Chapter 5
WHERE A GOD IS DRUNK, A LAP DANCE IS PERFORMED AND A GODDESS GETS JEALOUS (THE MUSE IS JUST ALONG FOR THE RIDE)
H ades fainted yet again upon being informed that her mother-in-law was off to “deal with business” in the company of the lowly muse.
Persephone, always the more perceptive of the two, hugged Demeter and winked at Erato.
The other attendees of the Purgatory cabal did not care, too busy being self-involved prats to give a flying fuck about anything around them.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Erato marvelled at it.
Hadn’t that been her just a few months ago?
Partying with Aphrodite and the Cupids, teaching at the Academy when it suited, disappearing to do some freelance work on the side as it pleased her and above all enjoying as many women as possible, guzzling nectar off their navels?
Why did all of that feel so completely wrong in the light streaming through the windows of Demeter’s plane cruising at a high altitude on their way to Greece?
But wrong it seemed anyway.
She opened her computer, the empty page of unfinished work glaring at her, and then skimmed her calendar. Freelance or not, some obligations she’d not be able to forgo, even if Aphrodite had freed her from most duties and the Academy was not in session.
Five minutes later, distracted and unable to focus, Erato sneaked a glance at Demeter over the lid of the laptop. The Goddess was deep in some spreadsheets, her pencil marking notes on the margins and her fingers flying over the tablet where more spreadsheets were opened.
When Erato had looked at the paperwork questioningly the first time, Demeter simply murmured “grain stocks” and went back to her paperwork.
Erato could respect that. Not that she had been aware that Demeter didn’t just wave a magic wand and whisper some trite incantation to begin and end spring and thus the agricultural cycle.
Watching the Goddess work now, jot notes, call brokers and vendors, warn some guy at some UN Food organisation or other about the drought in Eastern Europe, Erato was forced to reevaluate her opinion about both Demeter and Goddesses.
As if reading her thoughts, Demeter lowered her horn-rimmed glasses and reached for her surely now cold coffee, previously forgotten in favor of the aforementioned spreadsheets.
“Aphrodite works hard, Muse. Is it surprising someone else would too?”
“I didn’t mean to doubt?—”
“I’ve been doubted my entire life.”
Well, that sure stopped Erato in her tracks. Demeter, one of the Twelve Olympians, daughter of Chronos, doubted?
“You’re one of the most important Goddesses. Hearth and Marriage aside, who else is literally responsible for billions of lives?”
Demeter’s smile was fleeting.
“You did not just disrespect Hestia and Hera, Muse.”
Erato huffed out a breath.
“Oh, screw Hestia and Hera.”
Demeter’s smile bloomed wider.
“I’d rather you didn’t, especially with me not six feet away from said screwing.”
Erato leaned back against the luxurious cream leather of her seat. Demeter’s eyes went impossibly wide with something akin to horror at Erato’s possible liaisons with her sisters.
“You DID not!”
This time, Erato couldn’t keep a straight face and burst into laughter. It felt good. Goading Demeter into these kinds of outbursts was proving to be a new secret pleasure of hers.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you think of me. It’s actually very flattering, and my ego is growing exponentially.” Erato let her voice drop to a lower octave. Then she flipped her hair back theatrically and Demeter shook her head.
“Your ego can barely fit on the plane, Muse.”
But there was no malice in the tone, and Erato shrugged good-naturedly.
“What can I say? Women love me. Not Hera and Hestia though, so you can rest assured that I have not defiled your sisters. Now, if we could go back to all this UN Food Program and World Trade whatever, stocks and bonds and whatsits?”
Demeter glanced at the spreadsheets on the table in front of her.
“The world doesn’t run itself, Muse. And while it’s not spring yet, there are other ways to ensure life goes on, crops are planted and trade continues.”
Erato chewed on her lower lip. Demeter’s eyes definitely followed the movement. Erato chewed harder. Demeter rolled her eyes. Busted.
“Okay, but all of this begs a question, several actually, but mostly why is spring not here yet?”
Demeter got up and splashed some of that fancy brandy Hades must’ve been stocking just for her at Purgatory.
“Because I am not ready. And because I am accountable to no one. They can all go hang, for all I care. And I don’t care at all.”
