Off The Rack

The solution to Lisa’s problem glowed neon in the fading light. She pulled into the parking lot under the sign with blinking words, “Free Groom Half Price Ring Bearer w/ Every Wedding Gown”.

Inside, the boutique was softly lit. No crass racks of squashed satin dresses here. Elegant confections of lace, pearl, and silk each stood center spotlight in a setting of varying vistas.

 One gown, a simple silk design, was advertised as the best for a beach wedding. The price for beach and horses thoughtfully included on the price tag. Another gown looked like the work of a deranged fairy godmother with some magpie in her ancestry, and was touted as ideal for a themed Cinderella wedding.

Lisa browsed until she caught the clerk’s attention.

“I’m so sorry you had to wait, Miss. I was just seeing to another happy customer. Now, what dress were you looking at?”

“I rather like the beach dress – “

“A favorite theme. Very chic this season.”

“Yes, but the train doesn’t quite suit me.”

“If you can describe what you want, I can point you in the direction of several lovely gowns. Or I can show you some of our recent arrivals.”

“Something figure hugging, but not trashy.” Lisa sketched an hourglass shape in the air with her hands. “I want to go for understated taste and old-world elegance. Maybe a few pearls or a touch of crystal. Nothing ostentatious though.”

“Would you prefer a pure white or an ivory?”

“Pure white. This is my first wedding, I want to do it properly.”

“Of course. Don’t we all?” The clerk had pulled out a pad of paper and took notes with a quick glide of her pen. “What kind of sleeve were you looking for?”

“Sleeveless, perfect for a summer wedding.”

The clerk nodded. “Something drapey, long, and sleeveless. You know, I think I have just the gown. It might be your size too. It’s an Elyia, and we were only able to get three of her gowns this year. A little pricey…”

There was a judicious pause.

“Money is not an issue,” Lisa assured her.

“Perfect.” The clerk beamed happily. “The gown is pure silk, a mermaid silhouette, you know. It hugs and then flares below the knee. Very artistic. No embellishments, but I know it will be perfect for you.”

And it was.

Lisa twirled in front of the three-way mirror. Cool silk swirled around her ankles. Curves she didn’t know she had popped into proper place and gave her the kind of figure you usually paid surgeons big money for.

“I’ll take it!”

“Excellent.”

She changed in the dressing room and handed the gown over to a hovering underling. The clerk hummed a happy tune as she made more notes. Lisa smiled. “Now, about the groom…“

“Right this way, please.” Still humming, the clerk led Lisa past fantasy wedding settings, prices discreetly listed, past rows of hothouse flowers set in stasis and perfect for everything from boutonnieres to bouquets, and into a back room.

The clerk flicked on a light.

Rows of grooms hung awkwardly with coat hooks down the back of their tuxedos. Some were so short their feet dangled several inches above the floor, others were so tall that they sat folded up. To one side, the plus-sized grooms circled slowly on a rack like a herd of tethered balloons.

“Ignore the tuxedos,” the clerk said, straightening the tie on a short groom propped on a display rack. His feet kicked a few inches above the ground as he snuffled in his sleep.

“Clothes are interchangeable. So are shoes.” The clerk turned. “Did you have something already in mind? Off the rack, maybe? Or do you want a custom groom?”

Lisa clicked her tongue in thought, recovering quickly. “I really don’t know. I’ve never been groom shopping before. What do you advise?”

“Why don’t you have a look around and check the tags while I get you some refreshments? You’ve already been in the store over an hour. Shopping makes one hungry.”

“Tea and biscuits?”

“Don’t be silly! For groom shopping we have chocolate dipped strawberries and champagne.”

“That sounds delightful.”

While the clerk bustled out in search of a light repast Lisa browsed the aisles of grooms. Most the men slept. A few mumbled to each other, one winked at her in a coquettish manner.

She checked the tag on one of the folded grooms as he snored with a cute snuffle.

Name: Todd

Personality: Deferential

Height: 6’5”

Weight: 215

Age: 29

Income: $56,750 annually

Lisa flipped the tag over to catch care details. Self-washing, cooked 70% of his meals, but required special weekend care in the form of regular poker nights out with the boys.

She frowned.

“Oh,” the clerk said, coming back with a little trolley. “You don’t want that one. Those models are best for second marriages and planned divorces. The seams tend to loosen up after a few years and they balloon. We have a strict No Return policy on grooms.”

“Right.” Lisa let the tag drop.

“What do you like?” the clerk asked.

“I’m leaning to the taller ones. Something to make me look not quite as tall.”

“Do you prefer athletic or thin, dear?” With a practiced eye the clerk started pulling grooms off the rack. She held up two specimens, one with the heavy muscled look common in football players and the other a reedy fellow with glasses slipping off his nose.

