Stupid Cupid 01

Disclaimer and Copyright:

All characters are fictitious and any resemblance between the characters and any real life person is completely coincidental. Please do not copy or distribute the story without the author's explicit permission. Doing so will result in legal action.

Important -

This is the first of a loosely "chaptered" story that I have published within an online context before. I am currently in the process of readying it for publication so I am looking for feedback before it is sent in. This version of the story is expanded and the sexual content in future chapters has been edited to an acceptable mature content rating. This portion contains no sexual content. I hope that the readers enjoy this and all votes and feedback are very much appreciated. Thank you. :)

STUPID CUPID CHAPTER 01


"So then I walked into our bedroom which by the way, Dr. Cassidy, we decorated together with things from IKEA because they have such wonderful things at such good prices. Jake was always so frugal. He hated spending too much money on silly things, but we picked out these cute little candle scones and the satin bed sheets and it was just so perfect with our curtains…I'm sorry...Right. The story. So I came in and there in our wrought iron, four poster bed, he was doing his secretary. I mean not just doing her. He was..Well you know...he was doing THAT to her."

Dr. Samantha Elizabeth Cassidy, beautiful, brilliant and age 35, smiled the way she had learned to through the many years that she had been in college and later in the work force, surrounded by people who brought new meaning to the word neurotic moron. Women like Angela, call-me-Angie Harmon, made her head ache and Cassidy often widened her smile to the point that her teeth hurt at night from grinding her teeth together to avoid asking these women what they had been thinking when they brought home the trolls that they talked about on her weekly talk show.

The show had had been her agent's idea after her third and latest book, Stupid Cupid, had made it to number one on the NY Times Best Seller list and stayed there for 16 weeks straight. It was now the 32nd week and still holding strong at number one. Her publisher had marketed it as a "hip and savvy take on the modern woman's path to love."

That publicity had helped her ratings for the show skyrocket. It had been named after the book and followed same premise of teaching women to take back their lives in the world of love. Cassidy was in a prime time spot on Tuesday nights. She also had a huge billboard in Times Square that had her face and a cupid shot in his own backside, with an arrow that had a copy of her book dangling from the middle.

Women looked up to her, from the young and the desperate set, Desperate Housewife worshipers, all the way to the roller-wearing, Jewish Yentas. Even her own mother and five sisters tuned in every week to watch it in their hometown of Ohio, population five hundred. Doctor Samantha Cassidy helped millions of women find the love they needed, without sacrificing themselves in the process. Her theories and five-step programs were acclaimed to be fool-proof in helping women everywhere find the love of their live.

She was single.

She was also a divorcee.
She did have more money in the bank than her entire hometown of Nowhere Ohio. But when the evening wound down, all she had were pretty things and a few good meals to keep her company at night. Cassidy preferred the Lean Cuisine Bistros.

Cassidy waited till the oos and oh's with a few "that rat bastard!," died down, before she crossed her long legs at the knees beneath her conservative, but stylish Louis Vuitton suit. The kitten heels on her navy blue tweed pumps wiggled gently as she lightly bounced her leg to keep from kicking over Angela’s chair.

"I see. So what did you do?"

"What could I do? I mean she was even wearing my nightie and they were drinking champagne. He always told me that champagne was too expensive to drink except on special occasions and he NEVER let me eat in bed. He hated crumbs."

Cassidy smiled at the crowd who chuckled and then nodded as she looked back at the bleached blonde in her too short pink dress, who probably had pictures of kittens and puppies on her wall at home. These were the kind of women who her network loved and who made her teeth hurt because they weren't bad people, just not the brightest crayons in a Crayola box. They meant well. They were just too busy trying to find love to realize that even with all the fish in the sea, love was hard to find. If at first you didn't succeed, you should just try again, not settle for sea-scum.

