Tats by Layce Gardner

Author:Layce Gardner [Gardner, Layce]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Lesbian
ISBN: 9781594932472
Google: hnOtcQAACAAJ
Amazon: 1594932476
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2011-06-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“It’s not like I knew a Mercedes would just break down like that,” I mumble to Vivian’s back side.

Vivian and I are walking down some deserted country road and I have no idea if we’re walking toward town or away from it. Thank God for a full moon or I wouldn’t be able to even see the road under my boots. Vivian struggles to balance in her high heels and that leaves me to carry the two bags of money and her giant red bag that has all her essentials for life in it. I feel like some kind of damn packhorse. Sweat rolls down my back forming a little river down my buttcrack.

“You told me you were a mechanic,” she answers without turning around.

“Not on cars. Especially German cars. Hell, they’re not even supposed to break down in the first place. Mercedes is like the Maytag of cars. And even if I could fix it where am I going to get the parts? Out in the middle of the country? You’re the one who thought we should get off the main roads. Like we’re Bonnie and Clyde or some such shit.”

I set a bag down and unstick the back of my shirt from my skin.

“Pick it back up,” Vivian orders with her back still to me. I heft it back up (not because she told me to) and wonder not for the first time how little pieces of paper could weigh so goddamn much. Is this what rich people feel like, money is a burden? I think I was a lot happier when I only had ten dollars in my pocket.

Vivian stops in her tracks and points off to our left. “Look. It’s a midget farm.”

I follow her finger and see what she means. There’s an old ramshackle farmhouse set back from the road and it’s surrounded by a dozen or more little plaster people with pointy hats, peeking over the tall weeds.

“Gnomes,” I say, “not midgets. Those’re decorative yard art.”

Vivian picks her way through the yard and up to where most of the gnomes are gathered.

“I feel so tall,” she remarks.

“Have you been taking some of your pills when I wasn’t looking?”

“Just a couple of blue ones,” she says reassuringly.

“I’m going to knock on the door. Maybe they have a phone or something.”

“Be careful,” she warns, “I saw this once in a movie and it didn’t turn out so good.”

“What movie was it?”

“I don’t remember the name of it but there was this really pretty woman who could sing and these seven little men held her hostage.”

“Snow White,” I say. “It’s a cartoon movie.”

“It’s still scary.”

She perches her butt on top of an old camper shell sitting in the middle of the yard and takes off her heels. Rubbing her feet, she looks up at me and asks, “Can you look in the red bag and hand me some of my La Prairie age management balance lotion?”

“You’re kidding,” is all I say.

“No, it’s really good on feet. It says for the face, but it works wonders on your feet too.

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