.

  It was time for a change.

  She couldn’t work at CHAOS Records forever. She couldn’t hang out with
failed artists and jobless musicians forever. Heather agonized over it every day. She had to get back in school (or snag a professional like Montgomery to take care of her) or do something with her life before it was too late.

  Before it was too late.

  A vicious mantra.

  Over and over.

  Before it was too late.

  Heather dug through her purse for her compact, not that she could use it in the total absence of light. Reflex action. Beauty check. Though her mom was pretty, Heather was infinitely prettier, golden blonde hair, big, expressive blue eyes, full lips, kick ass body, hot as hell. Heather knew this was her fate and, though she didn’t want to be vain or come off as one-dimensional, the preservation of her looks was paramount.

  Just as she found the compact a weak, warm light infiltrated the room. It floated her way and then landed on the coffee table in front of her before her eyes could properly adjust and make out Montgomery carrying a candle. He left the candle on the table and then, framed by its tiny glow, raised his finger, “Un momento. I’ll be right back with the wine.”

  Heather smiled wide, insecurities withering at Montgomery’s reassuring smile and candle-lit eyes. There was a sparkle there and it was obvious that he found her stunning. She could tell. All guys did and though she liked to pretend that she didn’t care, it meant the world to her. It validated her beauty and made her feel vibrant.

  Montgomery bowed his head and then disappeared into the imperceptible darkness yet again. She raised the compact, opened it, and then began to inspect her face. By candle light she looked positively radiant.

  Moments later Montgomery returned and stood behind the couch. Heather could see a murky hint of his outline in her compact. She felt a tingle of warmth in her heart (groin). It looked like they were going to have to sit very close to each other to make any use of the weak light.