Sharon knew better than to think of it as date night, but sometimes she still did.
Dressing for almost-date night was tricky. She didn’t want anything too formal or too casual. She wanted to be comfortable. She wanted to look nice. Although this was purely for her own satisfaction. Calvin didn’t care what she looked like. She could’ve worn a clown suit and he wouldn’t have noticed. Half the time he needed her help to dress himself.
He didn’t need clothes, but having walked among humans for ages he had the basics down, though he did complain that fashion was always changing and was hard to keep up with. Shirt. Pants. Usually he remembered his shoes. She’d long ago accepted socks were hit-and-miss. Underwear was right out. Getting to dress up was difficult because it was all just so many extra accessories as far as he was concerned. Ties escaped him. Cuff links he couldn’t understand. Wrinkles were beneath his notice.
Given a choice he’d have walked around in a T-shirt, sweatpants, and sandals all day, every day. And that would’ve been just fine with her, but it wasn’t up to her. Greg had established a rule that Calvin had to maintain a certain level of presentability at all times. It was necessary since most people would not worship a man who dressed slovenly. Not in this day and age. There were expectations, standards. If Jesus were walking the Earth today he’d have to get a shave and a haircut and invest in Armani. Probably no one would listen to him, but at least he’d have a fighting chance.
In addition to Calvin’s underdeveloped appreciation of clothing, he also had no appreciation of the human form. To him all humans were merely walking bags of meat. If Calvin was a god (and who was to say he wasn’t?), he was not the type of god to cavort with every piece of tempting mortal ass that came along. And while she wouldn’t have minded some cavorting, Sharon had accepted it.
But when date night came along she still put on some makeup, still struggled to find the right pair of slacks that made her ass look good, still fretted about those few extra pounds, and still debated what level of cleavage was most flattering without drawing too much attention to itself.
She came out of her bedroom, wearing her carefully selected ensemble.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Good,” he replied automatically, like a trained dog. He didn’t even look up at her, but at least he was trying.
They decided to go to the Mexican place just down the street. Although just where it popped up varied from week to week: it migrated from building to building, replacing the bookstore or the Italian restaurant or the church. And there were some days when it disappeared entirely.
The universe, while mostly stable, had its hiccups. The Mexican place was one of these. When it was there it was a vibrant restaurant full of life and energy with the best tacos in town. When it was gone… it was just gone. The sound of mariachi music remained, though, filling the block every hour of the day, the ghostly echoes of a phantom band.
She’d never seen the restaurant appear or disappear. It seemed to happen only when no one was looking. On occasion the restaurant would disappear with people still inside it. They would promptly be forgotten by everyone, never to return. Whether they ceased to exist, were devoured by some nameless thing, or were perhaps lured into a mysterious netherworld by the freshest handmade tortillas and most delectable enchiladas in the city, no one knew. All Sharon knew was that the food was delicious and reasonably priced, and they served a margarita that she was willing to die for. Or disappear. Or whatever.
The Mexican place was there, occupying the spot usually held by an electronics store. They grabbed a seat and munched chips. From the inside the world looked different. The city was gone, replaced by a vista of yellow grass and an emerald sun. Giant moths soared in the skies. Their colorful prismatic wings shimmered in great clouds. The view was part of whatiked about the place.
There was another reason she loved the Mexican place. She loved it because it was their place. Here she didn’t have to share Calvin with anyone else. Here, and really only here, nothing else mattered.
The front door flew open and a mound of hairy blue thing with a face like a buffalo entered. A pair of giant black mantises hung on each of its arms.
“There goes the neighborhood,” said Sharon.
The buffalo crept up to the employee in charge of seating, promptly devoured her in one bite, and lurched to a table. There was a couple already seated there, but they were all too happy to concede their table and meal to the creatures.
The buffalo slurped down the enchiladas while the bugs sniffed the beers. They chirped, chewing on the tablecloth and licking the wax from the candles.
“Should we go somewhere else?” she asked.
“You haven’t even gotten your food yet,” he replied.
“It’s not that important.”
The waiter tried to take the buffalo’s order and was set upon by the bugs for his trouble.
“That’s it.” Calvin pushed away from the table.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“But—”
But he was already away.
“Excuse me.”
The buffalo and bugs ignored him.
“I said, excuse me.”
The bugs stopped tormenting the waiter and raised their heads. The buffalo snorted.
“People are trying to eat here,” said Calvin.
The buffalo rose to its full height and howled at Calvin, spraying a healthy dose of phosphorescent drool across his face. The bugs chortled.
“I’m trying to be nice about this, but there is no call for this behavior. Everyone’s just trying to have a pleasant evening, and you’re ruining it for everyone.”
The rude beast howled and shook its head, splattering copious amounts of drool throughout the room.
“Have it your way.”
Calvin raised a hand and smacked the buffalo across the nose. The air cracked with thunder. The monster fell on one knee. Calvin grabbed it by the ear and yanked it to its feet. The buffalo squawked and roared, but Calvin pulled it helplessly toward the front door.
“And spit it out,”he said.
The buffalo spit up the seating girl, whole and unharmed though covered in slime.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t mention it.”
Calvin tossed the beast out the front door. He helped the seating girl up, then turned on the bugs.
“You should probably leave now.”
They scampered out the door. One tried to take the waiter to go, but a word from Calvin helped it change its mind.
“And don’t come back unless you’re willing to behave,” shouted Calvin before returning to his table.
“Thanks,” Sharon said.
“No problem.” He reached across the table and used his napkin to wipe away a smudge of glowing buffalo drool from her chin. “I know how much you love this place.”
They shared a smile.
Their meal was on the house.
CHAPTER FIVE
Diana sold coats. Or, to be more honest, she stood around in the coat section of a department store and waited for people to come around and pick out coats. Buying coats was one of those shopping experiences in which a clerk served about the same purpose as a mannequin. Only instead of wearing the coat, she told people how good they looked in their potential new wardrobe additions.
She didn’t lie. If someone looked genuinely bad in a coat, she usually told them this (in a gentle, soft-sell fashion). But it was hard to look bad in a coat, and it really wasn’t hard to pick out one that you liked that looked fine on your body type. Although there was one dreadful red-and-orange eyesore that had been in the coat department since long before her and would probably still be there, waiting, long after she was gone.