The Love God

Floating around the library stacks and watching her write, Eros read Mia's future in the palm of his own hand. She would care less and less about herself and more and more about her work, using her oddball marriage as a crutch to pretend she wasn't neglecting that part of her life. Ian would chase progressively younger women and get into more and more trouble because nobody would respect him enough to intervene.

In their way they'd still love each other, and maybe even feel closer for all the hurt they caused, because they'd understand one another in a way no one else could. Eventually Mia would forget about that one guy she met years ago who had briefly made her want real affection again but whom she'd never called because she didn't want to hurt him with all her baggage...

"Unless you call him now," Eros whispered in her ear, hovering unseen behind her chair. "Right now. He's not brave enough to call on his own, but you know if you call first he'll definitely pick up."

Mia's hand drifted toward her phone, but stopped. Eros, arrow in hand, switched to her other ear.

"There's no harm in a friendly call. Say you're just checking up on him. Ask if he wants to have coffee on Friday. Tell him to tell Charlotte he'll be home a little late because he's meeting a friend, and that way he won't feel like he's keeping secrets from her. Come on. If you don't call then you'll just keep thinking about him..."

Stepping out of the library, Mia was dialing Andrew's phone number before she was even fully out the door. The night fog had rolled in, blocking out the windows of the tall buildings nearby and making her feel like she had more privacy.

After two and a half rings, Andrew picked up. "It's me," she said. "Is it okay to talk now? Good. I just wanted to check on you. I was worried about, you know, things. Everything's fine? Good, that's good. How is...? Good. Look, I..."

"'I have a little extra time after class tomorrow,'" Eros said in her ear.

"I have a little extra time after class tomorrow. Do you want to get coffee? Just to talk, that's all. I want to talk. Charlotte? Well, tell her you'll be late because you're meeting a friend. That way it's not sneaking around, right? Yeah, sounds good. Six o'clock? See you then."

She hung up. Eros slung his bow over his shoulder and, once she'd gone back inside, gave two or three mighty beats of his wings and flew up into the night sky, losing himself in the clouds so that he could enjoy the closest thing a love god ever got to a few moments of privacy himself.

He shouldn't be doing all this, of course. The assembled gods had rendered their judgment, and he'd lost. He should move on to other things. Those were the rules.

But Nu Wa and the others were all busy elsewhere, and he knew none of them were likely to notice him doubling back. If he was quick about it, he could get Andrea and Mia back on the right track—his track—in a day or two with none of the others any the wiser.

Humans get to cheat all the time, Eros reasoned, lying back on a cloud and plucking his bowstring. Why should they get to have all the fun?

***

The café was one Andrew had never been to, a combination wine bar and coffee house, which didn't really make sense to him. Mia sat at the table nearest the door and was the first thing he saw when he came in. When she stood up he had a dilemma: What was the proper greeting? Hug? Vague wave? She settled it by giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

He ordered. He actually hated coffee, but felt like he should order something. At first neither of them knew what to say; she broke the ice with, "I've missed you. I know it's only been two days. Is that weird?"

"No. I mean, probably. But I missed you too."

"So we're weird, then."

"Yes."

"How is...I already asked that on the phone, you said she's fine. If you're going to ask about Ian he's fine too."

"I wasn't really going to ask."

"That's okay, he's not really fine."

Andrew held his drink with both hands, feeling the heat on his palms. "I'm glad you called," he said. "But I'm not sure what we're doing."

"Can we be friends? I know there's a whole thing, but can we ignore that?"

"I guess, yeah. I mean, don't really have a lot of friends. I have a relationship, and that's about it."

"I don't even have that."

"Friends isn't really what you want, is it?"

"No, but I'll take it. I don't want to cause trouble. I was going to butt out of your life completely after this week, but...I don't know. Something made me change my mind."

"I tried to get you off my mind but I couldn't."

"Maybe it's just not meant to be?"

"Or not not meant to be. How do we decide?"

"First we have to be less ambiguous."

"Ambiguity is our friend right now. If things got more definite, I'd have to leave."

At the next table, the server opened a wine bottle with a distinct POP. They both jumped a little.