Erato tapped her fingers on the armrest.
“All those big brain spreadsheets and acronymy organizations, and the aforementioned whatsists tell a different story.”
Demeter actually growled.
“I don’t care, Muse. Nobody gives a damn.
They all come to me when they need something.
My powers to make sure their cronies get olive oil, or cotton, or beef.
My absence when they need a piece of property to be devalued because one of them wants to build some gaudy monstrosity for cheap.
My resources when they go to war. My daughter on a plate to appease the Goddess of Underworld, who felt slighted for centuries.
Well, how about me? How about when I get slighted, Muse? ”
Erato watched in silence—she was so stunned she couldn’t even breathe—as the ordinarily taciturn and unapproachable Demeter stood in front of her, chest heaving, gorgeous cheekbones splashed with the scarlet of anger. Of insult. Of humiliation. Well, Erato knew how some of that tasted.
But before she could say anything as stupid as “me too,” Demeter put the tumbler down and took her seat next to Erato. Without lifting her eyes to meet the muse’s, she picked up her papers again. When she spoke, her voice was so soft, Erato thought she imagined it.
“And then when I do what I want once, just once, they all remember that I exist, and get very upset that I do so on my own terms.”
Erato’s hand, seemingly of its accord, found Demeter’s.
“I take it this spring thing is you being a rebel? And so am I, part of said rebellion?”
Demeter said nothing but she did intertwine their fingers and for the rest of the flight, Erato felt that, for once, she had been allowed to step on Olympus without being confused with the help.
Dionysus met them tipsy. The fact that the man wasn’t entirely smashed was something to celebrate, surely.
“Welcome to the Great Dionisya!”
He kissed Demeter’s cheeks somewhat sloppily and ignored Erato completely. For once, she was glad of it. He looked sauced, but not really sauced enough to pass out. The kind of sauced that gets grabby. Erato subtly tugged on the invisible thread, pulling Demeter further away from the drunkard.
Dionysus did not seem to notice.
“By Zeus, I was shocked when you texted that you were coming to my Spring Festival! I haven’t seen you in ages!”
He furrowed his brow, seemingly trying to remember when was the last time he and Demeter crossed paths.
Erato was beginning to understand some of what Demeter was talking about earlier.
And while normally she’d have kept her mouth shut, the jackass being an Olympian and all that, for some reason, words escaped.
“You just saw her in Vegas, dude.”
That got her two entirely different reactions. Dionysus finally turned her way and Demeter… Well, Erato had no idea what the look of calm calculation that so often crossed those features in her presence signified.
“And who might you be?” Dionysus, drunk as he was, swayed closer to Erato. Since he was a man, Erato, who’d normally stand her ground on principle, had to keep her gag reflex in check and take a step back.
“You saw her in Vegas as well, fool. And have met her thousands of times during these two millennia and the countless previous ones.”
Demeter’s voice held the entirety of winter’s deep freeze. Erato wanted to preen just a little. Since they were in public, she refrained.
Dionysus gave her a long, still-swaying look, clearly trying to figure out who she was. He checked out her face. Devastating. Her hair. Perfection in debonair locks. Her boobs. Perky as fuck, thank you very much. And finally he lifted watery eyes to meet hers.
“You’re Dite’s girl?”
Demeter gritted her teeth, but Erato just shrugged. Pleased with finding a shred of recognition in his alcohol soaked brain, the God of Wine and Feasts made a sweeping gesture, knocking over half of the bottles off the table.
“Welcome, Demeter and Dite’s girl to my Feast!”
The urge to roll her eyes was overwhelming.
Erato was very skeptical of this entire Spring Fest to begin with, and this particular one reeked of booze.
Nothing springtimey about it. But Demeter chose it, and so here they were, observing the vast amphitheater under open skies where thousands of people were drinking, eating and seemingly getting ready for some performance.
“Melpomene herself staged this show in my honor.” Dionysus made his way closer to the stage where several muses were busy setting up.
Erato saw Thalia and Urania hanging some tapestry up.
To her greater pleasure—not that she wasn’t happy to see her fellow muses—a cupid was helping them.
A very cherished cupid. And that meant only one thing.
