by Martin Maenza
A few weeks ago, a sporty car drove down a secluded dirt road in the hills. The road and car soon vanished beneath a canopy of fresh spring leaves, and both finally came to a stop at a small building in an open glen. The car’s engine was turned off, and the door of the driver’s side of the vehicle opened. A high-heeled, olive green sandal with a shapely female leg attached stepped from the car.
Inside the small building, which was filled with various chemical stations and experiments in progress, a knock was heard on the door. A man — in his early thirties by appearance with tufts of black hair at his temples on his otherwise bald head — looked up in surprise. “Someone here?” he muttered to himself. The thought of a visitor was startling.
Still, he wasn’t without his resources.
The man, who wore a white lab coat, rose from his table and started across the room when another knock came. “Coming! Coming!” he shouted. Oh how he hated impatience. When he opened the door cautiously, he was surprised and intrigued by the person he saw before him. “Yes? Why are you here?”
Standing in the doorway was a beautiful woman with long, flowing auburn hair. She wore an olive green jacket with matching short skirt and a white blouse, all which hugged and accented her curvaceous figure. “I’ve come a long way, professor,” she said with a smile. “The drive was beautiful, though. Very natural and secluded.”
“Its meant to be secluded,” the man said, slightly irate. “Again, why are you here?”
“I think this is something best discussed inside,” the woman said as she tried to enter the building.
The man grabbed the door and started to close it on her. “I don’t like visitors. I prefer my privacy. Unless you’re having some kind of automotive trouble, I suggest you get in your car and leave.”
She thrust out her left hand to catch the closing door and held it fast. For a woman of her stature, she had considerable strength. “Please, professor, a moment of your time,” she said. “We have a mutual acquaintance — David Clinton.”
“Who?” the man asked. “I’m not so good with names.”
“You might know him better as Chronos,” she said. “And from talking with him, I believe that you and I would be good for one another.”
The man eyed her. “I don’t think you’re my type,” he said, “no offense.”
The woman chuckled. “Oh, I’m not here for that, silly! Though I could tell. I have a way with most men, but you seem to be immune to that. There’s something unique about you.”
“Lady, you have no idea.”
The woman nodded. “No, I’m here for another reason. I think we both share a bond, a common love.”
The man was now intrigued and allowed the door to open again. “Really? What would that be?”
The woman was pleased that she seemed to be getting to him, which is what she had hoped for all along. She stepped inside the building. He closed the door behind her.
“Our common interest,” the woman answered, “would be the world of plants.” She surveyed the equipment about the room with a glance, then turned about to face the man again. “My name is Pamela Isley.” She held out her hand. “But you might know me better as Poison Ivy.”
Jason Woodrue’s mouth upturned slightly as a light bulb seemed to go off in his head.