Love Versus the Spreadsheet

(

Note to readers:

Here's another tale with Cupid and Psyche, whom I visited last in "Cupid's Performance Review." [Click on the stories link above to find it.] This is a standalone story, however, and it isn't necessary to read the earlier one first. Please be aware that this mythology is based on some tweaking among Greek and Roman myths, so that Cupid and Eros are different entities in the same universe, and Psyche has a portfolio as a demigoddess. This doesn't conform to the modern scholarly consensus, but this isn't an academic essay, okay? All characters are at least 18 years old, and all of the sex is fully consensual, and vanilla. The story is an entry in the Valentine's Day contest, and this time, Valentine himself is involved.)

***

Neal peered at the spreadsheet. So far, he had never allowed sentiment to affect his judgment, and he intended to keep the streak going. Even if that meant cutting loose one of the women he was stringing along.

The first column listed the women's names. The columns to the right of it showed the values of each woman's most important attributes, such as 'face,' 'hair,' 'legs,' 'ass,' and 'boobs.' In those columns, and most others, a high number on a 1-to-10 scale was favorable. In two columns, however, the best score was a low number. These were 'drinks needed,' and 'self-esteem.'

He rubbed his chin as he looked at the self-esteem number of Clarissa, a dangerously high 4. That datum was entered months ago. Since then, Clarissa landed a new job that she loved, and also joined a bicycling club. Neal had seen that she was making friends he didn't even know.

With regret, he clicked her self-esteem box and overwrote the 4 with a 5. This changed her overall score on the spreadsheet, pushing it past a programmed setpoint. Now, the background color of the entire row for Clarissa switched from white to red. Thus, Neal resolved to leave her out of this year's Valentine's Day gifting.

Things might later change for the better. Maybe Clarissa would lose her job, or have a bad experience with the cyclists. Distraught, she might reach out to him. Then he could consider returning her to the fold.

Neal would now ghost her, in addition to cutting her off from the flowers and candy. A key early indicator would be her reaction to getting nothing from him. If she got in touch, he would give her the You've-been-growing-apart-from-me line. If she didn't contact him, he'd know to wait for her life to collapse.

***

Through the gap in the mists above his altar, Cupid gazed at the mortal man who sat on a plush recliner, observing a computer display that filled a huge flatscreen. The demigod of love asked Psyche, "What do you think?"

Psyche's expression, as she looked at Neal Gallatin, showed distaste. What she said, however, arose accurately from her knowledge and power with regard to the human mind. "The arrow strength you'd need, to make him treat women as people to be respected,

and

to make him generous, devoted, self-sacrificing, and passionate, would shatter his personality. The effect would be tantamount to a stroke. Your decision would be about whether the world, and the women with whom he trifles, would be better off with him as a vegetable."

"That argument could be made, my beloved," said Cupid, "But this time of year, I have my highest visibility. Many observers would be shocked if I did something so punitive. I am expected to instigate love, and make it good for all lovers."

"Visibility," grumbled the lean male figure behind them. "Why February? Not a good time for loving. In Eastern Orthodoxy, I'm celebrated in July. Much more conducive to pleasant encounters, in the lands where the majority of the world's mortals live."

Cupid summoned patience while glancing back at him. "As you say, Valentinus. But in many observances, the Eastern rite has fewer followers than your Roman one."

"Never been fond of Rome," said Valentinus. "I was martyred there, y'know."

"Of course," said Cupid, with a slight bow of his head. This ecumenical cooperation between deity organizations was a tedious chore for him. Data showed, however, that the highly secular, and trivial, mortal attention to 'Valentine's Day' provided some slight belief reinforcement for both Olympians and Monotheism. As a result, this joint effort continued. Cupid knew that Valentinus was also unhappy, because while he was on Olympus, he was not prefixed as 'Saint.'

Cupid consoled himself. This time, he and Psyche remained on Olympus. Their trip to Monotheism, three years earlier, had not gone well. The place was full of clouds, in all directions, far and near. No problem for the inhabitants, whose heads were surrounded by round bands of light, which allowed them to see where they were going.

Also, much of what the trio accomplished that year was blunted by the spread among mortals of a disease that limited the contact of new lovers.

Psyche's voice returned him to the present. "He's such a pretty mortal." As Cupid turned to look again at the subject above the altar, Psyche added, "which is why he is able to behave so deplorably."

