Chapter Nine
Winnie remembered her first serious art class, taken in the ninth grade. Her teacher, Miss Childress, was an aging hippie who used to play Buffalo Springfield and Traffic records as ambient music while her students learned stippling and shading techniques. With her natural talent, Winnie moved ahead of the class as a whole and finished assignments early. Miss Childress allowed her to doodle on her own in the remaining time before the next bell.
While classmates stippled and shaded and tried to make bananas look real on paper, Winnie took to her personal sketch book and let her imagination free. She reproduced animals—birds she’d seen on the walk to school, the neighbor’s calico cat—and body parts, assuming Miss Childress had prepared a lesson on sketching people. She loved this hour above all others and intended to succeed.
It had taken more than a few comments to spur the skinny self-portrait that Cory would find today. She thought back to the art class and the sneers of boys and girls cast in her direction. Fat and teacher’s pet…not a good combination. She let their poor treatment of them get to her enough to want to fantasize about a new image.
She was better than that now. She knew she didn’t need anybody’s approval with regard to her size and skills. Cory drove her car toward Lost Girls while she looked at the cheesecake cartoon Winnie winking back at her. A nice picture, dreamy, yes. Not necessarily a goal anymore.
She turned to a fresh page, and her pencil touched the paper with a vengeance. The scratching of the charcoal filled the silence in the cab.
Cory turned her way whenever possible. On the narrow two-lane roads, one couldn’t chance a diversion. “You gonna let me see what you’re drawing?” he asked.
“When I’m done.” She wiped away a fleck of loose black and kept sketching. Years of riding in the back of her parents’ car had taught her to anticipate bumps and dips. “An artist never lets anyone see a work in progress.”
“Oh, really?” They slowed to a stop sign, and though no cars approached on the side street, Cory made no move to turn. “I’ve seen quite a bit already, as you know.”
She looked at him and tried hard to keep a poker face.
He pushed out his lower lip. “Come on. One peek?”
“I’ll show you anything else,” she offered.
“I’m holding you to that.”
Light conversation kept them occupied for the rest of the drive. As with last week, a healthy crowd kept Lost Girls busy. Two food trucks took up space at the edge of the nearly full parking lot, and patrons took turns at the cornhole boards. Winnie spied Aaron and Erica Oleson at one of the round spool tables, chatting with another couple. Erica spotted them and waved, and Winnie pushed forward before she could beckon them closer.
Marcy, already halfway into a pint, held two chairs for them at one of the tables in the enclosure. “Good, sit down. People have been hovering close. I had to prop my feet on these chairs until you got here.”
“Thanks. I’ll set my purse down so I can order.” Before either she or Cory could weave past the long tables to the counter, Satin intercepted them with a broad smile and two filled pilsners.
“Got something to show y’all. This here’s our new Mexican-style cerveza, called La Tigresa. Twenty-three IBUs and five point three percent ABV.” The brewmistress set down the glasses, and Winnie studied the contents—a bit darker than she normally drank, but it was her free beer of the month. Though she’d have preferred to taste around before choosing one, she surmised Satin knew her stuff. Also, free beer. Who’d turn it down?
“Can’t wait to try it.” She nodded toward the taco truck. “We’ll get some nachos to go with it. Thanks.”
Satin moved to let them sit and dodged a passing drinker. “Oh, that wasn’t the thing. I meant this.” She began to unbutton her biker vest. Since it appeared Satin didn’t wear anything underneath it—the woman was all tat sleeves and cleavage otherwise—Winnie worried about the ensuing scene. A man at one of the other tables whistled; somebody else hooted for Satin to “take it off!”
Winnie glanced at Cory, who just sipped his beer and shrugged.
Satin pulled away the patch and pin-covered brown vest to reveal a black bandeau covering her small breasts. She had a small blue butterfly inked on her left shoulder, but, other than that, her décolletage remained bare. She turned around to reveal a large white gauze bandage taped to her upper back.
“You got it done?” Winnie asked. Her heart quickened its pace. Satin hadn’t been kidding about getting her design turned into a tattoo. She’d seen her work on signs and websites and even local television commercials, and it always gave her a thrill to know somebody paid her to help market their businesses. A tattoo, a permanent adornment on a person, was something else. Satin truly had loved her motorcycle drawing to want it on her body for the rest of her life.
“Go ahead,” Satin told her, “have a look. I’m keeping the bandage on for a while longer so it heals nicely, but you can see what Ryker did.”
“Um, okay.”