"Good point," said Mia. "Forget specifics. In fact, forget that we're even here. Or that we know each other? Who are you, strange man sitting at my table?"

"I forget. Names are too specific anyway."

"I've always thought that. It's nice we have so much in common, stranger with no name."

"It is. Shame we'll never know who one another is."

While Mia and Andrew talked, Eros sat the next table, fiddling with his bowstring and listening in. It was already looking like his work here was finished.

Neither of them believed this "just friends" business for a second, but since when was it a crime to lie to yourself? He could just keep arranging innocent get-togethers for the two of them, and in short enough time they wouldn't need any incitement from him anymore. And once they were around each other for long enough again, one thing would naturally lead to another. It was like clockwork.

The only problem with this, Eros thought, is that it's actually too easy. He was of the opinion that real love should always have a couple of obstacles to make things more interesting. Few things provided mystique quite so well as the extra allure of unpredictability and—

"EROS!"

He jumped. His bowstring snapped. "Shit," he said.

It took him a moment to recognize the woman shouting at him: Hathor. Today she looked like a normal woman, sans calf head. It was a good look for her, although he'd have preferred to see it without the expression of scandalized fury.

She practically hauled him up by his ear. "So this is where you've been. Why are you meddling with these two?"

He tried to shrug her off. She was putting a crease in his wings. "Meddling is my job," he said.

"But you know the rules."

Sitting down again, he reached for a nearby bottle of wine. He tried to pour some for Hathor too, but she only gave it a contemptuous look.

"Hell with rules," Eros said. "Democracy is a serious pain in the ass. Who came up with it anyway?"

"The Greeks."

"Still a pain in the ass. So; are you going to rat me out?"

Hathor opened her mouth, closed it, then opened and closed it all over again without managing to actually say anything.

Eros flexed his wings. "All right then. Sure you don't want a drink?" he said.

"Just because I'm not going to tell on you doesn't mean you're not in trouble. You have to stop this; you'll wreck both their destinies if you keep leading them around by the nose."

"Would that be so bad?" Eros said. "Look at them: You see how natural he is when he talks with her? You see how thoughtful she becomes when she's with him?"

Hathor looked doubtful.

"Well, all right, they're not exactly Antony and Cleopatra, I'll admit. But they're still better together. It's a relative thing. They'll grow into it. Tell me you don't agree."

Hathor considered the human couple. They were still talking and teasing. They DID look happy. But...

"But they've got no future," she said. "This won't last."

"Who says it has to? Why can't we just give them something good here and now? Isn't that just as important?"

He could tell by the look on her face she was going to get mad again, so he put up his hands and grinned. "But okay, okay, you're right: Who am I to tamper with the fate we all decided on? I apologize. I let myself get carried away. I'll drop it."

"...what are you up to?"

"Absolutely nothing. I said I won't meddle anymore, and I mean it. Do you want an oath? Fine: I swear on Tartarus' gate I will not put these two into bed together ever again. That should satisfy you."

"It does," Hathor said, though she still sounded doubtful. In this light she reminded Eros a bit of his mother. Why was he always thinking that when it came to women?

"I just hope you know what's good for you," she continued. "Nu Wa is a powerful goddess, and she's not the only one who has it in for you. Don't go giftwrapping trouble."

"I didn't know you cared."

"Me neither. Now, as long as I found you, I could use some help: Tlazolteotl is back in town, and you can imagine the trouble it's causing. Even Ishtar says she's out of control. Everyone else agrees that the best thing to do..."

Eros nodded along with everything she said, but he wasn't paying attention. His mind was racing. Mia and Andrew were still talking, but he'd stopped paying attention to them either. All he was thinking about now was the thing sitting on the next table.

He even picked it up, weighing it in the palm of his hand. It was nothing special—garbage, really. But as soon as he laid eyes on it, he knew it was the answer to all of his problems:

It was a wine cork.

***

The vineyard of the Wine God isn't hard to find; finding your way out is another matter altogether, and some visitors never manage to do it, but Eros had visited and returned many times. The place hadn't changed much since the last time he was here: green fields, shade, dancing women dressed in fawn skins. Classical décor, in other words.

