Divine Misfortune (2010) (4 page)

“I’m sorry,” said the woman, “but I did tell you not to sit there.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t? Are you certain about that? Because I’m pretty sure I did.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

Bonnie dialed her boyfriend again with the same result. She left another message.

“Well, maybe if you had said something to me before you sat,” said the tattered woman, “I could’ve warned you. It’s only polite
to acknowledge others.”

“I said hello.”

“Did you? That’s something, I suppose.”

Bonnie dialed her phone again but snapped it shut before the call went through. “I talked to you about the day, too. About
the weather!”

“I suppose.” She grunted. “Though you didn’t sound like you really meant it.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“So you admit it?”

“Of course I admit it,” said Bonnie. “It’s the weather. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just polite conversation.”

“I guess that counts for mortal politeness in this new age.”

Bonnie paced in a tight circle, staring at her phone, willing it to ring.

“He’s not going to call,” said the tattered woman. “It’ll just be easier to let him go.”

“But we’re in love.”

“You were in love, and I guess you still are. More than ever now. But he’ll never speak to you again.”

A palpable misery emanated from her, a wave of icy numbness. The bench grayed. Its color ran down the street and into a storm
drain. Bonnie felt every ounce of the rising melancholy. She wanted to die then. Just collapse and wither away until she was
nothing but dust. Then she hoped the sun would explode and vaporize the entire planet, erasing every remnant of this moment
from the memory of time.

Bonnie had to get away. She ran back to her apartment, shut the door behind her, and wiped away her tears. The weight of despair
lessened, but it didn’t fade. Not completely.

Someone rattled around in her kitchenette. She knew who it was without having to look.

The tattered goddess floated into view. She carried two glasses of tomato juice and offered one to Bonnie. “Here. Drink this.
It won’t solve your problem, but it’s chock-full of vitamins.”

Bonnie slapped the glass out of the goddess’s hand. Juice spilled across her carpet, couch, and wall. “You did this! You did
something to Walter!”

“Actually, I did something to you,” said the goddess. “Your boyfriend was just some collateral damage.” The goddess sipped
her juice, leaving a red mustache on her pale flesh. “And I did say I was sorry.”

She brushed her limp hair away, allowing Bonnie a brief glimpse of the goddess’s face. Her large, sad eyes were as colorless
as the rest of her.

“Take it back. Please, I’ll do anything.”

Her relationship with Walter had been good, but nothing spectacular. She loved him, but it wasn’t head-over-heels. Just some
good times and reliable, comforting familiarity. So why did she miss him so much now? She ached for his touch, his smile,
his clumsy but competent sex. Even things that she’d found annoying somehow seemed endearing at this moment.

She stifled a sob. Her lip quivered, but she swallowed the pain.

“That’s good,” said the goddess. “Bury it deep. You’ll last longer that way.” She sighed and a nearby frame holding Walter’s
photo cracked.

“Will you stop doing that?” asked Bonnie. “Stop sighing!”

“Sorry. I can’t help it. Or you.”

Bonnie slapped the second glass out of the goddess’s hand. The juice covered Bonnie’s shoes, but none of it splashed the goddess.
“Get the hell out of my apartment!”

“I can’t do that. You invited me into your life, and here I shall remain until…”

The goddess sighed, and Walter’s photo burst into flame. Bonnie stomped it out, but not fast enough to prevent a scorch mark
in the carpet. The loss of her apartment deposit didn’t add any joy to her day.

“What do I have to do to get rid of you?” asked Bonnie.

“There’s nothing you can do.” The goddess floated to the couch and had a seat.

“But you just said you’re in my life until…”

The goddess turned on the television. “Oh, good. You have cable. The last one didn’t.”

“Don’t change the subject. You said I was stuck with you until…” Bonnie paused to give the goddess a chance to insert the
end of the sentence, but she didn’t oblige.

“When Harry Met Sally
is on,” said the goddess. “I hate that movie. So tragic when they die in that car accident.”

“That doesn’t happen in the movie,” said Bonnie.

“It does when I watch it.”

Bonnie stepped in front of the television and glared at the goddess.

“Your pain will end, Bonnie. Eventually. In the mercy that ends all mortal pain.”

“Death? You’re saying I’m stuck with you until I die?”

