Eddie's idea of "rather modest accommodations" was to lease the entire nine-bedroom adobe-style mansion that had been lavishly built in the 1920s and lovingly restored with antiques and modern plumbing and lighting in 2003. It was situated at the edge of the Red Rock Canyon Spa and Resort, which was a lovely oasis of natural springs and verdant foliage that looked bizarre and beautifully out of place in the middle of the jutting rust-colored rocks and starkly intriguing desert landscape of Red Rock Canyon. Pamela stood at one set of three double doors, which led from the lodge-style den out to the huge wooden deck where uniformed waiters were hastily putting the finishing touches of fresh flowers and candles on the dinner table, while a trio of musicians were tuning their instruments. Music, candles, flowers and fine china - she was relieved that she had chosen her little black dress instead of something more casual. Outdoor lighting suddenly clicked on, watercoloring the clear Nevada night in soft splotches of color.
She breathed in the cooling desert air. Sitting with carsick Apollo in the front seat (He'd insisted she stay with him, and he'd looked so pathetic that she sighed and squeezed in the front seat, thoroughly annoying Robert) had been an eye-opening experience. Pamela loved Colorado. Though she had been born and raised there, she never tired of the majesty of Pikes Peak and the green, mountainous beauty of her home. She considered herself fairly well-traveled, especially within the United States, and she had seen many lovely states, but no place had ever filled her senses and soothed her soul like her home. So it was a surprise that she was so drawn to the desert. The short ride from Eddie's estate on the edge of Red Rock Canyon to the ranch had been filled with scenery that was both stark and spectacular. There was something mysterious and wonderful about the desert. It made her imagination run wild with girlish fantasies of Old West cowboys and leather and sweat. She grinned to herself at her silly romantic imaginings.
"I love your smile."
Apollo's deep voice startled her. She turned. He was standing so close behind her that she could feel the heat of his body. It was just normal body heat and not the immortal power of the God of Light, but it made her remember the night before, and how flames had licked her body in time with his thrusts.
She ran her hand nervously through her short hair. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I didn't mean to startle you."
If only he knew. His very presence made her stomach tighten and her face flush. And that was before she'd found out that he was the bloody God of Light! She was being wooed and pursued by immortal Apollo. It was a little like being caught up in an old Star Trek episode without the ability to be beamed the hell out of a tight situation.
But she didn't want to be beamed away from him, and the truth of that was driving her crazy. He was Apollo! She couldn't stop the thrill of wonderment that coursed through her at the thought. It was heady and maddening and terribly frightening.
Instead of babbling like the crazy woman she thought she might be becoming, she nodded out at the desert night with what she hoped was at least semi-nonchalance.
"It's not your fault; I was preoccupied by the scenery. It's so much prettier here than I expected."
"Yes, I know exactly what you mean. The Kingdom of Las Vegas has surprised me with its beauty, too," he smiled and brushed a short tendril of dark hair from her forehead.
His eyes caught and reflected the deck lighting, and for a moment they seemed to shimmer again with immortal blue. She moved a step away from him.
"Why?" he asked wearily. "Why do you shun my touch?"
One of the waiters looked up with obvious curiosity at his question, and Pamela motioned for Apollo to follow her out to the far edge of the deck where they were less likely to be overheard. She lowered her voice and tried not to fidget.
"I'm not shunning your touch. I-I'm being careful," she stuttered, not looking directly into his eyes.
"I don't understand." He wiped a hand across his face and sighed. "You see, Pamela, this has never before happened to me. You must explain the rules of love."
Her heart beat into her throat, and she had to swallow carefully before she answered him.
"I don't know the rules. I don't know how to love a god." Reluctantly, she met his eyes. "The truth is it was different when I thought you were just Phoebus."
"I am Phoebus, Pamela."
"No you're not! My God, Apollo - " she broke off, pressing her lips together. "See! I can't even say normal things around you anymore. My God... you are a god! I don't know what to say... what to do..." She rubbed her forehead. The musicians began playing a waltz, which only increased the surreal feel of the night. It was like Apollo had conspired to add a soundtrack to their conversation. "I don't want to be in love," she said softly. "I didn't want to before I knew about you, and now it just seems too much - too impossible."
He shook his head. "No, it's not impossible. It's just that the way you found out was wrong. I should have told you sooner, made it easier for you to accept."
"How could it be easier? You are an ancient god, and I am just a mortal woman. We weren't meant to be together." Saying the words that had been haunting her all day made her stomach feel sick.
"I fulfilled your heart's desire." He spoke in a low, tight voice.
