Page 166 of Maple Mountain
“Thank you for your business,” he said, handing Archer back his credit card.“Enjoy the festival.”
“We will.Thank you,” I said.
Archer took the bag from me, and we continued on our way.The other wood carving booths were interesting.Some had wall hangings of bears and large game animals, but nothing else caught my eye like the mobile.
After an hour of walking on the main drag, we turned onto a side street.There was a window display full of record players and old vinyl and in excitement, I dragged Archer inside.
There was a man behind the counter with thick glasses and a shock of bushy gray hair.He was working on something electronic with great concentration.
He didn’t greet us when we entered, no doubt unable to multitask.I didn’t take it personally.
The shop was crammed full of vintage vinyl, tape machines and record players in various stages of restoration.
“Wyn,” Archer called.“Come here a second.”
He was at the back of the store, and he waved me toward him.
“What treasure did you find?”I asked.
“It’s a fully restored vintage Pioneer record player.I was thinking, what with Lenni into the classics, she’d love a record player.”
“I think you found her a Christmas gift,” I said in excitement.“What a good idea!”
“Can I help you?”the man at the front called out.
“I think we found something,” I said as I headed toward him.
Thirty minutes later, we left with a restored vintage record player, an amp and some small bookshelf speakers and several vinyl albums.
Arms full, we carted everything back to the hotel.
“Should we venture out again?”I asked.
Archer set the record player in the corner of the room and then came to me.He grasped the scarf around my neck and unwound it.
“No,” he stated.“It’s cold out there.Let’s stay in where it’s warm.”
After Archer made love to me, I conked out for a bit.When I woke up, he was lying in bed next to me, staring at me.
“Hmm, hello,” I whispered, my voice sleepy.
“Hello.”He brushed a kiss to my brow and then wrapped me in his arms.
My fingers traced his ink.“You ready to tell me about your tattoos?”
He touched the ink on my skin.“If you’re ready to tell me about yours.”
I nodded.“You first.”
He pointed to his ribs.There was a beautiful skull with angel wings.“Club tattoo.”
I grazed the ink on his right pectoral.
“My parents’ initials.”He released me so he could roll over to show off his back.It was a mural of several images that bled together.Flames.Smoke.A motorcycle.What looked like steel bars.“I used to think being part of a motorcycle club meant living free.Living outside the bounds of what’s considered normal.But it’s just another box.Another label.”
He turned over and peered at me.“Now you.”
“One day, Hadley, Salem, Poet and I decided to get tattoos together.They don’t match or anything, but we all wanted to get one.Even Poet.”
