An exclusive excerpt from the novel by Amber Benson

 

My name is Calliope Reaper-Jones, and I think I'm losing my mind.

 

Okay, maybe I am being a touch melodramatic.I wasn't completely losing my mind, but things were definitely getting a little screwy in my neck of the woods. 

It was like the universe couldn't help itself.  It had to mess with you every once and awhile -- you know, just to make sure you were paying attention.  I guess it reasoned that since we were all so busy being anal, little worker ants, its job was to step in, occasionally, and shatter whatever carefully constructed illusions of normalcy we had created for ourselves.

 Just to shake things up a little . . . for our sakes, of course.  

Because, unlike us, the universe knew that illusions were just that: illusion -- and they could be destroyed with one, well-placed, roundhouse kick.

 

My kick in the pants came last Saturday: the day of my first -- and hopefully last -- blind date. 

My next-door neighbor, Patience, had decided she was sick and tired of my sad ass feeling all sorry for itself -- her words, not mine, but the sentiment was definitely correct.  I mean, I hadn't had a real date in, well . . . it was so pathetic an expanse of time that I didn't even want to talk about it.

You see, my "not-so dream job" job had totally precluded me from having any kind of social life.  Period.  I spent all week working my butt off, so that when Saturday finally did roll around, I was too dead to the world to enjoy it. 

I usually ended up in zombie mode until Sunday when -- somehow mildly recharged -- I'd get up, do my laundry, run a few necessary errands then meet some girlfriends at whatever new "happening" breakfast place they'd decided we were going to have brunch at that weekend.  They never bothered asking for my foodie opinion, just emailed me the address -- for reference only -- since I wouldn't know a "happening" place if it hit me over the head with a shovel, and whispered into my ear: "I'm a hot spot!"

Anyway, that's enough about my pathetic excuse for a social life.  Let's go back to the blind date, and the day everything in my life went to hell in a hand basket.

Said blind date guy was one of my neighbor, Patience's, office mates at Brown, Stimple and Brown, Esquire, a really big law firm uptown.  I wasn't exactly sure what she did there, but she had a really big television hanging on her wall, so it must've been something very important and unbelievably exciting -- not.  The legal world was anything if not nail-bitingly . . . tedious.

Anyway, the guy she'd decided was my soul mate worked in a different department, but since they had mutual friends she said it would be as "easy as pie" -- her words, again -- to get him to take me out on the town one Saturday night in the near future, ending my fantastically long dating dry spell -- hurrah!

Well, it turns out the "near future" was only two days after she'd told me about the idea in the first place.  There wasn't even enough time to get freaked out about the whole thing.  All I could do was take my Friday lunch break at Saks, and pray there was something on the designer sale rack that fit.

Unfortunately, the one dress I fell in love with at first sight, a beautiful DKNY silk number that was marked down to a ridiculous forty-three bucks, was way too big.  No matter how I tried to cinch the waist, it looked I was wearing a mumu.  Empty handed, I went back to work feeling -- for the first time in my life -- slightly perturbed that I wasn't twenty pounds heavier.

That night, I was stuck in the office until eight-thirty collating four copies of my boss's son's book report, by which time all the stores were closed, or getting ready to close.   I knew right then and there it was gonna be Saturday afternoon, or nothing. 

When I got home, I set my alarm for nine-thirty, determined to get up, brush my teeth, and go find something slinky, sultry, and cheap to wear on the blind date.   I had decided that even if the guy was a total dog -- which he probably would be with my luck -- I was gonna look hot, and take somebody yummy home, even if it only turned out to be my old standby: Ben and Jerry.

That night, all tucked up in my little Battery Park City bedroom, I fell asleep with visions of department stores in my head, more excited about a Saturday then I'd been in a long, long time. 

Had I known what the next day was going to have in store for me, I don't think I would've slept a wink.  Needless to say, I was completely clueless, so I slept like a baby . . . on Ambien.

 

The day did not even start well.

First, my alarm decided not to go off.

I'd set that sucker, checked it twice -- I can be a bit OCD when I feel like it­­ -- and even made sure the alarm was set to buzzer rather than just radio.  I knew it was going to have to be one of those screaming "alarm-only" mornings if I was going to make myself crawl out of bed at a quasi-reasonable hour, so I took like extra, extra precaution.

