Cruz Calliope

People Who Make Life More Fun

Erik Harvey was sitting on the patio of The Agency, at the corner of Eliot and Ness. Sometimes you had to point out that joke to the tourists.

The new server had a really cute birthmark on her neck.

Erik was about to order an espresso.

Then he heard and saw Cruz Calliope come around the corner.

Cruz was wearing canary yellow hotpants and the roller skates he was skating on had an implement that created sparks behind him as he rolled.

He was singing some ancient hit song acapella…Madonna? Maybe.

Erik ordered a pint of pilsener and a shot of Jagermeister.

Cruz just had that kind of aura. Life was a party.

Unfortunately, he had looked right at Erik, and Erik had skipped out on Cruz’s most recent party, which would result in a lecture, probably fake tears.

Cruz pirouetted on the skates, put his hands on his hips and said “Erik” in such a manner that it was a song in itself. 

Erik just nodded.

“Yeah, sorry I missed the party, Cruz.”

“Cruz was sad, Erik. People kill for those invites.”

Erik hated when people referred to themselves in the third person, except for Cruz. He pulled it off.

There were two reasons Erik skipped out on Cruz’s party: He didn’t have a date and he had procrastinated on his costume for so long it would have just been weak. And if Cruz thought you didn’t put in effort, well, that could be worse than not showing up. 

The theme was: Come As Your Favorite Artwork. Erik had tried to do a wire mesh and fabric untitled Pollock from the 40’s but wound up with something that looked like a blood splattered Klan hood with bacon grease. He just couldn’t.

Erik couldn’t tell Cruz the date part, otherwise Cruz would spend the next 6 months trying to set him up. It was another of Cruz’s hobbies, beyond theme parties at his loft every three months.

Cruz balanced himself with one arm on the patio stanchion and hopped over, skates narrowly missing the head of the woman at the next table wearing a red beret. It would be on brand for Cruz to kick into a Prince song, but he didn’t.

He flopped in one of the black steel mesh chairs, grabbed Erik’s hand and said “Oh handsome, it was such fun until the disaster.”

Erik laughed.

“You’ve never thrown a disaster.”

“And I didn’t throw one, sugar fountain. I threw a soiree. But Dillon Barkley turned it into a disaster.”