Chapter Three

“I have to be logical about this” Fanny muttered to herself as she paced up and down in front of the tattoo parlor. “Just calm down and think. What is your address?”

“Of course!” she said out loud, startling the obviously intoxicated gentleman who was walking unsteadily in her direction.

Her address would be on her driver’s license, which was in her purse – which, she suddenly realized, was sitting on the sofa in that damned tattoo parlor.

She ran to the door. Locked. “I must have locked it behind me when I left.” She pressed her face against the glass. Yes, there it was. Just where she’d left it. She tried banging on the door but she only succeeded in alarming the poor drunk who had paused at the corner and was now staring in her direction apprehensively.

“I left my purse in there” she shouted at him. “I need to get it so I can figure out where I live.”

He walked unsteadily in her direction. “How come you don’t know where you live, lady? Even I know where I live and I’m a teensy bit drunk, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes sir. Your condition is quite obvious. And, in response to your question, I do not have a good explanation. For some reason that I cannot understand – I don’t seem to have any recollection of how I got here or where I live.”

“What’s your name? You know your name don’t you? My name is George. George Slaton.” He smiled and seemed quite pleased with himself that he could remember his whole name.

“My name is…oh my God. I don’t know. George, I don’t know my name. You have to help me get my purse out of that tattoo parlor.”

“What were you doing in there anyway? If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t strike me as the sort of lady that goes and gets herself tattooed.”

She felt herself becoming exasperated with George but she tried not to show it knowing that she needed his help.

“Of course, you’re right, George. I am not the type of woman who would get a tattoo.” Or was she? How did she know that? She wasn’t about to admit it to a stranger – especially one as unsteady as George – but she had no idea what type of woman she was.

“I remember being served tea by a very bizarre looking woman with red hair. The next thing I know I was waking up on that sofa and everything else is a blank.”

“I’ve had a few blackouts in my day, lady, but nothing like that. I’d invite you to come home with me, but I don’t think the Mrs. would take too kindly to it. Speaking of the Mrs. – I got to be going. Hope this all works out for you, lady. Sorry I can’t help you.”

“George. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Can’t you help me get my purse? Maybe you could pick that lock. Men know how to do things like that, don’t they? George! Don’t go, George.”

But he was already turned and was making his way unsteadily up the street.

“Damn! Damn! Damn! Now what do I do?” Frustrated, she resumed her pacing. “This has something to do with the tea that redheaded bitch gave me”. Her and her damned tattoo parlor and her damned tea. She realized that cussing made her feel better. More powerful. More in control. She bent over and picked up a brick from the sidewalk. Did she dare? Without another moment’s hesitation she hurled the brick through the window shattering it. “Take that, Red!” she shouted into the empty tattoo parlor.