by RoZita

WARNING: ANYONE TAKING THIS STORY SERIOUSLY WILL GET A "Z" HACKED INTO THEIR LOWER EXTREMITIES WHICH WILL NOT BE EASILY EFFACEABLE!!!

Ovid told it much better, but...

In the beginning, Aphrodite, the goddess of love, got the hots for the handsomest mortal on earth, Adonis. He was more gorgeous than any of the gods on Olympus, even Ares, god of war, who was a real babe-a-loolah. The only mortal guy who even ran Adonis a close second was his cousin Narcissus. Aphrodite once had a thing for Narcissus too, but she gave up on him because he was always stopping to peer into every mirror and body of water he came to, turning his comely Grecian profile this way and that to see which was his best side till she finally got fed up and turned him into a flower. Not so Adonis, who rarely looked at a mirror even to see how great his bod looked in those skimpy boar skins which he wore not to show off, but because they were cheap and comfortable.

Adonis loved to hunt, and even more than hunting he loved his girlfriend Rose. She was not so beautiful as Aphrodite, perhaps, but Adonis preferred her to the love goddess since she was far less, uh, narcissistic--Aph being much too given to prancing around in as little as she could get away with, shaking her bootie, singing off-color songs and cutting her eyes at every attractive male who came her way like the slutty horndog she was.

Well, one day when Adonis was on one of his hunting trips, Aph finally hit on him. She tried every seduction trick at her disposal, but he didn't respond, perhaps thinking how hurt his beloved Rose would be if she were to find out. Finally Aph flounced away and proclaimed to all who would listen that Adonis was, as she put it, "a gay blade." Can you imagine how disappointed many a Grecian youth was to find that she was lying?

Not long after, tragedy struck. Adonis was killed by a wild boar. How it happened no one knows for sure. Maybe Ares was pissed because Adonis was the only male who out-hunked him and sent the boar to tear apart his rival. Maybe Aph did it because she figured if SHE couldn't have Adonis, then by Zeus nobody else was going to either. Then again, perhaps the boar itself became incensed at the sight of the young man flaunting the skin of one of his fellow beast on his manly loins.

Whatever the reason, there was great mourning. Aph was very broken up, even though she was probably the one responsible, and finally she turned his body into a rosebush. (She had quite a thing about turning guys into flowers.) The bush was named after his girlfriend Rose, which derives from the Greek word for "classy chick."

You are now wondering, "What the hell's all this Greek mythology stuff got to do with Zorro?" Bear with me, I'm getting to that!

Aph never really got over Adonis's death. But it was well over a millennium before she finally came up with an idea, being a blonde and all. Round about the middle of the twentieth century, it occurred to her that she could do better than a mere rosebush, so she decided to reincarnate him in the form of a man. By this time she had been around quite a bit, and since she thought Spanish accents were sexy, she decided to have him born in Spain. She endowed him with all the attributes of the original Adonis and then some, and she had him named Antonio, which derives from the Greek word for "major studmuffin." She made him a filmstar, then made another attempt on his person, disguising herself as a mortal woman this time. But she had no better luck than before. Maybe she just wasn't his type.

Meanwhile, another female had discovered him. She first beheld his hunkish person on her TV screen, and something about him captivated her totally. It wasn't just his stunning good looks, or his melodious voice, nor his adorable accent. It was the feeling that she knew him from somewhere. In another life, perhaps?

Her name was Rose.

Eventually it became RoZita, 'cause she was a Zorro fan from the time she was a little kid. All her life she had a strange fixation on the letter Z. It was the first letter she learned to write instead of A like all the other kids, and she would take a crayon and write Z's all over everything, the walls, sheets, etc. She wished she could take fencing lessons, but those were never available where she lived. When she was well into womanhood, she rediscovered the Z-man, first in the dashing person of Douglas Fairbanks, and then…

Caramba!!!

The Mask of Zorro instantly became her favorite movie. She would watch the video with her trust roll of paper towels handy to wipe her chin, making profound and weighty comments to her cat such as, "I wish he would come up and 'Z' me sometime," and "Would he still be just as sexy without that accent?" And "Oh those eyes, those lips...How can he even THINK of covering up that face?"

One day a fateful encounter brought her closer to her hero than she would ever have dreamed possible. She was taking a walk when she came upon a young boy being tormented by a couple of teenaged bullies. The cherubic-looking little boy wore a red t-shirt with a picture of a white dove on it, and he held a heart-shaped candy box in one hand.

"Hey candy-ass," the biggest and ugliest boy sneered, giving the small boy a shove, "did your boyfriend give you that for Valentine's day?"

