Cupid’s Arrow

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen,

of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be

when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.

-- J.R.R. Tolkien

This Maide was sole ador'd, Venus displeas'd,

Might in this Virgin onely be appeas'd:

The people in the street to her would bow,

And as she past along, would Garlands strow.

Venus at this conceiv'd a jealous ire,

For heavenly minds burne with an earthly fire.

--A Morall Poem, The Legend of Cupid and Psyche, by Shackerley Marmion

* * *

The fire flickered and stirred in the fireplace like a red-faced devil devouring split cords of oak and casting ghostly shadows on the stone hearth. The two men reclined in soft leather armchairs in Hazma’s study—fretting over the only concern that men of their age still rated as non-trivial—how either of them would yet secure a fine lineage.

They drank healthy nips of Macallan single malt scotch from glassware bearing the inscription of the storied family name ‘Candemir’.

“Hazma, are you ready for your tournament,” Jimmy asked.

“Ahh, yes. I’m doing my final preparations…” Hazma said feigning excitement, and then trailed off into thought.

“Why so morose? You were saying,” Jimmy prodded.

“I feel strong and ready,” Hazma said, not mentioning his recent diagnosis that threatened to leave his empire in shambles. What a frivolous thing—a martial arts tournament—when there are spots on one’s liver that portend death.

“Tell me,” Jimmy said, “have your daughters Selin and Nazli had any news of any grandchildren coming your way?”

“Hasn’t Bestie told you? Both of our married daughters are infertile. Their homes are like medical laboratories. There are syringes and hormone pills everywhere. No. I think our best hope is our youngest, Ayten, but she has as much interest in marriage as I have in getting another colonoscopy.” Hazma could as much tell Ayten what to do as he could tell time to stop in its tracks. 

Ayten Candemir was a twenty-five-year-old beauty, with high cheek bones, a soft round face, expressive eyes, and a dimpled smile. Those that knew her swore that she possessed a supernatural charm and an otherworldly radiance. The fervor of everyone’s adoration for her was such that if there were an actual pantheon of gods, they would be jealous of her affections.

Erik, on the other hand, was a grotesque creature—rich, yes, but brash and uncouth, proud and spiteful, with a heaping belly that revealed his slovenly habits—it seemed that as much of a pull-yourself-up-by-the-boot-straps everyman as Jimmy might be, he had spoiled his son completely rotten.

“She is becoming quite the little fashionista. She’s working for Bela Deveraux at The House of Devereaux Boutique in Short Hills. Some of her pieces even made it onto the runway during Fashion Week—” Hamza said.

“—And she was featured in ‘201 Magazine’ with that full designer showcase… who knows, Vogue will be next!” Jimmy interrupted.

“No doubt. But sometimes I think it is her social calendar that is her driving occupation,” Hamza concluded.

“I know what you mean, my son Erik is the same way. It seems like only yesterday—that was us—and now the years have taken their toll,” Jimmy said, with a nostalgic look.

* * *

Lubin drove his Ducati motor bike down Morris Turnpike to the House of Deveraux Boutique in Short Hills, not troubled in the least by the chill November air and the fallen leaves blowing and tumbling in the early winter winds. And when he arrived, Bela was sitting in the back room in front of a cosmetic mirror, reapplying her makeup and sipping on a caramel macchiato latte with a straw, wearing a white pants suit and red blouse, looking every bit the forty-something Lindsay Ellingson.

Lubin walked in wearing distressed stonewashed jeans, a crew cut black designer t-shirt, and a black leather cowhide biker’s jacket with extra zippers and buckles, Maison bracelets on one wrist, and a Tag Heuer watch on the other, with Ray Ban shades to finish the look. He was six feet four inches tall with side-parted hair pushed up in a pompadour wave. He stood to the side of Bela without saying a word, hands in his pockets, and waited for her to address him.

“Hurry, hurry. Ayten, will be here soon,” Bela said.

“What do you need me to do?” Lubin asked.

“First, tell me my love, with all of those young ladies beating a path to your door, who is the loveliest woman of them all?” Bela pried.

“Oh, Bela, don’t fish for compliments,” Lubin said with a wry smile. “It’s unbecoming. Besides, you know it’s Ayten. Not my cup of tea, but she’s the one all the young men are swooning over these days.”

“Ayy-ten! Come off it. She’s nothing but a prudish little girl playing dress up. You can hardly call her a man killer,” Bela snarled.

“No, no, no. She’s an innocent little waif. Like, I said—not my thing. But if we are talking man killer, you take the crown Bela, hands down, no competition there,” Lubin said.

“Now be a darling and go take the Escalade and scoop up Erik Straub. I want you to freshen him up a bit and bring him down to the Posh Fashion Show at the Brownstone. I want the two of you at the table right at the end of the runway,” Bela ordered.

“What have you got up your sleeve?”

“Let me worry about that.”