“I see you chose to attend the festivities.” Oh, this drawl was so familiar. Sabine Goddard, in a flowing ivory suit, gave Erato a brief hug.
“I go where I’m told, and you know it. Much like you do these days.” Erato quipped, but Sabine took the joke in stride and simply smiled.
“My wife is chief decorator at Dionysia this year and New York is very cold, for obvious reasons. I chose to accompany her. Not that Greece feels any less chilly. But at least the wine is better.”
Sabine took a very long sip from her glass and assiduously avoided Demeter’s glare. Erato sensed she might be missing something. She didn’t have a chance to give it a thought though, because the aforementioned cherished cupid noticed them and sauntered down from the stage.
“Erato! I’ve missed you!”
The hug was warm and welcoming and after the inhospitable last few weeks, Erato leaned a little closer and held a little tighter.
“Now this is a welcome. Unlike some people,” Erato nodded towards the now-dancing-to-the-tune-of-a-satyr-tuning-his-flute Dionysus.
Once they parted, Abby patted her on the shoulder.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s been drunk for what? Four? Five thousand years? He clearly never needed your help or inspiration for anything and… Blessed Aphrodite, I did not just mention Dionysus and sex in the same sentence. Now I need bleach for my thoughts.”
Abby waved a dainty hand in front of her face, and Sabine laughed.
“You did this to yourself, darling. Out of all of the immortals present here, you had to imagine this guy’s sex life instead of any other deities?”
Erato had the absolutely amazing comeback right on the tip of her tongue but was beaten to the punch by Demeter, whose scowl had been deepening with every minute they spent here.
“Please exclude me from this narrative, and as for the Muse and her far and wide flinging proclivities?—”
Erato gave her hand a little twist, and Demeter yelped.
“Okay now, Taylor Swift. We all know I am trouble and I don’t even have to walk in. I live up to my reputation.”
“And what reputation is that?” Abby, ever the amazing wing woman, played along.
“Devastating, seductive and always delivering on her promises.” Erato did make finger guns this time and then flung back her long fringe. Smolder abounded and around the amphitheater, a few nymphs swooned.
“I think we should all take our seats for the show to commence. Melpomene is amazing in this and we don’t want to miss it. Plus, I am quite certain Dionysus is half asleep and will be snoring soon, so the sooner we begin, the better.”
Sabine, the voice of reason, shoved them towards the front row. She and Demeter did an entire Ring Around the Rosie to avoid sitting next to each other. The feeling that Erato was missing something intensified.
They snacked on stuffed olives and sipped wine as the muses and nymphs amused them with their array of comedy sketches. By the time Melpomene and her troup of tragic actors came out, Dionysus was indeed snoring. Shame too, cause Mel had range.
Still, Erato was not prepared for the sensuality of the piece.
In no time, half of the troupe were among the spectators, gyrating and grinding, the satyrs playing their most horny renditions of hymns.
Erato shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Next to her, Abby clapped enthusiastically and then leaned to kiss her wife.
A deep, way too deep and long kiss to be on display in public.
And since when did these kinds of things bother Erato? What was happening to her?
Before she could ponder about that, Melpomene in her all but naked-save-a-sheer-long-veil glory prostrated herself on Erato’s lap.
To her left, Abby and Sabine continued to snog.
Melpomene was now performing something that felt suspiciously like a lap dance, as if this hadn’t been a staging of an ancient tragedy, and to her right, Demeter was all but frozen in place, her eyes wide and furious.
Melpomene chanted and lamented. Between tears, generously running down her cheeks, her ass ground quite nicely into Erato’s thighs.
Dionysus chose that moment to open his eyes and, after a few bleary blinks, swayed to his feet and loudly proclaimed, “The orgy part of Dionysia has begun!” before passing out again. The nymphs, as if unleashed, jumped each other. The braver ones made a beeline for some of the muses.
“For Olympus’ sake!” Demeter’s exclamation was followed by her bodily dislodging Melpomene off Erato’s lap and storming down the aisle, scattering the approaching nymphs like bowling pins and dragging the now freed yet slightly rumpled Erato behind.
The last thing Erato saw as they exited the amphitheater was the look of triumph Sabine Goddard gave them as they moved around the swooning creatures.