It wasn't like an earthly vineyard, with plants in straight rows. Here, things grew where they wanted to, while constantly inebriated satyrs lolled and sang drunken ballads on the far hills. Eros would have liked to stop and listen, but he hurried along anyway. There wasn't much in the world he was afraid of, but he knew better than to linger anywhere in this realm. That was what Hathor would have called giftwrapping trouble again...

Dionysus himself was tending some of the vines in a far corner of the place when Eros found him. A lion slept nearby, and the Wine God stopped his effortless labors only long enough to pet the creature now and then. He nodded at Eros, as if he were expected.

"Cousin. You are welcome. Should I order a revel in your honor? No, I see you're here for business. You didn't used to be so studious. What's happened to make you spend so much time at your work these days?"

"My work is making lovers, and lovers make children, and children grow up to be more lovers," Eros said, laying his bow and arrows on a soft spot. "The more I get done, the more I have to do later. It's the way of the world."

The music of the wine press put him at ease. A woman brought him a bowl filled to the brim with a divine vintage. Even just the smell of it was enough to set his blood on edge.

"I was hoping you could help me with something," he continued. "I've got a problem: two lovers. I lost the judgment, but I've decided I'm going to go over everyone's heads and put them together anyway.

"Why?" said Dionysus.

"Because I damn well want to. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"It always has been for me." Dionysus sat and took wine for himself. The lion moved to his feet and purred as he stroked her head.

"But I can't do it alone," Eros said. "Too many big names are in the way. But you could do it."

"It's true: I fear no love god, great or small, nor any coalition of them. But lovers are your business; why should I bother?"

Eros considered Dionysus: His divine cousin looked like a beautiful, baby-faced youth, wearing nothing but a crown of ivy, the degree of man still working the taste of his mother's tit out of his mouth. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was a pushover.

But Eros knew better. He knew that all gods, great and small, abided by certain rules. Some of them kept to the rules because it was their nature; others because it was easier that way; others because they were afraid of the consequences if they didn't. The more powerful the god, the more rules he or she was likely to have. And while, gods came and went, but the rules were always there.

Except for the Wine God. He was the god of reveling and divine ecstasy, and no one could bind him. That made him dangerous, because he was a god who would do absolutely anything, and no rule could bind him. Above all things, he was free. So Eros chose his next words carefully.

"First, because you had a small hand getting this couple together to begin with. Second, because I'm asking you, as a favor between cousins and old friends. Third, because you're like me: a rule breaker. Too many stuffed shirts are getting their way these days. It's time to cut them down to size, and you're just the god to do it. If you don't, then who will?"

He drank his bowl until it was empty. It gave him something like courage.

"So what do you say?" Eros continued, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "Are you in?"

Keeping his eyes on Eros, Dionysus held out his wine bowl to be refilled. When the woman accidentally touched his fingers while pouring she cried out, as if in pain, but he ignored it. Then he drained entire thing in one go, and when he came back up his smile was so bright he nearly glowed.

"Sure, what the hell," he said. "But for this to work I need to be in a place of power in the human realm. Someplace dedicated to me."

"A temple? You know there aren't any temples to gods of our sorts these days."

But the Wine God only smiled wider. "Aren't there?"

***

It was a big stage, outdoors, in the eucalyptus grove, and the audience sat on the hillside. This was a play of mostly student actors, so the crowd would be a hundred at best, but they seemed a lively audience at least, and a good omen for opening night. The sun was going down and the stage lights were coming up and the grove buzzed. There was something in the air.

Andrew cradled the camera around his neck. It felt heavier than it ought to; he'd wanted to bring one of the old non-digital jobs, but he needed to be able to shoot in low light without a distracting flash, so he brought the Nikon Charlotte got him last Christmas.

He'd invited her to come too, but she was working late—or was it dinner with clients late? Something non-negotiable, apparently. "Have fun without me," she said.

It was an easy job: Just a few photos of the performance, a favor that paid. No pressure at all. So why did he feel nervous?

Taking a few test shots of the crowd, he noticed everyone else seemed keyed-up too. Maybe it was because everyone was drinking the wine. It was strong stuff tonight. He wondered if it was even legal to serve it here?

