God of Ecstasy (5 page)

After they’d showered together, necking like teenagers and
washing each other’s hair, Dionysus asked Jaime what she’d like for her second
fantasy. She refused to tell him, saying only that she had a plan, but needed
to go out for supplies. His black curls bounced as he nodded and smiled at her,
waving goodbye. Then lowered his head back to her tablet computer, which he’d
been obsessed with since their last discussion.

She was tempted to dismiss the fantasy concept and tear off
her sundress, pushing him to the floor and taking him there in the foyer, but
instead she grabbed her purse and let the door close behind her.

As Jaime’s heels clicked down the stones of her walk, she
pressed down the questions that were bothering her now. If tonight would be her
second fantasy, the next would be her third. What would happen then? Would he
vanish back into the bottle, forever, or at least until his next mistress
called?

It had been over forty years since the last time he’d
surfaced in her world. Would she even still be alive the next time it happened?
Would she ever see him again? She wanted to see him again.

Get a grip, James. Not everyone gets to have three wishes
granted by a literal Greek god. Enjoy what you have, while you have it. Stop
acting like a schoolgirl in love.

But still, Jaime found herself humming as she shopped,
filling a bag with her secret supplies—a student grade set of watercolors and
brushes from the art store, some fur-lined handcuffs and a blindfold from the
woman-friendly sex toy shop. She’d even managed to avoid blushing too much as
she made her purchases.
If only Keith could see me now. Would he be
horrified, or jealous?

Her ex-husband had been as vanilla as they came. Which was
fine, she supposed, if you liked that. It was only recently that Jaime realized
that maybe she didn’t.

She spent the next few hours meeting with her latest clients
in a coffee shop, a young gay married couple, both involved in theater, as most
of her work came via word of mouth through the local arts community. She blew
on a cappuccino, sinking into the leather couch and trying to keep that silly
grin off her face as they discussed wire-framing and color palettes for their
websites. Her favorite colors felt decadent in her mouth—aubergine, emerald,
crimson, sapphire, caramel.

She was very aware of her tongue, the handcuffs in the purse
beside her, and the heat between her legs.
Hold it together, James. Mitchell
and Greg aren’t exactly into your type even if you wanted them to be.
It
had clearly been too long since she’d had a man to go home to.

When the meeting was over she ran a few more errands, picking
up groceries and venturing into a lingerie store for the first time in years.
Previously, her cotton underwear and bras had been ordered online. By the time
she stepped off the cherry-red streetcar to head for home and the man awaiting
her, it was nearly dark. The air smelled damp, as if a storm were coming. But
the sky was still partly clear, a crescent moon peeking brightly through clouds
in the sky. Jaime smiled and filed the image away as she often did for later
inspiration in her work.

She was surprised to see Liv’s sedan parked on her gravel
driveway. Jaime’s heart leapt into her throat. What was Liv doing there without
texting first? It was unlike her. And more importantly—had she met Dionysus?
How was Jaime going to explain a man in her house? What if Liv had asked where
they’d met? What on Earth might the god have said?
Calm down, James. Maybe
he’s hiding in his bottle and Liv just got there. She knows where the spare key
is. She let herself in.

That thought died the second she stepped up on the verandah.
She could hear music playing, Joni Mitchell, cranked loud. The lights were on
in the distance, but not the foyer. She heard distant laughter. The laughter of
a god—she’d know that voice anywhere—and at least two women, if not more.

With shaking hands, Jaime fished in her purse for her keys.
The pattering of several pairs of feet approached the door.

The door swung open. “James!” Missy cried, her feathered
blonde hair bouncing. “Surprise!”

“W-what?”

“Jamie!”

“Jamison!”

She was being embraced by all three women now, Missy, Liv
and Giselle. They were giggling, faces flushed, and smelled of wine. Giselle
planted a kiss on each of her cheeks and whispered in her ear with a small
hiccup, “He’s so handsome.” She fanned herself exaggeratedly. Her lips were
dark with wine, standing out starkly against her alabaster skin.

Liv gave her a thumbs-up, her green eyes flashing. “You have
my full approval.”

Missy hung back a little now, shyly. “Ladies, shouldn’t we
see if she likes it?”