"Of course you did! It's not that I don't desire you. I do. You're perfect. I asked for romance, and you are most definitely a romantic dream come true." She wanted to shut up, to stop the words that vomited from her mouth, but she couldn't. She was afraid if she did, she would throw herself into his arms and want to stay there forever. And then what would become of her? What would happen to her heart when he left her world and returned to his own?
He grimaced and shook his head. "I am more than a romantic dream, and you asked for more than a dalliance with a god."
"Apollo, I know what I asked for," she said tightly.
"Do you really? Then perhaps you would be interested to know that the invocation bond between you and my sister did not break until you admitted last night that I am your soul mate."
"Your soul mate..." She whispered the words, shaking her head. "No!" He couldn't be. If he was her soul mate, how would she survive without him?
All expression left his handsome face. "Perhaps I have been lucky all these eons not to have known love. I am discovering it is a painful emotion." He bowed formally to her, turned on his heels and walked away.
But instead of making it through the doors and back to his room as he had intended, he almost ran over his sister and Eddie as they surged out onto the patio, followed closely by the ever-present James.
"Good! Good! You're here already," Eddie said, clapping Apollo on the shoulders. Then he caught sight of Pamela. "Excellent! We are all here. James, you may tell them to begin the feast. Come, my goddess. The fare here may be simple, but I promise that you will not be disappointed by its quality."
"Eddie, I want more of that lovely champagne."
"Of course, of course," he murmured, helping her into one of the chairs.
Pamela watched the big man cluck and fuss over the goddess like a gihugic hen. Apollo was standing across the table from the two of them. She could feel his gaze on her. She blinked away the tears that had been pooling in her eyes, squared her shoulders, plastered a professionally cordial smile on her face and joined the small group at the table. Eddie, of course, insisted she sit next to "Phoebus." Thankfully, as soon as her butt touched the chair, a swarm of waiters converged upon the table.
Eddie had described the dinner fare as "simple," which made Pamela wonder what he considered extravagant. The food wasn't served in courses, as one might expect from an expensive catered meal in the middle of an exclusive resort; instead, Eddie ordered that everything come out at once. It was like a food explosion. The salads of wild field greens, exotic fresh mushrooms and ripe bursts of tiny tomatoes had been fashioned to look like miniature bird's nests. The bowtie pasta was divine and smelled of fresh garlic and white wine. Thick salmon steaks had been grilled to perfection, as had long slices of halved zucchini squash covered in melted provolone cheese and sprinkled with cracked pepper and sea salt. Throughout the entire meal, attentive waiters poured glasses of icy champagne.
Everything was delicious, and Pamela felt herself relaxing as Eddie and Apollo chatted easily about the daily bathing traditions of ancient Rome. Actually, Pamela was intrigued by the living details Apollo was divulging about a world considered long dead.
"So bathing really became a social activity," Eddie said through bites of salmon.
Apollo nodded. "Do not think of it as simply something done to cleanse one self. The Roman baths were much more than that. In the same bathing complex it was not uncommon for there to be exercise areas, masseurs, barbers, restaurants, shops and libraries. It was a place of camaraderie; a life vein into the happenings of the city. There were private rooms set aside in which matters were discussed that should not be made public. Some say that even the gods themselves frequented the bathhouses of Rome to listen in to the intrigue of the day."
"Ha! Might the plot to kill Caesar not have started in one of Rome's baths?" Eddie said.
Artemis scoffed. "Caesar! Proclaiming himself a god was only one of his many mistakes. He should have listened to his wife. Calpurnia warned him. Too often Rome did not listen to the voices of its women," she finished fiercely.
Eddie's eyes widened. "I have it, my lovely! I have been pondering it since this morning when first we met. Something was off - not precisely right - and now I understand what it is. You are not Diana at all, but now I recognize your true nature."
Artemis raised one golden eyebrow at him and nibbled at her second piece of salmon. "Do you?"
"Yes! You are too fiery to be the wan and ethereal Diana. You flame and sparkle, not just with the light of a full moon. You carry within you the nature of a huntress. Tomorrow we shall doff the silly vase you held today and replace it with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Diana's meekness has set, and the goddess Artemis has risen."
Pamela choked midswallow of bowtie pasta and a waiter hurried to bring her a glass of water. Between sputters she shared a secret look of surprise with Apollo, but Eddie was not finished. He placed his hand over his heart, and in a deep, resonant baritone his a cappella voice, rising and falling like one of The 3 Tenors, filled the desert night.
"I sing of Artemis of the golden shafts, who loves the
din of the hunt
and shoots volleys of arrows at stags. She delights in
the chase
as she stretches her golden bow to shoot the bitter
arrows.