She nodded as she glanced towards the corner where her agent was standing by to make sure that the taping went well. She got a thumbs up and resisted the urge to roll her eyes on national television. Idiots in love made for good ratings. Depressing, but true. "Well it seemed that he did like to eat something in bed..."

Her smile deepened just enough to accentuate the brightness of her smile without showing the subtle lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. Her agent always said that the key to maintaining her image of a smart, sassy T.V. shrink was to blend humor and intelligence, without making it overly obvious she was laughing at the people who had the kinds of friends who believed that a little public humiliation was good for the soul.

She waited till the chuckles died down and then patted the young woman's knee. "I know it may not seem funny right now Cindy, but look at it this way. He was a bastard. He traded you in for a woman who drinks champagne on satin sheets. Her dry-cleaning bill alone will wipe him out in a month and you did tell my producers that you moved out to your own place and got to keep the cat, right?"

The woman nodded, wiping away her tears as she suddenly smiled as bright as a rainbow after the rain. "I did. His name is Po-Po. He was Harry's cat."

Dear Lord. Someone should just put that cat down. It would be more humane than living with a woman who probably walked him around town in one of those “doggy trench-coats and booties.

"Well good. I recommend that you take Po-Po and Harry's credit card and buy yourself a few savings bonds and some chocolate and remember that men are wonderful because most human beings are, but they are fallible. God created men first and you know no one ever gets anything right on the first try."

The audience chuckled as she thickened her native drawl for a moment to lighten the mood, before switching tactics. For the next 45 minutes, she went into depth about how most women in America gave over too much control to the men in their lives. Whether it was on shows like afternoon soap operas or the epic bodice rippers lining so many bookshelves, women believed that in order to find love, there was a formula; one overly virile male who was a cross between Schwarzenegger and Fabio and one woman whose intelligence was found in that ripped apart bodice that was always highlighted on romance book covers. Those kinds of media fairy tales, led women to believe that being strong, beautiful and intelligent, immediately labeled you as a man-hating feminist, who would grow old and be alone with nothing but a few cats to keep her company. It was as if once the bra rippers of the 60's and 70's had entered nursing homes and the land beneath the sod and floral wreaths, the next generation was so afraid to be alienated by men that they settled for far less then they deserved.

It was ridiculous and she for one was tired of putting the chains on herself. She didn’t despise men, although popular opinion believed otherwise. She had plenty of male friends that she enjoyed going out to dinner and the occasional movie with. But she had been married once, and though there were nights where she missed having someone else's warm weight in her bed, she never wanted to return to the days where she had to apologize for being beautiful, intelligent and knowing exactly what she wanted. Until the day that a man could accept her for what she was and not want to make her fit into a Stepford wife mold, she was happy making $90,000 a year, living in a beautiful loft apartment on the lower east side and living with her black cat, Clarence. She had friends and she was successful. She didn't need a man to make her life complete.

<I>Hah</I>

When the show was over and Mandy Moore's song, "Stupid Cupid," started to play, Cassidy slipped out of her chair and thanked all of her guests for coming, before she moved out to the wings of the studio. She knew that all of the guests on today's show would get a copy of her newest book after the show and go home raving about being put up in the Hyatt in Times Square. It was an expense that the studio could easily write off and the free publicity that they would get from all of the word-of-mouth advertising, was invaluable. It helped her ratings stay up high enough to keep her at the number two talk show spot below Oprah and above Dr. Phil, but sometimes she wondered if it was worth the aggravation. Women claimed to listen to her advice, but if so many did, why in hell was she still in business?

She loosened her hair from the neat bun she had twisted it up into before the show so that the thick auburn waves crested gently down over her shoulders. Slender, black plastic rimmed glasses were removed and slipped into the breast pocket of her suit. As she walked down the hall, she rolled her eyes at all the people who seemed to be making cow eyes at one another today.

She was tired and cranky because it was Valentine's Day- the official day of love celebrated by all throughout the United States, including her ex-husband who had left her for his secretary five years ago today.