“Muscular, but not that bulky. I don’t want him to make me look fat.”

The clerk nodded. “I wouldn’t say anything, of course, but so many girls come in here and pick grooms that don’t suit their look at all. They forget a husband is an accessory you wear every day, and treat it like dress shopping. You need to take the long view. Your dress only has to look good once, but a groom needs to retain shape for months. Years in some extreme cases!

“Here, try this one.” The clerk held out a lithe man with good muscle tone, blond hair cut short, and a steady in-and-out type of snore.

Lisa checked the tag while the clerk unfolded the sleeping man. “Isn’t he a little long for me? The tag says six foot eight. I’m only five foot seven.”

“A little shorter than?”

She hesitated, scanning the tag. “I don’t know. Can you do alterations? Maybe take an inch or two off the legs?”

“Not with these ones. But we do have the custom fit grooms in the next room.” The clerk folded the unwanted groom up and placed him back on the rack. “All the grooms are free with the gown purchase. Custom is as cheap as off the rack today, so you might as well get what you like.”

“You’re right.” Lisa smiled. “Let’s go look at the custom designs.”

The clerk led her into a blue lit room filled with vats and situated her in a comfortable chair in front of a large screen with the trolley of food next to it.

Lisa sipped her champagne as the computer turned on the computer. Bubbles rippled through the vat nearest her making the lone leg turn in it’s nutrient broth.

“Now here,” the clerk said, “you can program in all the parameters. The basic hair and eye color are very easy to change later on if you want, but after the groom is altered we can’t change metabolism, personality, or height. So be very sure that you enter those correctly.” 

The list wasn’t as endless as it first seemed. Lisa entered her preferences on the right of the screen and the computer displayed her potential groom on the left. She selected the advanced options and dithered over setting his income.

“If I give him a high income will he be gone too much do you think?”

The clerk shrugged. “It depends on what occupation you choose for him. That’s right down there, question twelve. You can set a very high income if you choose the right profession. And heirs are usually very indolent, always at home. But they also have the highest percentage of thefts in the nation. You don’t want someone to sneak in and steal your groom on the wedding night.”

Bitter memories twisted Lisa’s features. “No. I don’t.” She selected an income of $96,560 annually, more than enough when combined with her own salary, and a profession as a college professor. “Will I need to pay extra for his education?”

“Usually, but not with our current special. The wedding season is almost over and we honestly need to move these older models out. The ones I can’t sell will go to the government. At a discount, of course,” the clerk hastened to add lest she seem unpatriotic.

Lisa just nodded, not really listening. “The computer wants to know a percentage for fertility. How do I calculate that? Is it so many times out of ten we get pregnant or so many times out of ten we don’t?”

“The fertility percentage is per time. Women have a much lower fertility rate, usually not over twenty-five percent, so you want his correspondingly high. Eighty-five to ninety-five is the fashionable level at the moment. You could put it higher if you want more children or at zero if you aren’t interested in having them the old fashioned way. It won’t affect the groom’s performance at all.”

“Right.” She set the fertility percentage at ninety and moved on to a question about social skill sets. Did she want a pre-set personality or to mix and match her own?

The clerk refilled her glass. “Would you like a ring bearer today too? They’re half price!”

“Oh! I hadn’t even looked. Really, I always thought I’d have a little flower girl. Do you sell those?”

“Only the dresses. But we do have an arrangement with the local modeling and acting agency. If you buy bridesmaid and flower girl dresses here they’ll give you seventy-five percent off the cost of renting a bridal party.”

“I might look into that.”

“If you choose one of their pre-posed parties I already have the sizes on file so you won’t need to come in and actually meet with the bridal party before the wedding. We find some brides prefer that.”

“Hmmm. I do have some real friends. I’ll have to talk to them and see if they’re interested in coming to the wedding. Everyone’s so busy lately, it’s hard to get people to take the time off of work.”

“Bring pictures to the modeling agency and let them find look-alikes for the wedding. That way your girlfriends can be there without actually wasting any of their own time.”

Lisa nodded and hit the last button. “There. That’s my groom!”

The clerk looked over her selections. “Oh! Isn’t he handsome? An excellent choice. You have exquisite taste. He’ll look fabulous next to you. Now, you do know that the custom made grooms aren’t ready to go today. It will take three weeks for the order to get in. You weren’t planning on having the wedding this week, were you?”

“No. I was thinking a summer wedding in a few months.”

“Good. Good. Did you want to pick the groom up beforehand or the day of? Remember, you can’t return him once he leaves the store. If you think you might get cold feet it’s best to leave him in our vault until the day of the wedding. You can always call us up and tell us you’ve changed your mind. We’ll put him out on the rack for a twenty-five dollar restocking fee.”

“That sounds good. I’ll pick him up the day of.”