Hers is a mighty heart; she roams all over
destroying the brood of wild beasts."
Artemis stopped eating when Eddie began to sing. She stared at him in obvious amazement. The big man paused, gesturing at the trio of musicians who had been playing soft background music throughout dinner. Their playing stopped, but when Eddie began singing again, the harpist caught the melody of his song, and the magical sound of liquid strings accompanied him.
"But when the arrow-pouring goddess has taken her
pleasure,
after slacking her well-taut bow, she comes to the
great house of her brother,
Phoebus Apollon, to the opulent district of
Delphi..."
He nodded at Apollo, who tilted his head in regal acknowledgment.
"... to set up a beautiful dance of the Muses and the
Graces.
There she hangs her resilient bow and her arrows,
and wearing her graceful
jewelry, she is their leader in the dance. Divine is
the sound they utter
as they sing of how fair-ankled Leto gave birth to
children,
who among the gods are by far the best in deeds and
counsel.
Hail, O daughter of Zeus and lovely-haired Leto!
I shall praise and remember you ..."
Eddie's voice held the last note while the harpist improvised a fantastic flourish. And then the night became very quiet as the song faded. Pamela's gaze shifted from Eddie to Artemis. And there it stayed. Totally shocked, Pamela watched Artemis' stunningly blue eyes fill with shimmering tears. Then the goddess leaned forward and kissed Eddie lingeringly on the lips.
"You know the Homeric hymns," the goddess whispered, only a hand's length from the big man's face.
"I know the Homeric hymns," Eddie replied solemnly.
"You have surprised me, Eddie."
The goddess's smile of honest delight made Pamela's breath catch with its beauty.
"Brother," she said without taking her gaze from Eddie, "I wish to reward our host for his keen powers of observation. Will you play for me?"
"Of course," Apollo said. "But I have no instrument."
Eddie's distinctive voice boomed across the deck. "That is enough music for the evening. You may depart. But leave your instruments. My assistant will be certain they are returned to you on the morrow."
The three women left quickly and discreetly, and Pamela wondered just exactly how much money Eddie was paying them so that they didn't so much as blink at leaving behind their instruments.
Apollo took the harpist's vacated seat and put his hands on the instrument without showing any of the trepidation he was feeling. He was the God of Music. Harpists had worshiped him and sang his praises for uncounted centuries. The Muses revered him. Since the day he had talked the newborn Hermes into gifting him with the very first lyre known to mankind, he had taken his immortal power over his chosen instrument for granted. It was like the air he breathed and the wine he drank - unquestionably, always there. But today he was not the immortal Apollo. He was only a man. He knew the notes. The feel of the harp was familiar. Still, his stomach churned. What if his talent had fled with his powers? What if he played the wrong notes? Or worse, played the right notes so poorly that they seemed wrong.
He looked up. Artemis had stood and was backing gracefully away from the table so that she would have room to begin her dance. Eddie's eyes never left her face. The author was completely enamored with his sister. Apollo pressed his hand against the taut strings. He understood how the big man felt. Reluctantly, the god turned his gaze to Pamela. She was watching him intently, no doubt waiting to hear the brilliance with which the God of Light played. At that instant he sincerely wished that he had his immortal powers - or that he was in reality the mortal man, Phoebus. He suddenly wanted very much to be one or the other. Being stuck between two worlds was like being thrust into a battlefield with only the memory of weapons.
"Play Terpsichore's favorite melody," his sister said imperiously.
Apollo knew the melody. He'd been there when the Muse of the Dance created it, and he had played it for her when she performed it at one of Zeus' great banquets. He closed his eyes and concentrated. His first notes were tentative, soft, almost inaudible, but his fingers had more confidence than the god. They knew the feel of the silver strings, and they traveled up and down the length of the instrument like old friends returning each other's greeting.
He opened his eyes. Artemis floated across the deck, recreating Terpsichore's masterpiece. He smiled fondly at his sister. Tonight she had no immortal powers, but she needed none. The little silk slip of a dress Eddie must have purchased for her swirled gracefully around her body. Her movements were languid and filled with a unique, hypnotic suppleness. His fingers flew over the strings, increasing the tempo of the tune. Artemis matched him, twirling and undulating in perfect time with the music until the crescendo, after which she collapsed in an elegant heap near Eddie's feet.
"No!" Eddie cried, pulling her up so that she stood beside him breathing heavily. "It is I who should be at your feet, my goddess."
Artemis laughed breathlessly. "Then you liked your reward?"
"I will cherish the memory of your dance even unto my dying day."
