Joe Avery
by Charles C. Cole
Sometimes reason and logic are the best tools. After a small-time detective assists a supernatural client, big-city faery folk line up at his door. Everyone is watching, including the highest authorities from both worlds.
Chapter 25: Cupid Is as Cupid Does
Uncharacteristically, I’d been having vivid dreams about my half-rosebush receptionist, Calendula, so vivid I felt as though someone else were projecting them into my mind. I looked out my office window in thought and spotted Cupid standing outside a hair salon below, watching the customers spruce themselves up. I joined him. He was not surprised to see me.
“The things they put themselves through,” he gushed, “just to be a little more attractive to an intimate partner.”
“Or for a job interview. Or graduation pictures.”
“Or that. It never ceases to amaze me!”
“Even though you often have a hand with inspiring them?” I teased.
“Do I strike you as a classic venture capitalist? I’m just a voyeur. I have neither invented nor profited by the cosmetics industry, the alcohol industry or the sun-and-surf industry. Besides, I can’t be everywhere at once. Don’t blame me.”
“Maybe not directly. But maybe they’ve learned from some of your more famous examples.”
“So what if they have? I refuse to be the bad guy here. Heard you were looking for me, Detective Avery.”
“Is that why you’re hanging out in my neighborhood? Waiting to be discovered? I’ve got a door that opens and closes. It even works for non-humans.”
“I don’t do offices. Something about the tedium seems to smother my charm offensive. So, here I am, not hiding. Speak your mind.”
“I’m decidedly off my game, not following through. Missing clues that were there the whole time. Pondering things that’ll only get me in trouble.”
“Thinking outside the box is your œuvre. What makes this any different?”
“Maybe it’s the passionate relationship daydreams with the absolute wrong person at highly inconvenient moments. An intense, not-safe-for-work fantasy right up your twisted alley.”
“Sometimes romantic obsession is organic, I’ve told you. I can’t take credit for every well-intentioned wrong turn, though the credit does tend to, inevitably, come my way.”
He was being evasive. I was not entertained. “I know this is your doing because it’s between a human and an exotic. And only you are ready for that!”
“There are always a few exceptions to the rules. Ask Calendula.”
I was this close to grabbing Cupid by the shoulders and spinning him to face me. But it would have been disrespectful and not my MO. And, if I were wrong, I could have been inciting retaliation. “Just tell me why you zapped me!” I finally sputtered.
“I rarely kiss and tell; it ruins the mystery.”
So, it was true: my turbulent emotions were not entirely my own. Add a generous dose of mischievous demi-god and stir. Cupid was over-calm in his response; it was if he were play-acting for a critical and unseen audience watching nearby. I knew better than to look about. Nonetheless, I found his calm cool provoking.
“I know a genie who owes me a wish,” I threatened. “I could take away your power.”
He paused, considered options, resumed a little more thoughtfully. “Friend, and I consider you a friend, I can no more tell you what to do than you can tell me.”
“Is it true?” I demanded.
“I can neither confirm nor deny my involvement, as your politicians so eloquently put it.”
“Just tell me if you’ve met His Illustrious Highness the Elf King recently. I’ll draw my own conclusions.”
“The Elf King loves giving royal audiences. His representatives are everywhere, eager to do his bidding, so many acolytes he’s had to renovate abandoned churches to give his people a respectable place to socialize... and scheme.”
My patience was done. “I asked you once if you’d ever done a job under duress.”
“Did you? It’s a nasty question. I’m nobody’s puppet. Or collaborator. I’m the original free agent.”
“You said no.”
“I’m sure I did. The fun in my work is in the utter randomness.”
“I’m asking you again: Have you ever done a job under duress?”
“We’re all capable of doing things we’re not proud of, even me, especially me. Sometimes it’s harder not to do something than to do it. The true skill lies in forgiving yourself and moving on without the clunky, guilt-tainted baggage.”
I was desperate. I blurted: “I feel like I’ve been poisoned, betrayed by someone close to me.”
“That sounds dreadful!” said Cupid, finally looking at me with the grave concern favored by my late grandmother. Then he added, gently: “However, if it’s really what you think it is, it will pass, eventually. Don’t be melodramatic. You’ll survive.”
“Why?”
My friend shrugged, almost helplessly.
I thought about his previous tragi-comical crush on a nearby human barista. Maybe I could yet distract him enough to loosen his secrets. It was worth a try. “You’re right, Mr. C. I’ve been through worse. Here’s to celebrating surviving! How about some coffee? We could see some old familiar faces and raise a sentimental toast to human foibles.”
“I can’t. I gave up coffee,” he said, surprising me most that morning. “It wasn’t working for me. If that’s all...”
“Fine. Let’s go at this another way. You’ve got the power to put the whammy on someone. Good for you. It’s a blessing or a curse, depending on other societal factors. Can you reverse it?”
“I honestly don’t know what that means.”
“Can you make the feeling so overwhelmingly intense that the participants are disgusted by their own behavior, knowing immediately no good can come from it, and the spell shatters?”
“Clever. Interesting. Never tried,” he admitted.
“Try. For me.”
“Joe, I would say self-awareness is the key to the cure. And nobody knows Joe Avery like you do. If something’s out of character, don’t do it.”
I liked Cupid and his Teflon optimism. Despite his denials, there was always thought to his actions. For the most part, the world had not crumbled into chaos over doomed love affairs. I would not have trusted his powers with anyone else. Further, I would much rather have him as a friend than an enemy. I let it go.
Copyright © 2022 by Charles C. Cole
