Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offered as a dower his burning throne,
Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.
-Christopher Marlowe, “Hero and Leander”, Lines 5-9
Of course he would come late. That was to be expected. That was how a blind date worked – you had to show up late or else you looked punctual. Punctual meant you were up tight. And that was bad.
But an hour was pushing it. And it had been two. This was not how you suggested you were easy going. This was how you suggested you were too good for someone.
Hero replayed the conversation with Venus for the hundredth time that evening. The date had been arranged a week ago over coffee. Venus described the whole ordeal as “urgent.”
“He’s really pretty,” Venus had started, meaning that he wasn’t smart.
“And he’s real good with a bow,” she went on. “Oh, and he’s really well-groomed.” The synonyms for pretty were running thin.
“I heard he’s a pornographer,” smirked Hero.
“No, honey, he’s a publisher.”
“So why are you doing this anyway?”
Venus sighed. “He’s cashing in on a favor.”
“Why would you owe a pornographer – sorry a publisher – a ‘favor’?”
“Oh, you know. There was this girl, and he slept with her, but so did this other guy, and long story short, several people got turned into trees and he helped me get Hera off my back.”
“That makes lots of sense.”
“Listen, if it doesn’t work out, it’s just one date. And I’ll make it up to you if it goes badly, okay? Just do this for me, and I’ll owe you. Big time. Oh, and if you decide you’re interested, things to ask him about are herds and flocks and stuff. He loves sheep. Not in that way, but you know. Oh, and he’s a big fan of 24, and you’ve seen that right?” Venus got up to leave, her hands fluttering around erratically, something she often did to say the conversation was over.
Hero looked up from where she was sitting. On the horizon, a bright light had just emerged and was rapidly streaking towards her house. It grew in intensity, until it became hard to look at, drawing closer and closer, enveloping everything in harsh white light. She squinted, held her hand above her eyes, and faintly made out a chariot stopping in front of her porch.
She heard footsteps on the gravel, but didn’t actually see him until he was standing a couple feet in front of her. All she could make out was his outline, but from that she thought she got enough. He was big, maybe six foot four, with big hair-metal curls down to his shoulders. She heard the crinkle of a leather jacket, and thought the words “cow killer” to herself.
“You must be Hero.” His voice was straight out of a commercial for action figures. “Sorry I’m late, but in summer I’ve got to put in some extra hours.”
“It’s okay,” she trailed off for a moment. Then she gestured towards the bright light that was almost blinding her now. “What’s that?”
“The sun, babe.” His tone bordered on condescension. “Didn’t she tell you, that’s what I do? Drive the sun?”
“Yea, I guess. I thought you were in … publishing. Can you turn it down or something? It kind of hurts my eyes.”
“Uh… no. And yes, I work in publishing once in a while. More like publicity, but you get the idea. Anyway, we’re late, so let’s bounce.”
They bounced.
Of course they would have Italian. There wasn’t much else around, to be honest.
But you wouldn’t expect someone to complement the restaurant as “the best Italian place in town.” That was not how you showed you were cultured and had been to lots of different Italian restaurants. That was how you showed you’d somehow forgotten you were in Italy.
Her first impressions of him – as vague as they were, being enveloped by the light from Apollo’s stupid car – had been essentially confirmed. He was big and pretty and annoying and pompous. She supposed he was, after all, a god, so he might be expected to get a little full of himself. But after existing for oh, most of eternity, you might expect someone to tire of sheep. To take up some other pastime like checkers or birdwatching. But no, the conversation so far had been:
1. How totally super awesome it is to drive the sun around.
2. How totally super awesome it is to raise sheep.
So it came as a small surprise when he steered the conversation towards her.
“You know,” he said, through a half-mouthful of gnocci, “You have really pretty hair.”
“Thank you.” Hero normally would have blushed, but instead just tried not to roll her eyes. The conversation, at this point, was on life support. She gave it another hundred volts of social-smile, hoping it would be able to limp to the exit and die properly once she’d at least gotten a ride home.
“You know, I’ve got this throne. It’s made of gold and fire. If you wanted to come over and sit in it sometime, I mean – is this too forward? – I mean, it’s like the sun, sort of, this throne, and if you came over you could sit on it, and everyone would see you, and see how pretty your hair is, and uh… you’re not into that?”
“Into what? I don’t follow.” That wasn’t true – she did follow – but to let on that she did would let him off the hook too easily. She wanted to drag him through the whole embarrassment of admitting everything before she rejected him.
“Well, it’s this throne. And it’s like, well it’d be like being a celebrity or something. You sit in the throne, and all these men can look at you – idolize you, I mean, idolize, not in ‘that way’ but in a way of, you know, art and stuff, and they look at you, and like… they …”
She stared at him and blinked. Acted the innocent. Pretended not to understand. He twitched, and folded his hands in his lap. Then he leaned forward a little, and his voice lowered.
“I could make you famous. Everyone would love you, more than anything. You’re amazingly good looking, kiddo, you could be a star. If you know what I mean.”
She shook her head. This was becoming fun. He drew a deep breath and let it go.
“I mean… that … have you ever seen any of my videos? No, I guess not. Not a girl like you. Well listen, I’ve got this side project going, with the throne I built. I used spare parts from the sun, and it’s all burning and everything, and it looks really good. So anyway, I’ve got this line of, shall we say, ‘adult entertainment’ where gorgeous babes like you get to sit in the throne and get idolized and revered by lots of guys. You game?”
She didn’t respond, but just stood up and walked out. Once she was safely in a cab and on her way back, she pulled out her cell and called Venus. Got her voicemail.
“I swear,” she started the message, “God or mortal, I’m done with guys. Forever.”
