Ecstatic Cahoots: Fifty Short Stories - Plot & Excerpts
she asks him, as if he’s guilty of an indignity on the order of disrobing down to all but his socks. “You’re leaving on your cross?” It’s not a question he’d have otherwise asked, especially given the way the cross—gold, delicate, and too tiny to crucify a God larger than an ant—brushes the pale slope of her left breast. “If you’re leaving on your Old Spice,” she says. “If you’re leaving on your mascara,” he says. “If you’re leaving on your road-rash whiskers,” she says. “And then there’s your gypsy earrings.” “I’ve put them in the wineglass,” she says. “But you’ve left the holes in your earlobes behind.” “And what about your beeper?” she asks. “Long gone.” “Not if I can still hear it beeping in my mind, in my sleep, in my…” “Fine. I’ll take care of it,” he says, “once you do the same with your concealed weapon.” “First take off that wire,” she says. “I will if you’ll remove that birthmark.” “It’s a tattoo!”
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