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From: "Jane Urquhart" <janey98@hotmail.com>
Subject: (Jane U.) CELESTE DEPARTS (no sex, humour)
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WARNING: This story contains words your kids don't know. Make them
stop reading right here. If your parents aren't around, stop anyhow.
Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart. The author is a member of the Net
Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends the rights of
Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to bring suit against any
person or corporation infringing copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the news groups
Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for archiving by the
lt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and DejaNews. All other rights are
reserved. Do not repost or distribute by any other means without express
permission from the author.
CELESTE DEPARTS (No sex, mildly esoteric humour)
(Contest Winner)
by Jane Urquhart
Celeste was sitting in a big overstuffed chair, her feet propped up
on a Turkish ottoman. She was smoking a cigar and reading Lucius
Apuleius' amusing little opus, "De Deo Socratis," hoping to learn a little
more about her successor, when Hermes came in without knocking, as
was his custom.
"Out of here, little man," Celeste said. "I have nothing to say to
you." She took a big swig out of the bottle of A&W decaffeinated root
beer that she always kept by her side and tried to stare him down.
"Listen, lady," Hermes said, "I'm only the fucking messenger.
Zeus wants to see you."
"Fuck him," Celeste said. "Tell him I'll hire Artemis to put an
arrow in his butt if he doesn't stop sending people to bother me. I'm on
vacation. Hell, I may have retired. I'm not taking any more crap off of
anybody."
"He didn't like what you said when he e-mailed you the last time,"
Hermes said. "He told me to tell you that if you don't get your ass in gear
and show up at the castle in jig time he'll turn you into a lesser demon."
Celeste paled. She didn't mind being reviewer emeritus, but the
thought of losing real status got to her. Being a goddess is a good gig, and
she knew it. After all, FastShow, the only lesser demon she knew
anything about, was about to lose his job as a troll because a couple of
little girls thought he was cute. Being a lesser demon was the pits;
practically anybody could fuck up your career. If Zeus got really mad, he
really could demote her, and not even her patroness, Athena, could do a
thing about it. She had to do whatever was necessary to avert catastrophe.
She pushed herself up out of her comfortable nest..
"Where's the sedan chair parked, asshole?" she asked.
Hermes smirked. "The boss said you could walk," he said. "Your
ass is going to get too big if you sit around all day swilling that horse piss.
I quote."
"Get out of here," she said. She knew there was no point in
messing around with an idiot who did nothing but carry the mail. Hermes
left.
She wasn't going to be hurried, though. Swinging the butt in
question, she walked over to the hall table, picked up her purse and
dumped the contents, strewing them across the polished surface.
Murmuring to herself, she sorted through the debris. She picked up a
short length of silken cord and ran it through her fingers, then tossed it
into the wastebasket. "Meant to give that back to Crimson," she thought,
"and now I guess it's too late." She found a battered piece of paper and
unfolded it. "Note: Give M1ke Hunt a 9 to keep him from getting a
swelled head." She chucked that, too--damned fool had quit writing
before she got a chance to do it. A tiny pill box caught her eye. "I ought
to save those and give them to that Raccoon fellow," she said to herself.
"I don't need Valium anymore, and he sure as hell will." A note of
apology from Kim--a tiny tear slid out of the corner of her eye.
"Oh, shit," she said aloud, "I can clean that stuff up later." She
picked out a small packet of mini-cigars and a box of matches and threw
them into her purse along with her cell phone, wrapped her robe around
her and stepped out the door. She made a mental note to call Hephaestus
and get him to fix the latch.
Walking up the dirt road she cursed the stupid Greek engineers
who built it and then decided it wasn't worth paving. Sandals were all very
well, but she kept getting rocks between her feet and the soles and having
to stop to get them out. Besides, the edge was crumbling and she could
see fields of wheat far below. As she passed Aphrodite's house she
wondered what Apollo's chariot was doing parked in front it. "Fucking
global warming is all his fault," she muttered. She was incorrect, but that
had never bothered her before, and didn't this time. By the time she
arrived at the palace gate, she was in a truly foul humour. She recognized
this, and decided that it was bad enough that it merited the English
spelling.