So, of course, no alarm meant no wakey-wakey on time.  Which in plain English, meant when I finally did get up it was one (!) in the afternoon.

The next thing I discovered was that all the water in my apartment was boiling hot, even from the cold tap.  The scalding water made it almost impossible to brush my teeth, let alone take a shower, so now I was stuck stinking my way into what was supposed to be a brilliant Barney's shopping excursion day. 

Weird, but not unheard of. 

In fact, only six months earlier the entire building had been without water for two days, in which time I learned the true meaning of the term: Irish Bath.  Take it from me, not the best way to make friends on the subway.

In retrospect, I guess I should have seen all the above weirdness as a sign.  But at the time -- and you have to believe me here -- it did not seem like a big deal, definitely not strange enough to warrant getting some kind of exorcism on the old homestead, or anything.

It wasn't until I got to the front hall of my building that I realized I might very shortly be in the market for the phone number of my local Catholic diocese.

 

The monster was blocking the whole length of the entranceway to my building.  His back was to me, his front facing the window-paneled door.  (I guess so he could watch the traffic?)  I say it was a he, but it was only a hypothesis.  I just could not imagine any self-respecting female­­ -- monster or not -- ever getting as pudgy as this thing was.

Strangely, I wasn't frightened of the big guy, not even as I was getting my first glance of its tremendous bulk.  I don't know how to explain it other than saying there was something about the creature that was lulling, rather than scary. 

At the time, I had no idea what kind of monster the thing was, but if I really think back on it, I'd have to guess it was probably, at least, part dragon.  I mean, it had a long, scaly brown tail, huge brown haunches, and a row of blue triangular shaped flaps of skin that ran the length of its back.  So, it was either a medium-sized dragon, or a smallish dinosaur.  You take your pick.

Luckily, it didn't appear to notice my arrival -- which I took as a good thing -- but I played it safe by standing still as a statue on the bottom step of the stairwell, trying not even to breathe if I could help it.  I was a lot of things, but super idiot wasn't one of them.  If the dragon/monster thing wanted to sit in my front hall, and watch the traffic go by out the window like a dog, I wasn't gonna be the dumb-dumb who disturbed it.

As quietly as I could, I backed my way up the front stairs until I hit the second floor landing then I high-tailed it up the next five flights until I was back in the "relative" safety of my own apartment.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, and have a shot of the Bailey's I'd had in the back of my ‘fridge since Christmas, I sat down on my couch, and made my plans: I was gonna go next door, get a witness, and then go back downstairs.  Patience would see the dragon/monster and freak out, verifying the fact that I was not losing my mind.

There was just one slight hitch in my plans: the bitch wasn't home. 

I thought about knocking on some random person's door, and trying to get them to go see the dragon/monster with me, but I was too scared it might have gotten bored in the interim and left -- which would've made look like a real nut job -- so I put an ix-nay on that one.

After taking another calming sip of Bailey's, I did the only rational thing a person could do in my situation: I called animal control. 

"I'm making this complaint anonymously," I said, tersely.  "There's a big monster dog in my front entranceway, and I need you to send someone out to get it!" 

The woman on the other end of the line kept asking me for my name, but I wasn't stupid.  If I gave it to her then everyone would know I was the weirdo caller, and I might actually end up in Bellevue before my blind date could save me.

Finally, sick of her wheedling for more information, I just blurted out the address, and hung-up.  Then, I raced to my bathroom, which was home to the only window in my whole apartment that looked out onto the street in front of the building, and rolled up the shade, ready to watch and wait for the man with a big net to come, and catch my monster.

I waited a long time.

At six-thirty my phone rang.  I was sitting hunched over the lip of the bathtub, furiously filing my nails with a weather-beaten emery board. I quickly sat up straighter, so I had a better view out the window, and craned my neck to see who was at the front door. 

I could just make out a man-sized shape on the stoop, and my heart began to beat inside my chest like a nasty little ball-peen hammer.

Damn, had Animal Control GPS'd me by my phone number? I mused nervously.

It was only when I peered closer that I saw that the animal control guy was carrying a bouquet of . . . flowers?

Crap!  It wasn't Animal Control . . . it was my blind date!

I had always thought of myself as a normal kinda gal, and normal gals -- even if they saw a giant dragon/monster in their front hall -- did not let said monster interfere with a possible encounter with Mr. Right.  I was just gonna have to pull it together, stop being a wuss, and answer the phone.