Cupid then had an idea. He said to Psyche, "You referred to the arrow strength to change his attitude about all women. What about the strength for him to make an exception for one woman?"

She looked at her fellow demigod with surprise. Then, intrigued, she again looked at the mortal. "In terms of basic mental faculties, he could endure it. From his perspective, it would feel as though his life has been turned upside down, and it could adversely affect his employment and other activities. But his behavior would fit into the range of a lovesick fool."

Excited, Valentinus stepped between them, and looked at Neal Gallatin. "Could it make him insane?" asked the emissary from Monotheism, "Or epileptic?"

With an eyebrow cocked, Psyche told him, "No."

"Pity," said Valentinus. "Two of the groups of which I am the patron." He sighed. "I suppose he's not a beekeeper, either."

"No," said Cupid, not facing him, thus hiding his smile.

Psyche asked Cupid, "Are you truly eager to make this man a February 14 project?"

"I am," said Cupid, assessing various schemes in his mind. "If we succeed, this would be a major coup, in a year that needs one. This is Olympian Year 2999, which doesn't interest the greater gods very much. For 3000, I'm keeping in reserve a very large number of easy love matches. I actually have to hold some of them back, sending them low-dose arrows of 'on the other hand,' and 'second thoughts,' and 'what about my freedom?'"

"So you're preventing some mortals from gifting flowers and candy this year?" snapped Valentinus. "Must I put up with all the whining from florists and confectioners?"

"Here in the Great Beyond," said Cupid, "we must take such negative sentiment along with the praise. Surely, Valentinus, you have had many such highs and lows, over the centuries."

Valentinus smiled, with a faraway look. "1967," he said, "in what some mortals now call the 'Common Era.' The Summer of Love! I was praised so much I had to keep changing my vestments. And that was the

summer

observance, Eastern rite or not!"

"I was exhausted," said Cupid, in the onrush of memory.

"He shot so many arrows he couldn't lift his arms!" said Psyche with a gleeful laugh. "I could do whatever I wanted with him!"

Cupid quickly said, "Yes, this Neal Gallatin is a project for this year. And we can all be involved. Psyche, Valentinus, let's prepare for a field trip."

***

Felicia wondered why she was here, again. Another Friday happy hour with what looked like half of her department, as if they'd been dumped in here through a cattle chute.

She felt something that was like a whisper, but it made no sound. Yet it told her,

You could say that!

Felicia quailed. Say something like

that?

Out loud? To people she worked with every day?

The whisper insisted:

Yes!

She glanced at her drink. It was her first, and she hadn't even sipped it.

Someone pushed past, jostling her shoulder. Impulse prompted her to speak. "It's like half the department was dumped in here through a cattle chute!"

At least five voices laughed. Then she heard one of the male voices say, "Good one!"

A smile tugged at Felicia's lips. She made observations like that all the time, but kept them to herself. The last thing she wanted was the wrong kind of attention. Men wouldn't like a smart mouth. Neal

definitely

wouldn't. But she had enjoyed hearing that laugh.

Felicia's enjoyment gave Psyche more access to the mortal. Psyche could not control the woman, but could influence portions of the mind that, by Felicia's choice, Felicia sought to exert.

Valentinus was less subtle. A nervous young man named Harold found himself saying "Good one" aloud, as his longtime admiration for Felicia broke the surface--with a shove from a temporary tamperer in his mind.

Felicia looked Harold's way. She raised her glass and said, "At least we have something the cattle never have."

This laugh was louder, from more sources. A female voice followed, "I'll drink to that!"

Psyche was pleased that uninfluenced mortals were now encouraging Felicia.

Valentinus departed from Harold, returning the young tech nerd to shyness, and silence. If Harold gained nothing more than unrequited love, Valentinus had no regrets. Harold might find his love match later in life. Meanwhile, Valentinus drifted to people further away, and called their attention to Felicia.

Elsewhere in the same tavern, a mortal named Carter was far enough into his third beer that Cupid slipped easily into his fogged mind.

Neal, next to Carter, tossed his final dart at the board, landing it smartly in the triple-score ring segment of the 18 wedge. "Hah!" chirped Neal. "Beat that, loser!"

Neal advanced to the board to retrieve his darts.

In one reality, Cupid nocked an arrow and pulled back the bowstring.

In an adjoining reality, Carter responded to Neal's taunt by raising one of his darts to launching position.

