Unfinished Muse (20 page)

She looked me up and down, chewing her lip
in concentration. “You look great.” She slapped my hands away from
fiddling with my top.

“You don’t sound like I look great.” The
inside of my arm scraped against a sequin and made me itch.

A pair of centaurs clopped past, deep in
discussion. I scratched the inside of my arm and tried not to
stare. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to all the strange
creatures walking around the place.

“No, no. You do. Honest. It’s just…” She
rummaged in her tiny silver and green purse and pulled out a small,
clear pot of gold glitter and a fat brush. “You’re unfinished. You
need some of this.” She grinned, and twin dimples appeared in her
cheeks.

I took a step back. “Oh, I don’t think
that’s necessary. I’ve got sequins. That should be plenty of
sparkle.”

Jilly ignored my protests. She wiggled the
brush into the container, tapped it to shake off the excess, and
attacked me.

First my cheekbones, a little on my eyelids,
then my collarbones. Just as I thought she was going to settle for
subtlety, she spun me around and decorated my shoulder blades, then
ran the brush down the outsides of my legs. I was never going to
get all the glitter off of me when the night was over. They’d be
finding glitter in my wrinkles when I turned ninety.

Jilly capped the body glitter and brush, but
my relief was short-lived. Out came a tube of glitter lip gloss. By
this time, she’d broken me, though. I held still and took it like a
trouper.

It tingled and smelled like peppermint.

“Now am I acceptable?” I held still for
inspection.

Jilly walked all the way around me, checking
for flaws. “Almost.” She tugged on my skirt, lowering it a few
inches.

At first, I thought she’d decided my skirt
was too short. Then I realized her real goal, once she went back
for more glitter and dusted my newly exposed belly button.

I truly hoped we wouldn’t get picked up for
prostitution before the night was over.

My friend clapped her hands and bounced in
excitement. “Yay! You’re perfect. Are you ready to go?”

I sighed. At least I’d be in Seattle instead
of Topeka. Nobody would know me. “I’m ready.” I turned toward the
door I’d come in, and she grabbed my arm.

“Not that one.” She pointed across the
hallway. “That one.”

Puzzled, I followed her to a door I hadn’t
paid much attention to each time I’d come through the lobby. As we
approached, I had a vague memory of Trina chattering about the door
going to elsewhere in Mount Olympus proper, outside the Mt. Olympus
business building.

Jilly took my hand and exited without
pausing, but when I stepped through the door, I froze, too
surprised to move.

“Jilly?” I’d expected a woodland scene or
maybe a quiet village where all the non-humans lived. Instead, I’d
walked into the drug-addled lovechild of Mardi Gras and the Vegas
Strip.

Crowds bustled around us. Neon lights
flashed up and down the street. A loud explosion made me jump and
cover my head until I realized the shrapnel raining down on me was
thousands of flower petals shot from an air canon located on one of
the towering rooftops above us.

Jilly grinned at me and grabbed my elbow.
“Welcome to the Mount Olympus Euphoria District. Next stop, Club
Maenad.”

She dragged me down the street while I gaped
at the sights and sounds of the Euphoria District. Music from
several buildings poured into the street, mixing in the open air in
a cacophony of chaotic sound and vibration. A parade of donkeys
carrying drunk people in togas passed us going the other direction.
Another flower-petal canon went off and showered us in soft pink
flutters. Jilly pulled me up the curb to the sidewalk to avoid a
collision with a cyclops conga line.

We passed a club with a giant, pink neon
sign that said Manticore’s. Two guys holding hands stumbled out and
bumped into a third guy who’d been on his way in. The three men
shouted excitedly at each other, then broke out in an impromptu
bump and grind on the sidewalk to the beat of the electronic music
blasting from the club.

Two doors down from Manticore’s, Jilly
finally stopped yanking my arm and let go. “This is it!” She
grinned at me and waved up at the flashing green sign that said
Club Maenad.

We stepped inside, and the music swallowed
us up.

The largest faun I’d ever seen stood in our
path. I later found out it was because he was a satyr, not a faun.
I still had a lot to learn.