"Maybe it's for you," the other bully said. "Maybe he's got the hotsies for you. Candygram for Mongo! Candygram for Mongo!"

They both roared with laughter. Now was her chance as RoZita glanced at her W.W.Z.D. bracelet (three guesses what THAT stands for!)

"What do you two big brave souls think you're doing?" she demanded of the bullies.

"Ah, mind your own beeswax, grandma," the bigger one snapped.

"I'll 'grandma' YOU in a minute, peckerwood," declared RoZita with her unfailing flair for devastating comebacks, snatching up a long sharp stick off the ground and brandishing it.

'Peckerwood'?" the other boy said, then they both chuckled. She hacked the sign of the Z with her stick right on the largish belly of the biggest boy, crying, "Tomalo, pendejo!" That quenched their laughter cold.

"Hey!" hollered "Mongo." "I'm gonna sue. My dad is an attorney, and you're gonna lose your ass."

"Your dad is not an attorney, Einstein," said the little boy. "Your dad doesn't even exist, and neither do you. I'm getting tired of looking at both of you cosmetically challenged buttwipes." With that he jerked his pretty blond little head, and both the bullies vanished right into thin air!

RoZita drew back in astonishment. "Am I on Candid Camera?" she mused, vaguely recalling a line from an old Bill Cosby routine.

"No," said the little boy with a wide dimply smile, holding out a hand to her. "I want to thank you for coming to my aid. The name's Cupid, by the way."

"Cupid?" RoZita wondered what kind of parents would be cruel enough to stick their male offspring with such a moniker. No wonder he was such a target for bullies. On the other hand, the name did seem oddly fitting.

"Yep," said the boy, and suddenly he began to grow before RoZita's astounded eyes until the form of a handsome, winged young man stood before her!

"Holy crap," she said with more vehemence than finesse. "Toto, I'm definitely not in Kansas any more, not that I ever was."

"I've been watching you for some time, RoZita," Cupid said in his considerably deepened voice. "My mother, Aphrodite, played a cruel trick on you long ago, and for ages I've been wanting to set it right. You see, back in ancient Greece, you had a former life, and you were the beloved of a certain young stud named Adonis. But my mother became insanely jealous and turned him into a bush. Not long ago, however, she reincarnated him in the form of a man. I think you know who he is."

"Oh my god." RoZita felt dizzy.

"Of course," continued Cupid, "there's no way I can reunite you with him, since he's now happily married. My mother arranged that too--since she couldn't get him herself, she gave him a love potion that made him fall hopelessly in love with a woman who bears a slight resemblance to you, just to make sure YOU'D never get him. I can't undo that. But I think there might be a way. It will change your whole life. You may have to live in a totally different era, one not exactly dripping with political correctness, if you catch my drift, where you may be beset with constant danger. Are you ready for such a drastic change?"

"Change my whole LIFE?" RoZita almost screamed. "You call what I'm living a LIFE? Working at that crappy store doing the same crappy freakin' thing day in and day out, too tired and mad at the end of the day to do anything but vege out in front of the TV with my cat, trying to be a writer on my days off with crappy outdated Macintosh and never getting anywhere with it? If that's life, baby, then cancel my subscription."

It was a lame joke, but this situation was soooo weird, it was the best she could do under the circumstances!

"Okeydokey," said Cupid in his mischievously cheerful way. "SO, which is your favorite character of his? Like I don't already know, duh."

"Why, Zorro, of course. But how…"

"You got it, cupcake. But there's just one thing..."

"What, I have to be in by midnight or something?" RoZita sighed, thinking, I might have known there was a catch.

"No. But listen up: you have to make the viewers accept you. If you can't, then the spell will be broken. You'll be back at WalMart, watching TV with your cat after hours and trying to be a writer with your crappy outdated Macintosh, same as before. Think you could do it?"

"Make viewers accept me?" RoZita laughed. "I have no idea. But I'll certainly give it a try. What have I got to lose?"

"Only your heart...But all right. And remember, you've only got till the end of the picture. If they don't accept you by the closing credits, then you're back where you started."

"Wait," she said. "Excuse me if I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth, but why are you doing this? You didn't really need my help with those guys—that was all a setup. What's in this for you?"

"Well, I WOULD kinda like to get my mother back," Cupid admitted, looking sheepishly at the candy box. "After she was so mean to my wife, Psyche, just because Psych was more beautiful than she was. Mom can be merry hell when she gets a bee in her nonexistent bloomers. I'd really like to teach her a lesson. But don't think that just because I'm a god I do EVERYTHING with selfish motives. I'd like to help you out. You seem a woman who believes in the impossible, and I've always liked that."

