Can't Fix Cupid

Set up along the path, there are a lot of artists scattered around, all of them busy painting, sculpting, making jewelry, or doing other shit I don’t even have a name for.

You’d think that the guy carving the giant wooden bear would want to wear a protective cup while he works the chainsaw, but alas, he’s letting his peen fly free.

Artists are talking as they work, passing supplies back and forth as they do their thing. There’s a couple of people sitting on the ground with notebooks propped on their laps as they write.

I smile. “This is kind of amazing.”

“See? I told you she wouldn’t be weirded out.” Hummingbird Judy says, shooting a look at Bruce Willis Rob.

Rob gives her a look. “The last time you brought a stranger here, she started crying and wouldn’t open her eyes until the police came to pick her up.”

Hummingbird Judy acts like she doesn’t even hear him as she messes with the feathers threaded in her hair. “Anyway, you can stay here if you’d like,” she tells me. “We’re always open to welcoming a new bright soul. I think you’ll fit right in,” she says, eyeing me like she’s studying my aura again. “We have a guest s

hare system in place, so you’ll have to bunk up with someone for now until you decide to leave or stay.”

“That would be great, but I don’t have any money or even a job,” I admit. Then I tilt my head in thought. “Well, technically I do have a job to do, but I don’t get paid for it. I’m here to make Love Matches.”

Maybe that was too honest, but Hummingbird Judy doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy at all. In fact, she’s beaming. “Did you know—your spirit’s emanation practically glows when you talk about love!”

“Uh. Is that...good?”

She nods emphatically. “Very.”

“Oh. Okay, awesome.”

“Anyway,” she continues. “Our community here isn’t run on capitalism and greed. We all work the land, work together, and provide for each other. This is a community that practices giving,” she says, stressing the word with some swirling hand movements. “So what is it that you can give?”

I consider this. “Uh…”

What can I give?

“I don’t really have any skills…” I trail off nervously.

Rob and Hale give me sympathetic smiles like they’re not that surprised. Considering they found me salivating outside a food truck wearing nothing but a man’s suit jacket, maybe it’s not so shocking.

“Come on now, you just said you’re a matchmaker. Your skills specialize in love!” Hummingbird Judy tells me. “What could possibly be more precious than that?” she asks, gesturing to both of her men.

I nod. “Love is priceless.”

“Exactly!” she says, suddenly overexcited as she smacks me on the arm.

I rub the spot where she hit me and nod. “So I guess my skill is that I can help people fall in love...” I say, though it sounds more like a question, because let’s be real. I’ve never actually helped anyone fall in love. Yet.

“Yes. You’re our spirit guide to love,” she claims breathlessly, her eyes twinkling again.

Wow, Judy really knows how to sell it. She makes me sound awesome.

“You’re gonna do just fine here,” she tells me with certainty. “Every place could do with a bit more love.”

I nod. “That’s absolutely true.”

She claps her hands, making her bangles jangle. “Good, that’s settled. Now let’s get you acquainted with everybody.”

She starts taking me down artist row, stopping to introduce me to people along the way. I’m careful to keep my eyes at neck level or above, even though my gaze keeps wanting to dip down. It’s a slippery slope, though. Once you steal your first look at the swaying appendages and wrinkled bits, it’s hard to get past it.

When she introduces me to the guy making a life-size sculpture of Frank Sinatra using only recycled material, he eyes my suit jacket with interest. “That would go perfect for this piece,” he tells me, reaching back to tighten his ponytail. “It would really round it all out nicely. Frank loved to look good,” says the forty-something artist with the wrench tucked behind his ear.

It takes a few seconds of us looking at each other awkwardly until I realize that he wants me to give him the jacket. “Oh…uh. Actually, this is the only piece of clothing I have,” I tell him. When he continues to stare at me, I lean in closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “I’m naked under this.”