“Thanks for the Chinese lesson. I don’t know, Doyle, maybe we should can your ass and hire your friend.”
“Maybe, but he ain’t half as charmin’ as me.”
“I’d like to meet him. I’ve never met anyone completely devoid of charm before.”
“Huh?”
“Forget it. Who’d you get the Polaroid from?”
“Mira Mira,” he said, as if that were explanation enough.
It wasn’t. “I’m listening.”
“She’s a tattoo artist. Works by appointment only and charges an arm and a fuckin’ leg.”
“Nice pun.”
“Pun?”
“Never mind.”
“Anyways, an old snitch of mine turned me onto her. When I showed this Mira Mira what I was lookin’ for, she pulled that Polaroid right out of her… whachumacallit… her-”
“-portfolio.”
“Yeah, her portfolio. She does Polaroids of every one of her creations. She even has photo portraits done of some of her work. She says those photos sell in galleries for thousands of bucks. Me myself, I don’t see it, paying for a picture of a fuckin’ tattoo.”
“I don’t think you’re her target audience, Doyle. She tell you anything about the client?”
“White kid, twenty, maybe younger. Came in with a heavyset guy in his late sixties.”
“Did she think they were lovers?” I asked.
Doyle cringed. “I didn’t ask. She did say that the old guy had an eye patch over his left eye. Here’s her contact info. I told her you might wanna talk to her.”
I slid the Polaroid and the contact info into my jacket pocket. “I’m curious. Why’d she give you the Polaroid?”
“Because she said she was embarrassed that she had even done the job and…” He hemmed and hawed.
“And… I’m waiting.”
“I paid her for it.”
“Don’t tell me how much. I don’t want to know, not now, not when I’m thinking of telling you you did good. Just put in your reimbursement request to Carmella.”
“Thanks, boss.”
“And Brian…”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t pad the request because I’m going to ask this woman how much she charged you.”
He opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it.
Carmella was once again sitting and staring out the office window. Only this time there was fire in her eyes and no tears to contain the flames.
“What an asshole!” she growled.
“Which one?”
“Me. The father. Take your pick.”
“The father?”
“The baby’s father. I told him that I was pregnant. That’s where I was, meeting him for a drink. He didn’t even ask me why I wasn’t drinking. When I explained it to him anyway, you know what he asked me?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “He asked if I was sure it was his. Like I’m out there soliciting sperm donations. What an idiot!”
“Him?”
“No, me. I sure as hell can pick’em, can’t I, Moe? What am I gonna do?”
“Just tell me who he is and I’ll show him the error of his-”
“No. I wouldn’t let him within fifty yards of this baby, the selfish, self-centered prick. Not now.”
“Isn’t there anybody you can talk to?”
“I’m talkin’ to him.”
“I mean a girlfriend, someone in your family.”
“Someone in my family! Are you nuts? You know what they would tell me? Go talk to the priest. Yeah, like a priest’s gonna help me make a decision about an abortion. After… you know, after what happened to me as a girl, my mother took me to a priest to have him bathe me in holy water, to wash away the stink and shame. You know what the priest said? He said that my mother should pray for God to forgive me. Forgive me, a little girl! What did I do wrong, Moe?”
“Nothing. Your mother was a foolish woman. And priests… What can I say? But I’m sure your brothers and sisters would-”
“No, they wouldn’t. I hate this fuckin’ baby,” she hissed, her face belying her words.
“Sure you do, that’s why you’re so torn up about it. That’s why you said you wouldn’t let the father get near it.”
“Who asked you?”
“You did.”
“I shouldn’t’ve.”
“Would you think about giving the baby up?”
That stunned Carmella, the air going out of her as if I had caught her solid in the solar plexus. I don’t think the notion of giving the baby up was a possibility she had ever wanted to consider. It was the hardest option for a reluctant mother. Though I believe the concept of closure is complete bullshit, I have to think that carrying a baby to term and delivering it only to hand it over to strangers has got to be a vicious form of living hell. I’m not sure I could handle the uncertainty of it or the second guessing.
“I couldn’t do that, Moe. How could I do that?”
Now the tears came. The fire was out. I took a step toward her.
“Leave me alone. Just leave me alone to think, okay?”
“Sure.”
In contrast to her name, Mira Mira was as exotic as whole wheat toast. Oh, she was pretty enough-Italian, early thirties, svelte and dark-but with a Brooklyn accent that made mine seem minted on the Thames. And if her loft in SoHo was indicative of how lucrative tattoo artistry was, I was going to tell Sarah-a gifted painter-to lose the brush and oils in favor of the ink and needle. You could have played full-court basketball in the place and have had room for bleachers and concession stands. The exposed brick walls were covered in enormous photographs of body art. Some were rather stunning and done in colors you were more apt to find in a Klimt than on a teenager’s bicep.
“So, you wanna to tawk about an original Mira Mira creation.”
“Not original, really,” I said, sliding my business card and the Polaroid across the table to her. “I believe you already spoke to my employee about it.”
“That Brian Doyle works for you, huh? A real freakin’ charma, that guy.”
“Charm is a funny thing. Depends on taste.”
“Yeah, well, just because some assholes who are drownin’ think they’re just slow swimmers, don’t make it so. You know what I mean?”
I didn’t, but I wasn’t here to argue with her. “Exactly. So what can you tell me about that tattoo?”
“Nothin’. I mean, nothin’ I didn’t already tell Prince Charmin’.”
“Amuse me, okay?”
“Sure. Whaddya wanna know?”
“Everything. Anything. How were you contacted? Who did you deal with? Did they leave a contact number or address? What was the kid like and the guy with him?”
“Nothin’ unusual in how he got in touch. Got a call from a guy sayin’ he’s seen my work and that he’s got a friend that he wants to get inked. I asked him if him or his friend wanna come in to tawk about what kinda design
