Cupidity
by Lisa Gurney

Chauncey gives the silver-tinged spearhead on his arrow one last hot breath and a swipe of his polishing cloth. Rising from his seat on the massive marble horse’s head, he shimmies his wings and takes off to a spot opposite the crowded Trevi Fountain. The cool air of flight dusts through his robes and offers sweet relief to his sweating cupid’s body. He settles onto the eaves of a café and adjusts his position, allowing a clear line of sight to his mark.

The deep crimson robe of another first year cupid catches Chauncey’s attention and he smiles wide, recognizing instantly the tight curls and swarthiness of his old school chum flying toward him.

“Settimo! Nice to see you old chap!” Chauncey says, bumping wings with him amicably. “What’s it been now, a year since Cupid Basic Training? How’re your feathers, my friend?”

”Paesano mio!” Settimo grabs Chauncey’s cheeks and pinches. “What brings you to Rome?”

“My mark is here,” Chauncey says, massaging his face. “The lady I’ve picked for him, Lucinda’s her name, is here as well. I thought a romantic Roman encounter would settle this match for me.” Chauncey squints up into the sky, gauging the time from the position of the sun. “She should be arriving in just about 10 minutes.”

“My mark is here too,” says Settimo, laying down his arrow sack and plopping next to Chauncey. “Which one’s yours?”

“That odd looking fellow with the vest and wire spectacles,” Chauncey says pointing to a man at the edge of the crowd. “I do believe they give us first-years the most difficult cases, eh, Sett? Egad, look at him. A woolen vest in July.”

Settimo follows the direction of Chauncey’s finger. “You mean the man sitting to the left? Face in a book?”

“Yes, that’s the one indeed,” Chauncey says, wrinkling his nose.

“But that’s my mark.” Settimo says. “I’ve been working on him for a month. Got a real chocolate-haired stunner from Naples pierced for him and she’s expected here as well.” Settimo frowns and continues. “This isn’t good Chauncey. How’d we get the same mark?”

Chauncey’s heart knocks with anxiety as he wonders the same. He can’t lose this mark. He hasn’t come anywhere near his match quota for the month, making three in a row of missing his numbers.

“Sett, listen,” Chauncey says. “I’ve worked too hard on this mark and I intend to keep him. Sorry friend, but this one is mine.”

“Forget it Chauncey. I’ve worked hard myself. Look at him! He isn’t the easiest guy to pierce. It took me half a dozen arrows to get this girl from Naples to come to Rome.”

 

 

“I see, well, where does that leave us, Settimo?” Chauncey says. “We have the same vested interest here.”

“I suppose we can take it to the Cupid Council for Disputes. But that could take months.” Settimo says, pulling on his curls.

Chauncey plants his chin in his palm and drums his fingers against his cheek. “Wait…I’ve got it!” he says, rising and slapping his hands together. “Ancient Cupid Law, remember?”

Settimo cocks his head in confusion.

“Ancient cupids would settle disputes by wrestling for a single round.” Chauncey explains. “Whoever pinned wings first won. Let’s do it! Let’s wrestle for him!”

“Wrestle for him? Are you crazy, Chauncey?” says Settimo.

“Crazy or not, on the count of three, I’m coming at you Settimo!” Chauncey yells war-like, folding his wings tightly to his sides. He dives headfirst into Settimo’s stomach, sending them both backward onto the rooftop. Chauncey grabs Settimo’s left wing and with his full weight behind him, smashes it to the rooftop. Just as he is about to claim victory, a large hand lifts him up and off of Settimo.

“Hey! Break it up!” a cupid elder bellows. As the elder dangles Chauncey by the scruff of his neck, a second one helps Settimo to his feet. Chauncey sees that Settimo’s wing is hanging at an odd angle.

“What’s going on here?” the elder demands.

Chauncey and Settimo recount their dilemma.

“You wet-behind-the-wing pigeons. Haven’t you read Amendment 3 to the Cupidity Constitution?” the elder asks.

Chauncey and Settimo look at him blankly.

“It’s clearly documented that in the rare case of dual marking, both cupids are to remove their arrows from the mark and let fate take its course. Now, you said both of your women will be arriving here shortly?” the elder asks.

Settimo and Chauncey nod.

“Perfect. Remove your arrows and let fate be the judge.”

The elders fly up to the fountain and sit. Chauncey and Settimo follow behind, Settimo cradling his left wing. ”That really hurt Chauncey,” he says, eyes downcast and watery.

A short time later, Lucinda and the Neapolitan beauty walk into the piazza almost side by side and stride over to the mark. All four cupids crane their heads to get a better view. Lucinda stops in front of the mark and curiously peers at him. The other walks by him, then stops and turns to look as well.

The mark, arrows removed, looks at both women and then beyond them. His gaze shifts to a gorgeous blonde strolling by. He moves quickly from the fountain’s edge, his book dropping to his feet. ”Hi, I’m Mark,” he says, smiling.

“Buon Giorno,” is the deep and lusty response. “I’m Bruno.”