her respectable B cups. To enhance or not to enhance had been the question most of her professional life, but in the end, she just couldn’t do it. While silicon water balloons no doubt made great floatation devices, they weren’t the right look for her.
“And large-busted women break hearts. Back to The Double D. I think it’s a perfect name. Your brand could be two triangles like a bra with the letter D in the middle of each.”
“Classy. I’m hanging up now.” Betts ended the call.
An hour later, Mama parked the Mercedes, top down, behind the Mustang. She eased her cat-eye glasses on the top of her head, opened the door, stepped out onto the asphalt, and yanked her red Lycra hot pants out of her butt crack. The white sequin tube top fit around her breasts like a sparkly rubber band ready to pop. A robe of rhinestones looped around her neck, swept down her chest, and rounded her hips. “You look like a candy cane in bondage.”
“Oooo. Candy cane in bondage. I like that.” Mama did a three-sixty. “Isn’t it fantastic? This is my own creation. I’m thinking about going into clothing design.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? The over-fifty stripper demographic is a pretty niche market.” Betts looked away before the sunlight shining off the rhinestones burned her retinas. “Think about it. When your nipple rings get caught in your belly button ring, it’s time to hang up your hooker heels.”
“I beg your pardon, my nipples are in exactly the same place they were when I graduated from high school twenty years ago.” Mama adjusted the girls for emphasis.
“That would make you thirty-eight…so you had me when you were six?”
“Miracles happen everyday.” Mama reached into the back seat and pulled out a gas-powered chainsaw and a small red plastic gas can.
“So do lies.” Betts said.
Mama stuck out her tongue and then said, “Wine’s in the trunk.”
Expertly, she unscrewed the chainsaw’s gas cap and filled it with fuel. “If a woman had designed this, there’d be a nice big start button instead of a rip cord. Point me in the direction of the mayhem.”
“See those saplings to the left of the gate?”
Mama squinted, getting a better look, and shook her head. “I don’t think I can cut them close enough to the ground so they won’t scrape the undercarriage of the car.” She gestured with the chainsaw at three scrubs on the right of the gate. “How about those scraggly Charlie-Brown-Christmas-tree-looking things over there? I can cut them short enough.”
“What about the barbed wire? On that side, it runs from the gate to the fence posts.”
“Check your grandmother’s trunk. She always had a length of heavy-duty chain, some duct tape, and wire snips in her trunk.” Mama nodded to the Mustang.
“Jesus, why?” Using the car key, Betts popped open the trunk, and sure enough, there was a length of chain, three rolls of duct tape, and some bolt cutters.
“My guess, it was her murder kit. I always thought she was the real Son of Sam,” Mama said.
“You also thought she was the Unibomber.” Betts nodded toward the scrubs. “Take them out.” Even if they caused damage, it was worth it to show Gabe that he couldn’t keep her away.
Mama flicked her head forward, and her cat-eye glasses fell into place. On one jerky pull of the starter cord, the chainsaw roared to life.
She sauntered over to the shrubs, bent down, and in one broad stroke, sawed through them like a hot knife through butter. With a release of the lever, the chainsaw shut off.
“I didn’t know you knew how to use a chainsaw. Impressive.” Betts picked up the bolt cutters from Gigi’s trunk.
“I’m a woman of many talents.” Mama flipped her sunglasses on top of her head.
Her mother had many flaws and got on Betts’s nerves, but Mama Cherie was the most independent and resourceful person in the world. Nothing was out of her league, out of her depth, or off-limits. That was both good and
“And large-busted women break hearts. Back to The Double D. I think it’s a perfect name. Your brand could be two triangles like a bra with the letter D in the middle of each.”
“Classy. I’m hanging up now.” Betts ended the call.
An hour later, Mama parked the Mercedes, top down, behind the Mustang. She eased her cat-eye glasses on the top of her head, opened the door, stepped out onto the asphalt, and yanked her red Lycra hot pants out of her butt crack. The white sequin tube top fit around her breasts like a sparkly rubber band ready to pop. A robe of rhinestones looped around her neck, swept down her chest, and rounded her hips. “You look like a candy cane in bondage.”
“Oooo. Candy cane in bondage. I like that.” Mama did a three-sixty. “Isn’t it fantastic? This is my own creation. I’m thinking about going into clothing design.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? The over-fifty stripper demographic is a pretty niche market.” Betts looked away before the sunlight shining off the rhinestones burned her retinas. “Think about it. When your nipple rings get caught in your belly button ring, it’s time to hang up your hooker heels.”
“I beg your pardon, my nipples are in exactly the same place they were when I graduated from high school twenty years ago.” Mama adjusted the girls for emphasis.
“That would make you thirty-eight…so you had me when you were six?”
“Miracles happen everyday.” Mama reached into the back seat and pulled out a gas-powered chainsaw and a small red plastic gas can.
“So do lies.” Betts said.
Mama stuck out her tongue and then said, “Wine’s in the trunk.”
Expertly, she unscrewed the chainsaw’s gas cap and filled it with fuel. “If a woman had designed this, there’d be a nice big start button instead of a rip cord. Point me in the direction of the mayhem.”
“See those saplings to the left of the gate?”
Mama squinted, getting a better look, and shook her head. “I don’t think I can cut them close enough to the ground so they won’t scrape the undercarriage of the car.” She gestured with the chainsaw at three scrubs on the right of the gate. “How about those scraggly Charlie-Brown-Christmas-tree-looking things over there? I can cut them short enough.”
“What about the barbed wire? On that side, it runs from the gate to the fence posts.”
“Check your grandmother’s trunk. She always had a length of heavy-duty chain, some duct tape, and wire snips in her trunk.” Mama nodded to the Mustang.
“Jesus, why?” Using the car key, Betts popped open the trunk, and sure enough, there was a length of chain, three rolls of duct tape, and some bolt cutters.
“My guess, it was her murder kit. I always thought she was the real Son of Sam,” Mama said.
“You also thought she was the Unibomber.” Betts nodded toward the scrubs. “Take them out.” Even if they caused damage, it was worth it to show Gabe that he couldn’t keep her away.
Mama flicked her head forward, and her cat-eye glasses fell into place. On one jerky pull of the starter cord, the chainsaw roared to life.
She sauntered over to the shrubs, bent down, and in one broad stroke, sawed through them like a hot knife through butter. With a release of the lever, the chainsaw shut off.
“I didn’t know you knew how to use a chainsaw. Impressive.” Betts picked up the bolt cutters from Gigi’s trunk.
“I’m a woman of many talents.” Mama flipped her sunglasses on top of her head.
Her mother had many flaws and got on Betts’s nerves, but Mama Cherie was the most independent and resourceful person in the world. Nothing was out of her league, out of her depth, or off-limits. That was both good and
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