“Excellent. Would you like to look over our ring bearer selection?”

“Certainly.”

The ring bearers were in a smaller room combining both racks of small boys and several smaller vats. All the ring bearers were sleeping fitfully.

“We have one of the largest selection of ring bearers in the city,” the clerk said. “You have your choice of ages, from toddler through teenager. And we have the Grow Your Own option. It’s very popular for people who choose Living in Sin before marriage. You can take both the prospective groom and the infant ring bearer home on the same day with a voucher. When the ring bearer has reached the size you want you just bring in the voucher and we’ll fit him to a little suit.”

Peering curiously into the vat where a pair of feet led their own private existence until needed Lisa asked, “Is that a popular choice?”

“Very popular. People love to have their own screaming brat carrying their ring down the aisle. It makes for such a cute video and, of course, the wedding reception fight always needs a good screaming brat.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I never really wanted a son.”

“Than why not consider our rental options.” The clerk motioned to a rack of freckle faced boys labeled six-year olds. “We call this the nephew option, although you don’t need to buy an Aunt or Uncle with them. We lease them to you for a twenty-four hour period and with the proper application of sugar they can be very good.”

“Well. I just…”

“Or maybe the teenage nephew?” The clerk bustled Lisa over to another rack where gawky teens hung in ill-fitted suits. “These models have the full range of sarcastic comments, insults, and eye-rolling. Although a well applied fifty will keep them from making hurting remarks or hitting on your maid of honor.”

“Gosh, I just don’t know.”

“There’s no rush,” the clerk assured her. “Our sale doesn’t end until Friday. That gives you plenty of time to plan out the details and coordinate with the wedding planner. Just bring the receipt for the gown in when you come back during our sale period and you can have whatever you like.”

“Perfect.” Lisa collected her gown and voucher for her new groom before driving home feeling perfectly vindicated.

As she wrote out the wedding invitations she wondered how her foremothers had handled all these messy complications. What did you do if you woke up one morning and wanted to marry before they invented bridal shops with everything you needed?

Probably relied on dating. As if that ever worked!

She took extra care in addressing the invitation to Michael and Janie. Let her ex and her ex-best friend see just how hurt she was by his dumping her: Not at all!

Janie could have the off-the-rack boyfriend with his part-time job. She was getting herself a real man.   

Dear Santa

Dear SAntA, 

for christmas i wish everyone else in my family had more brains. i'm really sick of my sister being so stupid. And mum and Dad are so mean sometimes.

yours,

Tommy.

PS i’m NOT little. if any one calls me LITTLE Tommy again you might not be able to bring me any presents. sorry. TB.

Tommy stared down at the sheet of paper with his tongue between his teeth and his brow wrinkled. That looked about right.

He folded it up, tucked it into the envelope, and sealed it. He pulled a face. Envelopes tasted ick.

Tommy bounced down the stairs to the kitchen and tugged on his mum’s sleeve. “Mum, Mum!”

“Tommy, why aren’t you in bed?” she said, without turning around.

“Mum, I need you to post this letter! You have to post it quick, it’s nearly Christmas and it has to get to Santa in time!” He waved the letter up at her.

She smiled and took it from him. “I’ll post it when I go to get your sister from Betty’s, okay?”

Tommy bounced on his toes. “Will it get there in time?”

She tousled his hair. “I think so.”

Tommy ran back to his room and flopped on his bed. He stared at the ceiling. Mum said she’d post the letter, but what if she forgot? What if she only said she would? It was Christmas tomorrow. There wasn’t much time.

He tossed and turned and eventually fell asleep.

***

Tommy blinked himself awake. He stared at his door for a minute, feeling dozy. Then he bolted upright. “It’s Christmas!”

He leapt out of bed, whipped on his bathrobe, and pounded down the hall. He bashed on Samantha’s door as he passed, grinning as he heard her yell. He took the stairs three at a time and bounded into the living room.

Presents! 

He pranced around the Christmas tree, snatching at the brightly wrapped gifts. The blue one was his, the one with the huge gold ribbon too, and the bike in the corner. “Come on!” he yelled. “Faster!”

His mother stumbled into the room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. His father yawned and stretched before plopping down on the couch. “We’re here, kiddo,” he said. “Go ahead.”

Tommy pouted. “Sam isn’t here yet. Do I have to wait for her?”

“She’s coming, dear,” said Mum. “Just a moment.”

“Sam!” Tommy hollered. “Hurry up!”

She stomped into the room, eyes mostly closed, hair teased up like a fluffy halo. She collapsed onto the beanbag and folded her arms across her chest. “Shut up,” she told him. “I’m here.”

Tommy jumped for joy. “Presents!” He dove at the stack, pulling them out with both hands and tossing them to his family. 