"Ha! Don't give me too much credit in THAT department," RoZita said.

Cupid smiled and opened his candy box.

"We'll see," he said. She expected him to make some philosophical observation about life being like a box of chocolates, but he didn't.

He glanced at the lid, which bore a picture of a much younger, chubbier, more scantily clad version of himself with his signature bow and arrow, surrounded by the expected pink clouds and rosebuds, with a self-deprecating grin. "Pretty dorky, isn't it? Those Victorian artists always put about ten pounds on you."

He took something out of the box, something that looked like a rosebud, almost purple in color. Like the purple rose of Memphis, or whatever.

"Eat this," he said handing it to her. She frowned.

"I'm supposed to eat a flower?" But she took it and nibbled at it, and found it was the most delicious candy she had ever tasted. It was like an orgasm for the mouth. Everything around her swirled in a dreamcloud of purple, peach, turquoise, emerald, crimson, and fiery golden scarlet glory, the breeze like swan's down against her skin.

"Pretty tasty, hm?" Cupid said. "That's the flavor of love."

She hardly heard him. What she did hear was angel voices, symphonic swells of rapture, harp strings, bells, ethereal flutes, kettle drums and trumpet lasts. Certain that she was on heaven's portals, if not in a Duncan Hines commercial, she felt obliged to whisper one last message: "Rosebud..."

****

Trisha, Pam, and Lupé were all gathered in Trisha's living room in front of the nice big 31" TV with a fresh platter of nachos courtesy of Lupé, who made the best Mexican food north of the border. All three were Banderas fans, and they were having a nacho party and mini-film festival. Bobby, Trisha's husband, was morosely consigned to the bedroom watching "WWF Raw" on the little 19" Panasonic. He thought of going over to the home of one of his buds to watch it on a bigger screen with a better picture, but he was too zonked from his construction job. He'd wanted to tape the wrestling match but this damn VCR was on the fritz and of course he couldn't watch it in the living room with all the chicks drooling over whatever the hell that Spanish dude's name was.

He could hear that they were on The Mask of Zorro now, by the sound of the music, and he thought he might just mosey on into the kitchen and get a peek at that Catherine Zeta Jones babe. He used to be pretty keen on Cindy Crawford, but lately he had sort of thrown her over for the even more delectable Ms. Jones. Not that he made a big deal about it, but he could go get a peek at her without looking like he would ever sit and watch such an obvious chick flick all the way through. All he'd have to do was saunter into the kitchen on the pretext of getting himself a nice cold brewsky, then watch from the doorway. God, he sure would like to see her naked...

They had come to the party scene where Alejandro is disguised as a Spanish aristocrat and is about to meet the lovely Elena. Bobby opened the fridge with an eye cocked toward the three amigas, who were all too busy watching to notice him. He could see that little Mexi-cutie Lupé, leaning forward so he could see her bra plain as daylight. (It was fuchsia, with lace.)

"I would love to get naked with him," she whispered. Bobby almost dropped his can of beer although he knew perfectly well she wasn't talking about HIM. "He would not have to cut MY dress off, si claro."

Pam said, "I wish they showed him with wet hair in this one. He looks soooo sexy with wet hair. And I wish he'd sing, I just love his voice. You'd think he could serenade her with the guitar and stuff under her window or something, didn't they used to do that?"

"Shhh," Trisha said, and Bobby held his breath, almost praying that she wouldn't say SHE wanted to get naked with Antonio too. "He's fixing to do the rose thing. I LOVE it when he does the rose thing!"

All three young women hushed. Bobby wondered what she meant by the rose thing.

It was when Alejandro magically makes the rose appear and presents it to Elena. A cute trick, thought Bobby, but why did those chicks make such a big deal of it? Go figure.

Then he heard them scream.

He did drop his Bud then.

[Here, with apologies, the author must beg the reader's permission to slip into something more comfortable... namely, first person.]

The next thing I knew, I was standing before HIM. He was all dressed up in that red, white and blue outfit, and I thought I would swoon right there. It was HIM, my Adonis, my Alejandro, my Antonio, I knew as soon as he plucked the rose from the air and presented it to me that I could never go back to where I was before.

I could feel myself blushing furiously until it was a wonder you could tell which was me and which was the rose. All I could do was stand there with a dopey grin on my face as my drop-dead-gorgeous caballero stood waiting for me to respond to his enchanting gesture. The other, my so-called father and his dandified Dons, stood about also until I knew I had to say SOMETHING before I made a complete fool of myself! But what?

