Kooky Lucy Frost (24)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (24)"
   
   Lucy's Serbian, immigrant Pap was @ the barber again, his inner OCD always prepped to get the silver fox tamed--a domesticated dog is cool, even Saint John the Eagle would admit this, for they don't eat dead bodies off the crosses, and an Orthodox Jew like Joseph of Arimathea made sure Christ was gently taken down, wrapped in spice, and properly buried.
   Anyway, Lucy was home alone save Cleveland's constant pester, following her pacing feet, out of adoration--Lucy was the Sun to him, that daystar of life.
   So, the doorbell chimed.  It had a funky dinga-donga, like a 70's era Carter Show.  Lucy told Cleveland to sit and stay--the obedient hound submitted to her loving instruction, not a rebuke; moreover, she pulled her dirty-blonde back in a lime-green ponytail stretchy-thing and answered the door without looking through the peep hole; furthermore, as she opened the door, the blonde angel lady from the grocery market was standing there, armed with facial protection; specifically, mirror shades, like motorcycle cops used to wear in the 70's to intimidate their pullovers.  Lucy was astonished, yet knew emerald-green eyes were cloaked beneath her own reflection, yet the golden flax of the woman's hair was beyond the platinum glimmer of champagne, so wheat-like, and verily Notre Dame gold-like.
  The woman said:  "My name is Alva.  You can read me, but I can read you better."
   Lucy felt no intimidation or threat, calmly responding:  "What's this about?"
   Alva responded:  "You are partially one of us.  Yet you attempted to merge, wanting in life, yet wanting is a waste; on the flip side, doing and being is pure sublimity.  That man Conor is of our folk too, halfway, as are you."
   Lucy pushed her cupcake cleavage out like a little Schwarzenegger, boldly probing:  "Well, what should I do?"
   Alva smiled toothy pearls:  "Don't gel.  Keep the blood as pure as you can.  Mate with Conor.  Your eggs are still able, even though you are approaching menopause.  So, don't pause.  Make your own tribe, and we will be guarding."
   Lucy became a bit frustrated:  "What the heck is this all about?"
   Alva stated:  "Remember when you were an adolescent and nobody understood you, saying you were making all your problems up--we knew you weren't.  But your problems are your shield, though let it down for Conor, for he deserves entrance, and you deserve offspring.  We need all the help we can get.  Later, no gator."
   The tall, blonde chick departed, as if into nowhere.  Lucy bit her lip, blew her blonde out of her face, and her forest-green eyes went on an imaginative safari for the seed of Conor.  Why the holy hell freaking not?  She was getting long in the tooth as it was.