Marcy and Cory stood to flank her, wearing twin looks of curiosity. It seemed like the noise level in the former firehouse had faded, or maybe the blood pounded in her ears so much it muted the activity around her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the top left corner of the bandage. Satin may as well have asked her to open an envelope with the Best Picture winner inside, it felt so important. She hoped to find the correct design on Satin’s back, not an error like what happened on the actual awards show.
She didn’t like the idea of ripping away medical tape, either, and causing pain. Satin, though, glanced over her shoulder more with annoyance than trepidation, so Winnie carefully pulled back on the bandage and revealed the rose vine-entwined handlebars.
“Wow,” Marcy said. “Win, that’s gorgeous! I haven’t even seen the original drawing, but that looks great.”
Satin’s body torqued, and she pointed toward the front near the service area. “Have a look. I framed a copy over there.”
As Marcy did that, a few people paused to admire Ryker’s ink work, with Satin bringing up Winnie’s name several times to credit her. “I don’t think I’ve had this much feedback on a tat before, girl,” she added, patting Winnie’s shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to learn yourself? You’d make a mint.”
Damn. Drawing pictures for others to imprint on flesh, fine, but to wield the needle herself… “I’d be so nervous,” she said with a quivering laugh. “I guess I’m more comfortable with my sketch pad.” She patted her bag, where she kept the one she’d recently used.
“Ryker told me to tell you, if you change your mind, stop by the studio.” Satin smirked. “In fact, he said come by regardless.” With a wink at Cory, she excused herself and returned to the counter.
Cory guided her back to sit. “Should I be worried?” His eyes widened with mock concern. It flattered her a bit to think Cory felt threatened by third-party flirting.
“Ryker’s nice but not my type. I think he and Marcy could hit it off if given the chance, though.”
“Who’s hitting off what now?” Marcy rejoined them and sipped her beer.
“You interested in getting a tattoo?” Cory asked her. He folded his arms on the table, exposing his own decorated skin. Winnie took a moment to study him more. She’d seen plenty of Cory, dressed and otherwise, over the past week but it seemed every time she looked at a tattoo she discovered a new detail. Maybe one spot had a deeper color, or shading. On his LACES tat, tiny flowers punctuated each initial instead of plain dots. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? While Cory and Marcy chatted, she leaned forward, amazed by the coloring in the teeny tiny petals..
She must have zoned out, impressed by the work. Cory’s smiled and she blinked. “You’ve left us.”
“Sorry. An artist appreciates art in all forms. I’m always learning.” She straightened up and drank more of her beer. She could get used to the local brews, and the cerveza went down awfully smooth. Better stick to the freebie today, she decided, making a mental note to tip the girls before they left.
Cory beamed at her words. “Feel free to appreciate me all you want.”
Marcy cackled, turning heads.
“Have I mentioned how much I admire you for your humility?” Winnie asked.
“Speaking of art, what about your kid’s book?” Marcy didn’t appear to direct her question to either of them since she turned her head around to people watch. “It is happening, or did y’all figure it was just a pipe dream?”
“I certainly hope not, for all the work I’ve put into it,” Winnie said.
Cory nodded. “Same here, especially since there’s an agent interested.”
Oh. News to her. It hadn’t occurred to her how much Cory did for his part. She’d drawn scenes as described in his first messages to her, but she still hadn’t received actual book content for every illustration. Maybe Cory intended to add words based on her drawings? This being her first book design job, she wasn’t sure how the process went.
“Wow, that’s awesome! This time next year, my cousin could be on the New York Times bestseller list.” Marcy elbowed her. Sharp bone to a tender spot. Ouch. “Don’t forget me when you’re famous, ’kay?”
“Don’t ask to borrow money, and you got a deal.” The beer was going to her head now. Everything was funny, and she felt no pain. The trio talked more about incidental things—the weather, the upcoming holiday, town events—until Marcy recognized some friends coming in to drink. She rose to join them for a few minutes.
“If I don’t come back, you’re welcome,” she said, grinning as she walked away.
Cory turned to watch her retreat then back to Winnie. “Is she giving us permission to do…something?”
Winnie shrugged. “Marcy’s a march to her beat kind of gal. She’s great with the kids, too, and I like her.”
“Yeah. Sometimes I wish I had close cousins, instead of nosy sisters.” He made a face. The conversation seemed headed toward memory lane again, and Winnie wanted to stroll with caution. She wouldn’t mind talking family with Cory, but if talk turned back to high school, she was changing the subject.
To her surprise, rather than expand on his last remark he asked, “Can I see what it was you were drawing on the drive up?”