The goddess shrugged. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, it’s worse for me. You’re only the victim of heartbreak, but I’m
the goddess of it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“As I keep telling you, I have no choice. Do you think I want to ruin your life? Or anyone’s? I wasn’t always like this. Once,
I was… different. But that was a long time ago. Now, I am what I am, and pain and suffering are all I bring to those who allow
me into their lives.”

“But I just said hello.”

“You also sat on the bench.”

“That’s absurd. You’re telling me that just because I sat on a bench with a goddess of heartbreak that my whole life is ruined?”

The goddess almost sighed, but caught herself this once. “I know it’s unfair. You were just being friendly. You shouldn’t
have to carry this burden, but look at it this way. By carrying the pain, you are keeping someone else from having to carry
it. Your sacrifice will allow others to know love and joy. It won’t be in vain.”

“Well, whoop-de-fuckin’-doo.”

Bonnie stormed into the kitchen and drank tomato juice right out of the carton. It spilled down her blouse. She didn’t care.

“Nothing would make me happier than to leave you alone,” said the goddess from the living room. “Well, actually, something
would make me happier, but let’s not dwell on impossibilities.”

Bonnie leaned against the refrigerator. The emptiness inside her would stay, she realized. A yawning, devouring cold that
would eventually consume her. She yanked a dirty steak knife out of the sink and held it in tight white knuckles.

She had to end it.

The goddess stood in the kitchen doorway. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. I really am.”

“Stop saying that!”

Bonnie charged. She pushed the goddess to the floor and stabbed her in the heart. Bonnie plunged the blade in over and over
and over. Every stab stoked the flames of rage, fueled by a need to feel anything besides nothing. Five minutes later, her
fury faded but the emptiness remained.

The goddess, her sad face etched with boredom, looked up at Bonnie.

“Are you through?”

There wasn’t a drop of blood on the knife, nor a mark left on the goddess’s flesh. Bonnie dropped the weapon and dragged herself
to the sofa. The goddess sat beside her.

The sound of a car crash drew her attention to the movie playing on the TV and the depiction of twisted steel and broken glass.
And blood. So much blood.

The goddess opened her mouth.

“Don’t,” interrupted Bonnie. “Just don’t say it.”

Phil hit every bug on the drive from the office. By the time he made it home, the windshield was a mess of smeared insects.
There was no wiper fluid, but he managed to avoid driving Elliot’s car off a cliff, though by the end he was peering through
a few inches of semi-clear glass. He pulled into his driveway and cringed at the sound of breaking glass. Even with supernatural
bad luck, he didn’t see how it was possible to run over three separate bottles and a rusty nail, flattening all four tires.

He walked very carefully across his lawn. Somehow, he managed to step in dog crap anyway. Twice. He left his shoes on the
porch.

The card wasn’t where Phil had left it. He searched all over the house for it, stubbing his toes on every piece of furniture
before slipping on a new pair of shoes. He checked under the couch cushions, in every drawer. He looked in the refrigerator,
behind the entertainment center, and in the trash.

He couldn’t find it. He gave up after an hour.

Phil sat on the couch and stared at the phone. What kind of god didn’t have a prayer? It was a little old-fashioned but a
lot harder to lose than a business card. Phil pulled out his wallet and checked it. He’d already checked it a dozen times,
but he didn’t have any other ideas.

The card fell into his lap. He questioned if it had been there the whole time and it’d just been his bad luck to not see it
until now. Or had it materialized in his wallet after his god had deemed that Phil had suffered enough?

The phone rang for about twenty seconds before someone answered.

“Yello.”

He didn’t recognize the voice.

“May I speak to Lucky, please?” Phil asked.

There was a pause.

“He’s asleep right now,” replied the voice. “Can I take a message?”

“Asleep?”

“He likes to sleep in. Am I speaking to Phil?”

“Uh… yes.”

“Hey, Phil. I’m Tom.”

“Hi… Tom.”

Awkward silence as Phil tried to figure out what to say next.

“Could you maybe wake Lucky?” he asked. “This is a bit of an emergency.”

“Love to help you,” said Tom, “but no can do. I’ll leave a message on the refrigerator. He’ll get it when he wakes up. In
the meantime, you’ll just have to stick it out. It’ll only be another couple of hours of misfortune. Take my advice and sit
still, don’t do anything, and you’ll be fine.”

“But…”

“Talk to you later, Phil. Praise Luka.”