Soon, everyone had a large pile in front of them, and the others had woken up enough to laugh and smile.

“What are these?” Tommy’s mother asked, holding up a strangely shaped package in green, the size of a football.

“I don’t know,” his father answered, “but I have one too.”

“We all do,” said Samantha, pointing at hers on the floor.

Tommy pouted. “I don’t.” He grabbed his sister’s and rattled it. “What’s inside?”

“I don’t know, who are they from?”

“Open them!” He bounced on the edge of Samantha’s beanbag, and she was too excited about her strange parcel to mind.

“On the count of three,” she said. “One, two...”

“THREE!” Tommy shouted, tearing at her wrapping.

She batted him away and he sprawled on the ground.

“Look!” She held it up. It was brownish grey, kind of squidgy. A ball? he wondered. Some sort of cushion?

The rest of the wrapping dropped away and he stared at it.

“It... it looks like a brain,” Samantha said, mouth twisted in disgust.

“I think it is,” said Dad, holding up his.

“Weird.”

Tommy poked the brain, wondering what it could do. The brain twitched. He gasped, and scrambled towards his parents to see if their brains had moved too.

Samantha screamed.

He whirled around. The brain was pressed against her face, thin tendrils grasping her head as she thrashed against it.

Tommy moved towards her but froze as another scream sounded behind him. 

“Mum! Dad!” he shouted.

But they were too busy to notice; the brains sucked squelchily at their faces. Mum shrieked and leapt to her feet. She ran forward, right into the Christmas tree. It toppled over, tangling her in the cord of lights and tinsel.

Dad stood, trying to follow her voice, hands waving in front of him. He bellowed as the brain gave an extra loud slurp, and tripped to the ground.

Tommy shrank back under the lip of the sofa, whimpering.

Samantha screamed again, tearing frantically at the brain. But it was no use; within minutes all three family members slumped motionless on the ground.

The brains slurped happily.

Tommy cried. 

Happily Ever After

“I hate fairy tale endings!” Rose threw the child’s coloring book into the fire place designated for burning princess memorabilia. She stooped to pick up a sheet of stickers and waved them in her husband’s face. “Look at her! Look at her! Does that look like me at all? Do I have blond hair? What kind of Nordic whore do they think I am?”

She threw the stickers back into the fire and grabbed a torch from the sconce on the wall. “I. Am. Sick. Of. Happy. Endings.”

“What happy ending?” Gavin asked, relaxing back in his chair with a cop of coffee and a newspaper ten months out of date.

“The one we’re supposed to have! The one that left us here!” She let loose with a stream of invective she wouldn’t have dreamed of using a few centuries ago. Time had been a bad influence on her. “I want to die!”

She flopped into her ornate chair and stared at the banquet in front of them. The same banquet they’d been eating for the last four centuries, or was it five? She’d lost count somewhere along the line.

“You can’t die,” said Gavin in a mild tone. “Dying isn’t living happily ever after.”

“I hate happily ever after.”

“We haven’t happily ever aftered in quite some time.” He looked over his raised mug at her with a lifted eye brow.

Rose blushed. They’d been quite happy, for a few years. But there were no children in happily ever after. No visits to friends. No improvements on the castle. No wrinkles. No lines. No death.

“It wouldn’t have been bad if we’d aged. That’s what normal people do. They get wrinkles and they die and sob over each others graves.”

“Old age isn’t happily ever after either.” He flipped the page. “Oh, look, we missed another concert.”

She glared daggers at him. “Concerts aren’t happily ever after, dear,” she replied sarcastically. “Neither are cell phones, hot running water, or cars.”

Frustrated that she couldn’t get Gavin to fight with her, Rose stormed off to her room and started her letter writing campaign again. To every known book seller and movie maker she wrote the same plea: Kill Beauty at the end of the movie.

Wouldn’t it be dramatic and sweet if she died saving her beloved? Preferably before her beloved became that guy she couldn’t stand because they didn’t have anything in common but a stupid flower and some wishful thinking.

The only daughter of the widower school master was meant to be an old maid, dispensing charity and maybe entering a convent before she died. She was not meant to marry some forgotten prince of a kingdom no one had ever heard of. Deep in the bone, Rose knew it was the truth.

She looked out the window and the spiky vista of pine trees and mountains, and considered how many people she would willingly kill to go see a beach. Swimming! Beaches! Surfers! Visitors told her about such things, but no where in happily ever after did any author ever mention the second honey moon, or family vacations.

While she watched dark clouds rolling over the pass and young woman hiked into view carrying the now very familiar outline of a lap top case.

“Visitor!” Rose screamed, rushing downstairs to wait for the inevitable knock. “Gavin! Get dressed! We have a visitor!”

“You never used to complain about me going naked before,” he grumbled.

