Goddess for Hire Read Free

is too sweet.”
    My lids were so heavy I could barely open them. The insides of my head ballooned with hideous hangover memories.
    â€œNo Coke. That’s what I’m telling you. It’s a common practice in America to carry one or the other.”
    It was an effort, but I opened my eyes. At first I thought I was in someone’s bedroom, but then I saw a slight Indian man, dressed in a green windbreaker and jeans, rummaging through what was obviously a minibar.
    That, along with the two double beds, tacky wallpaper, and a shoddy print of San Francisco Bay only a nearsighted person could appreciate, led me to the clever deduction that I was in a hotel room.
    To my right another Indian man, older, with a full head of white hair, dressed in orange robes, peered dubiously over the rim of his glasses at a can of Pepsi.
    â€œWho are you?” I had meant the question to come outwith authority, instead my voice croaked like one of Marge Simpson’s sisters.
    Both men turned and stared at me wide-eyed. “You have awoken,” the man in the orange robes, said. “I humbly apologize for the chloroform. Pepsi?” He held out the can.
    I was about to refuse or spit in his face, but my throat was absolutely parched. I reached for the can, and it was then that I realized my arms were tied to the chair.
    Okay, this was scary.
    Fear welled up inside of me, along with something else—
    I was going to barf.
    Some people scream when they’re scared, some cry, I vomit. When I was six my parents enrolled me in swimming classes at the YMCA knowing I was deathly afraid of water. The swimming instructor was no more sympathetic. She blew her whistle and ordered me into the pool with the others. Two minutes later, she was blowing the whistle again, ordering everyone out. I stayed in while the remains of my breakfast floated around me. Swimming classes were never mentioned again.
    I gagged. Saliva rushed into my mouth. I turned my head and spit onto the carpet. The younger man jumped up from the minibar and grabbed the trash can. He held it under my mouth. “Kindly project the contents here,” he said politely.
    I gagged again, looked at the trash can, then down at the pink cashmere Ralph Lauren top I was wearing. Therisk of stains was too great. I shook my head. “I can hold it down.”
    The old man took a step forward. I pressed back into the seat. “Do not be afraid. You misunderstand. The restraints are not for your protection but for ours.”
    â€œ What ?”
    â€œMy name is Ramakrishna but you can call me Ram. I am from Calcutta. This is my cousin Sanjay. He lives in a city called Irvine.”
    â€œHi,” Sanjay said shyly. “I’m a software engineer. If you ever require help with Windows…”
    Ram continued. “I belong to a sect that worships one deity and one deity only, Kali-Ma, the Dark Goddess.”
    â€œRight,” I said and subtly continued to test my restraints.
    â€œUnlike Lord Vishnu, who has resurrected numerous times as a fish, turtle, boar, lion, dwarf, Prince Ram, and Lord Krishna, to save the world from destruction, the goddess’s rise had been foretold but never come to pass. Every night, for hundreds of years, the priests of our temple kept watch on the skies…until the miraculous happened. Thirty years ago a baby girl was born.”
    My legs were untied. If I lured the old man closer, I could get in a pretty good kick to the groin.
    â€œThis baby grew into a beautiful woman. A woman with the body of a lush lotus blossom, with a face as pure and lovely and radiant as the moon.”
    Ram knelt in front of me and winced. “Arthritis.” He looked behind him, and Sanjay quickly got to his kneesas well. “After numerous years and thousands of miles, I, your loyal servant, have come to deliver the joyous news that you are the one and only incarnation of the goddess Kali.”
    â€œHoly shit,” I