* * *

Dr. Mark Jaffe, M.D. wore a cheap standard issue J. Crew suit that looked significantly sharper than what it cost. His round face was innocent like George Costanza’s from Friends, only vanishingly thin. His hair framed the bulb of his head, fluffy stuff like the cotton of a Q-tip and he carried himself with a haughty diffidence.

“What do you need Requip for Bela?” Jaffe asked.

“If someone takes this, say in their drink, they will get a dopamine and oxytocin hit as addictive as heroin, no?” Bela asked.

“Quite,” Jaffe confirmed.

“And they will be helplessly addicted to the one that they are focused on when that spark strikes?” Bela asked.

“Twelve years of research say so,” Jaffe said.

“Good,” Bela said, “then she looked down at Jaffe and said directly, “I will ensure Ayten falls for that louse Erik—a real beauty and the beast situation—and they will marry for sure, as he will eat, sleep and breathe Ayten—and she will have no defense to his entreaties, and will be worn down by the ease of his wealth” Bela revealed.

“And why would you want that,” Jaffe asked.

“Because Mark, a year with that troll and the misery of it will shrivel her into a withered shrew, and I will never have to hear again how Ayten is the apple of every boy’s eye. Her beauty will no longer be a threat to me,” Bela said.

* * *

Ayten and Erik sat next to each other at a table at the very end of the runway. Lubin sat directly across from Ayten. Erik wore a Henley and had his hair spiked with gel, looking every bit like an uncomfortable grade schooler dressed up for picture day at school, who couldn’t wait until the ordeal was over so he could rip off his dress clothes and go out and play.

“Ayten, Erik is destined for the cover of G.Q., no?” Lubin said with a chuckle.

“I guess,” Ayten said, without turning her gaze away from the runway.

Lubin did as Bela had said and poured a few drops of the drug she had given him into Ayten’s drink, a dirty Martini, straight up, with blue cheese olives. And then Lubin left so Ayten could focus her attention on Erik after she drank the drink.

Lubin went outside and smoked an American Spirit cigarette, while silently ruminating on Bela’s endless sadistic ploys, and considered his options.

When Lubin sat back down, there were two Martinis in the middle of the table.

“Which one of these is mine,” Lubin asked.

“That one,” Ayten said, pointing at the drink Lubin had spiked, without knowing it.

“Very well,” Lubin said. He then tipped his Martini glass to Ayten and each of them polished off about a third of their drink on the toast. Erik tried to get in on the toast as well, raising his Cosmo and muttering ‘chin chin,’ but no one noticed. Lubin was transfixed on the young Turkish beauty. And she didn’t mind.

* * *

“Raquel Bashemath, nice to meet you” the Executive Matchmaker said. Her hair was straightened and combed back like the train of a veil. She had sleek silver string earrings, a tasteful pendant necklace, and a white blazer over black leggings and a black blouse. 

“Come now, give me your hands, let’s see what the stars have to say,” Raquel said. “You were born under the steadfast sign of Taurus. The cosmos has granted you an innate sense of protection over your family, especially your daughter Ayten,” she said pointing at the Zodiac Wheel chart on her wall.

“Ayten, born under the passionate and adventurous sign of Aries, is guided by the dynamic energy of Mars. Her spirit burns with courage and independence; she is fiercely determined, an enigmatic alliance between Mercury and Mars.”

“Erik, a Libra--amidst the alignment of the celestial energies of Venus, a shadowy celestial body casts an ominous presence – the asteroid Damocles, which portends doom! If this union is consummated, the stars hint at a child born of a cursed constellation, possessing unparalleled power – the power to shatter and reshape the world. He would be a grotesque monster with unrelenting determination—a villain who would unsettle and overthrow your entire family line!”

“My God!” Hamza said, pulling back his hands.

“You must not allow Ayten and Erik to get together. I do, however, have some more suitable matches for you to consider…”

* * *

Lubin reclined on the sofa in the guest house of Bela Devereaux’s estate in Alpine. All he could think of was Ayten. And then she called. Lubin answered, and Ayten was in tears.

“I just got into a horrendous fight with my father. I can’t stay in my house. I need somewhere to go… anywhere,” Ayten said.

“You know I work for Bela. I live in the back in her guest house. I’m hardly ever here. You are more than welcome to come stay with me if you don’t mind a few pizza boxes and beer cans,” Lubin said.

“I highly doubt you eat pizza and drink beer,” Ayten said laughing, “can you pick me up?”

Lubin grabbed his motorcycle helmet and was out the door in moments.

* * *

Lubin had never been in love before. He traced his fingers along Ayten’s bare collar bone and charted a course down to her navel. He looked into her eyes and the glances she gave him pierced him. 

It had started out innocently enough, she had taken a shower and he had been making a sandwich in the kitchen. She had put on some music, and when she came out with the smell of her shampoo and the mist of the shower filling the room, he had been unable to keep his hands off of her.

“Oh shit,” Lubin said as the doorbell to the guest house rang. He threw on some jeans and a white t-shirt and was at the door in seconds.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bela asked Lubin.