Ares, arrogant as usual, came barreling out the gate in his chariot
just as she started to enter and nearly ran her down. Her waved his whip
at her, gave her a big smile, dragged out an ancient .38 Police Special and
fired a couple of shots into the air.
Once the adrenaline quieted down she entered the sacred precincts.
Two dumb-looking soldiers, probably left over from the day Deucalion
scattered those rocks around, saluted as she entered the great hall. Baucis,
the receptionist, took one look at her and decided to ignore her for a
while. The longer she'd worked in this place the less she liked the gods,
particularly the female ones. She was always after Philemon to get a
better job than carrying water for the discus throwers so she could quit
and study hydraulic engineering.
Finally Aphrodite came mincing out the door of the throne room
trying to get her clothes in order. She gave Celeste a little wave and made
circles with her finger at her temple. Meaning, Celeste figured, that the
old man had thought up something even weirder than usual for the
Goddess of Love to do to him. Celeste lifted her chin and walked in to
confront the All-Powerful.
Zeus sat behind a large mahogany desk. He was wearing a dark
blue double-breasted suit; a spotless white handkerchief peeked out of his
breast pocket. He looked up as she entered.
"About time," he said. "You certainly are a stubborn little tart."
His squeaky tenor voice made him sound a lot like Marlon Brando.
Incensed, Celeste, replied. "I'm not a tart, I'm a respectable
married woman," she shot at him.
Zeus laughed. "You think I care about that mortal shit?" he said.
He turned to a scribe sitting at a small desk a few feet away and said,
"Make a note. Celeste is not married anymore. She just went through a
really messy divorce." Then he turned and smiled at Celeste.
"There," he said, "You damn grammarians are always finicky
about the rules. I MAKE the fucking rules."
Celeste wasn't really prepared for such astonishing behavior.
"You can't do that," she said. "My marriage certificate is on file at
the Harris County Court House, and it's valid until some judge says it
isn't."
"Sweetie," said Zeus, "the Harris County Court House just burned
down." He smiled hugely. "That's the way I handle divorces these days. I
got old Prometheus working for me full time now. And he loves the job.
Just give the guy a couple of gallons of gas and a book of matches and he's
happy as a clam."
The likely consequences of this arbitrary decision ran through her
mind. Her poor usband, she thought. He wouldn't know what hit him.
Maybe she could get a phone call through, but she doubted it. Bell
Olympus was sulking because AT&T had the long distance contract for
the gods, and the telephone service had deteriorated almost to the point of
disappearance. Then the really serious problem suddenly dawned on her.
She'd always insisted that her monogamous marriage kept her from even
considering doing any of those awful things her worshippers, the writers
of ASS, kept suggesting that people were doing all the time. What on
earth could she use for an excuse now?
"Anyhow," said Zeus, "what I really want to talk to you about is
the chaos that's crept into the ASS group since you left. It's all your fault,
and I want it fixed pronto. The Son of Cronos is just having a hell of a
time, which I'm not prepared to put up with."
"Up with which to put," she said automatically.
"Don't fuck with me, little girl," Zeus said. "I'll split your
infinitive six ways from Sunday if you aren't careful."
"You wouldn't dare," she said cooly. "Athena would have Strunk
and White up here in seconds. She might even be able to get H.W.
Fowler. Some things even you can't do."
"Not to worry, dearie," he said with some satisfaction. "They're
all down there drinking beer with Socrates and Aristotle and they don't
give a shit anymore. I heard Fowler say that if the assholes thought they
could revise his book he was washing his hands of the whole thing. And
White's thinking of changing the ending of 'Charlotte's Web.'"
Celeste's world was crumbling. Her marriage was gone in a puff
of smoke. She could stand that, she thought, but the edifice on which she
had built her entire reputation was about to collapse. That was too much.
"Your Majesty, I don't know what to say," she whimpered.
"That's first time you've ever said that," Zeus commented.
"No, it isn't, Your Majesty," she whispered through her tears.
"That's what I said when I told my husband I was going to quit the
Reviews."
"Do tell!" Zeus said.