“That’s because you were covered in fur,” she snapped back. Rose sighed in exasperation. “You aren’t answering the door like that.”

“I hate codpieces, they pinch!” he whined.

“Do I look like I care what they pinch?” And she let the joke die there, pursuing it any further would start another castle burning fight. It wasn’t really Gavin’s fault. He’d been deeply in lust when they met, not love, and princes as a rule just weren’t genetically programmed to be monogamous. Was it any wonder he’d gotten bored with her? Or her with his… “No more jokes,” she told herself.

The inevitable knock came.

Rose threw open the door to show the slightly surprised looking young lady. Maybe not so young, there was a definite pudginess around the midline and confidence in the smile that suggested the girl wasn’t still in the first bloom of youth.

“Welcome to our castle,” Rose said with a painfully sweet smile.

The lady smiled back. “What a fabulous costume! That must have taken days to make. But why pink, did they have pink in the fourteenth century?”

Rose looked down at her rose-pink gown and lied. “It was red, but the dye faded.”

“Well, I guess that makes it realistic!” the girl beamed at her. “Hey, I hate to beg and all, but can I borrow your phone? My car broke down coming over the pass, I coasted as far as I could, but no dice. I just need to call a repair truck and maybe a cab, since this thing’s a rental.”

“We don’t have a phone here,” Rose said. “And our cell phone reception-“

“- sucks, I know.” The girl sighed and looked back at the long drive. “I know this sounds psycho, but could you drive me somewhere? I just need to get over to the next town. I’ve got a map,” she said as she started to rummage through her bag.

“We don’t have a car,” Rose said, her teeth gritting together. Did vampires have it this hard? If she ever met one, she’d be sure to ask how they lured unwary travelers inside. “Won’t you come in?” she tried.

“You don’t have a car?” the girl asked as she stepped through the door, not noticing as Rose slammed it shut.

“The car’s in town at the moment,” Gavin lied smoothly as he walked out of the breakfast room wearing the perfectly tailored blue coat he’d worn the first day he’d been human again. Rose liked the coat. It brought back found memories of a time when she didn’t know what happily ever after meant.

“Okay. Um, well, do you guys mind if I hang out here? I can pay admission if you take credit card.”

Rose looked to Gavin for help.

“No need to pay! Usually groups book the castle for exotic vacations, but this us our down season.”

“And the boss won’t let you wear jeans? Geez, what a curmudgeon.”

“Indeed…” Gavin fumbled then picked up his lines again. “And what is your name?”

“Em, actually, Emina, but everyone calls me Em.” She dropped her lap top bag and looked around. “This is a gorgeous place, just like a fairy tale castle, you know?”

“We try,” Rose said. She left out the bit that they were trying to forget, but, you know, to each his own. “Where are you from, Em?”

“Hmm, oh, America.” She blushed. “The accent gives me away, doesn’t it? I know some German but it comes out like that… this…” she said, switching languages and mangling the German terribly. “I speak much poor.”

“Thankfully, we speak English just fine,” Gavin said wryly.

“Come in,” Rose insisted. “You can stay here until the car gets back.”

The girl smiled. “That’s so kind of you. I hate to impose. Just shove me in a corner, I can write.”

“You’re a writer?” Rose nearly squealed with delight. “Really? You write books?”

“Um, yes? Is… is that wrong?” The girl looked around to Gavin in confusion.

Gavin shook his head. “No. We like writers.” He smiled, showing his teeth, but the girl didn’t pick up the threat. “What do you write?”

“Horror. And some urban fantasy.”

Rose considered that. Well, it wasn’t perfect, but hopefully she’d finally get to die.

It took two years for the book to get published. Rose loved the red rose dripping blood on the black cover. She flipped through, and laughed at the dialog on page two fifty one. She sauntered down to the dungeon, kicking aside the remains of some forgotten bride who had rented the castle back in the forties.

“Are you down here, Em?”

“Yes.”

Rose heard the little writer whimper. “I’ve been reading the book.”

“And?” Em scuttled to the back of her dungeon cell.

With a wicked smile Rose flipped open the book to the offending page and read, “Help me! The crazy princess has me chained in the basement! Somebody rescue me! I’m off of route seven! In the big castle! Bring guns!” Rose tsked. “You aren’t chained, dear. I would never chain you. And you can’t complain about the food.”

“Wedding cake for two years?” Em snarled. “I hate wedding cake!”

“Try eating it for a few centuries!”

Up the stairs she heard the wooden door shatter. Commandos dressed in black stormed down the stairs.

“No!” Rose shrieked. “No! Em, stop it! Change the book! You don’t want this kind of happily ever after! Save yourself!”

Gun fire felled the demon princess.

