Date:         Fri, 31 Jan 1997 05:34:17 -0800
Subject:      SUB: Valentine's Contest: "Heart's Desire": Short Story

The last day to send your entry! Check out
http://web.mit.edu/mbarker/www/val97/val.html for details.

Please reserve all critiques on contest entries until after Valentine's
Day!
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                                        HEART'S DESIRE

        When she strolled into my Sunset Boulevard office that rainy
afternoon, I thought I'd died and gone to Dirty Joe's, which is a bar
I could hang in forever. She was not the kind of woman you ordinarily
see in my business.  Too refined, too ethereal, too friggin' sexy. The
kind of broad I usually see is uptight, downcast and licensed for
Ugly.
        "Are you Marlowe Spade?" she breathed.
        "I think so," I said, ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
        She frowned. On her face it looked erotic.
        "I am!" I assured her as I hurried around the desk to offer
her the only other chair in the room. I hoped she wouldn't notice I
had stepped in the wastebasket on the way. After she was settled, and
I had almost fainted from inhaling her musky scent, I carefully
stepped backward, the wastebasket sliding quietly behind me. I managed
to fall into my chair without clattering.
        "How can I help you?" I asked, casually working my foot out of the
wastebasket.
        "Do you find lost loved ones?" Her voice was like hot buttered
rum on a cold night.
        "All the time," I said. "I'm like a cocker spaniel that way."
        "Don't you mean 'bloodhound'?"
        "That too. Who have you got missing?" I pulled my notepad out
of my jacket and clicked my neon EzeeGlide ballpoint to let her know I
was all business.
        "It's Cupid. He's been missing for over a week and I'm
terribly worried." A fat tear glittered in one of her huge violet
eyes, trembling on the edge of her lower lid like a crystal drop of
fine vodka.
        Carefully, I printed 'Cupid' on my notepad. "Is Cupid a dog or
a cat?"  I asked.
        "Neither," she said sharply. "He's my husband."
        I blinked and regrouped.
        "Well, I'd better have a description. With a name like that,
I'm liable to go looking for the fat little kid with the wings and a
bow and arrow set."
        "Oh!" She wrinkled her nose. On her face it looked
erotic. "Those are his baby pictures. His mother just won't understand
how much it embarrasses him to have her constantly showing them
around."
        I looked at her. I was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.
        "Uhhhh...his mother?"
        "Sure. You know...Venus."
        I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and said,
"And you are...?"
        "Psyche, of course. I've been married to Cupid for just
hundreds of years and, let me tell you, with a mother-in-law like
Venus, it hasn't been easy. She's never admitted I'm good enough for
her darling--"
        I held up my hand to stop the sudden gush of words even though
she sounded as good as a wide open tap on a cold keg of malt.
        "Wait a minute. Wait just a minute." I squinted at her
sternly. "Is this some kind of sorority prank? Have you made a large
bet with somebody?"
        Her full lower lip quivered and the crystal vodka tear spilled
over. On her face it looked ... you know.
        "Mr. Spade, don't you believe me? You must believe me. I'm a
desperate woman. If you won't help me, I don't know what I'll do."
        She leaned forward, her lush curves swelling against the
fabric of her dress like brandy in a snifter...two snifters. Two large
snifters. My hand got so sweaty I dropped my pen. My fingers scrabbled
blindly around on the desk until I could grab it again.
        "I'll do anything," she said in a voice like smokey scotch,
"just anything to get my darling Cupid back."
        When I dropped the pen that time, it rolled off on the floor.
        "Anything?" I croaked.
        "Oh! Silly me," she said, leaning back in her chair, thus
alleviating my blood pressure, while she rummaged in her purse. She
withdrew a large handful of paper money, all of it looking crisp and
of respectable denomination. She carelessly tossed the wad on the
desk. My eyes felt like they were bulging out of their sockets.
        "I'm not sure how much is there. I just told the invisible
servants to load me up with a bunch."
        "Invisible servants?" I said, as I rapidly tried to count the
jumble of bills in front of me. There were lots of Franklins. Lots.
        "Yes. They came with the castle and they attend my every
whim." Her lower lip began to quiver again. "Except they can't do
anything about Cupid because their abilities are only good inside the
