I sit at the big plastic table in the big plastic chair.

            There is one sailboat on the turquoise expanse of water. Its sail is blue with a yellow stripe.

            Voxty is in the kitchen, baking bread and making coffee, dressed like a zebra. She's designing something. She's a book in herself. She burns the jasmine incense.

            The kitchen window opens. "Heather called."

            "Fook--- She must be desperate if she's calling the landline."

            "She's never called on this line. Take your coffee." A skinny white arm extends from the house.

            "She say what it was about?"

            "She said to call her as soon as you can." Voxty had resigned herself to putting off our trip to NASA and then the beach.

            "The landlord says hello, and to come up for strawberry shortcake."

            "How is Peach Nectar?"

            Phone rings.    The caller ID reads Heather Hill. Miniature, blonde karate expert/ attorney. She needs her own story, she's two books in herself, and a hydro-electric dam.

             "To what do I owe this invasion of privacy?" I said.

            "Lu (short for Ludwig Jimi,) I wouldn't think of calling if it weren't...."

            "Lucrative..."I can easily imagine her spunky smile as she tucks a hand-grenade in my shirt.

            But there is no getting out of it.

            "Nina a new client, real sweet girl, Ludwig Jimi."

            "Uh-huh...Drop the Ludwig Jimi, you weirdo."

            "Her father is a Nobel prize winner. He's missing. I'm sending the file to your inbox right now."

            "And it's an emergency? Why don't you file missing persons?"

            "Too sensitive, she says... they want discreet treatment."

            "Whatever that means."

            "It means a small fortune for a bright lawyer and her trusty investigator."

            I took the coast road up to the City. The whole way I had regretted leaving Voxty alone for the weekend, when we'd had so much planned. We rarely made plans. Spontaneity characterized everything we did and didn't do. I knew she was looking forward to a few hours at NASA, to show me new spectrographs of recently discovered nebulae. Then we'd go to Jamba Juice and on to the beach, where I'd  paint her in the nude. She would sing old Etruscan fertility charms.

From this lofty place, perceptions evolve, alternative pathways become apparent, new harmonies replace distressed architectures.

The realm of Eleterra lives, a country whose existence is without grounds or borders. It's slightly above ground, separated from the Earth by even the thinnest notion of hope.

Citizenship is granted to anyone desiring a truly free mind.

Peach Nectar lives above us, up a stairway of polished granite, which leads to a landing. From here there is a magnificent view of the islands to the north. The landing also serves as Peach Nectar's front porch.

Her apartment is up nine more steps, the handrails draped with ivy.

An arched ivy-covered entry gate leads to a small tea garden off her kitchen. Here she cultivates rare flowers, with names like Taliesin's Secret and Mystic Paradigm.

Peach Nectar's studio is made of wood and glass, but the style doesn't belong to any known school. I often go to marvel at it, painted ritualistically, black, red and gold. On close inspection, I see it's covered with tiny hieroglyphs and mathematical formulae.     

            "Who drew these?" I ask, sipping a cup of her brew.

            "They're made of stardust. It has a tendency to fall in meaningful patterns, but only butterflies can read them."

            "Didn't know butterflies could read." I said.

            She smiles at me like she always does when I don't get it.

            "I know," she says. "...like you didn't know my kimono was made of worms, until Wallace pointed that out."

            Wallace is one of her entourage, a real know-it-all.

Peach Nectar's studio is firmly constructed on the back porch of an ancient Greek temple, which hasn't been used in 2500 years, except by teenagers who sneak up there to drink and make out on the weekends. The place has an odd effect on them. It's so quiet that they themselves come under its spell. The view is so vast that they often simply sit there in silence...and watch... the islands bathed in moonlight, and the trickle of diamonds dancing on the sea.

Some say the place is haunted, but Peach Nectar claims no ghost has ever been seen there. And she should know, being the witch that she is. Her grandfather, a master meijin, transported the temple from Hellas, stone by stone.

I've never been up there at night. In the daylight, the Doric columns and marble floor generate a feeling of mighty power, but this doesn't prevent flowers poking their heads up through the surface. Such is the power of Nature.

I told Peach Nectar she should turn the structure into an art gallery. Or better yet...  

          "Put up some walls... you could rent the place out."

          "Leave it to a detective..." she scoffed."  Always looking for a practical angle. A real hard-boiled investigator at heart."

           "Sorry, Peach... I'm not a... what are you? a billionaire? like you; I have a nasty habit called working for a living."

           "If you'd sit down and paint, or play your guitar... I'd be your agent. You could be famous."

            "Tsheesh.... that is such crap...fame is just a ball and chain. And music is too loud. I have sensitive ears. Painting makes me nervous. I start wondering where my next meal is coming from..."

            "Oh, that's not the reason... " she laughed. "Far from it."

            "No? Then what?"

             "Well, I'll tell you tomorrow. You're about to get an important phone call. I have to feed the cats."

             "Huh?"

             She collected our jade tea cups and disappeared into her kitchen, white and blue butterfly kimono trailing behind.

             In a heartbeat and a little more, my cell rang...