Celestial lovers looked down upon them. Eyes warm and forgiving, mirror images of Leah and Artie. Her alabaster body lay sheathed in blood, sweat and spilled Napa Valley kool-ade. His body was hard as a log jam and he wore a scarlett moustache.
"Damn their hides!" Referring to the wicked housewarming gift presented by Ziggy and Cherry Blossom.
"Scandalous!"
She presented him with a gift of her own. A vesica pisces, menses subsiding. He entered her with tender fingers. "Oh, God, I love you."
"Artie, He blessed me with you."
"Shh, quiet now."
*
Leah sat on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin. Listening. Artie was about to speak of something grave, she could tell.
He sighed nervously and said, "I'm thinking of selling the motorcycle."
Motorcycle. Not the Indian anymore.
"Artie!"
"Hold on. Hear me out. Right about now Ziggy is telling Cherry that he's thinking of selling the van."
"What are you boys up to?"
"We want to buy a pick-up truck and go into business."
"I don't want to hear this."
"Darling--"
"It's against the law!"
"Hey, down in Humboldt County they're selling by the roadside."
"Oh, Artie. What are you trying to do?"
"Pay for our house."
*
That morning Artie found Ziggy bathing in Otter Creek. The gangling rock-ribbed hippie looked like an aboriginal faun. Foreskin still attached. Wang-dang-doodle. Artie loved him enormously. Ziggy was true, true in every sense of the word.
"Hola, Kemo Sabe."
"Hey, man. What did she say?"
"Nothing. She cried all night."
"Aw shit. I'm sorry, man."
"It's cool. What about Cherry?"
"She surprised the hell out of me. Saying, oh goodie, a truck to crazy-paint."
Artie and Ziggy hugged, then high-fived.
Partners.
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