“What do you—” Lubin said as Bela brushed past him and entered the room.

“That,” she said, pointing at Ayten, “I mean what is she doing here? That’s it… the two of you… both of you… gettt outtt. Get this girl back where she belongs before Hamza is down here with a police escort. Scat. That means now.”

Ayten grabbed her things in a hurry, and Lubin fired up his Ducati.

* * *

The next day at the House of Devereaux, Bela wasted no time getting into Ayten’s business.

“So, you and Lubin finally figured out you were members of the opposite sex! Bravo, my dear,” Bela said.

“I… I am sorry Bela… it’s just, I’ve been fighting with my father, and I had nowhere to go. No one to turn to,” Ayten explained.

“Ahhh. And you just so happened to find your way into the arms of a tall, handsome f**k boy who happens to work for me, distracting him from the important work I have for him to do?” Bela said.

“Butttt… ahh---”

“—No matter, I have something here for you,” Bela said handing Ayten an ornate oak box with golden leaf bordering the edges and forming a large symbol of a golden-skinned woman with an Indian headdress in the center. “This is a box of Parvati, the Hindu goddess of fire and renewal and the lover’s quest. There is a special powder inside which has mystical abilities. I want you to bring this to Erki’s father Jimmy. Whatever you do, do not open this box—do you hear me?” Bela ordered.

“Ok. But why do you need me to do this—why not ask Lubin?”

“Oh, this is very important. Lubin is coming with you. Now, get out of here, the two of you and try to keep your hands off one another, will you?” Bela said.

* * *

They had stopped at Enzzo’s Trattoria for a bite. Ayten was in the bathroom examining the box. She was mesmerized by the artistry of the hand cut wood and the curves and relief of the portrayal of the swaying goddess adorned in flames. Unable to help herself, she opened the box and a cloud of the white Requel powder hit her in the face.

Ayten felt herself becoming dizzy and feint and called for Lubin. Ayten was in and out of consciousness, but as she looked into Lubin’s eyes, she saw something she had not seen before, something she couldn’t stop looking at.

Lubin knew he had to get back to Bela, to keep her off their trail, and he needed to get this box to Erik’s father to avert suspicion. So, he brought Ayten back to his apartment at Elmwood Village in Paterson, which he more or less used as storage at this point.

Then Lubin was off to Jimmy’s while Ayten slept.

* * *

Later that night, Lubin checked-in on Ayten and she was awake.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, falling into Lubin’s arms, “you have the most wonderful smile! The loveliest jawline.” As she said this, she gave him a playful peck and did a small pirouette. 

“What will I ever do with you?”

“I guess, you’ll have to lock me up in a tower like Rapunzel, to keep me away from all the other girls,” he said.

“You wouldn’t dare! If any one of them so much as looks at you, I will murder her. And you will have to break me out of jail,” she said.

And at that moment, Ayten’s phone rang. It was her father.

“You must stay away from Jimmy’s boy Erik,” he said. “You know you cannot marry him, right? He is not a good match. His family is not of the same station as ours.”

“But father, weren’t you just encouraging me to spend time with him a few days ago?” Ayten asked.

“Forget what I said. I am telling you now. Stay away from that boy! That’s an order!” Hazma said.

* * *

“You are saying the matchmaker told you Ayten is cursed,” Selin asked.

“No, no. She said if she marries Erik, their child will be a monster,” Hazma clarified.

“Ayten can’t get married,” Nazli said, “unless she chooses me as her maid of honor that is!”

“Give me a break Naz, I’m her favorite,” Selin chuckled.

“She won’t come back because I threw her out. She is over at Bela’s staying with that lackey of hers in his spare room. I need you two to go talk to her… talk some sense into her… get her to come home where I can keep watch over her.”

* * *

When Ayten came to the door of Bela’s guest house, Nazli and Selin were there.

“Father wants you to come home,” they said.

“But he is impossible. Always in my business,” Ayten said. As she was saying this, Lubin walked past behind her, and both of their heads leaned to the right and they stood on their tiptoes to catch a glimpse.

“He is just afraid you’ll end up with that creep, Erik,” they said, “and have little troll babies or something… he’s been to see a mystic that scared the bejesus out of him,” they said. At that moment, Lubin walked back past again, and they both leaned to the left and craned their necks to catch a glimpse.

“Oh fine, I will come home… is he having some kind of big feast or something?” Ayten asked.

“You know he is! Who is that delicious arm-candy? Bring him with you!”

* * *

“A toast,” Hazma said, “to Ayten… and Lubin!”

“Ahh, that is the thing sir,” Lubin said. “I know it is a bit sudden, but I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” Ayten looked at Lubin in amazement and took his hand.

“I’ve heard you are quite the hell raiser,” Hazma said, “will you be true to my little girl?”

“I will,” Lubin said.

“Then let it be so! Chin Chin.” 

And they all toasted to Lubin and Ayten.

THE END