I ran to the living room, and made a grab for the headset.  Being the klutz that I am, I almost knocked the whole phone onto the floor.

"Shit!  I mean, hello . . . ?"

"Uhm, is this Calliope?" the dreamy voice on the other end of line said, sounding uncertain.

 Maybe this wouldn't be such a dud after all.  The guy was definitely in possession of a hella sexy voice. 

I nodded, pleased with Patience's choice of date, then realized he wasn't standing in front of me, and probably thought I hadn't heard him.

"Definitely!  This is, uh, definitely Calliope Reaper-Jones!" I said in an over-loud voice.

There was silence as the blind date digested what I'd just said.

I couldn't believe what an idiot I sounded like.  He must've thought I was one of Patience's slow friends.  I don't know what it is with the opposite sex, but I just can't seem to keep an intelligent thought in my head when I find an attractive man in my near vicinity.

 "I'm Brian.  I work with your friend, Patience," he finally replied.

"That's my neighbor," I burbled back at him like a ninny.

Once again, radio silence from Brian, the blind date. 

"Okay, yeah, your neighbor."  He cleared his throat.  "Uhm, I don't mean to be rude, but can I come up?"

"Come up?" I asked, smartly.

"Yeah, uh, come up to your apartment?"

"I don't know if you want to do that," I said.  "There's a big, fat dragon/monster thing in the front hall."

I clapped my hand over my mouth, almost jarring my front teeth loose in the process.

"Just kidding!  Just kidding!" I screeched through my fingers.  "Come on up!"

I buzzed him in, immediately hanging up the phone so I wouldn't have to hear the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement at a terrified run.

"Crap!" I said out loud.

Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror that hung above the living room couch.

"Crap!" I said again, this time in reference to the fact that I looked like a homeless woman. 

I couldn't believe what a rat's nest my hair was, I had on absolutely no make-up, and I was wearing my most comfortable pair of Juicy sweats which, because I'd worn them so much, had a hole in the crotch. 

Not knowing which mess to address first, I nearly sat down on the couch and gave up, but instead, my brain thankfully switched into autopilot, and sent my body on a fact-finding mission to the bedroom.

Figuring, with the six flights of stairs Brian, the blind date, would have to traverse to get to my door, I'd have seven minutes to get myself together, or forever hold my peace. 

Tripping my way across my messy bedroom floor, I threw open the closet door, and grabbed the first thing that caught my eye: an adorable little one-piece jumpsuit I'd gotten on sale at Saks.  It was made of organic white linen and felt just like butter on my skin. 

Even though it had been kinda scrunched in the corner of the closet floor when I picked it up, it didn't look that wrinkled in hand, so I gave it the sniff test, which it passed with flying colors -- yea!  I yanked off my sweats, and slipped on the jumpsuit, zipping it up so quickly I caught a little piece of my boob in the zip's teeth.

"Ahhhhh!" I screamed, trying not to rip skin, as I yanked the zipper back down.  There was a huge red welt on my left breast, but I ignored it, this time being a little more careful with the zip as I re-worked it back up into position.

Digging my way through the messy pile of dirty clothing that surrounded my bed, I found my favorite pair of cream kitten heels under a crumpled skirt, and slipped them on, silently cursing myself for not having gotten a pedicure recently.  The bright purple nail polish I'd loved when I'd had the girl put it on three weeks ago looked like toe fungus now, all old and chipped.

There was nothing I could do about the would-be fungus, so I just ignored it, making a run for the bathroom to slap on as much make-up as I could in the space of sixty seconds.  Make-up done, I grabbed an elastic band from one of the crappy, cultured marble, vanity drawers, and scraped my rat's nest into what I hoped was some semblance of a ponytail, praying Brian, the blind date guy, wouldn't notice a few errant pieces of hair sticking out here and there.

The doorbell rang just as I was putting on the finishing touch, something I used only for special occasions: a spritz of Chanel No.5. 

And Voila!  I was ready to rumble . . . or at least have dinner.  As unbelievable as it seemed, I had just gotten ready for an important date in less than seven minutes.  A bloody miracle. 

 

I threw open the door, hoping against hope that Brian, the blind date, looked like Clive Owen.  I just knew in my soul that with a voice like that, the body had to match.