Em smirked and pulled a hidden chapter from under her straw mat. A ruggedly handsome hero stepped in to take her away. “Cross-genre epilogue, B****, the author always wins.” 

Edge of Time

“Children!” Heather snapped. “Do not put holes in the fabric of time!”

IT ISN’T A PROBLEM The landlord said in leaden tones.

She gave him a dark look.

He coughed and ran a hand through his curly ginger hair. “Sorry.”

“You need to get a new hobby. Imitating Terry Pratchett’s Death character doesn’t suit you.” Heather reached down to scoop up her youngest. “Look, the roaches, when will you have that resolved?”

“Next week at the latest,” he answered promptly.

She’d heard that one before. “Who’s latest? Yours or ours?”

Something in her look hinted that she wasn’t going to play games, or maybe he finally decided to grow up. “Yours. Definitely yours.”

“Good.” The house wasn’t what she’d expected, but it worked. After the funeral she needed somewhere to go. Some place away from the city and well meaning friends who asked inconvenient questions. Away from her husbands co-workers who dropped by to say hi, and then dropped hints about beautiful women and being alone.

On the Internet site the house had looked like a good deal, big yard, a commute that wasn’t to far, scenic views. Although she really shouldn’t have thought a view of 1795 was a typo come to think of it.

Elsa reached her hand through the window trying to grab the coattail of George III.

“No, Elsa, do not play with time.” She looked around for her dead husband. “Justin?”

He floated down through the ceiling. “Yes, dear?”

“Who’s cooking dinner tonight?”

“I can.” His kiss on her cheek was a cold breeze. Elsa hopped into his arms. “I fixed the upstairs windows, we shouldn’t have any more Templar knights falling in.”

Heather blushed. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t walk in on me doing yoga. I was in a twisting pose and I think he thought I was dead.”

“And a ghostly husband probably didn’t fix matters.” He paused, staring behind her. “You better go find your son.”

“My son?” Heather gave him the LOOK.

“Your son is presently in 2112.”

“Oh mercy! Not again. Remind me to call the landlord tomorrow. He advertised a timeless classic, not a time machine!”

That night, washing electric colors out of her son’s hair, Heather had an idea.

She climbed into bed next Justin. “Sweetie, you know how I said I wanted to go back to work?”

Justin closed the universe he was currently building and nodded. “Yes?”

“Well, maybe we could open a bed and breakfast…”

Adam, Be A Star

Adam, stardom is just a click away.

Adam stared at the computer screen, fingers trembling on the touchpad. Should he do it? He stroked the enter key. Louise had sent the link to him, recommended it even. But now that it came down to it, could he actually bring himself to accept?

He leaned back in his chair and screwed up his face. Being a star would solve a lot of problems, that was certain. Louise had only been a star for a week, and look at her: married to that famous singer, wealth pouring out her ears, fantastic mansion in the tropics – and of course, every night, she joined the Heavenly Host in their trek across the night sky.

Brilliant.

She hadn’t stopped smiling since.

And now, here, right in front of him, was an opportunity to do the same. He’d received one of the very precious, very limited invitations to stardom. And he was going to accept it.

Of course he was.

He hit enter, grinned broadly and stretched in satisfaction. The computer screen flashed silver then black as it processed his application. Stars began to dot the screen and within seconds the view zoomed through the universe, finding a place for Adam, the newest star.

He sighed and pushed his chair back to go grab a drink while the system found a place for him.

#

He’d have screamed, if he could – but in the daytime, no one would believe him and in the night time, no one could hear him as he circled the Earth thousands of light years away.

The computer virus had sucked him right into the machine, digitally editing his exterior before hurling him out into space, then creating a holographic substitute for him on earth. 

And then it had sent the email.

Every now and then Adam bumped into someone else who, like him, had become a star. He had to admit, the glow was lovely. But he’d have preferred it if there was altogether less glow and rather more conversation.

Another flare; another human shunted into space in a ball of flaming gases. The sky around him blazed. There couldn’t be many left to go.

#

Frank frowned as he peered at the computer screen. He leaned over to cross check what he saw in his high-powered, completely-legal telescope and frowned again. There were definitely more stars showing up in the online starmap than there should be.

He grabbed his phone and dialled. “Hi, Ben? Have you been messing about with the system again? I told you to leave it alo—“ He cut off at Ben’s earnest assurances that he hadn’t logged in since last week. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don’t touch it anymore, okay? ...No, there’s nothing wrong. Go back to sleep.” 

He dropped the phone back on the desk, still staring at the screen. If Ben hadn’t been messing around, who had? 

Frank zoomed in. Louise Fischer? What kind of name was that for a star? And Steven Brayburn? Seriously? It was like whoever had hacked the starmap was trying to make it obvious or something. 

A word registered in his subconscious, but before he had time to figure out what it was, an email notification popped up. 