I remembered Cupid's admonition that I had to make the viewers accept me or my darling Alejandro would not be mine for long. I was all too aware that I would have to fill the shoes of the ravishing Ms. Zeta Jones, and who could ever hope to do that?

Then my rightful father, our dear Don Diego de la Vega, Zorro the First, looked straight at me with eyes full of love and pride, and longing, and an unthinkable sadness. Here was the daughter he had lost, standing not ten feet away from him, perhaps forever out of his reach. What could have gone through his poor mind all those years as I was growing up a whole world away while he languished in that horrendous prison? I could only imagine.

No, I couldn't. I could only try.

But the look he gave me inspired me, gave me poise. I was determined to shine, to be worthy, to win not only the approval of the viewers but to make up to him what had happened. Then things would work out for all of us ... I devoutly hoped.

Oh Cupid, help me!

****

"WHO THE HELL IS THAT?" Trisha shrieked as Bobby stooped to pick up the fallen beer. "That's not HER!!!"

"Holy crap," whispered Pam. "That's not..."

"Catherine Zeta Jones?" Trisha fairly snarled. "If that's Catherine Zeta Jones, I'm Julia Roberts. Lupé Gonzales, what the hell is in these nachos? You didn't slip some marijuana in them, did you?"

Lupé muttered something in Spanish that it would perhaps be best not to reproduce here, although normally she was a sweet-tempered person who didn't use that kind of language.

Bobby stood dumbfounded, staring at the woman who had somehow taken over the person of the divine Ms. Jones. This one didn't even come close (like: who DID?) He had drunk only one beer before this one; how was it possible?

****

"What a charming trick," I said in my smoothest tones, with a coquettish little laugh that I hoped sounded aristocratic, as I took the crimson flower and breathed its perfume, felt its velvety petals as though they were his lips touching my hand. "Was one of your ancestors a rosebush, perhaps?"

Alejandro smiled--oh what a smile! How did any woman keep from falling down dead in his presence?

"Perhaps so," he said gallantly. "One never knows, does one? But, you, senorita..."

"That DIALOGUE!!!" Pam barely refrained from throwing her glass of iced tea at the screen. "'Was one of your ancestors a rosebush perhaps?' What the HELL kind of idiotic line is that?"

"And talk about your fashion victims," Trisha moaned. "Think she could stand to show a little more cleavage? She looks like she's got her butt on her chest."

"Ayyy," growled Lupé, "if she did, she would fall flat on her face with every step."

As I gazed into his fabulous, smoldering eyes and impossibly handsome face, a strange desire to sing overtook me. I even head the orchestra give an introductory note, and I sang:

It seems we stood and talked like this before
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I can't remember where or when ...
The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I can't remember where or when ...

My hero looked at me in wonder. "What a lovely song. Who is it by? Andrew Lloyd..."

I smiled tenderly: such a guy thing, wanting to know the workings of everything.

"Rodgers and Hammerstein," I replied. "No no, not Hammerstein, the other guy, ah..."

Before I could think, Alejandro sang:

The things that happened for the first time
Seem to be happening again ...

"Lorenz Hart," I snapped my fingers. Then we both sang:

And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before
And loved before But who knows where or when?

"He's singing, at least," Pam said, clasping her hands together in spite of the nacho in them. "God, I just LOVE his voice!"

Well. It looked like I had almost won over at least one viewer. But one would not be nearly enough.

****

"Cupid," I whispered off camera as Alejandro went to sit at the table with his "servant," while the orchestra played its rousing dance music, "do something. Please. Can't you make me look more like her? Or at least slimmer?"

"Sorry, no can do," Cupid whispered back, invisible. "That would be cheating. You have to win them over on your own, just as you are."

"But that's impossible. People never truly accept you for yourself. You can never hope to please them by being who you really are. And I'm no actress, although I've played a few bit parts in some amateur musical productions. I've had no real training. And when it comes time to dance! Oh god, what have I let myself in for? Come on, I'm a REAL woman, and people don't watch movies of this nature to see real people. They want to see those who are much better looking than average, who are braver, nobler, smarter, funnier, wittier, and lead more interesting lives than people in everyday life. And I'm hardly any of those things."

"Well ... that's sorta true," Cupid admitted. "But maybe you should worry less about pleasing the crowd and more about gaining HIM. That's what you really want, right?"

"Right, but didn't you say I have to make them accept me in order to keep him?"

"Yes. But the first step in that direction is to gain HIS esteem, right? The song was a good start. And your realness just might work to your advantage, at that. But wait, this might help."

The love god became visible, dressed in a Spanish grandee costume that oddly suited his cherub face and golden curls, holding the candy box. He took another something out of it, another rosebud, colored amber this time.