It was common knowledge from her first book, where she suggested that women should throw a false funeral for the exes in their lives who they just couldn't exorcize from their past in any other way. She had also suggested forgoing more traditional means of "letting go" of emotional baggage, such as putting a list of all the debts women felt their exes owed them, into a balloon and setting the balloon free in a park where it could float away and free them. Cassidy's version involved putting a list of all the debts women felt their exes owed them into a balloon, filling the balloon with water and then dropping it off of their ex's apartment building roofs onto their head. It was that kind of humor and down to earth advice that had made her a successful role model among women. It had also made her an outcast among most men.

Most days she could handle that consequence like a duck who let things roll off of it's back, but being alone on the day of cupids and flowers was hard even on even a woman who made her living teaching other women how to value themselves enough to cook a gourmet meal for one or catch a movie by themselves.

Already, she had gotten over a dozen floral bouquets and several bag-loads of cards wishing her a Happy Valentine's day and good luck with Cupid. Hah. If Cassidy ever ran into Cupid, she planned to shoot the chubby little sucker right between the eyes with one of his own arrows. He didn't seem to have very good aim, considering the kinds of people some of her guests fell for. He may have kept her in business, but seeing him smiling at her from every storefront window on her taxi ride home, while those same women who claimed to follow her advice had dinner with the newest troll in their lives because they didn't want to be alone on Valentine's day, made her want to smother someone with that heart dappled diaper.

Cassidy sighed as she moved down the hall towards her dressing room. She was being bitter and petty. She knew it, but she reserved the right to feel guilty for later in the evening when she indulged in a half gallon of rocky road ice cream and a bottle of champagne. She had been asked to dinner with a few of the show's crew members, but she had declined. As a successful therapist, she knew the emotional benefits of going out on these kinds of holidays to keep back the blues, but the only plans that she had were to go home and listen to her favorite piece of opera as she ate Haagen Daaz and overlooked the city skyline.

She fished her keys from her purse and unlocked the door to her dressing room. She pushed it open, and almost immediately stepped back, because there was a man standing there. She looked from him back to the door that had been locked as it always was when she wasn't in the room. She was the only one with a key as she had specified in her contract, because she liked her privacy. No one would have allowed a stranger in there without her permission.

Cassidy blinked and opened her mouth to ask who he was, but it was only when he had the audacity to smile at her that she realized that the guy was guilty of more than just breaking and entering. In typical neurotic New York fashion, he had a foible that she hadn't realized at first in her immediate shock at seeing him.

He was naked.

Well almost naked.

The stranger was shirtless and should have been posing on the yearly NY Fire Department calendar, with his broad, strong shoulders and the kind of stomach that she had only ever seen on the washboard that her grandmother had done her laundry on. Each muscle was defined like marble, but that wasn't the detail that made her eyes widen and her mouth defy her feminist sensibilities by going dry.

He was wearing a diaper.

<I> It can’t be a ….Yep, yep it is…</I>

It wasn't covered in little red hearts, but it was an honest to goodness diaper. As her gaze traveled down, she noticed that a thin line of dark hair disappeared into the white fabric that looked as if had been watched a thousand times in bleach. She blinked and one hand unconsciously reached up and touched the side of the doorway.

He looked amused, his smile deepening until the smoothness of his cheeks dissolved into identical dimples on either side. It softened features that were almost too handsome and Cassidy just blinked again, too shocked to say anything despite the situation that was even more bizarre than the naked cowboy who sang in Times Square. That special lad might have strutted around in cowboy boots and a Stetson, but the last time she had checked, he didn't have wings.

Wings?

Yep, wings, her mind reassured her.

Big ones.

They looked large and soft like the angel wings that Halloween stores sold for holiday parties, but even in her shocked state she couldn't make out any kinds of straps that were holding them to those strong shoulders. All she saw was smooth, hard muscle that was too tanned to be healthy, though it could have been natural color. She didn't see any break in the seamless color, just sheer masculine perfection-provided you had a thing for feathers.

