Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 27-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.
Continued from January 29
Frank jumps up to collect plates, taking the stack of dishes out to the kitchen, arranging them nosily in the sink.
“As a feminist, I was surprised to learn that I have an inherently submissive nature,” Veronica says, as Frank returns to remove more dishes.
“Well now here’s a subject I know something about,” Joe says, rubbing his hands together like he can’t wait to get started.
“Carol, can I help you with dessert?” Anita says, intending to derail the conversation between Veronica and Joe.
“No thanks,” says Carol quickly, wanting to hear what Veronica says next.
Anita, pushes back her chair, gets up and stands between the table and the kitchen. Something has shifted, she thinks. “Frank is bustling loudly in the kitchen,” Anita says to Carol. “You’re totally calm, and this unassuming older lady is transforming into a sex slave focused on my husband.”
Carol giggles.
“What is going on here?” Anita asks, hands on her hips.
Joe continues speaking with Veronica, leaning closer to her, staring at her breasts. The word unabashedly pops into Anita’s mind, words in a script, directions in a play. A character looks unabashedly at, in this case, the much-larger breasts of a much-older woman at a dinner party, while the semi-irate wife is standing right there, watching.
Veronica’s hands are at the collar of her white shirt, slowly undoing buttons.
“For god’s sake,” yelps Anita, charging towards the kitchen, where Frank is staring off into space, rubber-gloved hands at his sides, while the sink fills with steaming hot, soapy water.
“Frank,” Anita says, cupping her hand to her mouth to be heard over the roar of the running water. “Things are devolving into debauchery in your dining room. I thought you’d like to know.”
“Does it involve my wife in any way?” Frank says, tuning off the faucet.
“That remains to be seen,” Anita says. “So far, it seems to involve the breasts of your tenant and my husband’s dirty mind.”
“Sounds interesting,” Frank says. “I’ll be right there.”
Anita watches Frank remove the yellow rubber gloves, slowly, finger by finger. Exasperated, she returns to the dining room.
Standing, sliding her arms out of the sleeves of her white blouse, Veronica is a naturally graceful woman; she doesn’t need to exaggerate this to make it sexy. It just is.
“OK, let’s stop the horsing around in here people,” Frank says, gently taking the semi-clad Veronica by the elbow, bending to pick up her blouse from the floor.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh,” whines Joe. “You’re spoiling all the fun.”
“Madame,” Frank says to Veronica with a French accent. “May I show you to your seat?”
Veronica laughs and allows Frank to guide her back to her chair.
“For someone who doesn’t drink, you’re a pretty wild lady,” says Joe.
“You seem to have dropped something, Madame,” Frank continues, laying Veronica’s white blouse across her lap like a large napkin.
“Oui, merci garcon,” Veronica says, sitting bolt upright in her lacy white bra, flat tummy visible below her large breasts.
“I told you she has an awesome body,” Carol says.
“You weren’t kidding,” Anita says.
Continued on February 12
