WOMB.
Coco gave a squeal of delight as Sonny licked a clot of hazelnut cream from her finger and then sucked the entire digit into his mouth. The crowd applauded and Coco bowed.
Mona growled. How much longer could Coco demonstrate a cream puff? It wasn’t as if every bakery in town didn’t sell them.
To loud and vigorous applause, Coco untied her apron and flung it on the table. The demonstration was over. Coco walked straight to Mona. “Where’s Dallas?” Andromeda was mother-sitting.
“Some foolishness about her husband disappearing.” Mona nodded to the escalator, and they both stepped on.
“Robert never goes anywhere except work. Where’s he gone?”
Mona shrugged. “Dallas said he and an old television were gone when she got home two nights ago. They reported him missing at work. It seems the government is quite upset.”
“So tell me about this writer we’re meeting.” Coco focused on a bit of chocolate on her thumb.
“Her interest is romance, particularly western. She has access to a large shop during the evenings.” Mona’s gaze followed a young man who wore a denim jacket with the arms torn out and the front completely open. His bronzed chest and arms rippled with muscles. Her attention focused back on Coco. “Are you sure this Walden won’t let us use his loft?”
Coco sighed. “He said absolutely not.” Mona tugged at her short leather skirt, stepped off the escalator and led the way to the restaurant. “Hare,” she said to the maitre’d.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he responded, his smile disappearing in a frown of concern. “What dish was it in?”
“No, I’m meeting Lucille Hare. Has she arrived?”
His gaze dropped to Mona’s leather boots, laced with what appeared to be human dreadlocks, her short, black skirt, sleeveless black turtleneck and black captain’s hat. “Over by the window, last table.”
Mona brushed past him as if he were a gnat. She stopped so suddenly that Coco walked into her back. “That can’t be her!” A lone woman sat at the last table, her gaze on the menu. The slanting rays of the sun caught her hair, turning it the color of a good Merlot. Her lips were painted the same shade and contrasted sharply with her pale white skin. She wore an aqua and yellow plaid business suit and color coordinated eye shadow that made her look both jaundiced and bruised.
At that moment Lucille looked up. The menu slipped from her fingers and fell to the table, knocking over a tiny crystal vase with a white rose in it. Water spread over the pale coral tablecloth, but Lucille did not notice. She was transfixed by the sight of the leather-wrapped Mona and the tall, scantily clad Coco. She knew them instantly. She had day-dreamed them in a million different details. In the flesh, they were better than she had dared imagine.
Coco nudged Mona “This was your idea,” Coco hissed. There was going to be blame accorded to someone, Coco could tell by the way Mona’s shoulders lifted. The little ridge of the deltoid muscle was clearly visible, a bad, bad sign.
“How desperately do we want a place to meet?” Mona asked. Just the very sight of Lucille Hare pissed her off. Lucille was kin to every female in Mona’s family. Every badly dressed cousin who got her hair done in house trailer beauty shops where all the cream cheese recipes were torn out of
Ladies Home Journal
magazines and cigarettes burned in ashtrays beside peroxide bottles. Where the topic of conversation ranged from pectin to cures for warts and what Michael and Lisa Marie might have done when they were alone at night.
“Go.” Coco pushed Mona into taking a few steps, and at their approach, Lucille stood.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” Lucille held her napkin in both hands, jerking a little as she tried to decide whether to shake hands or not. She decided against it when Mona pulled out a chair and sank into it as if her legs had given out.
“Hi,” Coco said, slipping into another chair.
Coco gave a squeal of delight as Sonny licked a clot of hazelnut cream from her finger and then sucked the entire digit into his mouth. The crowd applauded and Coco bowed.
Mona growled. How much longer could Coco demonstrate a cream puff? It wasn’t as if every bakery in town didn’t sell them.
To loud and vigorous applause, Coco untied her apron and flung it on the table. The demonstration was over. Coco walked straight to Mona. “Where’s Dallas?” Andromeda was mother-sitting.
“Some foolishness about her husband disappearing.” Mona nodded to the escalator, and they both stepped on.
“Robert never goes anywhere except work. Where’s he gone?”
Mona shrugged. “Dallas said he and an old television were gone when she got home two nights ago. They reported him missing at work. It seems the government is quite upset.”
“So tell me about this writer we’re meeting.” Coco focused on a bit of chocolate on her thumb.
“Her interest is romance, particularly western. She has access to a large shop during the evenings.” Mona’s gaze followed a young man who wore a denim jacket with the arms torn out and the front completely open. His bronzed chest and arms rippled with muscles. Her attention focused back on Coco. “Are you sure this Walden won’t let us use his loft?”
Coco sighed. “He said absolutely not.” Mona tugged at her short leather skirt, stepped off the escalator and led the way to the restaurant. “Hare,” she said to the maitre’d.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he responded, his smile disappearing in a frown of concern. “What dish was it in?”
“No, I’m meeting Lucille Hare. Has she arrived?”
His gaze dropped to Mona’s leather boots, laced with what appeared to be human dreadlocks, her short, black skirt, sleeveless black turtleneck and black captain’s hat. “Over by the window, last table.”
Mona brushed past him as if he were a gnat. She stopped so suddenly that Coco walked into her back. “That can’t be her!” A lone woman sat at the last table, her gaze on the menu. The slanting rays of the sun caught her hair, turning it the color of a good Merlot. Her lips were painted the same shade and contrasted sharply with her pale white skin. She wore an aqua and yellow plaid business suit and color coordinated eye shadow that made her look both jaundiced and bruised.
At that moment Lucille looked up. The menu slipped from her fingers and fell to the table, knocking over a tiny crystal vase with a white rose in it. Water spread over the pale coral tablecloth, but Lucille did not notice. She was transfixed by the sight of the leather-wrapped Mona and the tall, scantily clad Coco. She knew them instantly. She had day-dreamed them in a million different details. In the flesh, they were better than she had dared imagine.
Coco nudged Mona “This was your idea,” Coco hissed. There was going to be blame accorded to someone, Coco could tell by the way Mona’s shoulders lifted. The little ridge of the deltoid muscle was clearly visible, a bad, bad sign.
“How desperately do we want a place to meet?” Mona asked. Just the very sight of Lucille Hare pissed her off. Lucille was kin to every female in Mona’s family. Every badly dressed cousin who got her hair done in house trailer beauty shops where all the cream cheese recipes were torn out of
Ladies Home Journal
magazines and cigarettes burned in ashtrays beside peroxide bottles. Where the topic of conversation ranged from pectin to cures for warts and what Michael and Lisa Marie might have done when they were alone at night.
“Go.” Coco pushed Mona into taking a few steps, and at their approach, Lucille stood.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” Lucille held her napkin in both hands, jerking a little as she tried to decide whether to shake hands or not. She decided against it when Mona pulled out a chair and sank into it as if her legs had given out.
“Hi,” Coco said, slipping into another chair.
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