"Oh my God...."

"Not quite, though I've met him a few times."

Cassidy just stared at him for a moment and he smiled back. She frowned then started laughing. She was originally from out West, but she had assimilated into the New York lifestyle quickly and there wasn't much that could shock a New Yorker for long. Irritate them yes, but rarely shock.

A few years ago, there had a been a popular subway ad a few years back where a man was riding his camel through mid-town during rush-hour traffic. Not one person seemed interested enough to glance over, much less stare. Cassidy was feeling like the camel right now as she rubbed a hand back through her thick curls to push them out of her eyes.

"Ok, very funny. Look, I don't know who put you up to this, but you're probably freezing in that get-up and I'm tired. So do your song and dance or whatever it is you do, and then tell Carl or Susan that it's not really very smart to make fun of the boss on a bad day."

"Who are Susan and Carl?"

Cassidy quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she stared at "Cupid" for a moment, before shaking her head. "Look, I don't have time for this. So how about I just give you twenty bucks and we call it even and you sing to someone else? Try Sherry down the hall. She's a perky blonde. Just your type."

He just continued to look amused which irked her even more. She frowned as she walked past him to get the keys that were on her vanity table. She picked up her "Persian Pink" lipstick and put it into her purse, then grabbed her keys and her brown leather jacket. Her own personal Cupid just continued to stand there until she bent over and he shifted so that she saw his reflection move in the mirror. Thinking that he was making a play for her backside, she whirled and pushed at one of his wings to make him stumble back. But instead of the wings bending like the cheap plastic and feather duster models that she was used to seeing on Halloween and the Victoria Secret's runway show every year, the feathers just ruffled gently under her hand. They felt as downy as a baby chicken's feathers and beneath them, the base felt warm and solid, almost like human flesh. She jerked away as she felt the whole mass twitch beneath her hand like an involuntary muscle spasm.

The edge of the vanity tabled cut into her spine as she pressed back against it. He reached for one of the bows in his quiver and she went for the mace that she kept in her purse. She got to her weapon of choice first and held it up in one hand, with her finger held halfway down on the plunger as her other hand fumbled blindly backwards for her cell phone.

"Whoa, ok. This is not singing, Romeo."

"Cupid."

"Excuse me?"

"My name isn't Romeo. It's Cupid."

Cassidy's brow just arched higher as she closed her fingers around her cell phone. That annoying little piece of plastic that she so often buried beneath her hamper when it rang incessantly with calls from her agents, had never seemed as sweet as it did right now when it nestled into her hand.

"I don't care if your name is Cujo. The bow and arrow thing is so not happening. I don't even want to know how you got that past security, but you have 2 seconds to get out of here before I call the police. So just take your arrows and find someone else's butt to poke."

Her cupid shook his head as he lowered his quiver, an expression of exasperation crossing his handsome features as he looked skyward for a moment. He looked like he was seeking heavenly help instead of the psychiatric kind that she would have suggested.

"You weren't kidding when you said this one would be difficult."

"What? Who the hell are you?!"

The man looked back to her, his head tipping to one side as he grinned. "I told you."

"You're Cupid?"

"The wings didn't give you a clue?"

"This is New York. People walk around with wings and fangs on a daily basis. If you know the right plastic surgeon, you can walk around like Fido. Who hired you? Whoever it was is getting fired, feather boy."

"Are you always so cranky?"

Cassidy blinked before she grabbed the phone and backed around the table, already starting to dial as she held the mace can taut. "You stay right there. I am calling security."

"You're making this a lot more difficult than it needs to be, Samantha. It won't hurt, I promise you. This is my job."

"Your job is to entertain people who want to smile and act like one holiday a year is the only time that love should be celebrated. Newsflash, I am not one of those people."