Cupid and Carter let fly.

Neal was still at the dartboard.

"OWWW!" yelled Neal, as something jabbed the back of his neck.

"Uhh," said Carter. "Sorry, Bro."

Neal reached back and yanked out the dart. "Asshole! Are you that wasted already?" He turned and glared at Carter.

Carter blinked a few times, looking baffled. "Uhh, don't think so."

Neal fingered where the dart had hit him. He found no blood. It also didn't hurt anymore, back there. He just felt vaguely weird, with a fleeting thought about tetanus.

Beyond Carter's head, Neal saw someone on the far side of the room: Felicia Tattersall. Yeah, she worked near here, they had met here. Neal considered her an acceptable resource in his stable. Hadn't thought of her much lately, she was never a first choice. But, now, there was something about her. She was saying things he couldn't make out through the crowd noise, but several people were paying attention, some of them laughing. Her posture was more...energetic?...than usual. Her gestures were quick and sure.

He wanted to get closer. He wondered what she was saying.

Almost in a daze, he shuffled past Carter.

Neal couldn't look at, or see, anything but Felicia. He didn't think he was horny, at least not to the point of wanting

her.

Felicia saw Neal out of the corner of her eye. She stopped talking, in mid-syllable.

Psyche knew this was a high-risk moment, but was ready for it. A mind-swell, that would have made Felicia fear Neal's disapproval, was held back by Psyche, who messaged:

Look closely at him!

"Neal! Hi!" burst from Felicia, still riding the thrill of her co-workers' interest. Then, taking in his blank expression, she said, "Are you okay?"

"Uh," said Neal, stopping. "Yeah, sure." He felt awkward, just standing there, staring at her. But he didn't know what else to do. "How you been?"

"Frazzled," said Felicia, surprised to feel so glib. She raised her glass. "But, T.G.I., and all that."

Her entourage laughed, and Neal smiled, despite thinking that he must look sappy. "Yeah," was all that he could say. His mind was spinning, as he tried to understand this new aspect of Felicia.

Carter stepped up behind Neal. "Dude, where's my dart?"

Neal found that he still had a dart in his right hand. Without a glance he swept the hand behind him.

"OWWW!" said Carter, yanking from the palm of his hand an object that no longer carried enchantment. He stalked away to seek a fourth beer.

Neal still looked at Felicia, and wondered why he wondered about her.

Felicia usually found Neal's coolness to be intimidating, yet reassuring. It was clear to her who he was, and how she should act. Now, however, he showed no coolness. She couldn't figure it out, but was very interested.

Neal blurted, "You free tomorrow?"

Psyche boosted one of Felicia's memories related to Neal. The mortal woman recalled receiving a 'U up?' text from Neal in the middle of the night. She had allowed Neal into her apartment, and felt crummy after he left. Yet she had believed that she should go along with it. Without clear evidence, she was convinced that Neal routinely slept with several women. At least he wasn't married, and there was always a chance that he might fall for her. Someday.

With a poise that she didn't expect, Felicia said, "That depends on what you have in mind."

"Uh, whatever you like!" said Neal, now nervous as he smiled at her. "Dinner, movie. You choose, what and where."

Psyche allowed a thrill to lift Felicia's heart, but sent a new message:

Isn't it nice to see him like this? What can you do to keep that happening?

"Okay," said Felicia with an eager smile. But then she added, "I'll check out some reviews. Call me tomorrow."

Psyche sent waves of approval that Felicia hadn't asked for his agreement, but had given an order.

Cupid, now a passenger in Neal's mind, monitored the arrow's effects. The demigod was satisfied when Neal said, "Sure, count on it!" Cupid then allowed Neal some self-possession, so the mortal could say with a shred of coolness, "It's been too long, Felicia."

Felicia tingled a bit, but also found what Neal said to be tacky. She had never been this aware of the lameness of his delivery.

She turned to her co-workers. "This is Neal Gallatin, a friend of mine. Neal, these are--"

"It's okay, gotta go," said Neal, backing away abruptly. If he plunged into her world, he'd be less important than her friends. "I'll call around noon," he said to Felicia, then turned and made his way through the crowd.

***

Mortal sleep provided the immortals with respite. Fully within their own bodies, in the connected temples where Cupid and Psyche made their home, the three lounged on cushions, and feasted on figs, ambrosia, and other Olympian delicacies.

