and a variety of furniture, some of that (the tables) covered in more pots or candlesticks, lanterns or other knickknacks, some of it (the chairs and lounges and swings) swathed in scarves or blankets or bright-colored pads.
He hit the bell and his body automatically jerked in surprise when he heard the loud, long, slow succession of different notes sounding like they were banged on gongs coming from inside.
He stared at the window in the door that was covered in something printed in paisley.
He waited.
He did not want to ring that bell again, but no one was answering the door.
He looked left, saw some steps down from the porch that led into the overgrown bush that was the side yard, and was about to head that way thinking it’d lead him to ¾, when he sensed movement.
He turned back to the door, looked down, and saw a short elderly lady had pulled back the paisley.
She, against what even he would advise, instantly opened the door to a tall, fit man in a Club cut that she did not know.
But once the door was opened, it was Rush who fought taking a step back.
She was wearing an I Dream of Jeannie outfit, but all in purples and greens, and instead of harem pants, the bottom was a skirt made of filmy scarves.
What the fuck?
“Howdy!” she cried.
“Uh, hey,” he replied. “I’m looking for Rebel St—”
He didn’t get that out.
Her blue eyes brightened, her mouth spread in a huge-ass smile, and she lifted both hands.
Cha-ching!
Christ, she had finger cymbals.
“My Rebel girl’s got a hot one!” she exclaimed. She then narrowed her eyes at him. “Please tell me you’re sleeping with her.”
Again.
What the fuck?
“Uh—”
She cut him off, not that he knew what to say. “Or want to sleep with her.”
Rush shut his mouth.
She brightened again and another cha-ching!
“Excellent!” she shouted.
“I take it she lives here,” he noted in order to move this along.
She nodded. “Out the back.” Cha ching. “I’ll show you.”
Before he could tell her he could find his own way (even if in that green tangle he wasn’t sure he could), she moved out onto the porch on bare feet, toes painted varying shades, all of them from a rainbow, shutting the door behind her and forcing Rush to get out of her way.
She then hustled to the side where Rush had seen the steps.
Without a choice, he followed her.
“Okay, I’m assuming with your Club cut that you aren’t into trad, you know, convention, or judgment, but it’s important to me, especially with my Rebel girl, not to be a cock blocker, so don’t judge her by me.”
While he processed a woman in an I Dream of Jeannie outfit who looked like a grandmother saying the words “cock blocker” and knowing what a cut was, she stopped one step down toward the wilds and looked up at him.
“I’m seventy-three, I bet you wouldn’t have guessed that.”
He stared into her cute, but very lined face framed by a big head of long, thick, curled, attractive but very gray hair on her tiny body, and he could see with the flesh exposed, sagging skin, and decided not to reply.
She swiveled her hips. “I stay young and supple belly dancing, among other things. I also participated in an orgy at Woodstock.” She leaned up to him. “The Woodstock. I was tripping. Primo LSD. I don’t remember all of it. I do remember elephants watching, though I’m pretty sure they weren’t real. The sex was still rad.”
This was way too much information.
“In other words,” cha-ching, “I’m a dyed-the-wool hippie,” she declared.
“Right,” he muttered, deciding not to tell her the finger cymbals and rainbow toes had already communicated that.
As well as a lot of other shit.
She turned and skipped gracefully down the steps, and that made her seem like she was sixteen years old.
She did this talking and with him following her.
“Now, Rebel girl’s got a far-out aura. She’s all pink and orange and blue.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “And tons of red.”
She winked like he knew what the fuck she was talking about and again turned forward as she moved him through a path made of wide, randomly set stones that led through a jungle, which grew direct from the earth and a shit-ton of pots, huge to small.
This was punctuated with a variety of seating areas from either furniture or blankets or pads or pillows or poofs on the ground.
There was also a variety of shit hanging from branches: wind chimes, candle holders,