She swore as the phone beeped at her, obstinately showing no signal despite Verizon’s claim of nationwide service.

"Fantastic. 80 dollars a month and never a signal when you're trying to call the cops on the Feathered Fabio."

"I was told that you are very intelligent, but for a doctor, you don't make much sense."

"I don't make much sense? Who is the wacko wielding a bow and arrow in a diaper like some pre-adolescent Robin Hood?” The phone suddenly started ringing in her ear and she started speaking in a rush when she heard security on the other end.

“Hello, Frank? Yes, this is Dr. Cassidy. I need security in my room right now. You, don't move."

"What? What's the matter? Dr. Cassidy? Are you ok?"

"No I am not ok, Frank. I have repeatedly left explicit instructions that I am not to be disturbed in my dressing room and yet there's some weirdo here with a quiver with my name on it."

"What?" There was confusion in the guards' voice and Cassidy let her gaze slide away from her mystery guest for a minute, since he didn't seem to be making any sudden moves, just staring at her as if she was the crazy, diaper wearing, walking ad for psychotic drugs.

"I didn't let anyone in there, Dr. Cassidy, I swear. I just checked the halls a few minutes before the show ended. No one's been down that hall except the crew. I've had all the security cameras on and nothing odd has popped up."

"Well I guess high-tech just happened to miss the 6 foot, feathered reject from Chippendale who's standing right here in my room. He's wearing a ..."

She trailed off as she turned back to look at her diaper-wearing, man-meat and then blinked. She was alone in her dressing room without so much as a lingering lone feather to validate that he had ever been there.

She ran towards the door and looked down the hall, but there wasn't anyone there. Her green eyes slowly narrowed as she heard Frank talking in her ear and she frowned as she ignored him and grabbed a young intern coming out of the sound booth.

"Did you just see a guy come down here? Tall, wearing a diaper?"

The young man blinked as he shook his head, his headset wiggling in place for a moment. He probably thought that he was getting fired and saw his life flashing before his eyes, but she had bigger fish to fry today.

"No. I didn't see anyone, Dr. Cassidy. I was coming in from the sound studio. No one came down this way."

"You had to have seen him. You couldn't miss this guy. He was like Conan-Cupid."

She got an owlish look in response and she sighed, before she turned her attention back to the security guard still talking in her ear. "No, he's gone, Frank. But check the cameras. This wasn't your average over-zealous fan. Did anyone order a singing telegram service or anything like that?"

"I'll check into it, Dr. Cassidy, but I haven't seen anyone. Hold on, I have Greg here. He's been sitting in the camera room all day. Here you go."

"Dr. Cassidy?"

"Yes, Greg. I'm here. Tell me that you have something."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cassidy, but I am skimmed over all of the tapes from the last hour and I didn't see anyone come in or out. I'll keep looking into it though. Frank said to tell you that we'll double the security. Do you need someone to walk you out to your cab?"

Cassidy frowned as she looked at the intern and then waved him away before she took one last look down the hall and into her dressing room. There was still no sign that there had once had a tall and crazy, if admittedly good-looking man, in her room. There wasn't so much as a feather, but she knew that he had been there.

It had to have been some sort of joke planned by the staff, but she wasn't laughing. There had been something odd about her mystery guest, aside from his choice of attire, or rather his lack thereof. He had seemed genuine, which was the craziest part of all. Those wings...

No. There were no such things as angels or six foot cupids. There were only the kinds of neurotic people that New York seemed to draw in like a magnet. She had treated crazy people for years, but she always knew where to draw the line and she herself was sane of both mind and body. After all, she wasn't the one going around in only a diaper in February.

"No, Greg. I'm all right for now. Just do me a favor and let Donald know about this ok?"

"You got it, Dr. Cassidy."

Samantha ended the call then glanced at the kid who just grinned at her. Great. She was going to become the woman who claimed that she had visited Cupid. Her agents were going to love this...