The man half of the bouncer was decked out
in a green satin shirt with a metallic sheen. The few buttons he’d
bothered to use were shaped like fat purple grapes. He shouted
something we couldn’t hear over the music, then smiled and pointed
to a sign over his head.

Every night is ladies night! No cover for
ta-tas!

We sidled past him and he winked. I tugged
at the sides of my top and tried not to wonder if “no cover for
ta-tas” was supposed to be taken literally.

We squeezed down a long hall lined on both
sides with people and other creatures hanging out or leaning
against the walls. Thick, sweet-smelling pink smoke hung in the air
and seemed to stick to my skin as I waded through. My skin tingled,
as if the smoke was made of spices or mint oil.

Two identical men with silver eyes and
jet-black hair watched us as we passed. Their heads bobbed to the
music in a repetitive
yes
motion. At the end of the hall, a
half-naked woman held a tray of glowing jewelry. An equally
half-naked guy stood next to her, taking money from people and
handing them their purchases from the tray.

Jilly stopped and pulled several bills from
her tiny purse. She chose two small circles, one yellow and one
green, then slipped the green one all the way to fit snuggly on her
upper arm. She handed me the other to do the same.

Once we were properly glowing, she grinned
and pointed. “Ready?”

I nodded, shouting to be heard. “I
guess.”

We turned a corner into the main room of the
club and were nearly swallowed in the crowd of glowing, bouncing
revelers. A bar ran along two entire walls. Dozens of bartenders in
matching short togas bound with green leaves and purple grapes
moved with perfect precision to keep the throng of partiers
lubricated.

Cages dangled from the ceiling, swinging
from the jerky dance moves of the scantily clad, barefoot women
inside. All the women had crazy hair that stuck out from their
heads in stiff dreadlocks. I assumed these were the Maenads—Wild
Women—the club was named for. A haze of that same pink smoke hung
above the dance floor, and colored lasers cut through the clouds in
a glorious light show beneath the cages.

More cages rose up from the floor on
pedestals, but these contained drunk men. Each wore a collar with a
long leash attached, and the ends of the leashes were held on the
outsides of the cages by dryads. The dryads swayed and undulated
around the cages, their leafy fingers occasionally reaching in and
stroking the cheeks of their willing captives. When the current
song ended, the dryads swung the cage doors open, removed the
collars, and the men reluctantly vacated the cage to make room for
the next drunk guy.

It was nothing like any club I’d ever been
to before.

Once we moved out of the doorway and waded
through the people around the entrance, the crowd thinned enough
for us to breathe. I followed Jilly to the bar. This I understood.
I could order a drink, hold it in my hands, and watch the people
without feeling too awkward. I might even be able to find a corner
to stand in where I wasn’t in the middle of everything.

When we reached the bar, I was stunned all
over again. Hal and Elmore stood waiting for us, holding out golden
cups.

“Thought you’d never get here,” Hal said in
my ear. “I am so uncomfortable.”

I nodded and took the drink. “You and me
both.” I held up the cup. “Thanks.” I took a tentative sip, not
sure what it was. Then I took another. I still didn’t know, but it
was delicious. Refreshing, light, bubbly, and sweet. “What is
this?”

Elmore leaned in to talk, his shoulders
bouncing to the music. “It’s called nectar. Not real nectar, like
the gods drink. But it’s good, isn’t it?”

I took another sip and smiled. “I love it.”
The music was infectious. I felt the base in my bones, and my body
started moving, too.

I drained my cup, and set it on the bar.
Before I could stop him, a bartender swooped over and refilled it.
He winked and walked away.

“Hey,” I said. “He didn’t wait for me to
pay.”

Jilly slid her arm around my waist and
kissed my cheek, her curls bouncing as she bobbed. “Nectar’s free.
Hurry and finish it. I want to dance!”

I shrugged and drained my cup, then set it
on the bar. The bartender spotted it and made a beeline, but Hal
snatched the cup and turned it over. The bartender winked at me
again and changed course to help someone else.

Things got a little blurry after that.
Nectar may not have given us immortality, but it certainly gave the
feeling
of immortality. We danced a lot—something I wouldn’t
have guessed I’d enjoy. Even Hal had some wicked moves. Or maybe he
danced like a middle-aged white dude, but in my drunken state, I
admired him for it.

