Hollywood Goddess

Copyright Ken Brady. No reproduction without express permission from the author.
(Originally published in DAILY CABAL, 2009)

When she told him it was a long-term commitment, he assumed it was like any relationship, a simple “I love you” once a day, flowers on important occasions, spooning in the afterglow of sex. He didn’t like to be tied down, had many lovers, many flings, always something on the side, often on the side of that. Man about town, frequenting the brothels and the nightclubs of Hollywood. But when your lover is immortal, she doesn’t play by the same rules. A wannabe starlet off the bus from Grand Rapids she was not.

He said yes because he liked a challenge. She was a fucking goddess.

The sex was awesome, but the relationship made him needy. He didn’t expect to be jealous, didn’t expect to pine when she didn’t answer her cell.

“I want to hang out,” Aphrodite said, a noisy party in the background. “I’m just busy.”

“You said that last week,” he said.

“Sorry, sweetie. Gotta mingle and schmooze. Call ya. Kiss.”

She hung up and he pulled to the side of the road. He pounded the steering wheel. He hadn’t counted on the role reversal, being one of many lovers, being cast aside. He drove to his favorite bar and tried to pick up chicks, but his heart wasn’t in it.

When she blew him off at a Bel-Air party the next week like he was some regular schmuck, he lost it. He interviewed a dozen hitmen before deciding to off her himself.

He wound up Laurel Canyon and parked his Bentley outside her Mt. Olympus split level.

In her bedroom, amid moans and giggles, he wasn’t surprised to see her naked, cestus on the floor, body entangled with two well-endowed men who modeled for romance novel covers. Only Aphrodite noticed him walk in.

“Hey sweetie,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I think I should ask you the same.”

“I think it’s obvious. You could join us.”

“I don’t think so. Not my scene.”

“Careful,” Fabio 1 said. “She’ll cut your pecker off.”

“Oh hush,” said Fabio 2. “That was someone else in her family, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t seem scared when he slid the submachine gun from his jacket and leveled it at her, just a flash of anger and a moment of realization. He held the trigger until the mag was empty.

This immortal, just like the men in her bed, was not immune to gunfire. He knew she would return, in another form, at another time, and it would happen all over again. Right now, the feeling of taking her out in a spray of bullets and blood was spectacular. He felt free.

He left the house, set on hitting up all the spots on Sunset and fucking every girl he could find.

Ares, the god of war, didn’t like to be tied down.