“Oh. Uh, sure.” She’d forgotten about that. She’d completed the quickie sketch as they pulled into the parking space next to the building, and now she felt skittish about showing Cory. He’d call her out on balking, definitely, and as she’d worked on the page, her confidence had flowed through her pencil.
With the drawing done, the disconnect affected her. She wasn’t shy about her artwork, but something so personal, to share even with a lover…
“Hang on a sec.” She fished in her bag and brought out the notebook then turned to the last page. She gazed a moment on the self-portrait, an update of her kneeling cheesecake pinup persona, before passing it to Cory. “I suppose I was going for realism today. I used to see a fantasy version of myself I didn’t expect to achieve and figured the dream would sustain me during dark days. I’m fine with myself, more now than I was, so the real me should supplant it.”
Cory’s smile spread wide. The tip of his tongue came out to tease his upper lip. He looked delicious in that moment, teased and aroused by something she’d done. Winnie surrendered to the warmth enveloping her and reached for her beer to take a cooling sip.
“Winnie, you are my fantasy,” he said quietly. “This is gorgeous. It’s you. It would make a great tattoo.”
Oh lord. “My body inked on your skin. Are you serious?” Where would he put it? Somewhere a T-shirt couldn’t hide it?
Her grip on the notebook loosened and before she realized it, Cory held it close to him. He turned in his chair, too, effectively blocking it with his body. “Why not?” he asked. “I wouldn’t be the first person to have a loved one as a tat, and this is amazing work.”
“Uh, thanks.” That he actually considered her caricature flattered her, but a tattoo was forever. A commitment, an acknowledgement that the design on your skin would stay with you. One couldn’t make a decision like this lightly. Satin had known for a while, apparently, what she wanted on her back. Cory had put some thought into his LACES design.
A tat of her on him. It wasn’t a wedding ring, but it meant something to him.
To her as well.
***
Even in black and white, the drawing of full-figured Winnie in the same cutesy sailor shirt and hot pants as her thinner counterpart had depth and style. The eyes possessed a shining quality that seemed to look directly into his soul, and the smile invited him closer, to touch and appreciate every curve and all her softness. Given enough encouragement, Winnie could probably sketch out a fair number of naughty pics for a paying audience. Did Playboy still take freelancers for that sort of thing? Not that he expected Winnie to supplement her living drawing softcore, but she clearly had the ability to do anything.
Marketing signage, illustrations, tattoos, she was multi-faceted, and he loved learning more about her through her work.
She had a nice notebook, too, and he imagined she might be perturbed if he tore out the sheet. “If you don’t want this transferred to a tattoo, it’s okay. I wouldn’t do it without your permission. At the very least, I’d love a copy to frame,” he said, and closed the notebook to keep anything from smudging the sketch.
Winnie tucked the notebook back into her purse. “I suppose it would look nice on your arm,” she conceded. “It’s the type of tat you put there, like a sailor and his mermaid, huh?” She laughed, her face going a bit pale. “I don’t know what I’d think if somebody etched my face on his butt.”
“I think you know that’s the one place where I don’t have ink,” he said, winking at her.
Winnie cast him a wistful gaze, her lip twitching as though biting back a retort. After a beat, she said, “The memory, it is not reliable. I might need a better look sometime.”
Cory whipped out his phone as though to check the time.
“Cute.” She sipped her beer. She’d gone through more than he. He assumed he’d drive her back into town, and wanted to make sure she was okay afterward. Time for the taco truck.
Before he was able to rise and get in line, Satin waylaid them both, bringing a hanger-on. She introduced the tall, wilting man as Dale, Vixen’s cousin.
Right, the brewery’s Web guru. Dale’s look defied stereotypical IT guy. Small black plugs filled his ear lobes, and a colorful tat covered one side of his neck down his collarbone where his ripped-neck T-shirt hid the rest. It looked like a serpent or an eel, but Cory couldn’t be certain unless the guy pivoted to give him a better view.
“Dale loved your drawing. His regular artist skipped town, and he’s wanting to get a sugar skull for his thigh,” Satin explained before launching into a story about a bar fight and drugs and all the unbelievable circumstances that prompted the aforementioned artist’s hasty exit from town. All the while, Winnie nodded and interjected with an “uh-huh” or “I see” and Cory studied the young man. Despite his rough appearance, he seemed shy and content to let Satin do the talking.
Every few seconds or so, too, Dale eyed the oblivious Satin with soft eyes and a pining stance. Oh yeah, he had it bad for the biker chick, and Satin only wanted to do him a solid. Poor Dale.
