GODDESSES INC

4

Mnem's nine daughters were always busy. A twenty-four-hour Walmart kind of busy. Everyone, from an aspiring author to a multi-award-winning director, demanded their services. Creatives were quite the fickle lot. They railed against their muses only to engage in odd rituals to summon them back.

Mnem was proud of her daughters. As long as mortals were permitted to create, her children would be sought out and revered.

Mnem, an iced lemonade and ouzo in her hand, stared out at the sea from the deck of her home. She needed her daughters like never before. Not for inspiration; for comfort. For hugs and love. The phone buzzed. Mnem dropped her gaze to the latest message and sighed. Then she scrolled through all nine.

From Calliope: Momma, no can do. Have a date with a member of a European royal family. They're speaking to parliament tomorrow about a new law.

From Clio: Is this about the same thing as last time? History does repeat itself.

From Erato: Ooooh, is this about that torrid affair you're having with the senator?

From Euterpe: Bad time. A Grammy-award winning musician is in a funk.

From Melpomene: Oh no! Of course I'll be there. I'm totally getting tragic vibes from this cryptic message. Hugs.

From Polymnia: Anything for Momma. I'll circle around after an appointment. Does that square with you?

From Terpsichore: I might be late. A choreographer is having a meltdown.

From Thalia: What, did they put you at the bottom of the Birken bag wait list?

From Ourania: My stars, I'm not surprised. Be there.

Three definites. Two no's. One late. Three noncommittals.

Mnem's hand tightened around the railing. She didn't blame them. This was last minute. But she needed family. Friends would be nice too, but it appeared word of her fall from immortality already traveled the world over. Every message and call to her goddess friends went unanswered.

Bitches.

Mnem rattled the ice cubes in her drink. What to do? What to do? For the first time in her exceptionally long life she was clueless. Absolutely, positively, horrifyingly clueless. She could not come up with a single memory—which stretched back through the annals of ancient civilization—that might help her solve the problem of mortality.

Her phone buzzed again. The message from him. The senator. He was in town this week.

Drinks?

Mnem chuckled. Senator Miguel Flores was muy caliente. With a smile like sunshine and the sexual stamina of a demi-god. The political party's fresh new face. Mnem's fresh new lover. They had met at a yacht party in Newport. Mnem was explaining to the bartender how to mix a proper lemonade and ouzo when Miguel interrupted with a request for AsomBroso Del Porto Extra Anejo.

Mnem had glared at him. "Excuse me, wait your turn."

"Over-priced tequila can't wait." Miguel Flores had winked at her.

"Impatience isn't sexy."

"Not in politics, are you?"

Mnem shuddered. Politics. Such an evil occupation. Mortals trying to rule like gods. "Goddess, no."

Miguel's dreamy brown eyes—like liquid pools of compassionate honesty—focused on Mnem. "It's not for me." His eyes angled to the lean man in a Newport Harbor Yacht Club t-shirt and Brooks Brothers khaki pants. "Big donor at two o'clock."

"Oh, I see, you're his servant."

Miguel chuckled. "I am the servant of my people." He bowed.

It had been a while since Mnem had anyone, even in jest, bow before her. Warmth flooded her body, made her feel glittery and glowy. "Prove it."

Miguel picked up the shot of expensive tequila. "How?"

Mnem swirled her drink with her finger, stuck it in her mouth and slooowly pulled it out. "Serve me."

Miguel had stared hard. Mnem stared back. Then he turned away and joined the group of loyal party contributors.

Later that night, as the party grew livelier, and somehow more crowded, a strong hand had taken hers, pulled her down a hall, through a door, and into a cabin. Miguel locked the door, dropped to his knees.

"Your wish is my command." He lifted her skirt.

"Oh my," said Mnem and grabbed hold of his hair.

That was two weeks ago. Five amazing romps in bed ago.

Mnem sighed at the memory.

Riding atop the senator would definitely blow off a bit of pent-up anger.