BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

Paradise lost. That's what it felt like a couple of weeks ago when I had to part with Chip. I met him on a beach near Matamoros. He was wearing a Rastafarian wig. Can I help it if it was love at first sight?

For me anyway. He worked at Lefty's Tattoo Parlor and he had his choice of any

babe on the island. And, yes, I was old enough to be his--older sister. But his shoulders were so tan and his tattoo was so big. How could I resist?

We were staying at the Rusty Pelican Motel out on Hwy. 9. My husband, Sonny, went fishing every morning at 5:00 am or at least that's what he claimed. The only thing he ever caught was a fungus from wearing borrowed sneakers. The kids love seafood so one night we ate Sonny's leftover bait.

Chip doesn't have to go fishing. He can get free flounder and free gum from various merchants. He gives them free tattoos. The locals refer to tourists as suckers--but not me. They called me Passionflower and gave me free Long Island Iced Teas. Then I did my special dance.

It's saying a lot for people to refer to me as any kind of flower because my hair always looks like hell at the beach. Which I guess is why Chip wears a wig. I wear a bathing cap with a big pink rubber flower when I'm in the pool. That's where Chip got the idea of calling me Passionflower. When I'm on the beach I wear a variety of large hats belonging to my mother-in-law. Sonny calls me Hat-Head which I don't like half as much.

Was it wrong to let my eyes wander over to a cute little package of pure-D man? Don't other people have summer flings? Everyday I walked the beach in one of those printed sleep shirts that make it look like you're wearing a thong bikini. A lot of different men hollered at me but did I go on a date with them? No. I deserve some credit for that!

Pretty soon I was getting free gum and cod fish fillets from the locals and a free frog tattoo from Chip. "Stay here," he pleaded when I announced our three nights at the Rusty Pelican were up. I hate to admit it--he almost talked me into staying. I had already written a Dear John letter to Sonny and was in the process of packing my bathing cap when Sonny came back from fishing with that awful fungus.

"Do we have any foot powder?" he asked. He looked so pathetic--sunburnt and peeling--and he smelled like something dead. He was despondent because his favorite beer cozy had blown overboard. I couldn't imagine what he would do if I left.

"Have you had lunch?" I asked. But he didn't hear me because there was so much water in his ears from when he fell off the boat. There was seaweed in his hair. What would it say about me if I deserted a sinking man? I fixed him a cod fish sandwich.

"You can get other girls," I told Chip at the tattoo shop that afternoon. "Maybe even someone just like me."

"There's no one like you," he said. A big tear roll down his cheek and dripped onto his Big Johnson t-shirt.

"I brought you something," I said.

"Your swim cap," Chip said, with a catch in his voice. He patted the big pink flower. "Passionfl--" he started to say but I stopped him with a kiss. I couldn't help noticing he didn't smell like something dead. Then Sonny honked and I got in the truck.

At least I have my memories.