“Of course!” Liv grabbed Jaime and spun her around,
blindfolding her with a hand. Someone took her purse and—Jaime assumed—set it
down. Between Liv’s fingers Jaime could see just barely that the lights had
been turned on.

“Dee, get over here!”

Dee?

Dionysus cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind, Jaime.”
His voice was quiet, but had barely suppressed excitement. “I invited a few of
your friends over using the electronic mail.” The girls let out giggles at
hearing the term. It seemed Dionysus’ powers worked on more than just Jaime.

Or the girls were drunk. Or both.

Liv spun her around again. “Okay, walk forward. Six steps
please.”

Jaime kicked off her heels and did as her friend instructed.
The tile was cold against her toes. Liv’s hands smelled like paint. Jaime
called up a mental picture of what she’d first seen when she arrived at the
house and realized Missy’s golden hair had had red paint in it as well, and Liv
had some streaked on her freckled nose. Giselle was tidy, but then, Giselle was
always tidy.

What had they been up to?

Jaime’s feet hit carpet. She burrowed them into the lush
fabric.

Liv removed her hand and Jaime gasped in surprise.

The room had been transformed. It was still her living room
leading into the open-concept kitchen, but she barely recognized it—the plain
cream walls Keith had insisted on were gone.

Jaime’s first impressions were of a miasma of color.
Purples, blues, reds, deep pinks, a splash of orange, all contrasted against
the stark white of painter’s cloths draped over the sofa and tables.

“This is absolutely incredible.”

Her three artist friends had transformed the room into a
sunset. It was absolutely stunning. Jaime spun around, craning her neck to
capture everything at once. She recognized Giselle’s brush strokes in the pink
clouds, the swirling texture reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. The fading
gold of the sun in the horizon stretched out over the kitchen was definitely
Missy, and Liv’s touch was visible in three sailing birds sketched in black on
the kitchen cupboards.

Jaime couldn’t stop smiling. She spun like a wild dervish,
taking everything in, wanting to see it all at once.

Then she was hugging the girls again, planting sloppy kisses
on their cheeks, Giselle-style, laughing and thanking each of them in turn.
When she caught hold of herself again she saw Dionysus standing awkwardly to
the side, a streak of yellow paint in his own curls. He had on a pair of large
painter’s overalls streaked with every color of the rainbow. She smiled shyly
at him. “This was your idea?”

“It was all Dee,” Liv confirmed. “He emailed us all this
morning, said it was an artistic emergency and you’d been with this boring
house for too long.”

“Of course,
ma cher
, we’ve been saying that for
years,” Giselle gushed. “Who knew it would take a man to wake you up to it!”

“Dee, huh?” Jaime arched an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “It’s a nickname.”

“I couldn’t remember the other name,” Liv explained. “Not
once we got through the first few bottles of wine anyway.”

Jaime walked forward hesitantly. Seeing him amid her friends
like this was different than her comfort with him before. Previously, as much
as she’d liked him, he’d been The Magic Sex God from the Wine Bottle. Now, he
seemed almost a part of her life.

You’ve known him for two days, Jaime.

So? You knew Keith for seven years and he never managed
to get along with the girls.

To see Giselle smiling rather than cursing out a man was
definitely a change.

Jaime hugged him, whispering in his ear, “Thank you, Dee.
This was—incredible.” She placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “I have a surprise
of my own for you later.”

At that, Missy, standing close, made an
ooooh
sound
and kissing noises. Jaime laughed. “Shut up!”

“D’you think she wants us to leave?” Liv asked, winking
broadly at Dionysus. Her freckles made her look younger than the rest of the
women, though they were all in their early thirties. But she had always been
the one with the dirtiest mind. She’d been the one to teach Jaime how to give a
proper blowjob, practicing with a cucumber under the covers when they were
teenagers.

“But we haven’t even done the bedroom yet!” Missy thrust a
clean brush at her. “What do you want to paint there, James? And the bathroom.”

As the sun set everywhere but in her house, the moon grew
brighter and the stars came out, the four old girlfriends and the new man
painted the rest of the walls. They didn’t aim for perfection, sketching in
broad strokes, but it was a work of art nonetheless. The bathroom was
transformed into a desert island paradise of golden sand, and the bedroom a
series of not-to-scale starred constellations in an indigo night.