"But don't expect it to taste like the other," he said. "And remember: Charm."

"Cute," I said, then bit into the rosebud. Ugh, it tasted horrible! Like straight bourbon laced with absinthe, with an anchovy or something even worse mixed in. I grimaced as I swallowed it. It sure wasn't going to sweeten my expression!

But once it was down, it made me feel strange, giddy, almost drunk. The feeling was that of confidence. I glanced down at myself. My costume seemed better fitting somehow, more becoming. I did feel a bit slimmer.

"You go, girl!" Cupid said, giving me a playful slap on the rear. I was about to say, Wasn't that sexual harassment or something, but it wasn't exactly the time or place for it. It was my cue to walk over to Alejandro's table and ask him to join me and my "father" at ours.

****

"You know," Lupé said, "I'm kinda glad it's not her. Now maybe Carlos won't be gawking at her so much."

"That's not Melanie, is it?" Pam asked.

"Of course not," Trisha said, in sort of a daze. "Melanie's a blonde, and that woman's a brunette."

"Maybe she's wearing a wig," Pam said. "It does look kinda like her. Just a little. Only, of course, nowhere near as skinny."

"No way," Trisha insisted. "Trust me, that is sooo not her."

"Then who is it?"

"How the hell do I know. I never saw her before. But I wish she'd get the hell of the screen and let Catherine take over."

Bobby wished the same thing. On the other hand, he was almost glad she was diverting so much of Trisha's attention away from the dashing Antonio.

Then he felt a strong need to pay homage to the porcelain god. By the time he got back from the john, the dance scene had begun.

****

A strange fever had taken me over. Part of it may have had something to

do with the candy or drug, or whatever it was, I had eaten. But there was more to it as I danced with him. I was filled with delirium, a recklessness beyond anything I had ever experienced. I whirled, I told stories with my body, my arms, my feet. Alejandro's beautiful eyes followed me like flaming arrows, piercing me through, awakening a world of cosmic possibilities. I was reborn, transported to a realm that had nothing to do with my previous life. It was the world of the impossible, of contradictions, of orchestrated madness, opening to me, crowning me, bidding me welcome ... and imprisoning me even so. It was the point of no return.

The music ended, and I paused breathless, scarcely hearing what the others were saying. Alejandro looked at me with eyes full of fiery questions, his luscious lips and hands moving toward mine as though my mouth contained a string that linked him to me. I leaned forward to kiss him although it wasn't' in the script, but I was all past caring about that. In fact, it wasn't a script anymore, it was the only reality.

"She CAN dance, can't she?" Pam admitted. "She's pretty darn good."

"Yeah," Trisha said. Bobby nodded almost involuntarily. Lupé seemed in a trance.

Bobby soon had to pee again, and by the time he got back the scene in the stable had begun. (He always timed his returns to the kitchen to coincide with the reappearance of Catherine the Great.)

*****

As I walked away from Don Diego and the beautiful black horse, I was puzzled. I thought about how his eyes looked at me with so much tenderness and yearning, and I suddenly wanted to weep. How could anyone love me that much? He didn't even know me. What could I have done to deserve it? It almost made me feel guilty. I was not worthy of him or anyone else, for the simple reason that I was not all I could be. I was incomplete. Yet my father did not care, he only cared that I was myself. I would never matter so profoundly to anyone else, not even Alejandro.

But once more I was bolstered, I grew inside, and as I walked out into the sunshine the whole scene had ceased to be a movie set; once more it was reality. I had truly begun to come into being. No, I was wrong about being real before; I had never been real then. I was real now. Suddenly I heard the pounding of hoofbeats. I took it to be a runaway horse and made a motion to jump out of its way, when I was that it was that same black stallion, this time with a rider: Zorro! Yes, it wasn't in the script either, but as I said previously, it had long since ceased to be a script.

My hero scooped me up in one arm. I gave a startled little screech as he swept me up on the horse's back behind him. Now, although I like horses, I've never been much for riding. I prefer to watch other people ride. But I was not the person I was before, and now I was behind my man, and I was not afraid. In fact, it was like the dance sequence multiplied by ten. Maybe what the Freudians say about horses being phallic symbols has some validity after all. There is something so dangerously sensuous about a black stallion, especially when you are riding on one seated behind a black-clad man in a long cape and mask, a silver-studded belt, a gleaming silver sword, razor sharp, thrust through it, a being who seemed a mere extension of the horse, one spirit with the beast itself. I wrapped my arms around his lean muscular torso and pressed my cheek against his shoulder. How warm he was, how alive, what energy he radiated!

