Page 48 of Born to be Wilder

He gave me a kind look but shook his head. “I appreciate that, but I can’t tattoo anyone who’s been drinking. It’s policy. Come back tomorrow. I’ll take good care of you.”

He started to close the door.

Behind me I heard Marge’s voice, low and urgent. “Do it.”

“Do what?” Alice asked.

“The card,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Pull it. Pull it now.”

“Marge, what⁠—”

“The cancer card, Alice. Drop it. Do it right now before he closes that door.”

“I am not⁠—”

“Alice. DO IT.”

A pause.

Then Alice stepped forward, put her hand on the door, and after a deep breath, said, “I have breast cancer.”

The man stopped.

“I have surgery and a massive battle coming up in the next few weeks,” she continued. “And right now we are on a road trip, making memories. Before everything changes, I want to get a matching tattoo with my three best friends.” She met his eyes. “I’ll pay you four times your normal rate. Late fee, inconvenience fee, whatever you want to call it.”

He was quiet for a moment, looking at her. Then he opened the door wider, leaning against the frame.

“I’m not charging you four times. In fact, I’m barely going to charge you at all.” Something shifted in his face. “My best friend is in the final days of her fight. Chemo’s done. They think they got it all, but she’s been through hell.” He looked at the four of us at his doorstep. “If she were here and four old—excuse me—youthful ladies of a certain age showed up at my door during a breast cancer journey and I turned them away, she’d never forgive me.” He pulled the door open fully. “Come on in. Name’s Rip.”

I squealed and hopped up and down as I followed him in. Marge was at my side in an instant, clutching my arm.

“Oh, man! This is so cool, Doris! You are really surprising me, and I am here for it.”

I’m surprising myself, I thought as I looked around the parlor that smelled like antiseptic. Flashy art covered every inch of the walls—traditional roses and anchors and geometric patterns, all framed and lit. Glass cases held jewelry. A leather chair sat under a bright arm lamp like a throne.

Rip set a portfolio book on the counter. “Take a look. Tell me what speaks to you.”

We gathered around a book of designs, but nothing felt right. Not the anchors, not the roses, not the barbed wire.

Nothing was… us.

Rip looked at my hat. “What’s with the horns? You a Vikings fan?”

“It means I’m the captain of our trip right now,” I said as I flipped. “Whoever wears the Viking hat gets to make the decisions, which is why we’re here right now.”

“Sweet. I dig it,” he responded. “Love the energy you ladies have. Still having adventures at⁠—”

Alice looked up. “If you say ‘your age,’ I’ll take that tattoo gun and stick it in your ear.”

He burst out laughing, lifting his hands. “Not a peep.”

She leveled him with a stare, smirking. “Smart man, Rip.”

“What are you looking for, exactly?” Rip asked, watching us flip pages.

We all looked at each other.

“Something that means us,” I said. “The four of us. What we are.”