Adam. Hmm, was that the word he’d just seen? Absently, he scrolled across the starfield while the email loaded. Ah, there, just above star Louise on the screen: star Adam Litchfield. Frank grinned. Sneaky bugger. The email was probably him gloating.

Frank switched over to read the email. “Frank, be a star!” he said, reading the subject heading. “Oh, sure, Adam. I’d love to be a star. Nice one.”

He opened the email, found the link. Still grinning, Frank clicked.

#

The virus would have smiled, if viruses could. In fact, it probably would have licked its pointed fangs if it had had them. As it was, it had to settle for a quick zip up and down the nearest circuit. Very soon, those pesky humans would be off its planet for good, and all would be right in the world. It waited until Frank had been processed, then sent the next batch of emails from his account. 

Venus

Venus walked through the main door just as thunder rolled overhead and the rain began to fall. She glanced over her shoulder to glare at the rain then flounced to the front desk of the most expensive hotel in New York City. “Reservation for Vanessa Rome please.” She gave the concierge her best smile. He didn’t look dazzled.

He tilted his balding head forward to peer at the computer screen. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have a reservation for anyone by that name.”

Venus sighed. “My Daddy made the reservation for me, can you check for Dios Rome, please?” Again she smiled dazzlingly at him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the only reservation we have for that name was last month. My computer shows that no one claimed the room and the card used to reserve it was charged for the full three days. Are you certain you didn’t get your travel dates wrong?”

She did a quick mental count in her head. “Blast, what’s his name changed the calendars, didn’t he?”

“Ma’am?”

“The one with the green shorts,” Venus raged, godly powers overflowing. She wiped away a tear of frustration from her eye. “Daddy never remembers the date changes. The two extra months and the New Year starting in the middle of winter rather than when Persephone returns from Hades. It’s really too much!”

“Of course.” The concierge cleared his throat. “Would you like me to call you a cab, ma’am?”

“A cab?”

“Yes, a cab, we’re fully booked this evening. I can’t offer you a new reservation.”

“You can’t?”

“No, ma’am. We’re full. You need to go somewhere else.”

Venus’s immortal power surged, her eyes narrowed, she balled her fists ready to attack her victim.

“Gregory?” A blonde woman pushed past her to rush to the concierge.

“Marian?” He stared at her in shock. “I haven’t seen you…. I meant to…. I can explain…”

“Oh, Gregory, there’s nothing to explain! I understand perfectly and my answer is,” she blushed and looked down, “...yes. Yes, I will marry you!”

As the happily reunited couple burst into a frenzy of sweet coos, whispered promises, and lusty kisses Venus altered the guest book. A few minor changes and the penthouse with a view was hers.

She cleared her throat. “My reservation,” she reminded the lipstick-covered man, “I’d like my room key, please.”

“Yes, of course, right away.” He didn’t even question how his full hotel suddenly had a penthouse free.

Venus took the room key with a final look of disgust.

“The room will be ready in an hour.” The woman trying to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation swallowed up the man’s line of patter.

“Jupiter, almighty!” Venus swung her multicolored Fendi handbag and stalked out back into the night. The thunder grumbled over head as the rain subsided. Her gold Gucci heels clicked on the cement as she tried to breath the fetid city air.

A Mercedes drove past, splashing her shimmering dress with water. Her fists clenched. “How dare you!”

Immortal wrath churned, reaching out to punish the horrible human. With a graceful flick of her wrist Venus dried her dress. She tossed her perfect mane of golden hair and crossed with the light.

There was the blaring of a horn, the squeal of tires, and the crunch of a black Mercedes hitting a mini-van. Venus looked back with an evil smile.

The woman in the Mercedes jumped out, nearly tripping over a manhole, and started to rage at the driver of the mini-van. He got out, yelled at her, yelled again in delight when he realized who he was yelling at, and they started kissing.

“Jupiter, almighty, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Venus moaned as the on-lookers clapped. A media-outlets man-on-the-street cam stopped to interview the happily reunited couple. “It’s so unfair!”

She kept walking, window shopping through the best part of the city, while all around her smited humans fell in love, rekindled old romances, decided to give love a chance. Her stomach roiled as a feuding couple in a café put differences aside so they could kiss and make-up.

Despondent, Venus slunk into a shabby bookstore and curled up in an over-stuffed armchair to sip a hot cocoa with extra whip cream.

“Bad day?” the barista asked as she placed a napkin next to Venus on the side table.

“The worst! My reservations at the hotel were messed up, I just had a fight with my husband, and now everywhere I look people are falling in love again. I hate that!”

“To bad,” the girl says without sympathy.

“What about you?” Venus asked with a sniffle. “You have some hot body to curl up with tonight?”