We rose through the street until we were well out of the city limits and in the countryside. I nearly died of bliss as I ran my hands over his body in its open-chested shirt, feeling his hot sweaty skin, the curling chest hair, the tense flexing male musculature. Oh god, how could I ever go back to my former life? This was no adolescent-type vaporing over some screen idol who had no awareness of my existence, this was real. Just as I had grown inside, so our story had grown beyond the confines of the script. We were one.

We came to a partly wooded area gleaming green and gold and silver in the dazzling sunlight, flowers (yellow poppies, blue lupine, wild roses, and yes, rominia) flecking the hillsides, a streamlet whispering and bubbling nearby. The fresh, spicy fragrance of the flowers, grass and pine needles was intoxicating. It was there that he brought the horse to a halt beneath a tall stand of pines. And he slowly removed the mask.

"Alejandro," I whispered, like I didn't know already who he was. "My Adonis."

"Yes," he said, "I knew when you sang that song. We are soulmates, we have been so since ancient times, and we were destined to be together forever. No one, not even death, can take that away from us now." "Yes." I thought perhaps I should reprise the song. It seemed the right thing to do aesthetically, and besides it emanated quite naturally from me:

And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before
And loved before
But who knows where or when?

He sang the last line along with me. "Where is that backup music coming from?" he asked, and we laughed. Our lips began to move together, when a sudden shout startled us apart.

"Caramba! We are not alone," Alejandro said with a fierce frown.

****

"Oh God," gasped Pam, as she watched Zorro and Elena/roZita come together under the trees, "I thought this was supposed to be a PG-13. Don't tell me it's going to turn into NC-17!"

"Or triple X," groaned Trisha. "What are they THINKING?"

Then to Bobby's utter amazement, Zorro looked right out the TV screen, saying as he brandished his sword, "No, it's rated Z, for Zorro!"

And "Elena" looked out also laughing, "Yes, and Z--for RoZita!"

"God what a bimbo," snapped Pam. "She can't even f***ing spell."

"If she gets naked with him," whispered Lupé, "I will be throwing up for the rest of my mortal life."

Bobby thought otherwise. This woman, while still a far cry from Catherine Zeta Jones looks-wise, was starting to grow on him. She looked like she could hell on wheels between the sheets. She was all woman. There was a fiery glow about her that made her seem more beautiful than she really was. In fact, she was almost a female Zorro.

An animal and a goddess rolled up into one.

He opened the kitchen door all the way, and entered the living room to watch the rest of the movie.

****

We walked to the road, shielding our eyes from the sun, and looked about to see who dared disturb our rendezvous. Then I beheld some cavalrymen in the valley below, including Captain Love--that blond hair really stood out, like Cupid's. The soldiers appeared to be having a picnic! The captain was sitting off to himself, looking a bit sulky as he ate something out of a bowl, some kind of fruit it looked like. Grapes maybe. I glanced at Alejandro, who looked positively revolted.

"What is he eating?" I asked.

"Eyeballs," replied Alejandro through clenched teeth.

"Eyeballs?" I choked. "Please tell me you're kidding. I know Californians will eat anything that doesn't eat them first, but still, eyeballs, that is sooooo gross. . . "

"I wish I were kidding. But those are human eyeballs. And what do you think he is eating with them?"

"Chianti and fava beans?"

"Tofu," he spat the word out in the tone one would use to say, "Mierda!" "But what can one expect of such a cabron? Come, querida, let us leave this place. It has been violated by such evilness and abominable taste."

"Isn't that the man who killed your brother?" I was afraid he would try to take on the captain with all those soldiers around, with whom not even he would stand a chance. It was a hero thing. "You're not going to rush out and kill him now, are you?" I looked askance as his hand reached for his sword.

"No, no, is not the time yet," he said, replacing the weapon in its sheath. Then he touched the silver medallion he wore, with its nice art-deco design of concentric circles. "He will move into my circle, I need not pursue him, just as my dear master taught me. The readiness is all."

"Hamlet," I said with a delighted smile to find that my hunkadero was literary. I knew then that I need not worry about the viewers. They would come into my circle also. I was progressing into bigger and bigger circles throughout the picture.

We walked back to where Tornado was cropping the grass and flowers. And dear readers, it was there that we

Yes, it was there that we . . .

Oh God yes, it was there that we . . .

kissed.

There have been five great kisses in the history of . . .

Oh heck, never mind. That's already been done.

