Sighing with the unbearable heat, Remy pushed his glasses back so they were no longer sliding down his nose. He looked out on the road, watching the cars zooming past, ignoring his outstretched thumb, and mentally promised God that if he Could Just Get A Ride soon, when he got to the next town, he would go to confession in the first Catholic church he found. He also added that if the vehicle was equipt with air conditioning, he would donate half of the twenty dollars in his pocket after he made his confession.
It had been a little over two years since he'd run away from his home and even though life had been far from easy, he felt he'd made the right decision. The general publics opinion of mutants were rapidly going from being a vaguely odd and disturbing presence to being something that should be wiped from the face of the earth. Every town Remy went to, he found more than his share of angry mutant hating people. Groups like Scam (Society's Citizens Against Mutants) and The Friends of Humanity were appearing like swarms of yellow jackets at picnic with spilled soda. For his own personal safety, Remy got himself a pair of non-perscription dark glasses to hide his unusual eyes. He hated them with a passion, but they beat being killed by an angry mob of ignorant people. He missed his family, but being away from them meant they would be safe from the mutant and mutant sympathizer haters.
He shifted his backpack so it rested more comfortably on his shoulders. At this rate, I might as well start walkin', he thought. Turning so he was headed at the same direction as the traffic, he put his hand by his side and started walking.
He only walked about five hundred yards when an old faded blue Ford Mustang pulled up along side the road. As he walked towards the vehicle, the person driving leaned over and rolled down the passenger window and called, "Hey, need a ride?"
Remy took a quick look at his savior. She looked to be about his age, with shoulder length red hair, which hung as straight as a ruler, her bangs spilling onto her face. She had a cute little button nose and a nice full lower lip, but the most unusual thing about her face were her eyes. They were such a deep, clear blue that looking into them was almost painful.
As he studied her, she studied him with an intense expression. "Well?" she finally said. "Do you need a ride or not?"
A ride is a ride, he thought. This Chere doesn't look like she's planning anyt'ing evil. Normally, Remy was reluctant to accept a ride he hadn't solicited, but he was positive that if this woman truly was up to no good, he could put a stop to it. Besides, it had been awhile since he'd ridden with an attractive young woman. "Oui'," he agreed. "I could use a ride."
"Then stash your pack in the back and climb in."
He stored his backpack in the back seat as requested and slipped into the seat next to her. "T'ank you, Chere," he said, smiling warmly. "It is too warm a day to be walkin'."
"That's for sure," she agreed, shifting the car into drive and pulling onto the road. "If you'd kept walking you'd've wound up melting." Stomping her foot onto the gas peddle, the car jerked once and started picking up speed. "By the way, my name is Denver."
"I am Remy," he said, fastening his Seat belt.
"And you sure as heck aint from New England."
"How very observant of you," Remy quipped, smiling. "How did you guess?"
"I don't know," Denver responded, in turn. "Might be the accent."
"Ah, it always gives me away." He leaned back in the seat, enjoying the cool air which flowed from the air conditioning vents. "I confess, I'm from New Orleans."
"Now that's a place," Denver remarked. "I visited there once with my mom, 'bout three years ago. I was thirteen and it was Mardi Gras. What a party!"
"Oui'," Remy agreed. He looked over at Denver, taking the opportunity to check out the rest of her. Not bad, he thought. Sitting down, it was hard to tell how tall she was, but if he had to guess, he'd say about five foot seven, maybe eight. Due to the excessive heat, she was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a tube halter top. Her build was thin, but the muscles in her arms bore witness that this girl was no weakling. Also, for someone with such small hips and a tiny waist, she was extremely top heavy. I wonder how many guys don't look her in the eyes when they talk to her? .
"Peppermint gum," she said, breaking the silence.
"Excuse me?" Remy asked.
"Peppermint gum," she repeated. "Somewhere on your person you've got peppermint gum. I can smell it."
"No," he disagreed. "I don't chew gum."
"Check the bottom of your shoes then," she suggested. "Cause I know you've got peppermint gum somewhere on you."
Shrugging, he did as she requested. Sure enough, stuck to the bottom of one of his sneakers was a small wad of gum, wedged into one of the traction holes. Pulling a small knife out of his pocket, he dug out the gum and tossed it out the window. "Is dat' better?" he asked her.
Denver nodded. "Much better." she looked over at him, averting her eyes from the road for a moment. "You've got a pack of smokes in your pocket. If you want to light up, I don't mind."
"Thank you," he responded, pulling out his cigarettes. He held out the pack, offering her one.
"No thanks." Her attention was back on the road. "I don't smoke. My mother does though, so it doesn't bother me."
