Bling answered the knock on the door and found an angel.  A
dripping, shivering, bedraggled angel toting a soggy messenger
pouch and leaning a bicycle against her hip--but an angel
nonetheless.  And he was struck dumb.

"Rainin' pretty hard out there," she said as she pushed a
strand of humidity-kinked black out of her eyes.

Bling stammered something.  It didn't make since even to
him. . . . Why hadn't he ever noticed her before?  He'd seen
her two or three times hanging out with Max.  Maybe it just
took a closer look to realize that this woman was beautiful.

She didn't seem to mind his unintelligible response.  She
continued as if nothing had happened.  "Station's too far away
to turn back around, and the address I gotta get this to is
too far away to keep going.  Can I stay here till the rain
lets up?"

"Sure," he managed, and he stepped aside to let her wheel her
bike through the door.

She stepped into the living room briefly to exchange greetings
with Logan, then made a beeline for the kitchen.  She opened
the messenger pouch and set a manila envelope down on the
counter next to the oven where Bling was baking bread.  "Damn,"
she remarked, "but they don't make them bags like they used
to."  With one last frown at the package, she turned around to
look at Bling.  "You were Bling, right?"

"Yes. . . . And you're Original Cindy."

"In the flesh."  And she gave him a beautiful, saucy smile.
She didn't seem to notice the awe in his voice.

Cindy sneezed, and Bling recovered some of his senses.  "Lemme
get you a towel," he offered.  "And you should change out of
those clothes--there's some here you could borrow."

She smiled again--a warm, grateful one this time, but every
bit as beautiful as the last one.  "Thanks, Bling.  I
appreciate that."

"I'll be right back."  He went off down the hall to find the
clothes one of Logan's contacts had left behind last week in
her haste to pack and leave the country.  She hadn't been
Cindy's size--too small--but she'd left a pair of baggy cargo
pants that should just about fit Cindy.  Bling picked those up,
and paused to study the deserted shirt he'd stored next to them
in the guest room dresser.  Short-sleeved, black, tight even on
the skinny girl who'd left it.  Even if Cindy *could* somehow
squeeze into it, Bling thought one of his own sweatshirts would
be more appreciated.

He handed Cindy the clothes and a big yellow towel, directed
her to the bathroom, and went back to the kitchen to boil water
and have a pot of tea waiting for her when she came out.
 
 
 

It was a long time before Cindy emerged from the bathroom,
showered and dried, wearing the borrowed clothes and carrying
her muddy ones over her arm.  They negotiated the cleaning and
delivery of her clothes, and then Bling offered the now-
lukewarm tea.

"Nah," Cindy shook her head.  "Never been much of a hot-
beverage person . . . "  She slipped between him and the
kitchen's island to grab her slightly-damp envelope.  "'Sides,
sun's out now.  Got deliveries to do."

"Your package is still wet," Bling pointed out.  "You sure you
want to deliver it like that?"

"Better late than wet?" Cindy asked, one corner of her lip
turning up.

He smiled back at her.  "Yeah.  Better late than wet."

"Thanks, but no.  Plenty late already."  She knelt to tie her
soggy shoes, then picked up her bike from where it leaned
against the wall, and walked out the door.

Bling stared into the hallway for a long time after she'd gone.
 
 
 

Bling stopped by the flower shop on the way to Cindy's place
that evening.

"Hi, Bling," the clerk greeted him.  "What can I get you
tonight?  More sunflowers for your mom?"

Bling smiled as he shook his head.  "A dozen roses--nice ones,
red. . . . For Cindy."
 
 
 

He had thought Max's neighborhood was bad, but Cindy's was even
worse.  There was twice the graffiti, twice the litter, twice
the young thugs loitering by the front stairs, twice the
hookers strutting around by the stop sign at the end of the
street.  It was starting to drizzle as Bling locked the car--he
wouldn't have done that if he'd been visiting Max--and marched
briskly up the steps of Cindy's building.

She smiled at him when she answered the door, but didn't invite
him in.  "Hey, Bling.  Lemme get those clothes I borrowed."
She left the door hanging open, and he watched her go over to
a rickety-looking card table across the room and pick up the
stack.

"Nice roses," Cindy remarked as they traded batches of clothes.
"Got a date?"

"I hope so, Cindy."  And he held the roses toward her.

Her friendly smile disappeared instantly and she looked up at
him with slightly-widened eyes.  "You're not askin' me out,
are you?"

Bling nodded.  "Is tonight a bad time?"

"Yeah."  She shuffled her feet on the bare concrete floor.
"Every night's a bad time."

Bling's expression fell.  "You've got somebody already."

"I don't, actually.  It's just that it'd never work between us,
Bling.  'Cause you're not my type."

"'Not your type,'" Bling repeated.  "As in?"

"Well, *male*.  See, I don't do men."

"You're Lesbian?"

"Yeah, dintcha know?  It ain't no secret."

"But . . . "

"But what?  This is true love, or somethin'?  Would *you* turn
gay just 'cause some guy had a crush on you? . . . I'm sorry,
Bling.  I don't wanna hurt you, but this is just how things
is."

Bling nodded, slowly, sadly.

Cindy stared at him for a long time without saying a word.
"You're a good man, Bling," she said finally.  "I know there's
a girl out there who was made just for you, and I know you'll
find her someday.  She's just not me."

Bling barely noticed when Cindy shut the door, and it was at
least five minutes before he turned around to go back to the
car.

It was raining hard by the time he came down the steps, but he
didn't care.  He didn't even cover the roses.
 
 
 

[ END ]