Damn, I just have to say it anyway. This one left them all behind. It was el beso de todos besos, when his lips clamped down on mine, oh it was the biggest circle of all, encompassing all earth, and that other region that went beyond even heaven itself, just as his arms encompassed me, as mine enveloped him. It was the kiss we invented in our former life, yes, we invented the kiss in our Arcadian paradise so long ago in that golden age, uniting us forever, and not even the gods could separate us now. Our love went too deep. I could feel the vibrations of his body pressed against mine, a cataclysm, a falling of angels, an apocalypse, an apotheosis, as his hands moved all over my body, trembling, his lips touching my throat, kisses like burning rain. I tasted ambrosia and chocolate (like water for it) and now he was kissing me just above the low neck of my blouse. My hands found their way into his dark curly sweat-damp hair, exploring that delicious darkness, my lips found the little vein in his forehead, fluttering against it, my tongue caressing it playfully, a groan issued from his throat and he big me hard, I cried out in such ecstasy…

And only one thing could follow such kisses…

"Um, er, I hate to be a spoilsport," a familiar voice stammered nearby as we sank to the soft grass, "but this isn't exactly improving your viewership. There are screams and wails of outrage heard in the land."

It was Cupid, of course, dressed in a Mexican peasant costume. His expression was sad. I stood up, straightening the neckline of my blouse.

"Who is this?" Alejandro hissed, looking ready to strike the intruder down. Then recognition lit his perfect features.

"The name's Cupid," said the love god, extending a hand to my hero. "I already know your. But I'm pleased to meet you in this incarnation, Adon--er, Don Alejandro."

"I will not leave him," I declared, a lump rising in my throat. "No matter what the viewers think. They can't tear me away from him. I WON'T leave, never never never!"

"I wish I had better news," Cupid sighed. "A good many viewers were starting to warm up to you, but you went and ruined it with this, ah…" "No!" cried Alejandro, clasping me in his arms. He was all aflame, and had never looked more breathtaking. "I will never let her go. She is mine, and all the gods in the world can never tear us apart! We were born to be together. We invented love itself. If you separate us, you will kill the one thing that makes life bearable for the entire human race. Not just for us, but for the whole world! What chance does a mere god stand against a pair of lovers? Tear us apart, and you raze the foundations of life itself. Do you really want to do that? To destroy the most sacred thing there is? The thing that ensures the survival of humankind?"

Cupid looked slightly daunted, but stood his ground.

"It's not a matter of wanting to," he sighed. "But you see, the viewers won't stand for change, for anything that does not meet their expectations. I'm sorry, but you're up against the impossible, you--"

"The impossible?" I cried. "But you told me I had to believe in it!"

Cupid shook his yellow head, glancing sadly heavenward. "I've simply got to stop saying things like that. You see, RoZita…"

"See nada!" Alejandro whipped out his sword and slashed a big Z across the front of Cupid's shirt. Cupid jumped back aghast.

"I just bought this!" he wailed.

****

"I can't stand it," Lupé cried tearfully, jumping up from the couch, spilling her Diet Coke, but she didn't upright it. "I can't bear to watch them be pulled apart! Will it really destroy the foundations of true love forever?"

"That's what Antonio said," Pam pointed out, "so you see it must be true."

"But what can we do?" Trisha said. "Yes, we can't let them be pulled apart. What will happen to us all?"

Bobby leaned forward in his armchair, reaching for the remote. He hit the pause button.

"You'll just have to accept her, ladies," he said. "You know, there IS something special about her. They seem to belong together, you know? It would be a shame to see them torn apart."

He didn't like the idea of the most sacred thing being destroyed either. What would keep Trisha with him, and what would he ever do without her? What was a shadow on the screen compared to a real woman?

And now Trisha was looking at him in wonder, like she could hardly believe it was him saying all this. It was kind of weird, at that. But the emotion in her eyes was unmistakable.

She loved him. He was her real man.

"Of course we accept her," declared Lupé, snatching the remote out of his hand. "She is our sister. What she has, we all share. Am I right, Chicas?"

"Yes," Trisha said, and Pam, after a very slight hesitation, said "Yes," also.

"And you know," Trisha pointed out, "HE still looks the same. He looks even better. Anybody who makes him look like THAT is OK with me."

"And he has wet hair too," sighed Pam.

"All right then!" Lupe said, hitting the play button so the picture resumed.

****

"Hark!" Cupid cupped a hand to his hear. "Could it be that the hills are alive with the sound of approbation?"

"No," said another, more feminine voice, "it's just me…son."

A tall, beautiful woman stepped from behind a stand of bushes. She wore a filmy rose-colored robe and very little else, her hair hanging long and gold and shimmery down her back. There was something of the sea about her, her skin sand-fair, her cheeks shell pink, her eyes blue as the deepest part of the ocean.

"Mom," Cupid said in stunned wonder. "What are you doing here?"