"Ah." He lit up and leaned back in the seat, blowing a cloud of smoke out of his nose. "I'm curious Denver, how could you smell the gum? It was a very tiny piece."
"Real good nose," she replied, reaching up and tapping it. "My mom has a terrific sense of smell too. It seems to run in the family."
"And your Daddy?"
"I wouldn't know," Denver said, "having never met the man."
There was something in her tone of voice that told Remy not to push the issue. Instead, he opened the wing window of the car to let the smoke escape.
The drove along for awhile silently. Remy looked over at the speedometer, noticing Denver was doing about 80 miles an hour. "You like driving fast, eh Chere'?"
A lopsided grin crossed her face. "That isn't all I do fast," she murmured.
Remy didn't quite know what to say to that.
A few minutes later, she looked over at him, taking her eyes off the road for a moment. "So, did you run away?"
"What makes you think that, Chere." he asked, carefully trying to keep his tone even. "I'm eighteen."
"Bullshit," Denver stated flatly. "You're not eighteen yet. I'd say you're about sixteen. Same as me. Don't piss me off, okay?"
He jerked his head back, startled at her straight-forward manner of speaking. Dis girl, she doesn't pull her punches. Best I be honest with her and take my chances. "Okay, Denver, you caught me. What are you going to do, take me to the police?"
"Nope," She kept her eyes on the road. "Actually I was going to offer you a job."
"A job?" he repeated her words. He didn't know what he expected her to say, but it wasn't that. "Um, what type of job?" His years on the road had taught him to be wary of offers that seemed too good to be true. He certainly wasn't above supplementing his income by illegal ways, in fact there were several times when his early training as a thief had been his sole means of support, but he didn't want to take chances. Picking pockets was one thing, getting involved with drugs, armed robbery, or child prostitution was another.
"Painting," Denver said. "My house needs to be painted and my mom and I don't have the time to do it. She's looking to hire someone to do it for us. I doubt Mom will pay a fortune for the job, but she'll give you a place to stay while your working and make sure you get three meals a day."
The offer sounded good, still he was cautious. "I'm not sure..."
"Well, why don't I take you home with me and you can talk to my mom," Denver offered. "Then you can decide if you're interested or not."
What do I have to lose? he thought. Not much at this point. I don't think $20.00 is gonna get me far. What do I have to gain? A job for at least a couple weeks, a place to stay, my meals, and some money. Life is full of chances and this is one I've got to take. "All right," he agreed.
She smiled. "Good."
"There is one thing I should tell you though, Chere."
"What's that?"
"I have no experience at painting houses."
"That's okay," Denver grinned. "Mom and I don't have any experience hiring someone to paint our house. We'll all figure it out along the way."
"If I could make one request though..." he asked.
"What is it?"
"Before we go to your house, could we stop at a Catholic Church? I have a confession and a donation to make."
She looked at him, shaking her head. "Okay, whatever."
Denver and her mother lived in an old Victorian style house in Kingston Rhode Island. As they pulled into the driveway, Remy looked at the house and mentally shook his head. The place was a painter's nightmare, with all it's odd shaped windows and carved trim. Dis sure as hell ain't gonna be a quick job, he thought
"Horrible, isn't it?" Denver commented as if she could read his thoughts. "Fortunately, Mom and I aren't exactly picky. Just as long as it gets a coat of paint."
"Good thing, Chere'," Remy murmured. "As I told you, I have no experience painting houses."
She shrugged as they both got out of the car. "Hey, you've come this far, might as well talk to Mom. She doesn't bite..." She paused for a moment, a wicked grin crossing her face and added, "much..."
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I'll leave that for you to figure out." She bounded up to the front door before he could respond. Grinning, he followed her.
The inside of the house was dark and cool. She lead him from the hallway into a room. Remy shrugged off his coat and draped it over his arm. "Here," Denver said, pointing to a board stuck to the wall, with nails on it. "You can hang that there. Hold on a sec and I'll see if Mom is busy."
She left the room. Remy hung up his coat and looked around. The room he was in was a cheerful cluttered mess of old mismatched furniture, books, laundry, and overflowing ashtrays. It was obvious that the people who resided in this house believed in the "lived-in" look. He considered sitting down, but decided against it, knowing he'd have to move several things to sit anywhere.
A few minutes later, Denver walked into the room. "Mom wants to talk to you," she said, "Come on."
She lead him through the kitchen, which unlike the other room he'd been in, was neat and clean. Denver looked at him. "I do most of the cooking," she said, noticing he was looking around. "I can't cook in a disorganized kitchen." She lead him to a just door off the kitchen and tapped on it with her knuckles. "Mom! He's here!"
"Fine Denver," a gravely female voice responded. "Send him in."
"Go on in," Denver said, motioning to the door.
