Her mongrel dog settled back on its haunches, watching.
A minute passed.
Matt shifted his weight, twitching. They were close enough he could see the woman’s fuzzy, frowsy eyebrows and smell garlic on her breath. She was bra-less. Her boobs hung low, like zucchinis.
“Be calm,” the woman soothed, patting his hands. She opened her eyes, stared into his. “You have such a young soul! No wonder you’re lost and out of touch with Mother Earth and Luna.”
Okay. Freak show over. Matt pulled his hands free. “Sorry. I have to go.”
“Celeste. That’s my name,” the woman said. “I live there.” She pointed to a townhome three doors away. “Feel free to stop by anytime.”
“It’s been nice to meet you, Celeste,” Matt said half-heartedly. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d grown into her birthname or had re-christened herself after one too many bongs.
Celeste laughed. “It doesn’t take a psychic to know that you think I’m a kook.”
She paused. “Listen to me, Warrior Prince. Smoke the cigar. Sniff the flowers. Eat the pie.”
“Huh?”
“Luna tells me you’re isolated from three friends,” Celeste said. “You need to heal those relationships during the gibbous moon. Three friends. Three signs: A cigar. Flowers. Pie. Follow the signs to peace and healing.”
Celeste’s dog stood, shook itself to limber up. It was ready to go.
Matt was, too. He turned to leave.
“Two more things,” Celeste said. “One: Luna’s rays are strongest tonight. Stand naked and absorb their healing power. Two: fuck as often as you can.”
Matt was taken aback. “Fuck for healing?”
“No, silly,” Celeste laughed. “It feels good, and someday you’ll be old like me, and there won’t be as many opportunities!”
Matt jiggled his key into the clubhouse’s lock. Eased open the door. Peered into the gloom.
No one was there, which was a good thing. He didn’t want company. Celeste had been more than enough with her talk of Luna and thatstrange prophecy. He was fine with sniffing flowers or eating a little pie, but smoking a cigar? Maybe in the Freudian sense. Not literally. Tobacco and soccer didn’t mix well.
The way he saw it, Celeste had been about two minutes away from asking him to join her cult. Or buy crystals. Or copulate. Maybe fucking had been her goal from the beginning. If so, she’d have been sorely disappointed to learn that Luna had led her to Ganymede.
Matt stepped into the clubhouse’s little foyer, left the door ajar for light. No need to flip a switch. He wouldn’t be there long.
The kitchen was to his right. He laid the key on the bar top, by the phone.
“Hello dahling,” came a disembodied voice.
Matt jumped, sucked in air.
In the dark living room a spectral, shadowed figure sat in the overstuffed chair.
William! What was he doing there?
Even more shocking to Matt: why was William talking to him?
“I just returned my key,” Matt said. “I’m leaving.”
“At least have a drink with me. You owe me that much.”
Matt seethed. Whatever debt he’d owed William for having introduced him to the GM and for having mentored him had been erased by weeks of silent treatment. His hopes for reconciliation had long since curdled into indifference. He was past caring now.
William must have taken Matt’s silence for acquiescence. “Close the door,” he said. “Bring a tumbler for yourself. I’ve already got one.”