Both Hal and Elmore took a turn in the dryad
cages. When they came out, they looked a little dazed, though how I
could tell for sure in my own weird state left me questioning any
of my observations.

For one thing, I most certainly couldn’t
have seen my ex-boyfriend, Freddy, at the other end of the bar when
we went back for more drinks. At the time, though, I was sure of
it. As weird as I felt that night, between the pink smoke and the
steady supply of refilled golden cups, I couldn’t trust anything I
thought I saw or did.

At some point, I must have had one too many
cups of nectar, because I woke up the next morning with no clue how
I got home. I had a vague memory of all of us sitting in a diner
and being waited on by a woman with the face of a pig. There’d been
pie involved. I was almost sure of it.

I groaned, anticipating the splitting
headache and wretched stomach that went with a night that can’t be
remembered. My eyelids slid open slowly, and I sat up. Nothing. I
felt fantastic.

Frowning, I slipped out of bed, bracing
myself for my body’s inevitable objections. Still nothing. In fact,
I felt better than usual.

I checked my phone and found texts from all
three of my friends saying how much fun they had. I grinned and
sent a quick text back to them.

After I hit send, it really hit me. I had
friends. Real friends.

Maybe I wasn’t a complete loser after
all.

Chapter 17

At any of my previous jobs, Mondays were
traditionally bad. And, sure, my first week in the Muse department
had been rough, but most of that roughness had been my own
doing.

If I ran into Rick, I’d apologize. Simple as
that. And if nobody in my office liked me, maybe I needed to try
harder. I’d never been the friendliest person. But Saturday night
had proved to me I wasn’t a total loss. I could make friends.

I was determined to make this Monday a good
start to the week. My clients were getting along fine, so I was
getting the hang of the job. It was my social ineptitude getting in
my way.

If my heels were a little higher, my skirt a
little shorter, and my cleavage a little deeper when I walked into
the office, well, a girl likes to fit in, right? Maybe the
preferred style of the other women was less sensible than I liked,
but it didn’t hurt me to loosen up a little to blend in.

Until I walked through the door and nearly
collided with Dave and Jeremy on their way out.

Dave leered, making me regret leaving the
top three buttons on my blouse open. “Nice rack.”

Seriously. I was so shocked by his
bluntness, I couldn’t untangle my tongue enough to respond.

Jeremy’s lip curled, as if in disgust before
he dropped his gaze to my legs. “Nice legs.” He brushed past me and
out the door. Dave winked and followed.

I was both stunned and confused. Dave had
been gross, but I’d understood his meaning. Jeremy was harder to
read. Somehow, I felt like I’d just been slammed. Was he being
sarcastic? And even if he was, why did I care?

After checking that no one was looking, I
bent over and gave my legs a once-over. No runs in my hose. No
toilet paper stuck to me.

What the hell did he mean?

“Asshole.” I tried to shake it off, knowing
I should’ve been at least equally upset by Dave’s comment. But I
wasn’t, really. Some guys are immature little toads. If it
continued to get worse, I’d find out the process and file a
complaint with HR. Or maybe feed him to a minotaur or
something.

For now, I was trying to fit in, not be the
squeaky wheel.

My effort at dressing like the popular kids
was wasted. Dave and Jeremy were the only ones to see it, and they
were so not my target audience. I’d once read somewhere that women
tend dress for each other, not for men. I was finally seeing the
possible truth in that.

I refilled my bubbles, hooked them to my
belt, and stopped by my desk to make sure I didn’t have anything
sitting in my inbox. Nothing. My desk was as bare as I’d left it
Friday morning. The chair wasn’t pushed in all the way. I
readjusted it. Janitorial probably moved it to vacuum over the
weekend.

Frowning, I rummaged through my purse.
Something had to be in there that I could leave on my desk to make
it more personal—less vacant looking. A yellow hair scrunchy from
before I’d chopped all my hair off floated at the bottom of the
bag. I left it there. Two plastic barrettes seemed like a more
believable choice, so I arranged those under the monitor to look
like I’d taken them out and left them for later. A stale pack of
gum fit nicely on the top of the keyboard. The purse didn’t give up
anything else that might make it look like I worked there.