“Courting Calliope”

“As if you can…”

“I don’t know any different, Simon.” Harold’s voice would crack a little, when holding back enthusiasm; as his confidence would never do such a thing. Calliope — The Muse, as he began frequently lamenting to Simon; over the best scrapple, hot link, egg and cheese sandwiches, strong coffee to wash it down, no sugar — Calliope could make him crack. He thought, maybe, that he could finally settle down.

Not for nothing more than Harold’s hands may get arthritic one day, if he stopped writing and caressing behinds.

“And that’s where we are, my friend. Listen,” Simon loved these conversations, because he talked with his hands; and this was one of those all hands on deck talks. His golden ring seemed to beam off of his black cherry skin; his smile was stuck to his face, like the ever optimistic salesman. A slight gap in his front two, would cause a little spittle during exciting debates, where he would wipe his mouth, and then sweat from his forehead. Simon looked at his wife, Zee-Zee. “His fucking muse, Zee. This guy? Our guy? The last Mohican, still searching for a Puerto Rican; that’s what he used to say, remember?”

“Yeah, well, now I might hang myself, by my dick, with a rope, if I can’t have Calliope.”

Zee rolled her eyes, bigly. “Definitely put that one on that one creator’s site for podcasts and drama.”

“OnlyFans.” Maybe an instinctive retort. Simon would cry, if he knew the two were already fans on the networking site for people who work at having sex. Harold and Zee-Zee high-five over Simon’s head.

“Well, Simon says that maybe you should get rid of all of your hoes, Harold; that would be a start.” Ironically, Simon could get bolder with more explicit comments, the more nervous he became in various settings.

“She’s my muse, Simon. She doesn’t even want to be kept. She just wants to make sextapes that we can’t sell, in places that have plenty of water, and probably monkeys that follow you around, eventually perched on your shoulder.” Harold almost became sad.

And then, Calliope appeared at the counter; wearing a sarong, and sporting a golden brown glow that burst sunlight from her skin; tying her hair up, smiling. Calliope turned to look for seating and she met Harold’s eyes. Harold waves, and Calliope smiles a huge and dimpled smile back.

Marlon the monkey jumps off of her shoulder, and races to Harold, throwing mud in his eye.

If that’s what they call it.