"Yes, Sire," Celeste said, quietly. "That's what I told him. I had
just found a comma fault in one of Uther Pendragon's stories."
"Holy fucking lighting bolts!" Zeus said. "That's the first I've
heard of that. No wonder you were struck dumb." He put his chin in his
hand and appeared to be thinking hard. Then he snapped his fingers.
"Why didn't you send me a message?" he asked. "I'd have had that sucker
down there chasing Persephone around in a matter of minutes. He LET
DOWN THE SIDE! But you didn't call me. So what happened then?"
* * *
Celeste was just sitting there reading a story, the way she had for
countless hours over the past few years. Suddenly she shuddered. Her
vision turned hazy. Quickly she looked away from the screen toward the
picture over her desk. It was perfectly clear.
Well, she didn't know what to say, anyhow. Maybe it was time for
a break. Feeling grumpy, she wandered into the kitchen, where her
husband sat reading the paper.
"Any more coffee?" she asked.
"Sure," he said. "Join me." He went back to the newspaper.
"You know what happened to me?"
He put the paper down and looked at her.
"What?"
"I was reading this story--a good one, too, from Pendragon--and all
of a sudden I couldn't read the words on the screen any more."
"Now, that's odd," he said. "Can you read the paper?" He handed
it to her.
She glanced at the front page and gave him back the paper. "Sure,
no problem."
"Maybe you've been at the computer too long."
"I don't think that's it," she said slowly. "I think maybe I've had it
up to here."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, I was just reading along, and I saw a misplaced comma,"
she said. "In one of Uther's stories! I think maybe it was just too much.
I'm telling you, it's getting worse. When I can't trust Uther anymore, what
am I going to do?"
"You've told me plenty of times that it's a lot better than it was
when you started," he said. "But now it's getting worse?"
"I think so," she said. "It looks to me as if everything's coming
apart. If I see another run-on sentence I think I'll vomit. Otherwise decent
writers are confusing lay and lie, and double negatives are creeping in
everywhere. And people are getting insubordinate. That Janey person just
blithely keeps on mixing English and American spellings and even had the
nerve to quote Mark Twain at me when I complained. And now I find a
misplaced comma and I just don't know what to say. I've run out of
words."
"Maybe you need some time off," he said, concerned. "We could
go to Florida or something."
"Maybe, I just don't know right now. But I think I'll just quit."
Then she drank the last of her coffee and got up. She wandered back
toward her computer. Maybe just surfing a while would help.
"Nope, you're outta here," a voice said. She whirled, and there,
standing near the window, was a tall woman wearing a ragged woolen
robe.
"How the hell did you get in here?" Celeste said. "And who are
you?"
"Don't worry about it," the woman said, "we're taking you home."
Then everything went black.
* * *
"I suddenly found myself back here and remembered everything,"
she said. "I really am sorry about getting into that stupid apple thing with
Aphrodite."
"Fucking women," Zeus said. "Always mixing into things that
aren't your business. Well, I think you served enough time. How'd you
like being a mortal?"
"It was better than the last time," Celeste said, "when you sent me
to Macedonia to teach some decent Greek to that little shit Alexander."
"How was it better?" Zeus said. "I seem to recall your getting on
famously with that Greek fellow--what was his name? Testicles? And I
had to send somebody; Aristotle was getting nowhere."
"Well," she said, "Testicles was all right, but I had a real husband
this time, and he loves me, and I miss him. Besides, these people had
computers and air-conditioning and Cadbury's chocolate and some other
real neat stuff."
"But you burned out."
"I suppose so," she said. "When Demeter brought me back I was
really glad to be home, but I do miss parts of it."
"Aw, shit, Celeste," Zeus said, "all you needed was a good fuck.
Sounds to me like that husband of yours wasn't doing his job."
"Oh, no, Sire," Celeste answered, alarmed. "Oh, no, he was
wonderful. I got fucked, got licked, got penetrated in every possible
orifice. That man is superb."
"Nope," said Zeus. "I talked to Aesculapius about this before you
got here, and that was the prescription he insisted on. Actually, it's the
only one he ever gives when I'm involved, but it's always worked so far.
You want to turn into a swan, or shall I turn into a bull?"