Jaime and Dionysus worked together, Jaime remembering how it
felt to hold a brush in her hands, showing him how to mix the paints and press
the star-dots into the wall so they wouldn’t smear. Missy and Liv got into a
mock-fight over how many stars comprised the Big Dipper, Liv balancing tipsily
on the bed, reaching high to dot the constellation on the ceiling. Giselle gave
up, claiming a cramped hand, and declared that she was going to set the living
room to rights again and get rid of the painting cloths. The women sang along
to music at the top of their lungs, and drank another four bottles of wine
before there was a knock on the door. Missy’s ride had arrived.

When Jaime went to let him in, she walked by the
stained-glass mirror they’d moved from her bedroom the night before. It was
uncovered now, its blues twinkling ominously. A small twinge of fear stabbed at
Jaime’s heart. Giselle must have done it, not realizing the blanket wasn’t
another painting cloth. But that was fine, Jaime told herself, stuffing the
fear down. It was easy to do now, with the house full of friends. She’d just
have to remember to cover it again before bed. The terror of the djinn was part
of the past. Laughter, wine, desire and friendship had tamed it.

She opened the front door. Missy’s husband Brian embraced
her. “Jaime Leighton! It’s been too long.” He had a large, intimidating voice
that didn’t match his small stature.

“Good to see you, Brian.” She’d always liked him. His warm
smile and goofy red mustache reminded her of Yosemite Sam. “Like what we’ve
done with the place?” Jaime gestured at the paintings.

“Gorgeous! I’ve been trying to get Miss to do up our house
for years. I want a legion of hunting dogs along the bedroom wall. Irish
wolfhounds, tall as the ceiling.”

Jaime remembered that request and knew he didn’t have a hope
in hell of Missy fulfilling it. “That sounds really…interesting.”

“Hmph! That’s artist code for something bad.”

She didn’t try to hide her smile. “Probably.”

“Brian!” It was Giselle’s turn to hug him now, bending down
and then smacking each of his cheeks with her signature kisses. She’d never
been to Europe but considered herself French enough. Giselle towered over him.
Missy, Liv and Dionysus exited the bedroom to give their greetings.

“Bri, you gotta meet Jaime’s new man.”

“Oh,” Jaime objected half-heartedly, embarrassed. “We
haven’t known each other that long.”

“Shut up, Jamison, take credit for hooking yourself a good
one.”

Dionysus was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, all teeth and
pride. Jaime mock swatted him. “Well, you have their approval, if not mine,”
she teased.

“I’ll take it.”

“I don’t know,” Missy said with an exaggerated frown,
standing on her tiptoes. “I think he’s too tall.” It was an ongoing joke --
they all knew Missy loved Brian’s height, since she barely topped five feet
herself. Normally, Brian would join in and make some comment about signing up
for stretching classes, or having been shrunk in the wash. He was one of the
most good-natured people Jaime knew. Normally.

Brian had stopped in the center of the room, as if he’d seen
a ghost.

“What is it, Bri?” Liv had noticed.

He was staring at the uncovered stained glass mirror. His
hands shook. His face, pink enough to start with his red-haired complexion, was
turning darker with anger. The whites of his eyes looked enormous.

Jaime’s blood grew cold. “Dee?” she asked, using the
nickname Liv had given the god. The mirror was empty, save Brian’s reflection
and that of the painted sky behind him. Jaime couldn’t see the djinn, as she’d
feared she would. What did Brian see?

Dionysus moved closer, taking her hand.

“I don’t see him,” Jaime whispered. Dionysus shook his
head—he didn’t either. The other women had grown quiet. Everyone could sense
something was wrong, but no one knew what.

Brian’s face filled with sudden terror. And then he turned
suddenly, his face growing vicious. “Missy!” he screamed. “What did you do to
her?” He leapt at Jaime, hands out in front of him, reaching for her throat.
Dionysus knocked her backward. She slid on a folded painting cloth, falling
back against the couch, banging her hip into the arm rest. She clutched at it,
holding herself up. She scanned the room for weapons but there were only a few
brushes and rollers, everything moved aside for the painting. One of the other
women screamed—she couldn’t tell who. Maybe it was Jaime herself.