Chapter 7A Chapter by My Name is Brenda and I'm a Writer
Chapter Seven
Two weeks earlier
A black Lincoln Navigator stopped in front of Lilly’s Tattoo Parlor.
“Looks like you’ve got another customer, Lilly.”
Lilly has just finished adding a halo to the cherub on Mosby’s left buttock and she was standing back, arms folded, admiring her handiwork. “You realize that your a*s is a work of art, don’t you Mosby? A regular Sistine Chapel.” They both laughed as she walked over to the sink in the corner of her shop and washed her hands before going to the front window to check out the new arrival.
It looked like two people were sitting in the front seat of the Navigator. A man and a woman. It was hard to tell because the windows were tinted. “They’re probably lost – just stopped to look a map. You might find this hard to believe, Mosby, but I don’t have many customers that drive up in a $60,000 vehicle.”
“Lilly, you are truly an artist – but you are so 20th Century! Folks don’t get lost anymore. And they don’t use maps. They have GPS. It’s impossible to be lost with GPS.”
“Put your pants on, Einstein. If those folks are paying customers they’d be the first ones I’ve had in a month and I don’t want them to be scared off by your rosy butt.”
“I thought you said my a*s was a work of art.”
“I was talking about my tattoo – not your a*s.”
Mosby shuffled over to the full-length mirror, his jeans still around his ankles, and strained to see his latest tattoo. “Hand me that mirror, Lilly. Oh yeah. Beautiful. You really are an artist.”
“Pull up your pants before you catch a cold. You want a cup of tea before you go?”
“No, I’ve still got twenty two more book reports on Spider Sparrow to read before tomorrow. Thanks anyway, Lil.”
“What would the parents of your fifth graders think if they knew their kids’ teacher had an angel on his a*s?”
“Don’t forget the serpent!”
Lilly laughed. “Don’t worry, Mosby. I’ll never forget the serpent.”
Lilly stood at the window and smiled as the watched Mosby Ellis jog across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a DC cab. She had been creating the Garden of Eden on Mosby’s torso for almost a year. It was nearly completed. She was going to miss his visits when her work was done.
Lilly had just poured herself a cup of cinnamon tea when she heard the front door open. A man and woman entered the shop. The man was older, distinguished looking. Lilly thought he looked familiar but she couldn’t place him. His arm was around the waist of the woman. She was much younger than he was – might even be mistaken for his daughter were it not for the way she was exploring his left ear with her tongue.
Lilly cleared her throat to remind them that she was there. “Can I help you?”
The man freed his ear from his companion’s tongue. “Yeah. We thought we’d like to get a couple of tattoos. Something to commemorate the very special bond between me and….what was your name again, baby?”
The young woman laughed coquettishly and playfully jabbed at him. “Oh, Stuart. Stop kidding around. This is serious. Don’t turn it into a joke.”
Stuart! They name jogged Lilly’s memory. The old guy with the freshly washed ear was Senator Stuart Jaffe.
“Let me start over. Victoria and I would like matching tattoos. Nothing too…visible or too extreme, if you know what I mean.” The Senator winked at Lilly. “Maybe rosebuds or something like that.”
“Oh Stu, everybody gets rosebuds. I wanted us to have something special.” Victoria picked up the sketch Lilly had used as a guide for Mosby’s cherub. “I want a baby angel, Stuart Something like this. I think you would be adorable with a tiny little angel on your shoulder.”
Lilly could tell that Stuart was wavering. This was probably his first tattoo. “Why don’t you let me make you both a cup of tea while you make up your minds? No need to rush. You’re going to be living with these tattoos for a long time.”
© 2008 My Name is Brenda and I'm a Writer |
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Added on February 7, 2008 Last Updated on February 8, 2008 AuthorMy Name is Brenda and I'm a WriterFalls Church, VAAboutMy first novel was inspired by my own childhood on Pungo Creek in rural North Carolina where I grew up in a house shared by three generations. It seems it took a lifetime to write but it was actually.. more..Writing
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