“Praise Luka,” echoed Phil reflexively.

He followed Tom’s advice and planted himself on the couch. He went to the kitchen once to get some soda. He turned on the
TV, but without the remote control, he was stuck watching soaps. When he went to use the bathroom, the toilet clogged. Even
though he only peed. When he tried to fix it, the plunger got stuck.

The phone rang at half past eleven. It was Teri, not Lucky, calling to check on Phil’s progress. She sounded exhausted, rattling
off a short list of the misfortunes that had befallen her. He was only half-listening. He gave her the same advice Tom had
given him and told her he was expecting a call, and that he’d let her know when things were corrected.

Noon rolled around. The phone didn’t ring. He gave it ten minutes, then decided it couldn’t hurt to call again.

“Yello.” It was Tom.

“Hi, this is Phil. I called earlier—”

“Yeah. I remember. Hold on a second…”

Phil made out Tom’s muffled shout.

“Hey, Lucky! It’s Phil!”

Lucky’s reply was too muffled to decipher.

“He says he’ll be right over after he finishes his cornflakes and takes a shower. Forty minutes, tops.”

Phil almost complained but decided it would be smarter to play it safe. He stared at the TV and zoned out. The doorbell rang
an hour later. Phil jumped off the sofa. In his eagerness to answer it, he slammed his hip hard into an end table. The lamp
fell over and shattered. Grumbling, he limped the rest of the way.

Lucky stood on the porch. He didn’t have any luggage.

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

Phil knelt. Not easy to do with his bruised hip. He prostrated himself, trying to get his head lower than Lucky’s. That wasn’t
easy either.

“Oh, Great and Merciful Luka, Lord of Prosperity and Good Fortune. We have wronged you and humbly beg your forgiveness—”

“Knock it off, kid.”

Phil dared to raise his head. Lucky smiled at him.

“Get up. I appreciate the old-school supplication, but it’s not necessary.”

“Does that mean you’ve unsmote us?”

“I never smote you in the first place.”

“But since you left we’ve had nothing but—”

“I could go for a pizza. Want to grab a pizza?”

“I am a little hungry,” said Phil. “But my car has four flat tires.”

“No problem. I’ll fly us there.”

Lucky snapped his fingers. A shining globe wrapped around them, and Phil was lifted off the ground to zip over the city. Lucky
surveyed the landscape, quickly spotting a cheesy themed pizzeria designed to appeal to children. Since it was a weekday and
school was in session, the place was empty. The globe of light pushed through the front doors and deposited Lucky and Phil
at the front counter.

“So what do you like on your pie? I’m partial to anchovies myself.”

Lucky surveyed the menu posted behind the clerk, who was festooned in a bright yellow-and-blue uniform with a name tag proclaiming
him Gary.

“Sir,” said Gary, “I’m afraid animals aren’t allowed in here.”

“Hold on a second.” Lucky searched through his pockets and produced a standard-issue deity identification card. Gary gave
it a cursory inspection.

“Your order, sir?” he asked.

“We’ll take a large pie, extra anchovies.”

“We no longer carry anchovies, sir.”

“Check in the back. I have a feeling you’ll find an old tin behind the canned pepperoni.”

“We use only the freshest ingredients, sir,” said Gary.

Lucky chuckled. “Just do me a favor and check. I’ll also take a large cola and a side salad. Get whatever else you want, Phil.
I’ll be over by skeeball.”

After he walked away, Gary asked, “Is that your god? Or is it just some god you know?”

“Mine.”

“And he hangs out with you? That’s pretty cool. My family gods just send us a newsletter four times a year. Oh, and I got
a drop cloth of invisibility on my eighteenth birthday.”

“That must’ve been nice.”

“I lost it by the end of the week.” Gary shrugged. “Damn thing was invisible.”

Phil paid for the pizza. He forgot to get a receipt, but he wasn’t in the habit of considering deity-related tax write-offs
yet.

He joined Lucky in the arcade. The raccoon pointed to a couple playing the machine on the far end.

“Watch this.”

The man rolled the wooden ball up the ramp. It hopped perfectly into the highest-scoring and most difficult hole. The machine
spit out a stream of tickets. The woman took a turn and repeated the success. They continued, scoring perfect with every throw.
They gathered up all their tickets and ran to the redemption counter.