“Nope. I prefer cold and dead.” The girl slipped her a card before walking away.

Hit Girls- Taking care of problems and cleaning your closet since 1982.  First time free.

Venus turned the card over, thinking. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Vulcan, it was that he didn’t understand why she was always with Mars. After all, it was blazingly obvious to everyone but her jealous husband why she was with him. Mars was a wonderful shopping buddy, he understood why she needed more sling-back pumps, he could match colors, and he was madly in love with his hair-stylist from Tulsa.

Vulcan just didn’t understand.

With a snap of her fingers the card vanished. Hit girls, hit men, hit whatever… that’s not what she needed. She needed……….

“Josh?” The barista was staring at her new customer as if he’d grown a third head.

The Hollywood hero smiled as he pulled a gun. “Sorry, Babes, you know how it is.”

“But, we, I …” A coffee mug dropped from her hands, shattering on the ground as the barista backed away.

The man stood.

The ground shook.

The door to the bookstore opened. Lightening cut across the sky silhouetting a familiar form. He walked in, adjusting his glasses that hid his too-green eyes. The well-cut suit he wore accented his well-muscled frame.

Venus sighed. The Romans had it wrong, she’d married the hottest man on Olympus Mons.

Vulcan sat down across from her. “I’m sorry.”

She sat up, quite surprised. Vulcan never said sorry, it just wasn’t in him. In their long, tempestuous marriage she could count the number of apologies he’d given on one hand. He never said sorry, but he showed it in the little things he did. A new vase of black glass, diamonds, a new mountain range in some far-off tropical locale…

“Come on, don’t make me say it again. Is that what you want?”

Venus shook her head and put her mug down with care, the whole world seemed to slow. “No. You’re sorry? Really?”

“I went to surprise you with Mars…” He broke off and blushed.

Venus blushed in sympathy. Vulcan wasn’t just near-sighted sometimes he was downright blind. She cleared her throat. “He’s a nice boy, and they make each other happy.”

Vulcan turned bright red. “It’s just, I expected…. Jupiter! Venus, you are so beautiful I can’t imagine how any man would turn you away for, for… anyone else.”

Venus studied her nails with interest. There was a story there. If you got upset because the boy you love swung the other way, well, blame it on Hera. Venus knew and was keeping the blackmail tucked away for a rainy day.

“Don’t worry about. I never notice them. Just you.” She smiled up at Vulcan, batted her eyelashes, took his breath away…

Behind them the world began to move again. Josh stepped forward, gun still aimed at the betrayed barista’s heart. The coffee-girl tilted her chin up defiantly. “Go ahead, you’ve all ready broken my heart.”

Vulcan looked over and then winked at Venus. “Aren’t you going to give the girl a break?”

Venus smiled.

Josh dropped the gun. “Marry me. We’ll run away together. No one ever needs to know…”

Goddesses always get happy endings. 

Space To Be Alone

We sat apart, watching the earthrise. I wondered how many people were left down there.

“It's too crowded,” she said abruptly. “I can't think in here.”

I looked around our transparent dome, edge to edge a hundred paces, only us inside. “Where will you go?” We’d had this conversation before. We both knew there was nowhere.

“Get rid of the weeds,” she told me instead. “The grass can’t breathe.”

This was new. “What should I do with them?”

“Burn them,” she snarled, then slumped. “Or don't. Save the oxygen. I don't care. The rescue ship will come.”

“It will.” I hugged her, and waited again for the mood to pass.

Later, I caught her staring at the stars. I anchored her hand in mine. “What are you thinking?” My pulse hammered.

She gestured over our heads, entranced. “Do you think they have enough room?”

“Who?” I asked, biting my lip as she pulled away.

“The stars.”

They glittered the sky, crammed in elbow to elbow until some overlapped. I shrugged. “How much is enough?” A whole world wasn’t enough when you shared it with EBOV momento mortis. And a dome was plenty if you didn’t. I found Earth close to our western horizon and stared.

She squeezed my hand. “The rescue ship will come.”

I nodded, still staring at Earth. “Of course.” What if her mood didn’t pass this time?

“It’s the horizon,” she said that night. “It’s too empty. It doesn’t leave any room for me to be alone.”

I shook my head and rested my head on her shoulder. “Why do you need space to be alone?”

She sighed and patted my hair. “Go to sleep.”

In the morning, the airlock alarm screamed. I ran to it, sweat slicking my palms, fear clogging my throat, reaching for the emergency lock. But I was too late.

She'd left a note. It read: I'm sorry. I needed space.

I looked around the dome that I now inhabited alone. So much space, pressing down. She was right. Far too much emptiness to live in alone. I opened the airlock and hoped someone from Earth would survive.

No. Not someone. Someones. Not enough space for one person. Alone.