Morning, all! Welcome to Rainbow Snippets. 😀 😀

Continuing with “The Hippie Whisperer“, Ben’s “even white teeth” are distracting.” Longer for context.

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“I suppose you’re mostly nondescript when you’re working?” I gathered up the rest of the plates while Chester and Dre put away the leftovers.

“More or less. What about you? What do you do?”

“Well, nothing as glamorous as you. I’m a counselor at a community college.”

“I see. And you ask me what right I have to force people to—”

“Wait a minute! I don’t force anyone to do anything. I simply provide guidance and support for students in order to meet their goals.”

“But it’s according to what you think they should do, what you think is best for them, right?”

“Well, yes. That’s what I’m trained for.”

“Using art as a way to enlighten an audience, enhance human experience and thought, no matter how uncomfortable—that’s what I’m trained for.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” One thing about Ben, you were never in doubt as to his true feelings on a subject. “Can we cry truce?” I asked.

“But we were just getting started,” Ben said with a cheeky smile.

Oh dear, the patriotic punk had even, white teeth. The universe had it in for me, surely.

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Welcome to Rainbow Snippets weekend!

I thought I’d share the new cover of my upcoming short story, “For the Love of Muscles” – smokin’, right? 🙂

Continuing with “The Hippie Whisperer“, Ben is still shattering Carl’s concept of reality. 🙂 A little longer than six sentences for context. Mea culpa.

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Ben said, “I don’t always dress like this. My hair, so you know, is part of the ‘show’ around the mural I’m working on. It’ll be done in time for the Fourth of July. At that time, my hair will go back to its usual blond.”

“So the picture online was—”

“I’m not online.” Before I could contradict him, I heard a cough. I looked over at Chester and saw him exchange a look with Dre. Guilty. Ben was a quicker study than I, however.

“Oh, now I get it. I wondered why Dre took that photo of me when I got to the house today.” Ben looked over at the mischief makers. “You guys created the account right after that, didn’t you?”

They both shrugged and smiled, neither confirming nor denying anything.

“I don’t do online dating,” Ben said, turning his attention back to me. “That is the epitome of subterfuge, in my book.”

Definitely something we could agree on. Damn it, but he intrigued me.

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Ben explains why he dresses the way he does… “The Hippie Whisperer“… A little longer than six sentences for context. Carl is in the first person.

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“To answer your question,” Ben said, “sure, I employ the shock factor, if only because I get to see people as they really are, without artifice. First impressions always count. It’s rare to get a second chance. If something jars them or resonates on some level, and manages to open their mind, my job is done. If it doesn’t, then maybe it wasn’t time yet, and they can scurry back to that little box of staid reality they live in.”

“So is everything about making a point, with you?” I asked. “Forcing people to see or experience things they may not be ready for, according to your vision? What gives you the right to do that?”

“Just so you know,” Ben said, “when I dress like this, it’s usually to help me gauge the new people in my life. Their first response tells me all I need to know. I do like bright colors, especially in my art. But I like more mundane things, too.” He grabbed his
plate and got up to take it to the sink. I got up and took mine, too, drawn to him and his ability to cut through to the heart of things like a magnet, despite myself.

“So you’re saying you have a more subtle side?” I was  skeptical, as you might imagine, since my retinas had yet to recover.

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The dinner from hell (in Carl’s opinion) continues as Carl finds out Ben is an artist… “The Hippie Whisperer“… A little longer than six sentences for context.

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“Is the shock factor a basis for your art and your attire?” I asked.

“Dad!” Chester protested, but he started this, so he’d just have to deal.

“It’s a simple question. I’m sure he can handle it, can’t you, Ben?” I wanted to find a chink in his armor, so I wasn’t the only one off balance.

Ben just smiled at me, not even fazed by my rudeness. He addressed Chester. “It’s okay. I meet people like your dad all the time.”

“Oh, this could be good,” my son chortled. Turncoat.

“I beg your pardon?” I said.

“I’m sure I was clear,” Ben replied.

“I’m sure you weren’t.”

