beads, stained glass, dream catchers, Chinese lanterns. And other shit peppering the earth: gnomes, goddess statues, laughing Buddhas, Kokopelli, sun dials. And more shit tacked to tree trunks: green men, a tie-dye sign that said Peace, Love and Fairy Dust, a portrait of Frida Kahlo.
Christ.
She stopped to hold a low hanging branch out of his way as he passed her, then he stopped so she could lead again, all the while she babbled.
“She lost the green she used to have, and there’s been a lot of gray for a long time, which I must admit, I find concerning, but nothing can diminish her multi-hued wonder.”
“Right,” he muttered again.
She again stopped, this time abruptly, and on the narrow path fenced in by vegetation, he had no choice but to stop with her.
“But even though she’s a lot of pink, she’s no flower child.”
“Okay,” he said.
Her eyes went up and down his length. “I could totally see her as a biker babe.”
Rush said nothing.
She leaned toward him, this time conspiratorially even though, as far as he knew, no one was anywhere near. “Can you imagine the wind in all her gah-lor-ee-us red hair?”
He could imagine something in that hair, but even as much as he’d like her on the back of his bike, he wanted to start with his fingers.
“Yeah,” he answered.
She smiled again. “I bet you can.” She recommenced walking. “I love her. Adore her. Not only is she an awesome tenant, she’s my yin.”
“Your what?”
She halted again and turned back to him. “Yin to my yang. I’m fairy dust. She’s curls of steel. Still delicate, and beautiful, but slivered from strength. Not magic. I’m air and water. She’s earth and fire. I’m a petal. She’s the root. I’m a sunbeam. She’s a moonbeam. Opposites attract, my boy.” She wagged a bony finger complete with one side of a cymbal up at him. “Remember that.”
She started walking again, and fortunately not too much farther they hit a low, white picket fence that wouldn’t contain a three-year-old, was wound with some green-leafed vine and randomly every few slats, at the top, a rainbow-colored peace sign was painted on it.
Beyond that, more of the stone path that led to another house, this one much smaller, surrounded by greenery. It was painted turquoise and had boxes filled with trailing plants and flowers in each window.
“Here she is!” she cried.
She skipped through a low gate that was hanging drunkenly open and useless and not only because it was overwhelmed by vines, to the front door Rush would swear he saw in a Peter Jackson movie.
It was then he saw the cats roaming around.
A gray one slinking over a window box.
A black one snoozing in the lap of a large meditating gnome.
A black and white one sitting, tail twitching, in the shadow by the door.
“She’s not a cat lady, I am. I have twelve. They know I’m their minion. So they gravitate to Rebel because they scent her as their queen,” the woman declared before knocking on the door and shouting, “Rebel girl! Open up. And I hope you have condoms!”
Jesus Christ.
The door opened and Rebel stood there looking like she belonged there wearing a colorful silk scarf wrapped around the top of her head, the rest of her spectacular hair flowing out under it, a big misshapen tee in a dark pink that fell to her hips, made sexy because it was falling off one shoulder, and a tight, faded jean skirt, its ragged hem hitting her at her upper thighs.
Bare feet with toes painted one color.
Red.
Great legs.
Tanned.
Long.
No surprise.
All gorgeous.
“If you don’t have prophylactics, darling, I have plenty,” the woman announced.
Rebel tore her pretty blue eyes off Rush and looked to her landlady.
“Jesus, Essence, did you trip him out with all your hippie shit?”
“Of course I did, dear. Trial by fire,” the woman replied.
“Please tell me you didn’t share your Woodstock orgy story,” she begged.
“First thing I shared,” the woman, apparently called Essence, bragged.
Rebel pointed a finger, in what Rush suspected but couldn’t be certain after the winding route they took was toward the Pepto Bismol house, the sight of which had long since been lost to the jungle. “Go find Major Nelson.”
Essence threw her head back and roared with laughter.
While she did, Rebel smiled at her.
And the earth stood still.
He didn’t know her. He’d seen her twice, been in her actual presence once, and flipped through a number of pictures of her.
He had no idea the weight she carried on her face.
Not until then.
Not