Free Love Is Nuts (3 Tales) by Mimi Riser

telepathic. I just get little snatches of things here and there, but never much and never for long.”
    “So we’ve discussed,” Sam said carefully. “But you have other gifts.”
    Gift? It was a curse . But they’d discussed that, too, and talking about it didn’t help.
    Sam reached for a palette knife and rag to begin the work of scraping and wiping his palette, then cleaning his brushes.
    “Time to land, fire angel. The light’s shifted. I can’t paint anymore today. Need a hand getting down?”
    “No, thanks, I can manage.” Slowly, so as not to jar herself, Roxanne lowered her arms and relaxed her arched spine. She’d been holding the pose for twenty-minute stretches with ten-minute breaks in between, but after three hours of this regime felt stiffer than the plywood she stood on. Modeling was hard physical labor, harder than ditch digging, she mused. She’d never be able to look at a figure painting or sculpture again without wondering what the model had suffered while posing for it.
    Sinking to a sitting position, she rested a moment before climbing off the platform and reaching for her clothes, navy blue sweatpants and a drab gray T-shirt – loose fit and nice cool colors, the kind she always wore. The only kind she could wear. With tawny hair and a fair complexion, Roxanne might have looked better in something brighter, but bright warm colors were dangerous. Anything warm was dangerous. Her life was devoted to keeping cool, and baggy, plain garments seemed to help.
    Only not now. Having tied the drawstring of her sweatpants, she was pulling the T-shirt over her head when a hot flash hit. A red alert. She stiffened to attention, like a buck private caught goldbricking by the company commander. Sam stiffened, too. As fast as Roxanne had tried to block the heat, he had sensed it. It would have been impossible not to. The air of the studio had literally crackled for an instant, as though the electrical system had short-circuited.
    “Roxy? Are you all right?”
    No. She was trembling and suddenly sweating.
    “A…a man. I felt his thoughts,” she stammered. “He’s coming down the street to Jileana’s shop…coming here .”
    Sam leapt back in overblown horror, his expression aghast, his hands flying to his head. “A man ? God, no! Not a man! Not here!”
    Roxanne glowered.
    Sam sobered. “Anyway, hon, you are the one who’s minding Jil’s shop while she and Jack are away, so don’t you think you’d better unlock the door? I know her regular customers usually call for appointments first, but there’s always room for new business. Never pass up the chance for a sale.”
    Before she could balk, he took hold of her shoulders and steered her toward the closed door in the partition that separated his studio from the antiquities dealership housed in the front of the building.
    “I…I don’t think he’s looking to do business,” she choked out, her heels skidding against the floor as Sam shoved her forward.
    “Then consider it an opportunity to make a new friend.”
    “I don’t think he’s looking for friendship exactly either.”
    Sam halted and turned her around to face him, his eyes beaming down on her like searchlights. “Not a customer and not a friend, huh? Then what does he want?”
    “Me,” she said weakly. “Only…only he’s never seen me before. All he knows is my name. He kept thinking” – she gulped – “Foxy Roxy, Foxy Roxy…”
    “A Foxy Roxy who is acting like Chicken Little,” Sam muttered. “Well, whatever you are, mystery woman, you have to learn how to handle these situations. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding.”
    “I’m not worried about the rest of my life, just the next five minutes – you have too many combustibles in here!” With a frightened squeal, she pulled loose and fled to the opposite end of the studio.
    Sam heaved a small sigh and followed at a more sedate pace. “What now?”
    “He’s here!” She glanced in panic at the