"We three were all mortals, once," Psyche observed, "unlike some, here in the Great Beyond. If we concentrate, we can remember what life was like, as a mortal. Deities, even the most mysterious, are essentially the same on the surface as they are in their innermost selves. A mortal, however, encompasses multitudes. This allows adjustment to changing conditions, and becoming the person necessary to survive and thrive...and love. What we are doing, mainly, is acquainting Neal and Felicia with their multitudes."

"Never been in favor, myself, of forced conversion," said Valentinus. "But I lose patience with humans who won't take action. Sometimes I have to grab vocal cords and squeeze out three little words, or whatever the culture uses."

"With proper planning, we find that unnecessary," said Cupid, then looking at Psyche. "In our detailed discussion, my colleague here gave me the necessary insight into the mind of Neal Gallatin. This allowed me to craft his arrow for the proper result, and find the most preferable of his multitudes."

Valentinus looked at his hosts. "I suppose you two see yourselves as a bonded couple. Can you put me up in some other room? Wouldn't stand in judgment of your practices, then."

"That's good of you, Valentinus," said Cupid, "considering that many preachers of your belief system are far less tolerant."

"Mortals gonna mortify," said Valentinus with a shrug.

"Our hospitality would be lacking," said Psyche, "if we consigned you to loneliness. As it happens, a friend of mine would like to meet you."

On cue, draperies parted, and Terpsichore joined them.

"Patron of Lovers," said Psyche, "meet the Muse of Dance."

Terpsichore approached Valentinus, her simple walk seeming to express complex rhythm and energy. "I've heard so much about you, Valentinus," she said breathily.

Valentinus stood. "And I, you," he said. "Many times, I blessed your passion, to encourage pagans to follow my path."

She held out a hand. "I feel that your fire is often banked," she said, "But still it burns."

"It does," he said hoarsely, arms extending towards her.

"Fourth chamber on the left," said Psyche, pointing.

As the guests trotted away, hand in hand, Cupid said, "Thank you, my darling, for sparing me an arrow."

Psyche smiled as she slid her shapely torso along his rotund one. "And thank you, my dearest, for not revealing the extent of my friendship with Terpsichore." She put her hand inside his tunic. "And yours."

The excitement of her touch unfurled his wings. He spread them further, to tickle her, and undrape her golden ass.

As playful as they now were, he nonetheless said, "I have only lately, ah, come to terms with the way that you and she, and also I, enjoy mutual worship. This need not be learned by Valentinus. Monotheists gonna monogamize."

Psyche gave him a dubious look.

"Very well," said Cupid, "not all of them."

***

Neal awoke feeling, overall, like his usual self. Ticked off at Carter, smug about the arbitrage he had engineered at work, interested in some sports betting possibilities.

Then he remembered about Felicia. That part of his self wasn't usual.

Splashing cold water on his face made no difference. Not only had he agreed to a date with Felicia Tattersall, but he didn't want to get out of it. What he'd seen yesterday left him thinking that he'd been let in on a secret. His reflex to gain new information, and make sense of it, kept him thinking about her.

Eager to understand, he entered the living room, slid onto the recliner, started up the computer, and loaded the spreadsheet. The flatscreen on the far wall showed his inputs on all of his current sex partners. He focused on what he thought about Felicia, before yesterday.

She was in the algorithm's good standing, in part because she wasn't very attractive. Her physical attributes rated only one 7, two 6s, and nothing else higher than 5. Counteracting that, however, was the score Neal had given her in the column titled 'desperation:' 9. This showed his judgment that Felicia had few options to find someone else at the level of Neal Gallatin. The score paired well with her self-esteem, currently set at 3.

Was all that still true? Despite his fog yesterday, Neal had noticed clearly that her co-workers, more than a dozen of them, were hanging on her every word.

He also recalled that she was grooving on that, showing an energy and enthusiasm he'd never seen. In their dating, she'd usually been quiet, never leading a conversation, behaving as a denizen of Neal's world. He thought that was the way it should be. Any time Neal hooked up with her, it was because one of his better, hotter prospects wasn't available. Getting Felicia in the sack got him past that.

There were words in his head:

She's the salve for a bruised ego.

He jolted. Where the hell had

that

come from? Come on, shape up, you're Neal Gallatin, master of the arbitrage universe. The ego is bulletproof.