“Let the man talk, Dad.”

“You’re not helping, Judas.”

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Carl meets Ben… “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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I tried to regroup. “Benjamin, I assume?” I held out my hand to shake his.

“Ben,” an unexpectedly sonorous voice responded as he took my hand in a confident grip, holding on long enough so I could feel the strength there. The warmth of it stole up my arm, but I tried hard to ignore it.

“Carl, right?” He smiled at me, a look in his amethyst-colored eyes that said he knew what I was thinking, and couldn’t care less about my opinion. Score one for Ben.

“Yes.” It was time to eat. Clearing my throat, I said, “Please sit, everyone.” I gave my son a glance that said, “you’re in trouble, boy,” and served the meal.

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Carl is shocked at his dinner guest’s…intriguing…outfit, among other things, in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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I’m sure my facial expression was comical as I looked him over, but managed to close my mouth quickly enough, I hoped, barely remembering my manners.

Benjamin Brooker was about my height, which was fine by me. I liked that, usually. But, this guy wore tight pink pants and an equally clingy, bright orange T-shirt emblazoned with some trendy design done in a shiny motif. A narrow, blistering yellow scarf hung around his neck, even though it was eighty degrees outside. Who dressed like that in the real world?

The fact that he filled out his clothing to perfection might have made up for his shocking dress sense, but then I saw his—was his hair frosted? Oh shit! It was the patriotic skunk from the online dating site Chester had shown me earlier. That he was extremely good-looking didn’t even sink in—much—because I’d been setup. And he did not look like he was in his thirties.

Maybe twenty-five, the bastard.

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Chester reveals that his boyfriend is coming to dinner and bringing someone, which makes Carl suspicious, in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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“Wait a minute.” I [Carl] became suspicious. “This isn’t a blind date, is it?” I turned away from the pasta I was stirring to stare him down.

Chester held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Absolutely not! He just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and hungry. But if something happens between the two of you, even better.”

He gave me the smile I’d come to dread over the years, the one where he was about to spray paint his room an emergency vest orange, or shave Chewy, our cat.

He was up to something, I knew it.

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Chester continues to pester his dad (Carl) about dating in “The Hippie Whisperer“… He means well, but… 🙂 Longer than six sentences for context….(forgive me).

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“Where’s all this coming from?” I {Carl} asked.

“At least you don’t wear tie dye, though the Hawaiian shirts—” {Chester}

“What’s your point, rugrat?”

“Is your mirror broken?” He glowered at me.

I channeled my inner Yoda. “Broken, the mirror is not.”

“You’re tall, fit, and good-looking in a scruffy kind of way. You have crow’s feet that make you look distinguished. You have killer dimples. Cut that hair, make a little effort and guys will be banging down your door to hump your leg.”

“I’m not looking to date a dog.”

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I had a new release this week with Less Than Three Press (yeah!!!), so if you’re interested, check it out: https://lessthanthreepress.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_bookx_info&cPath=90&products_id=1604

As for our main character(s), Chester finally makes it home, and asks his dad (Carl) to look at the computer. Uh-oh…from “The Hippie Whisperer“… Longer than six sentences for context….

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Chester asked, “Can we use your computer?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“You’ll see.”

A few minutes later I stared in horror at my monitor and shook my head vigorously. “No way in hell,” I said, unequivocally. A man’s garish profile grinned at me while Chester tried to convince me to participate in online dating.

“Why not?” he prodded.

“The guy has red, white, and blue stripes in his hair. He looks like a patriotic skunk.”

“Like you can talk with your thinning, shoulder-length, blond hippie hair and seventies sideburns. Neil Young would like his hair back.”

I now regretted watching all those documentaries on the History and Discover channels with him when he was younger. “Funny. I don’t see why I need to change anything.”

“For one thing, Carl, your hairline’s receding. And another, it’s 2014. No one wears their hair like that unless they’re a part of Greenpeace.”

“It’s Dad to you, and I like my hair just fine, thank you very much.”

“You’re in denial. All you need is some patchouli.”

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