Cynthia Nixon opened her eyes and screamed.

There was a man sitting on the edge of her bed. He was perhaps four feet tall, with broad muscular shoulders, curling red hair and skin that was dotted with freckles. He also had a quiver full of arrows strapped to his back and a large bow. Hence the scream.

“Easy lady, easy,” the man said. “What are you trying to do? Wake the dead?”

“What are you doing in my apartment?”

“You call this an apartment? More like a dive, ain’t it?”

Cynthia moved to a sitting position, causing the small man to readjust himself. “Easy, lady, easy. You want me to fall off this bed and hurt myself? I could charge you for workers comp, you know.”

It was then that she noticed the wings. “Who the hell are you?”

The man winked at her and ruffled his wings. “I’m anybody you want me to be, baby.”

Cynthia made a sound of disgust and pulled the blanket out from under him. “No, I mean what are you? What’s with the get up?” She held up a fist to the little man. “And you better start talking, cus I’m in the mood to scream.”

“Okay, okay.” The man huffed. He folded his wings around himself. “Jeez, lady, you really know how to mark up a guy’s manhood, you know? I never asked for this job, you know.”

“What is it exactly that you do?” Cynthia asked.

He puffed out his chest. “I’m Cupid.”

Cynthia snorted. “Yeah, and I’m Little Bo Peep.”

Cupid wiggled his eyebrows. “Did you want to be? I’ve got a great Sheppard’s outfit and I’m sure I could find you a Bo Peep dress.”

Cynthia’s mouth frowned in disgust. “In your dreams...”

Cupid leered at her. “It’s happened,” he said. “Most women find me very charming.”

“Why, because you shoot them with arrows?”

“Nope, the arrows are for the men. Most men are too stupid to know when a woman fancies them. The arrow just gives them a gentle nudge.”

Cynthia rubbed her eyes. She was not having this conversation. She was not talking to a four foot tall man with three day old stubble, wings and bad fashion sense. “I thought Cupid was all cute and cuddly,” she said in resignation. “Aren’t you supposed to be like, a cherub, or something?”

Cupid scowled at her. “Lady, don’t make me gag. That’s just an urban myth,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “I suppose you expect me to be wearing a diaper, or something too, right? Some sort of loin cloth?”

“Well, what about the hearts, the rosy cheeks, the floating on clouds?”

“Lady, what have you been reading? Do you really believe all the Hallmark crap? Look, I’m Cupid. I got the job from the last guy, who by the way was arrested for looking in at women while they were undressing.”

“The last Cupid was a peeping tom?” Cynthia could not believe she was having this conversation.

“Yep, got into real trouble too; a woman went to take a bath and found more than a bar of soap floating in her bathwater.”

Cynthia shuddered. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You’re taking this rather well,” Cupid said, nonchalantly. “Most woman who wake up and find a guy in their apartment need a little convincing.”

“This isn’t the first strange thing that’s happened to me,” Cynthia said. “I attract a lot of freaks.”

“Something weirder than a four foot guy with wings?”