"Thank you," Remy murmured, opening the door.
When he walked into the room, he suddenly wished he still had his jacket. There was an air conditioner going full blast, lowering the temperature of the room to about 40 degrees. He shivered, and looked around, blinking because his eyes started watering over the cold.
It was an office, but it was decorated as though it were December. There was a fake Christmas tree, complete with lights and ornaments in one corner. Near that was a fireplace with one of those fake gas fires burning away, and stockings hung on the mantel. The windows were painted with fake snow.
On the opposite side of the room was a huge oak desk with a computer on top of it. Sitting behind the desk was a woman. She stood up as he entered. "Hi." She offered her hand. "I'm Alex."
Remy shook it, looking this woman over. She was a tiny thing, with black hair that hung down to her waist. Her eyes were dark, but shone like two black diamonds in her head. She had a compact look to her, strong arms and legs and a bust that easily competed with her daughter's for attention. They might have been the same size in that department, but Alex's lack of height made hers even more obvious. Interesting...She an' Denver look alike in some ways, and nothing like each other in other ways "I am Remy."
"Yeah, Denver told me. Have a seat," she indicated the chair across from her desk and sat down herself, lighting up a cigarette.
"Thank you," he said, sitting down. "Um... interesting decor you have."
She grinned, revealing a perfect set of small, slightly pointed teeth. There was something ferral about this woman, which was something Denver didn't seem to have inherited. "Yeah, I know. I write kids books and I'm working on a Christmas story. I set up the room like this to get me in the mood."
"'Ave you succeeded?" he asked.
"I guess." she shrugged. "If I loose the mood, I'll have to put on Christmas CD's, but hey, it's the price I pay to make a living." She pushed her hair over her shoulders, her expression changing to one more serious. "Denver tells me you're looking for work."
"Actually, it seems work came looking for me," Remy said, his eyes sparkling under his "fake" glasses "You're daughter picked me up 'an offered me a chance to talk to you. Apparently, you need someone to paint this house."
"Yeah," Alex nodded. "The neighbors are starting to say this place is an eyesore. Personally, I wish they'd mind their own F-ing business, but I don't want trouble. So, I figure I'll just hire someone to slap a coat of paint on the place and shut them all up."
"I have to be honest." Remy leaned forward. "I 'ave no experience painting houses."
"Yeah, Denver mentioned that." Alex shrugged. "I'm not looking for Michelangelo Davinchi here, I'm just looking for a way to make the house look okay from the road. 'Sides kid, you'll probably work cheap, especially if I let you stay here, which I will. This is a big place, I got an extra room."
"How much you talkin' 'bout paying me an' how long I got to do the job?" Remy asked, then added, "If you decide to hire me."
"You've got the summer to paint the place if ya want it," Alex said, taking a long drag from her cigarette and blowing the smoke out of her nose. "I don't expect you to kill yourself. I'm willing to put a roof over your head for that time, give you meals, and pay you $75.00 a week. Remember, that $75.00 is gravy, all you'll have to buy is your smokes and any personal stuff you want. If we'd found a local kid to do it, I'd pay him a hundred a week. 25.00 a week for room and board ain't a bad deal."
It certainly wasn't. Remy had no idea what house painters made, but he knew this was a good offer for him. If he kept his spending down to a minimum, he should have a good chunk of change by the time this job was over. And for two months, he wouldn't have to worry about finding a place to stay or sleeping in the streets. "I am interested," he said slowly. "Are you willing' to hire me?"
"Sure," Alex said, shrugging. "At least I know with you you'll be there. You'll be living under my roof. If I hired a local kid, I'd have to worry that they may just stop showing up someday."
Dis woman is very trusting, he thought. She don' even know me and she's gonna have me stayin' in her house. He smiled. "I assume you will provide the paint and all the supplies?"
"Of course," she said, almost smirking. "So, ya willing to give it a go?"
"All right," he said. "You got a deal."
"Good." She grinned. "You know how to find your way back to the kitchen? I'll bet Denver is there. Have her give you some lunch and show you what room you'll be using. You can start tomorrow with the painting. I got a book to write."
Before he could thank her, she turned her attention back to the computer with a dismissing air. Remy shrugged and left the room.
He walked into the kitchen. Denver was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking something that looked like orange juice. She looked up at him and smiled. "Got the job, eh?"
"Oui," he murmured. "Your Mother, she told me to ask you about lunch and to show me what room I'd be using."
"No problem," Denver said. "What do you want first? To see your room or lunch?"
The moment the word lunch was out of her mouth, Remy's stomach made a long, low, rumbling noise, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since last night. He looked away from her, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
Denver grinned. "Maybe we ought to start with lunch."