castle walls."
        "Uh, right." I was carefully stacking the money in a tidy
pile, all the Franklin faces turned the same way. "That's what I'm
for. I'm like a Scottish Terrier that way."
        "You mean bloodhound."
        "That too." I tapped the fat stack of money and scooted it to
the side of my desk. Rooting around in a drawer, I found another neon
EzeeGlide and pulled my notepad closer. "Okay, Ms. Psyche, I'll have
to have that description now."
        "Well, he's just terribly handsome and he has the most
sensuous smile in the world and these wonderful bedroom eyes and..."
        "That's a fairly subjective description," I sighed. "Could you
be a little more specific?"
        She frowned. On her face...never mind.
        "I guess you could say he's a combination of John Kennedy and
Sean Connery and Rodney Dangerfield and..."
        "Rodney Dangerfield?"
        "Oh, sure," she said brightly. "Rodney has the sexiest pout
when he doesn't get any respect."
        "Uhmm, yes. Okay. Does, uh, Cupid have any distinguishing
marks? Scars?  Tattoos?"
        "Well, there's the old scar on his shoulder from when I
accidentally spilled the lamp oil on him but you can hardly see it
anymore. His wings have an unusually iridescent sheen to them,
though. I don't think you'll see just anybody running around with
wings like that."
        "Lady, this is Los Angeles. You won't believe what I see
running around this town."
        I leaned back in my chair and cleared my throat. This was the
hard part.  I'd never dealt with one of the Immortals and I wasn't
sure how she'd handle the questions I had to ask her. I made a mental
note to refresh myself on mythology and then took the bull, so to
speak, by the horns.
        "How's your sex life?"
        "What?" She shot up out of the chair like she'd been goosed.
        "Calm down, take it easy." I flapped my hands, waving her back
into the chair. "I have to ask questions like that. I mean, it'll help
me figure out where he went if I have an idea why he went. Do you
see?"
        "Not really," she pouted. "He certainly didn't leave because
of our sex life. We have an absolutely stunning sex life."
        I swallowed hard and tried not to imagine their sex life.
        "Well, have you quarreled recently about anything?"
        "Of course not. I only quarrel with his mother. She's so jealous..."
        "Right. Okay, is anything bothering him at work or..."
        "That's it!" She clapped her hands together with excitement,
which made her lush curves jiggle, which made me loosen my tie and try
to regain my train of thought.
        "Work?"
        "Yes! It's just been getting to be way too much for any one
person to handle, even an Immortal person."
        "Really?"
        "Why, yes. You wouldn't believe the extra load he carries any
more. He blames Hallmark for making such a big thing out of
Valentine's Day but, personally, I think Venus negotiated something
with them behind his back.  I mean, after all, that should be
St. Valentine's job but do you ever see any pictures of St. Valentine
on a card?"
        "Uh..."
        "No, you don't!  He's too busy being saintly. So Mommy Dearest
hustles her darling boy so she can crow a little more at the full moon
orgies when the gang gets together at Mt. Olympus. And now that the
Internet is catching on, he's in demand on web pages all over the
world and he's just going nuts, trying to keep up with all the orders
and..."
        "Okay!" I raised my hands to stop her tirade even though her
voice sounded like champagne bubbling in my mind. "I get the
picture. Heavy duty work pressure. He needs to get away, find himself,
drop out and turn on and all that good stuff. So...where would he be
likely to go to do that?"
        She shrugged helplessly, which did interesting things to the
way her lush curves moved inside her clothing. I muttered a silent
prayer for strength or maybe even temporary blindness.
        "I've checked all his favorite getaway spots," she
said. "Nobody has seen him. Not from one end of the world to the
other. Not even from the top of Mount Olympus to the depths of Hades."
        "Okay. I'll take it from there," I said. "How will I get hold
of you to make reports?" I had visions of visiting her at her
castle. Her lonely castle.
        "No problem," she said as she slipped a small gold charm off
one of the bracelets she wore. "Just put this on your key chain and
rub it three times when you need to talk to me. I'll pop right in,
wherever you are."
        I peered closely at the charm. It looked like a little helmet
with lightning bolts sticking out. When I squinted, I could just make
out the words, "MercuryComm, Ltd." The original pager.