But no, soon he decided it wasn't the wine that was making him nervous. Indeed, once it settled, the drink made him more relaxed than he'd ever been in his life; a thousand pounds of stress eased off his shoulders. Even his shots seemed to come into focus easier now.

Distracted by his work, he didn't notice someone trying to get his attention until she touched his elbow. In the dim twilight it took half a second to recognize Mia peeking at him from over the brim of a cup.

"Hey stranger," she said.

Andrew almost swallowed his tongue. "Hi. You look nice."

"Thanks. You look...the same as always."

"What are you doing here?"

"My cousin had a ticket, but she came down sick. Actually, I think she's just hung over. She offered it to me and, well, I'm not usually into theater, but for some reason I wanted to go. Sit next to me?"

"I shouldn't."

"Oh, is Charlotte here?"

"No, I just have to get in position. To shoot the stage, I mean. My friend is in the show, she wants photos. Hey, do you know what this play is about? I have no idea,"

"I cheated and looked it up before. Let's see..."

Mia thumbed through the program and, in spite of his objection a second ago, he sat next to her, leaning over her shoulder to follow along.

"The Bacchae. It's about 2,400 years old, so there's that. It's about Dionysus—he's the god of wine. Also the god of the theater."

"Why both?"

"No idea. But the play's about him. He comes back to Greece after being gone a while, and drives all the women insane."

"Why?"

"So they'll worship him. It's what he does. Mostly it's just a big party. All the women go out into the forests to dance and sing and run around half-naked. Nice work if you can get it. But the king gets angry, because the women in the royal family are out there too, and plus he doesn't believe Dionysus is a real god."

"Is he?"

"Of course. He's a real asshole, though. But that's the way things were in those days: Gods got angry. If people got in their way, so much for them."

"Why would people worship gods who were pricks?"

"The world was a hard place back then. Maybe gods who were pricks just made sense."

Eros floated over the amphitheater, watching. So far, so good: It was a beautiful night in the park, both his turtledoves were here, and no competing divinities had come to spoil the fun. Now to check on the Wine God.

He found his cousin behind the stage, surrounded by a dozen young women in costumes that made them look very much like the women in his vineyard. None of them could see him.

"Hello, Eros," he said. "Everything is ready."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Super. ...say, you're not planning anything crazy, are you?"

Dionysus looked at him.

"I'm just curious. I appreciate you getting my back on all this. I'm just—"

"Everything will be satisfactory. Enjoy the show and let me take care of it."

"Gotcha. Do your thing, man. Don't mind me." Eros fluttered away.

For the cast, opening night jitters were pandemic. Five minutes until curtain and the stage manager was waiting to see what would go wrong. When an antsy looking stagehand approached him, he felt a sense of relief. No problem was ever worse than the wait leading up to it.

"Beau can't go on," said the stagehand.

Almost no problem.

"Can we do it without him?" the stagehand continued.

"He's the lead. The first 70 lines are his. This is opening night. No, I don't think we can do it without him. What's the problem, exactly?"

"It's better if I show you."

Beau was in the equipment van, seemingly inert. At first the stage manager was worried he might be dead, but then he belched in his sleep and rolled over. The smell coming off him was like a wino's gym bag. "Jesus, he's drunk."

"You don't know the half of it."

"I never really understood the phrase 'stinking drunk' until now," said the stage manager. He was too amazed to even really be mad. "What the hell were you guys drinking?"

"Just wine. One glass, I swear. It's the same stuff we're serving to everyone. We all drank it, and we're all fine, but Beau...well, just look at him."

Beau was chewing one of his sandals in his sleep, like a dog gnawing a bone. The stage manager took it away. "All right, alert the understudy."

"Understudy?"

"Surely we have one?" He flipped through his notes. They must have assigned it? They couldn't possibly not—

"Excuse me," said a voice from behind them. "I'm the one you're looking for."

The stage manager didn't recognize the man: He was a babyish, fair-haired kid, almost too young looking to be working here at all. But there was something about his eyes, or maybe his voice, that suggested maturity far beyond his experience. He was already wearing the costume, and he looked good in it. "You know the part?" said the stage manager.

"Better than anyone."

"Okay, congratulations: You're Dionysus."