or Paul would ever see the whole thing in all its glory. That was reserved to serious candidates for her prince.
A blue and crimson dragon, puffing out roses and daisies instead of flames, rose up across her belly to her breasts, the tip of his pointed tail just touching her pubic nest, while his wings shelled her nipples and continued around her torso to her back, where they helped disguise her scars, at least to sight. The symbol of Dante’s Delight danced with its lower half resting in an interlinked host of blue snowflakes and frostlike patterns that wove from just above her right breast, around her upper arm, and back across her shoulder blade, incorporating more of the old scars, left from before they’d gone over exclusively to rubber hoses and beading needles. And high time, too! The bodies of those earlier Purgatorians must have ended downright embarrassing after years of scourges, votive flames, and the woodcutting tool they used to use for the old scarification symbol, before they intelligently went to a stamped tattoo.
Julie smiled. These last five had been good years, useful years, and she felt she’d done her little part in polishing the old Purgatorio and its good work. Still, she was definitely feeling the need to move on. She might not even stay with it all the way to age thirty-three, whether her prince showed up or not. But that meant they really needed someone to replace her. Four was the minimum functional membership, six the maximum—on paper. They’d never actually had six in practice. Five, once, for a while, but that had been before her time.
When her prince showed up, she’d know. She’d know by the way he looked at her naked for the first time and saw, not a one-night stand, but a good piece of art on a body he would be proud and happy to spend the rest of his natural life with. For his eyes and hers only, from that hour on.
She patted the still-blank hollow between her collarbone and left breast. This area, she was saving for when she had her prince to decide what should grace it. Maybe by then she’d be able to afford—or maybe he’d afford it as a wedding gift—to go to the very best, to Dupont and O’Toole, who attracted clients from all over the fifty-five states.
Her phone chimed. She hurried over and snatched it up from the nightstand. “Hello?… Oh, yes! Oh, yes, I remember you…”
A long exchange of smalltalk-type feelers. She was amazed, glancing at the clock, to see it had lasted almost ten minutes. Then:
“Yes, yes, I think I can make it tonight.… Scoops and Bottles? Fine!… Yes, I know the place, it’s very versatile. Ideal for a first date.… You know, I always like to go doubles on a first date.… No, you can leave that to me. I’m sure I can line someone up on short notice.… Yes, yes, I’ve done it before. My friends know me.”
After another several minutes of sweet talking about how she’d better get busy lining up that double date before the notice got too short, she finally signed off with him.
“My prince?” she wondered again, cradling the phone receiver. Cautious, girl! You’ve been stung before. That’s the reason for doubling on the first date, also for leaving each potential prince on the doorstep until at least the second date. If he was the prince, he’d call for date number two. If he didn’t, he wasn’t.
Now, who could she recruit this time? She thought Sam met with his Shriners gang on Monday evenings. Curly tended to be a little too boisterous for times like these. Paul’s apartment was just down the hall, and he never minded going with Lizette or Pearl for the sake of appearances and good conversation.
Or… Julie exchanged a grin with herself…why not bake two cakes in one oven? She looked up the number, lifted the receiver again, and dialed.
* * * *
Should she get a place of her own here in her old home town…a large apartment or tidy little bungalow for one…and maybe find some kind of service job? Money was not a problem for the Garvey-Johansens, but idleness was, at least for a person like Angela, who liked to feel both busy and of some social usefulness.
She’d had some thought of…but now it appeared to be just as well she’d never hinted anything about that. Maybe if she’d come home to Forest Green right away after graduation, hadn’t left him all summer to get acquainted with Julie… Well… Friends, best friends—she hoped, for life. Don’t spoil it by reaching for anything else. Besides… Best friends was good. Very good. And he had been fine as Raggedy Andy. She couldn’t help chuckling when she thought about that game…
Just then, the phone chimed.
“Hello?” she cried, snatching up the receiver. “Angela here.… Raggedy Andy? I was just thinking about you.… Yes, it does resemble mental telepathy, doesn’t it?… Tonight?” (Too eager? Too flustered-sounding?) “…Oh, oh, I see.… Oh, yes, yes, I can stop by for you at eighteen hundred hours.… Yes, it’ll be nice to see Scoops and Bottles again. Is that place still as good as it used to be?… They’ve actually improved it? Oh, I can’t wait!… Yes, as you say, ‘copacetic.’… Well, good-by for now, I’ll see you in—oh, my, in less than an hour!… Yes, yes, I’m as good as ready now. See you soon.”
She cradled the receiver, stood for a moment with her hand resting absently on the telephone, and heaved a great huge sigh, just as Aunt Sally came into the living room.
“Who was that, Angie?”
“Corwin.”
“Oh, good. He’s a nice boy—young man, I should say.”
“No, Aunt Sally, I think maybe we should stick with ‘boy.’ But, yes, he is nice. A little strange. But…nice.”
“Well, they say that no males and only ten percent of all females ever really grow up. What was he calling about?”
“He asked me to go out with him and Julie and a floater named Dave Clayton. A sort of blind date for me. I’ve never met this Dave, but Cory said he’s a police detective, so it should be very safe. Besides, Cory will be with us. And Julie Whitcomb. So I told him I’d go. We’re going to Scoops and Bottles. We’re all meeting there at eighteen hundred thirty. I’m picking Cory up at the Marquette House. “
“Angie, are you sure you’re the one they’ve set up with this Officer Dave…Clayton?”
“Oh, yes, Aunt Sally, I must be. Cory and Julie hit it off so perfectly yesterday at that stupid Spanish Inquisition rolegame.”
“But are you really sure? How, exactly, did Corwin phrase it?”
Angela closed her eyes and concentrated. “Well…let me see… ‘I am the recipient of an urgent supplication’—you know Cory—‘from M. Julie Whitcomb, under immediate pressure for a second lady to assist one David Clayton, police detective, herself, and me in comprising a congenial foursome this evening.’”
“And you’re sure that was the order he named you all in?”
“Yes…yes, reasonably sure.”
“Well,” said Aunt Sally, “to me, it sounds a little ambiguous. As if the one they’ve set up with Dave is this Julie…?”
“Whitcomb, Aunt Sally. Julie Whitcomb. Oh, if you’d seen them yesterday, you wouldn’t be in any doubt. I think they must have been made for each other!”
“And yet, didn’t you tell me that he got out of that game shortly after you’d left it yourself?”
“Only because it tickled his fancy to