                                *********************

        When I slid onto my usual bar stool at Dirty Joe's, my head
was aching. Not from a hangover but from the hours I'd spent at the
library, reading up on the Immortals. Frankly, I don't think you could
find a more neurotic, dysfunctional crew if you had a daytime talk
show. And I wasn't any closer to figuring out where Cupid had hidden
himself, although anybody who'd ditch a babe like Psyche should check
himself into the nearest shrink shack and throw away the key.
        Joe slid my double scotch-rocks across the bar to me and I
took a healthy slug. Screwing up my face, I said, "Joe? Why the hell
do I always drink this crap?"
        Joe looked at me from under heavy lids and said, "You're a
hard-boiled P.I. and that's what all you hard-boiled guys drink."
        "Oh. Right. I keep forgetting." I looked wistfully at the
strawberry daiquiri in front of the blond down the bar. It had whipped
cream on it and she kept sticking her finger in and licking it off. I
sighed and took another slug of the scotch.
        "Joe, I have a puzzle."
        Joe grunted and polished the bar in front of me.
        "Let's say you were the handsomest man in the world." Joe
snorted. I ignored that and continued. "Let's say you were the symbol
of love and romance to every female on the planet and you were so busy
arranging hearts and flowers for everyone that you never had a moment
to yourself. Let's say you were just fed up to here with the whole
scene and you wanted out. But you're too famous and you have to be
really tricky to disappear. What would you do?"
        Joe rubbed the bar a little more, eyelids drooping nearly
shut. There was a discreet rumble as he cleared his throat. Then he
said, "Fat and scuzzy."
        "Say what?"
        "Fat and scuzzy. You quit shaving, quit bathing, live on beer
and pizza...hell, ain't nobody gonna know you." He looked at me
sternly.  "Something you oughta be careful of, Mr. S."
        I sucked in my gut, which doesn't really overlap my belt all
that much, and glared back at him. "I'm not fat," I said. "I'm a
hard-boiled P.I. who is also a sensitive gourmet cook. And," I
muttered, "I shower at least once a week."  Joe grunted and went back
down the bar to see if the blond wanted another strawberry daiquiri.
        I sipped my scotch and pondered. Low profile. Fat and scuzzy.
Sick to death of love and romance. Good with a bow and arrow.
        Of course! I sat back in the stool and slapped my
forehead. Grinning, I threw some bills on the bar and waved at Joe on
my way out.

                        **************************

        "How'd you find me?"
        Cupid and I were sitting in front of a blazing fire, nursing
our drinks and listening to the blizzard howl outside the hunting
lodge.
        "Wasn't too hard," I said. " Just looked under Hunting Guides
in the Yellow Pages until I found 'Olympus Guide Service'."
        He winced. "That's what I get for being sentimental," he
said. "Hard habit to break."
        "No problem. I don't think anybody else is going to figure it
out." Or recognize you if they do, I thought. I looked at my host, who
was staring contemplatively into the flames crackling and leaping in
front of us. Just as Joe had guessed, our boy was fat and
slovenly. Not only that, he was bearded and bald. A far cry from the
romance icon of the ages.
        "How'd you change your appearance so drastically in just a
couple of weeks?" I asked.
        He shrugged. "Immortals can do that kind of stuff," he
said. "I just sort of let all the magic bindings loose and everything
pooched out."
        "Yeah, but you're, uh...bald."
        "Oh, that." He reached up and rubbed his shiny scalp with a
pudgy hand.  "The toupee was the first thing to go."
        I choked on my drink. "Toupee? Cupid had a toupee?"
        He grinned and nodded toward his arrow quiver, hanging on the
log wall by the fireplace. There was something furry and dark dangling
from one side.
        "I tell clients that's the first scalp I ever took," he said.
        I raised my strawberry daiquiri in a toast. "Cool!" I
said. "But, tell me...why did you decide to become a hunting guide?"
        "It's what I always wanted to do," Cupid said. "Just hunt and
fish. But nobody ever asked me. They just kept sending me around to
strike humans goofy with love and heart palpitations. No offense, but
that's a real bore."
        "Yeah, I can understand that, but don't you, uh, I mean..."
        "Do I miss my wife? Is that what you're asking?"
        I nodded. "Don't see how you could help but miss her," I
said. "All due respect, Mr. C., but she's one gorgeous woman."
        He sighed. "Yeah, she is. And so's my mother. Do you know how
many hundreds of years I've watched and listened while those two
fought each other for the Gorgeous Sweepstakes?" He waved his hands,
sloshing some scotch onto the bear rug beside his chair. "It's more
than a man should have to put up with and it's no fit way for an
Immortal to exist, I promise you."
        "Okay," I conceded. "I see where you're coming from. But what
about the Valentine business? Who's going to handle all those lovelorn
people if you drop out?"
        He laughed. Every ounce of fat on him jiggled with
mirth. "Trust me," he said. "Between Hallmark, FTD and Godiva
Chocolate, the concept will never die. They don't need me anymore and
that's the truth."
        He drained his glass and peered across at me. "Now I have a
question for you," he said. "Don't you miss being a hard-boiled
private eye?"
        "Nah." I swirled the last of my strawberry daiquiri in the
glass and then sucked it up. "I've always wanted to be a cook but
cooks don't get the beautiful babes."
        "And private eyes do?"
        "I thought they did. But we're always getting beat up and shot
at, or we're too hungover. It messes with your libido, I can tell
you. Cooking is a lot more comforting and I sure appreciate you hiring
me to cook here at your lodge."
        "Looks like we both finally got our real heart's desire," he
grinned.  "By the way..."
        "Yeah?"
        He raised his empty glass.
        "Happy Valentine's Day!"
        I raised my glass in return.
        "Same to you, fella!"


-------------------------------------------
"Yesterday they said today was tomorrow, but today
they know better."
                  --Poul Anderson, _The Visitor_

Michelle
winebird@inreach.com