The goddess's expression instantly sobered. "I do not wish to think of you dying."
It was Eddie's turn to laugh, and he did so heartily. "Then think not of it, for that day is far off, my goddess!"
Artemis' smile returned. "Eddie, will you walk with me? I know it is dark, and night has fallen, but - "
"Your wish is my command," he proclaimed. "Come, the grounds are well lit and it is my great honor to escort you."
Without so much as a glance at Pamela or Apollo, the two of them left the deck, heads already bent together as Eddie began asking her about the origins of her dance. Still dazzled by the goddess's incredible performance, Pamela watched them leave. She couldn't believe it. Artemis had danced for Eddie as if she really meant it, as if she really cared for him and wanted to thank him. What a difference a single day had made. This morning Artemis had been arrogant and impossible. Granted, the goddess was still impossibly arrogant, thoroughly spoiled and ridiculously self-indulgent and vain. But when she looked at Eddie there was no doubt about the softness that came into her eyes. Could Artemis really have a heart?
Two soft, magical chords waterfalled over one another, calling Pamela's attention back to her immortal. Her immortal. The thought shivered through her. Before tonight she would have imagined that a man playing a harp would look, at the very least effeminate, at the most, definitely gay. Apollo was neither. He was magnificently masculine. He didn't just play the harp; he stroked it with a lover's touch, coaxing beautiful music from it as if his caress had brought it to life. With his golden, well-muscled body and his sun-colored hair, he looked like an ancient warrior who had paused between battles to rest and recite heroic deeds. She met his eyes as he began to sing while his fingers teased a sensuous, rhythmic hum from the strings.
"I am that man who sits opposite you
and, while close to you, listens to
you sweetly speaking
and laughing with love - things which cause
the heart in my breast to tremble. "
His voice was so perfect it was almost indescribable, and Pamela tried to imagine how he must sound when he was able to use his immortal powers. No wonder generations of people had built temples and carved statues in his honor. And now here he was, singing just for her. At that moment she wanted him so much that the force of it almost choked her. Without conscious thought she stood and walked to him.
"When I look at you,
I can speak no more.
My tongue freezes silent and stiff,
light flame trickles under my skin,
I no longer see with my eyes,
my ears hear whirring,
cold sweat covers me,
shivering takes me captive,
I become more green than the grass,
near to death to myself I seem. "
She stopped in front of him. The only power he had at his command was that of a man in love, but still he entranced her. She shivered as he repeated the chorus and blanketed her with the warmth of his emotions.
"I am that man who sits opposite you
and, while close to you, listens to
you sweetly speaking
and laughing with love - things which cause
the heart in my breast to tremble. "
When the little night breeze blew the last note away, she reached out tentatively and with one finger stroked the back of his hand that rested against the strings of the harp.
"Did you write that?"
He smiled and took her hand in his. "No. It was written by Sappho. She was a Greek poetess, and a passionate lover of women. I borrowed her words. She had a caustic sense of humor and a sharp wit. I think she would find our situation sublimely entertaining, and I do not believe she would mind the small changes I made to her verse."
"It was very beautiful. Your voice is..." She paused, trying to find words to describe what she had heard. "Your voice is like a half-forgotten dream. Something too fantastic to be real."
"But it is real. I am real." He pulled her towards him. She came hesitantly, and so he looped his arm around her waist, drawing her against him. "What you feel for me is real." Apollo pressed his lips gently against hers. He hungered for the taste and feel of her, but she was so stiff and unyielding that he contented himself with an almost chaste kiss - first on her mouth, and then on her cheek. Finally, she relaxed enough that her head rested against his shoulder, and he breathed in the clean scent of her hair. When he bent to kiss her again, she lifted her hand and pressed her fingers against his lips.
"I'm going to ask you to give me time," she said.
"Time?"
"I need time to think about what's happening between us, and I can't think when you touch me and kiss me. So I'm asking you for some thinking space. Will you do that for me?"
He wanted to say no - to toss the harp aside and take her into his arms and make slow, passionate love to her until she could not think at all. He knew he could persuade her to give in to him; he felt it in the way her body gravitated to him and the liquid way her eyes stared into his. He knew the passion that smoldered within her, and he knew how to awaken and use it. And then what? In the morning she would just retreat from him again. He wanted her to come to him freely, with no morning-after regrets.
Apollo took his arm from around her. Instead of trying to kiss her again, he brushed back the little tendril of dark hair that habitually fell over her forehead.
"I will give you your thinking space."
He smiled sadly, kissed her hand, and walked slowly from the deck. Alone.