“That is, wow.” Winnie shook her head, processing Satin’s monologue. “You know, I’m happy to help out. Let me give you my email.” After slipping a business card between Dale’s long fingers, she joked to Satin, “We agree a 10 percent kickback for referrals is good?”
Satin’s laughed filled the space and muted the chatter around them. Cory winced at the sound, which hit him hard since Satin stood close, and focused on his beer until it subsided.
“If I could set up a booth here I would. Health department regulations, you know.” She slapped her hips and turned to survey the line growing at the taps. “Okay, back to work. See y’all round.”
Dale, barely nodding a goodbye, followed the woman back to the counter. Cory caught a few low words from him but didn’t get them. “I bet if you drew Satin in that come hither pose, he’d get that tattooed on his leg,” he said.
“I wouldn’t dare.” Winnie nearly spat out a sip. “Satin’s not girly.”
“She’s hot, in her own special way.” Cory smiled at her. “Like you.”
“Thank you,” she replied sweetly. “Still undecided on having you etch my bod on your skin.”
Hey, it wasn’t a no. He meant it, too. He’d consider it an honor to have Winnie’s image branded on him, there to remind him of their intimacy and strong feelings. Love? Sure. He wasn’t afraid to admit that.
A brewery hardly seemed like the ideal place to assure her of his desires, though. One might take it as a hollow declaration, even though he’d only had half a beer.
“Well, anytime you want a tat of me, I’m all for it.” He raised his pilsner in a toast but didn’t drink.
“Right.” She eyed him warily. “How would a tattoo of your goofy mug on my tush look?”
“Awesome. I love your tush. I’d be jealous of that tat.”
Winnie shook her head. “You think so? Remember, it’d be looking outward, and unless tattoo people can see through shorts, it’s not much of a view.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” Glancing into the crowd, he noticed Marcy getting chummier with a fellow at the one of the table. Nobody he recognized, but it didn’t appear as though she intended to rejoin them. “So.” He leaned into Winnie. “What are your plans for the rest of the day? You mentioned you and Marcy have a party gig tomorrow…do you have to do much to prepare for it?”
“No more than we do for the farmers markets. It’s a simple backyard birthday party. Bounce house, balloon animal guy, face painting.” Winnie made hand gestures like checking off a list. “Same with the homecoming fair on Wednesday.”
“Nothing I can say or do to convince you to play hooky tomorrow?” Cory kidded her, but imagined a long, lazy Sunday in bed with Winnie after a fun night out. “Let Marcy paint all the kids?”
“She’d kill me.” Winnie laughed, but the gleam in her eye hinted at the temptation. Maybe a brush of his hand on her knee, a quick kiss, might tip her over the edge. No dice, but Winnie clutched his fingers in her palm and his pulse jumped.
“Besides,” she added, “we’ve already been paid for the job, and the mom is a good friend of mine. I can’t let the kids down, either. But you know that.”
He puffed up his chest. “You think you’d win points if a famous former football star made a surprise appearance?”
“If you come dressed like a My Little Pony character, sure.”
A Brony? Nah, he’d leave that to the cosplay people. He’d planned to wear his jersey for Halloween. That’s as elaborate as he got with costumes.
“We ought to spend some time going over the sketches I’ve done for your story,” she said. “Order some takeout, watch a movie afterward. I like nights at home.”
Cuddling on the couch, sharing popcorn. Bring a toothbrush. Yeah, that appealed to him. “No arguments here. How about we settle up the bill, and I’ll come by around six?”
“Won’t take long to settle up free.”
“True, but Marcy will remember she volunteered me to buy the first round.” Sure enough, as he said it, Marcy pointed at him while talking to one of the biker ladies running the joint. The standing woman, wearing a vest similar to Satin’s, turned, and he saw the world Blaze stitched to her breast.
Blaze met his gaze and held up a small paper slip. He countered the gesture by waving a twenty.
“You wave that with the experience of a professional barfly, Mr. Levane,” Winnie teased him. “Something you wish to confess?”
“Only that I’ve never tucked any money away in anybody’s G-string or pants, paper or change.” He winked. “Now, if you’re willing to indulge me in a fantasy….”
“Why not? You first, though.” Winnie’s foot tapped his hip and swept upward, as though searching for an underwear line.
He handed the bill over to Blaze when she approached, and accepted a few fives in change. He gave one to Winnie. “Here you go. I expect this stuffed down my briefs later tonight.”
Winnie lifted her glass to his and clinked.