Page 31 of Wicked Design
“Yep, and everywhere else. My sales are steady enough for me to live, but nothing to brag about.”
“Have you tried hawking the music piece at your parents’ place? Do naturists wear jewelry?”
“They can.” Her face brightened. “That’s a great idea. Don’t know why I never considered it. This would look awesome at their get-togethers.” She tapped the piece she’d worn. “They have a special event every month, theme oriented. How perfect would this be for a music night? I could make one with a Gershwin score or something from the Grateful Dead, depending on the age group. They could even have a contest to guess what tune I used.” She grabbed her smartphone. “I’ll text myself a reminder then shoot a picture to Dad and Mom later. They’ll probably have other suggestions I can use. We brainstorm about this stuff all the time.”
Van Gogh tried to imagine his parents discussing art with him, celebrating his successes, and consoling him when he failed. They offered him every material thing available but no understanding or time when it came to what he wanted.
Clover hugged him. “Thanks.”
Her happiness meant everything. Never had he been as proud of something he’d done. “Show me your other work.”
“Careful. Once I start talking jewelry, I might not shut up.”
“You are an artist.”
Grinning, she sat on his lap, his cock snuggled against her ass, and turned her binder pages for him. Several bracelet and necklace designs resembled lace, the pieces available in more colors than a rainbow. The stuff that looked like glass jewelry was actually eco-friendly biodegradable plastic.
Didn’t make sense to him. “Would anyone actually throw something this pretty away as they would a grocery bag?”
“Hopefully not. But if it does end up in a landfill, it won’t be there till the universe collapses.”
“Have you tried to sell this jewelry at environmental gatherings or on their websites?”
“Another great idea. I’ve been too band-and-retail focused until now.” She sent herself another text message. “Let me show you what Alice has agreed to sell.”
Clover fired up her tablet and downloaded pictures displaying old-fashioned jewelry. Delicate lockets suspended from lace or ribbons rather than chains, pieces she called chokers that had dangling pearls and gems, the designs ornate. What one would see at high-end weddings. She’d made flower earrings and bracelets, the petals breathtakingly realistic. An invisible breeze seemed to stir them.
He tapped the screen. “Is this the stuff that’s paying your rent and letting you eat?”
“Yeah, but I have to sell a lot, since it doesn’t bring in the big bucks. Honestly, I hate it.”
“Why? It’s beautiful and as good as, if not better than, what you find in classy jewelry stores.”
“That’s the problem. It’s ordinary. Not what I want to do. You know, push the envelope. Create designs that are mine alone so when someone sees them they’ll gasp and say, ‘Oh my God, that’s a Clover!’”
She lifted the musical piece and the silver flowers she’d worn earlier in the day. “I was striving for that with these wraparound designs. Living jewelry is also a good name. The pieces are part of you and so light you don’t notice you’re wearing them, and when you move, they go with you like your skin.” She put the items down. “Unfortunately, CNN hasn’t called yet wanting to interview me concerning the new innovation. That’s why I’m veering toward recreating tats in various mediums. I know there are stick-on and temporary kinds. This goes a step beyond and could take off. Especially for women who don’t want to commit to getting inked.”
He recalled what had brought them together. “Would that be you by any chance?”
“Huh?”
“At the parlor you said you wanted me to ink you. Was that an excuse to get me here tonight…for sex?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. What else did you expect me to do? You refused to look my way even when I was fondling you through the front window and drooling on the glass.”
Van Gogh had never met anyone so amazing. She wasn’t a bit embarrassed to reveal her feelings. “Are your parents as direct as you are?”
“More so. I’ve learned to hold back.”
An afternoon with them, in the buff, would definitely be something. “So you don’t want to get inked, right?”
“I didn’t say that. Actually, I think it might give me some cred with the bands, especially if the tat rocks.”
“Nothing gruesome. I refuse. I’m not fucking you up.”
She wiggled her butt, stirring his cock. “You can do me up, down, or sideways. I’m game.”
“You’re not going to make me laugh, either.”