"Oh, no, Sire," Celeste said, thinking faster than she ever had
before. "You wouldn't want to do that. If you did, you see, then I really
could never go back, and I like to keep my options open."
"Hmmm. I see your point," Zeus said, cupping his chin again.
"You've always had that reputation, that monogamous married woman
crap, and you really ought not to lose it." He thought a while. "I've got it.
How about you give me a nice blow job? That's not sex. The President of
the United States says so, and who's a bigger authority?"
He stood, walked around the desk and stopped in front of her.
Then he unzipped his fly and a nice, normal-looking penis appeared. He
was not circumcised.
"Come on, baby," he said. "You'll like it."
Celeste had heard that one several times before she was married.
She figured he was probably right. And, as an accomplished casuist, she
was pretty sure Clinton was right, too.
"I'd really rather not," she said, reaching out, stuffing the
offending member back into his trousers and zipping him up. "It would
remind me too much of my husband and I'd probably cry."
"You goddesses are more trouble than you're worth," he snarled.
"I've got a good mind to send you right back, preferably to someplace
where nobody ever heard of grammar."
"Oh, no Sire! Not that," she simpered. "But I wouldn't mind
going back where I was for a while."
"No way," he said. "Not unless you're willing to get back on the
job. You'd make a pretty good lesser demon, too. "
Unsettled, Celeste exercised her wits to the utmost.
"What if I just became a mortal?" she said.
"You crazy?" Zeus sputtered. "Why, in a few years your tits
would be down around your waist and you'd be leaning on a cane, and
then you'd die!"
"Maybe just for a little while, then?" She did think he had a point.
"OK, I'm feeling generous," he said. "Bacchus promised to bring
around four or five barrels of good chateau wine tonight, and some of
those hot women that keep advertising in the newsgroups. So I'll tell you
what I'm gonna do. You're going back, but you can't be a goddess down
there anymore unless you go back on the job. I'll fix it so everybody
forgets you're the goddess of the ASS groups and you'll just be an ordinary
English teacher. And when you get sick of it you can come home. Just
check at my web site any time. And forget about hiring Artemis--she's
working for me now, full time, and I have her doing a job for Miles
Naismith."
"You *are* generous, Sire!" she said. "I think I can stand being an
ordinary woman, for a while, at least. And if I want to, and I can always
go back to work, the way Michael Jordan did, and then I can be both a
goddess and woman again."
"Pack," he said, "before I change my mind."
Celeste turned on her heel and hurried for the door.
* * *
Her husband came in just as she sat down at the computer.
"Feeling better?" he said.
"I am," she said. "I don't know why, but somehow things have
changed. Anyhow, I've decided to dump the Reviews and see how it feels.
Let somebody else put up with those illiterate sons of bitches for a while."
"Good for you," her husband said. "You'll find plenty to do." He
wandered off down the hall and Celeste turned to the computer. She
connected to her ISP and started to look at her mail. Then she hesitated.
Something seemed to make her put her cursor on the address window and
start typing.
"Http://www.greekgods.org." Click. The window blanked, then a
graphic began to form. Big thunderbolt, blue on a black background. She
smiled, and bookmarked the page. She wasn't quite sure why, but she
thought it might come in handy someday. She liked to keep her options
open.
----THE END----
NOTE: Opinions expressed by characters in this story are not to be taken
as those of the author. In fact, the author, who was taken over by demons
on the night of January 20, 1999, and found this on her computer screen
the next morning, is not responsible for anything at all in this story,
including errors of fact or fiction. She also apologizes to anyone, god,
goddess, mortal or lesser demon, who might be offended.
Please write to the author at janey98@hotmail.com
My web site is at http://members.Tripod.com/~janey98
Copyright 1999 by Jane Urquhart. The author is a member of the Net
Authors and Creators Union (NACU), which defends the rights of
Internet authors and creators. NACU intends to bring suit against any
person or corporation infringing copyright.
Specific permission is granted for publication in the news groups
Alt.Sex.Stories and Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated and for archiving by the
Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated archive and DejaNews. All other rights are
reserved. Do not repost or distribute by any other means without express
permission from the author.
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