The Gospel According to Cher (Cupid Knows Best) by Garcia S.A

Author:Garcia, S.A. [Garcia, S.A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2013-10-27T04:00:00+00:00

HINDY EXITED from the Duck, Patrice’s ancient Nova named for the hideous yellow paint job coating the old metal. The ugly car contrasted with Patrice’s presentation persona in an astonishing manner. The old hulk was ugly, noisy, uncomfortable, and tacky—all descriptors Hindy despised. The thing backfired for no apparent reason other than to scare Hindy. He appreciated Patrice’s effort to keep the interior clean, but tidiness didn’t compensate for the ripped seams and weird repairs. Five different materials covered the back seat in a crazy quilt pattern. When Hindy tried to unroll the window, the battered plastic-and-metal handle ended up in his hand, not on the door.

He made a mental note never to let Patrice drive him around again.

Good, no one else occupied the small roadside parking area. He wanted as few people as possible to see his unfashionable outfit. The last time he had worn shorts, aside from being at the beach, had been when he was five. During summer at the seaside, his mother had loved dressing him in silly sailor suits and other nauseatingly nautical outfits. The memory still scarred Hindy’s fashion sense. Photographic evidence tucked into family albums revealed a dour little reject from the Village People. Dreadful. Someday he’d burn those photos. At least today he wore black cargo shorts, which hung below his knees.

Hindy understood his physical shortcomings. His knobby knees ranked high on the list. Wearing shorts ending just above the bony spectacle seemed silly.

A simple black T-shirt adorned his upper body. No matter what his garb, no one would mistake the pale Hindy for someone who regularly traipsed in the great outdoors. A quick glance in the mirror before they left informed him he looked like an old Goth punk. How wretched.

The flashy Patrice looked even less outdoorsy. Pink sparkly spandex capris and what looked to be a 1950s plaid sleeveless top—the plaid done in pink and blue—graced his body. Pink hiking boots adorned with abysmally cute cartoon cats matched his capris. Pink socks with red pom-poms completed the bright outfit. Patrice told Hindy he wore Hello Kitty boots.

Hindy only blinked and nodded in agreement. Patrice looked like a pop culture nightmare. Yes, Hindy suspected Patrice and Marcel shared the same atrocious fashion DNA; for them DNA meant Do Not Attempt. Somehow they still managed to look sexy. The men stood as a puzzle for the sartorial ages.

Patrice plucked off his orange cat-eyed sunglasses and grinned. “Let’s apply bug spray.”

“Do we need to? I’m not big on chemicals.”

“Don’t worry, this stuff is all natural. I bought the spray at the same place where I score my essential oil mix. Betty mixes chamomile, lemongrass, citronella, and a little lavender in a soybean oil base. The spray smells nice.” He handed Hindy the blue glass spray bottle. “Coat me, baby!”

Hindy tested the spray velocity before he adjusted his distance and started spraying. Patrice wiggled and giggled. “It tickles.”

“There, you’re all set.”

“Let me douse you.”

“Hold on.” Hindy braided his hair and held the weight on his head.

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