"Exsqueeze me, but I've been like…watching." Aphrodite lowered her eyes in a contrite manner. "And I've like finally seen that, well…I was like totally off base or something? I'm really sorry for my little attitude about Psyche. It's just that she was like totally bumming me out with her looks and all? You know what I mean?"

"I have some idea." Cupid rolled up his eyes. A shiver of fear zipped through me. Had she come to perpetrate some other disaster on us?

"And well, I'm like the kind of goddess who only wants what she can't have," Aphrodite explained. "And when I can't have something, I get like totally . . ."

"I think I know what you mean," I said. "I'm kind of that way myself."

I didn't say, "But I don't send out wild beasts to kill people when I can't get my own way." I thought it, though!

"I'd like to make it up to all of you, or something," the love goddess said almost shyly. "So tell me, Cupie, what can I do for you?"

"Well, for starters, you can lay off Psyche," said her son, still disbelieving. "Stop nagging her about the way she brings up the kids, chill with the bright remarks about her taste in clothes, and ix-nay on the insinuations about her being only half goddess. Then maybe you could allow these two lovebirds to stay together without any interference from the animal kingdom. Conprende?"

"As if!" she exclaimed with a peal of silvery laughter. "Well…shoot, like, what can I lose? OK, kids, you got it."

Alejandro kissed her hand. So did I, and then…I produced a red rosebud out of the air, which I presented to her.

"Ooooo, that's so SWEET!" she exclaimed.

"I can't believe it," Cupid said, seemingly to the sky. "They both forgave my mother, after what she did to them and all. Mom, I hate to be a cynical old killjoy, but tell me: what brought on this fit of contrition? It isn't like you, to say the least."

"Why, it was you, sonny," she said. "Remember the candy rosebud you gave RoZita? Not the first one, the other, the one that tastes like…well, never mind. That was the flower of impossibility, remember?"

"Why, of course." Cupid snapped his fingers. "How could I forget."

"That's what did it. You know like when you drop a rock in the water and the circles get bigger and bigger? It's kinda like that. This is the biggest circle, where the impossible happens, where time goes backwards, trains run on time, liberals get a sense of humor, and the course of true love runs smooth. And the viewers decided to accept, uh, RoZita--sweetie, that name's really gotta go, you know? But still…there IS a catch."

"Oh God, not another one," I groaned, but Alejandro clutched my hand.

"What catch?" he said.

"You have to live," explained Aph. "To achieve the impossible, well, let me put it this way: you have to like go through the wringer or something, you know? Those concentric circles can be like hell, right? But they do lead to paradise."

"Oh," I snapped my fingers, "like Dante's inferno, right?"

"Yes!" Aph jumped up and down like a little girl, and I hoped Alejandro wouldn't take too much notice of the way her boobs bounced in that pink thing she was almost wearing. "Bitchin'! But anyway…oooo, what was I saying?"

"I know what you mean, Your Godhood," Alejandro said. "It is our curse and our destiny. But it is also our way to heaven and to the ultimate reality."

"Uh, yeah, whatever." Aph glanced about, looking slightly vacant. "Uh, Adonis, I mean, Alejandro, I've still like got it for you, babe, but I realize now that there's plenty of you to go around. Cupie, you got any more of those purple rosebuds left?"

"A few. Why?"

"I was just thinking maybe you could hook me up with that Mariachi guy or something? He really gets me somehow, he's like so, well, so totally. Think you could do that for your ol' mama, sweetcheeks?"

"I can't promise anything, Mom, but I'll give it my best shot, heh heh. Come on, let's go."

Mother and son vanished. Alejandro looked puzzled.

"What Mariachi guy?" he said. "The one who plays at the cantina on Saturday night? She could do much better."

"No, not that one. I'll explain later, my darling. But I don't think you'll believe it."

We took hands and strolled off into the woods. And it was there he took me in his arms and kissed me once more, as the whole earth shivered around us like an exploding star.

It was so..so totally.

***Like: THE END or something***

This nice pic came offa here

DISCLAIMER: No crappy outdated Macintoshes were harmed in the writing of this story. However, the author suffered from temporary insanity brought on by adolescent-type vaporings over a screen idol who has no awareness of her existence.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: I wish to thank the producers of "Hercules: The Legendary Journeys" and "Xena, Warrior Princess" for allowing me to borrow some of their characters for this tale. I trust I have returned them in excellent condition. I would also like to thank the makers of The Mask of Zorro for loaning me some of their characters as well, but regret to inform them that I have no intention of returning Alejandro.

The Garden of Stories | Armariel's Enchanted Realm | Café RoZita