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her."_

    Dinner that night was no fun occasion. Luckily it was my turn to cook so I didn't have to endure the lunar silence emanating from the living room.
    Usually dinnertime was nice in our house. The three of us gathered in the kitchen and talked about our day. The radio was always on to an oldies station and when a great one played, we'd stop what we were doing and dance to the
    Dixie Cups or Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders.

    That night, for some ominous reason, both women sat in the living room five feet across from each other, pretending to read. I think Magda was there to make believe her daughter's tattoo didn't bother her a bit. Life as usual. The only problem was you could see her mouth moving as she thought up one good zinger after another to say to her errant child. I think Pauline was there because she was either testing the waters or silently proclaiming she'd do whatever she pleased now and we'd just have to accept it.

    So long as it wasn't something dumb or obscene, I had no gripe with a tattoo.
    I was only curious to see what this strange young woman would want permanently engraved on some as yet unknown location on her body.

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    While stirring the mulligatawny soup, I wondered out loud, "A dragon?
    Nah. A heart?" Et cetera. But if I didn't placate Magda on this matter I knew I'd be in soup deeper than the spicy one bubbling on the stove.

    I had an idea. Divide and conquer. I opened the kitchen door and asked Pauline to come in a minute. She shot a quick glance at her mother to see if this move had already been worked out between us, but Magda didn't even look.

    No one gave up less when it was necessary. The queen of the Cold Shoulder, the Zipped Lip, Mum's the Word, Pauline's mum could shut you out quicker than a slammed door.

    Tossing her head, Pauline marched across the room and into the kitchen.
    "What?" she demanded in an imperious voice completely not her own.

    I smiled at her.

    _"What?"_

    "Your ma's going to glue us both to her shitlist if you don't at least tell me where and what it is."

    She crossed her arms and tightened her lips exactly like Magda. "It's my body. I'll do what I want with it."

    "I agree. But we've got to come up with a way to resolve this thing without her going nuclear.
    Being stubborn is not how to do it."

    "What do you want me to do?"

    "Where is it?"

    She sized me up, stuck out her bottom lip. "I'm not going to tell you.
    You're trying to manipulate me. I hate that."

    "Then _what _is it? At least you can tell me that. Give us a bone, Pauline; give me something I can offer Magda that'll calm her down.
    _Be _an individual, but remember you're also a daughter. Your mother worries about you.
    Don't be unreasonable. We're on your side."

    "Forget it, Frannie. I don't need to justify what I do. I wanted a tattoo and I got one. If I want to pierce my tongue I'll get it pierced."

    I looked at heaven and clasped my hands together like an Italian in prayer.
    "Pauline, _don't _tell your mother that! Don't even use the word pierced within a two-mile radius. Holy shit!"

    "I'm not going to get pierced, but I will if I feel like it!"

    I mentioned before that as a kid I was dangerously bad news. For the most part I have disappeared that part of me. But now and then that little shit from yesteryear pops Page 27

    up, usually in the wrong situation.
    Pauline's voice was so rude and self-righteous that young Fran sprang out of my mouth and went right for her throat. In the most annoying and obnoxious voice I had, I mimicked what she had just said. To further the insult, I
    tipped my head left and right while I spoke, like some retarded Punch and Judy puppet, "...but I will if I feel like it!"

    To her credit, my stepdaughter said nothing but gave me a long, disgusted look. Dignity intact, she turned and left the kitchen. I heard her mother call out anxiously, "Where are you going?"
    Then came the sound of the front door closing. Magda was in the kitchen twenty seconds