"Is Brian here yet?"

Patience stood in my doorway, holding a thick manila folder in her hand.  She looked amazing, as always, her thick blonde hair hanging loose and curly around her angelic little face.  She was like a miniature version of that doe-eyed French actress, Julie Delpy.  If she weren't so nice, I would've totally hated her.

I mean, the little bitch was wearing a tank top and bicycle shorts -- and her butt looked good in them.  So not fair!

"Hello . . . ?  Earth to Callie?  Is your date here yet?"

"Not yet," I stuttered.

"Did he stand you up?!" she said, incredulously, ready to go beat him up for me, bicycle shorts and all.

I shook my head, trying to reconnect to reality.

"No, I mean, he's not here yet because I just buzzed him in, and you know, there are six flights of stairs, so . . . " I trailed off.

Patience raised an eyebrow at me then rolled her eyes.

"Here," she said, thrusting the manila folder into my hands.  "Make sure you give him this."

I nodded, vigorously.

"It's important, Callie.  For work?"

It was like she didn't trust me to give the guy a stupid manila folder.  Jeez, I wasn't a total screw-up . . . was I?  The look on her face gave me pause, but I brushed it away.  Of course Patience didn't think I was a screw-up.  You didn't introduce screw-up friends to hot guys from work.  It just wasn't done.

"I will give him this manila folder if it's the last thing I do," I said.

"Make it the first thing you do, and I'll be happy," she called over her shoulder as she walked to her door, and let herself in, leaving me alone in the hall.

Something niggled at the back of my mind.  I tried to ignore it, push it to the nether regions of memory where the boogey man and the My Little Pony Universe still resided from childhood, but suddenly the thought would not be laid to rest.

"Oh Jesus!" I choked out, making a desperate run for the stairs.

What had I been thinking!!  I let the blind date guy come right into the building when I knew for sure that a big scary monster was taking up residence in the lobby! And it was all  just because I wanted to look hot!  I was a screw-up, after all!

 

I took the stairs two at a time, my kitten heels double clacking so loudly behind me that it sounded like the Easy Spirit basketball team was overrunning the stairwell. 

"Shit," I said under my breath, as I almost went down the third flight, head first.

I reached the bottom of the last set of stairs after what seemed like an eternity.  My hair was in my face, and my cheeks were red from exertion, but I had made it.  I was almost in the lobby, and I was gonna save my blind date if it killed me.

"Get away, foul beastie!" I screamed as I leapt off the last step, my velocity pushing me toward the front doors.  I felt a sudden lurch, and suddenly I was falling face forward, the cool, green marble tile of the front lobby coming toward my unprotected face at amazing speed.

I felt two strong hands grab me from behind, and instead of hitting the floor face first like I had predicted, I was suddenly on my feet, kitten heels making one loud, final clack as I caught my balance.

"Thank you," I said, as I looked up into the face of my savior.  My blind date . . . Brian.

"You're welcome," he said, smiling.  "That was almost a bloodbath."

He was shorter than me.  That was the first thing I noticed.  Shorter and fatter than me, with a large head, and small round John Lennon glasses perched low on his long nose.  If he had been maybe seven inches taller, I might have been thanking Patience, instead of cursing her heartily in my head.

"You're . . . Brian?" I said, weakly.  He nodded, happily.

Oh, God, I thought to myself.

"This is for you," I said, thrusting the manila folder into his chubby hands.  He took the folder, flipping through it, before smiling back up at me.  It was obvious that he was smitten.  I was probably the most attractive female he'd ever touched.

"You didn't see a big dinosaur looking monster down here when you first came in, did you?"

 I looked around the lobby, but whatever I had seen earlier was long gone.  I couldn't believe I had spent the entire afternoon hidden in the bathroom waiting for animal control because I was losing my mind, and seeing things that were obviously not real. 

Brian gave me a quizzical look, but shook his head.

"Sorry, no dinosaurs.  But I did see a cowboy in his underwear playing a guitar in Times Square."

 

Since Brian had saved me from certain facial disfigurement, I went to dinner with him.  He was a nice guy.  Short, but nice.

I was gonna kill Patience . . . right before I checked into Bellevue.

 

Death's Daughter © Amber Benson and Ace Books, a division of Penguin Books. Please do not reproduce.