The steamer trunk and the crated harp arrived by drop-shipment the next afternoon. The truck had just trundled away when a motorcycle with a sidecar roared into sight, and then swerved into the driveway. The helmeted driver was swathed in leather boots and breeches, a cashmere coat and a mohair muffler, and the sidecar was jammed with suitcases and briefcases, held in place with a complicated warp and weft of bungee cords.
The driver unwound the muffler, took off the helmet and nodded at me. “I’m Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry,” she said. “Just take my bags inside. Hey, Rati. Got everything under control?”
“Just barely, Calli. I dictate, and she scrawls with a number-two pencil in a half-used notebook, left over from her kids’ homeschooling days. Says she always starts out writing that way.”
“That’ll work for now, but not after Clio gets here. What kind of experience has she got?”
“Some craft magazine patterns, freelance op-ed columns, and a couple of self-help handbooks for her clients, when she was still in nursing practice. Lots of academic papers, but she doesn’t outline. She’s in grad school, too.”
“She’s overdue for a change of genre. Is there enough space here for Terp?”
“Terp can dance in the living room. And there’s a Yamaha upright, so Euti won’t have to ship her Steinway.”
“She’ll be glad to hear that. So what’s there to eat, around here?”
To be continued….
©2014 – 2016 Christine Plouvier. All Rights Reserved.
You can find the artist of the Daughters of Zeus here.